Page 69 of The Truth

“Simplify it for me.”

Thalumas remained staring at the fire, his back to Eltoar. “The coffers were dry, Eltoar. The outbreak of consumption four summers past had decimated our reserves. Without the coin, many would have starved and more again taken by the disease. Being Archon is understanding that there are sacrifices that must be made for the greater good.”

“For the greater good? Maquil died that day. He was ripped in half. He died defending innocent people in a war you orchestrated. There were a thousand other options. You could have come to me…”

“Those Draleid were not meant to be there.” Thalumas turned to finally face Eltoar, rising to his full height, his white hair glowing in the light of the hearth. “That was not part of it.” He shook his head. “That was never meant to be part of it.”

“For a century you listened to me speak of him. You saw the darkness that almost swallowed me, and still you lied to my face. Every day. Every fucking day you lied to my face. Did it get easier over time?”

“Eltoar—”

“Did it get easier?” Eltoar snapped.

“Yes. A little.”

“You started a war, Thalumas. You allowed thousands of innocent souls to be slaughtered… for gold?”

“That’s not fair, Eltoar. It wasn’t for the gold.”

“You were my Archon. I trusted you completely. I would have followed you anywhere.” Eltoar felt the gemstone around his neck calling to him, felt it yearning for his touch. “When we were brought before the council, your silence was because you knew… because you had decided with Loik that I would not be Archon.” That was a realisation that had only come to Eltoar in that moment. “You consoled me and sat with me, but all the while it was your doing. What other atrocities did you commit in the name of the greater good?”

Thalumas turned away at the sound of the water boiling. He took the pot from above the flames and set it on the counter, but his gaze was distant, fixed on something only he could see. “I am sorry, old friend…”

“You are not sorry. If you were sorry, we would not be at this point. You are the poison that killed the world I loved. You weigh the lives of others as though they were pieces on a board of Tarkat. They are nothing to you.”

“My choices haunt me in my sleep and in the waking world. I did what I needed to do to keep The Order alive, to keep Epheria safe.”

“And I will do the same.”

Thalumas placed the tea leaves into the infuser and turned. “I need you to know that⁠—”

Thalumas’ words caught in his throat as Eltoar rammed his blade to the hilt into the Jotnar’s gut.

“This is for Maquil and Carasín,” Eltoar said, driving the blade deeper. “For Panakír and Doaxes, for all those who died that day, and for all who have died by your words. You were my brother.”

Thalumas coughed blood, his hands dropping to the hilt of Eltoar’s sword.

Outside, Nasthrix unleashed a monstrous roar and leapt towards the hall. Helios moved faster. The black dragon lunged and hammered into Nasthrix’s side, sending both dragons smashing through the wooden frame of the hall.

Crimson moonlight poured in as the western side of the hall collapsed in a spray of wood, slate, and glass. The two dragons hit the ground like falling mountains, the earth trembling beneath Eltoar. They tore at each other, Nasthrix kicking his hind limbs and carving a gash along Helios’ side.

But for all the grey dragon’s might, he was nothing beneath the Shadow of Death. Helios clamped his jaws around Nasthrix’s neck, scales shattering as blood flowed.

Eltoar’s heart clenched at the sight, but the gemstone screamed at him, begged him to draw from its power, to numb him and give him the strength he needed to do what must be done.

Thalumas stared back at his soulkin, stumbling, Eltoar’s blade still buried in his gut.

“No…” He dropped the infuser, tea leaves scattering. Two more steps and he fell to his knees, one hand on the blade, blood pooling around him. “Why… would you do this?”

Helios twisted and pulled, and Nasthrix’s neck shattered.

Thalumas’ shoulders slumped.

A ripple of energy swelled around the body of the grey dragon, and the gemstone called to Eltoar like never before, demanding he draw in the Essence, begging that he not let it be wasted.

“Death begets life,” Eltoar whispered. He opened himself, and the air was pulled from his lungs, a chill swept through his body, and for a brief moment all of his pain, his agony, his loss, evaporated. The power swelled in the gemstone, and with it, Eltoar felt as though he could carry the world on his shoulders, his clarity of purpose igniting once more.

He moved to stand before Thalumas, who knelt in the ruins of the hall, his own blood pooled around him, Eltoar’s blade jutting from his stomach.