The Exiled King

“Oh, in the name of Mother, Aest, please don’t kill those mortals! They are important!” A woman with a long mane of black hair, dotted with glowing white stars, yelled.

A man sat by a clear pool, concentrating fiercely into it. His arms were out, occasionally moving. He was dressed in loosely flowing blue robes and had sea-green hair and stormy grey eyes.

Aest, god of storms, sighed, but retracted his hands and immediately, on Dargon, the storms quieted. The waves decreased in size and the winds slowed, the eternal howl quieted to a sigh.

“You told me mortals at sea were fair game,” He whined.

She replied, “That’s true, but these mortals happen to be descendants of those blessed by my dear brother’s archangels. And I doubt you would dare incite the wrath of Pelos either, Aest.”

Aest shuddered and muttered, “I’m well aware of that, aunt Aeliyas, considering he is my father. I know he was the one who permanently maimed my uncle. Even the power of time wasn’t enough to erase the traces of my father’s power. Uncle Gialan lost his sword arm—I can’t imagine the quarrel they had for such damage to be dealt!”

Aeliyas, goddess of balance, sighed. “Gialan was having regrets about our choice to create Dargon,” She explained, “And Pelos feels great empathy for living creatures. They have since reconciled and your uncle Gialan is a splendid left-handed swordsman now,” She grinned, but the smile soon faded away.

“Anyways, this conversation has gotten out of hand. Please make sure the mortals wash up on Silvardor. Dead or alive—it doesn’t matter, as long as they end up in Silvardor. Let’s meet again, dear nephew,” the goddess said, ruffling his hair before striding off.

“I’m not a child anymore,” He grumbled, but turned his attention back to the pool.

Reflected in the pool was not the face of Aest, but of happenings in Dargon.

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Glimmering silver-coloured sand lined a long beach. Clear sea stretched away from the beach further than was visible to the naked eye. Luscious green vegetation grew thickly just a little further inland from the beach. The waters shifted and gradually a couple of bodies washed up on shore, dressed in tattered clothes and with debris tangled in the hair. Nothing moved, until the light rustling of leaves announced new arrivals.

A figure, dressed in hunting leathers and carrying a massive longbow and an equally intimidating serrated dagger approached the bodies. It was an elf, with short-cropped black hair and dark violet, nearly black eyes. He whistled a series of high pitched notes and immediately, the trees shook as more elves arrived, their fleeting footsteps light as air and graceful.

“Bring the bodies back for the ritual,” He ordered, speaking the lilting ancient language like a song.

The elves walked among the bodies, easily heaving them onto their shoulders.

One of the elves peered at one of the bodies and gave a shout.

“It’s Princess Eryna, your majesty!” She exclaimed, pointing to the glistening white hair. He made his way over to her and peered at the body.

He nodded and said, “Take extra care with her, and see that her relatives are informed.”

Another elf ran up to him and whispered, “Your majesty, there is another… he has white hair - like the winter prince, but he’s only half elven. Will you take a look?”

He shook his head and muttered that they had wasted too much time.

“Bring them all!” He yelled and strode off.

He gave a piercing whistle and a small flock of birds appeared. They were ignu birds, tasty if cooked right, and the choice mount for the elves as well as their sacred animal. No elf would ever dream of consuming ignu bird meat, but humans and other races had learned that the meat had the curious trait of enhancing the flavour if it was not cooked with any other meats. A succulent oil was released from the meat when cooked, that would spoil the entire meal if it was cooked anywhere in the near vicinity of another meat.

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Nestled deep within the forest of Silvardor, lay a sprawling city. Built in the trees and in a natural clearing, it was massive. Bone white towers glittered in the afternoon sunlight and massive gardens and houses were built inside the silvery walls. The silvery walls surrounded the whole city, connected by many of those towers. Growing within the walls were tall trees and buildings built around them. Long winding rope bridges connected the tall trees and structures. The mood was festive and the streets were bustling with activity. There were red and gold lanterns dangling from the bridges and long banners of the same colour.

Much of Silvardor was covered in forest, and the elven trees grew taller and stronger than the average Sanobar-grown tree. Lumber exports had been a profitable venture after the tenuous treaty had been formed between humans and elves.

As the group entered the city, guards announced their entry by blowing a wooden horn, emitting a rich timbre which echoed through the forest.

They entered a large building built near the walls and the guards unloaded the ignu birds and handed the birds to the stablemasters to bring them to the aviary.

“Your majesty!” A runner appeared—an elf trained to bear messages for the royals.

He beckoned the runner forward and whispered in his ear, “Inform Dethemina that Eryna has been found. Also, tell her to identify a body bearing the characteristics of one of her house.”

The runner nodded, then took off after muttering a quick spell that allowed him increased mobility and the ability to take flying leaps into the air, lithe as a cat.

Not long passed before a woman appeared in front of them in a flash of light. She had magnificent snowy hair reaching to her waist that was parted by a circlet of thin golden wires, twisted and forged to make the circlet alive with the appearance of a tree, bare of leaves. Right in the centre of the circlet was a massive sapphire, set in and framed by gold. She was dressed in a white, strapless gown where the top and sleeves were made of see-through silk embroidered with snowflakes. Trailing behind her was a cape of the palest blue, the fabric darkening at the hem and small white flakes sewn on cleverly. Her eyes were perhaps the most striking of all—a solid golden colour and concealing an immeasurable sadness within them.

“Nicon, who is it?” She greeted the king warmly.

The king, Nicon, nodded, “Dethemina.”

He pointed to a corner of the room where the bodies were laid out neatly on beds. She hurried over to take a look and glanced over the first—a girl, with little interest, but upon seeing the next occupant of the bed, she gasped.

Quickly she stepped closer, gently lifting open one eyelid to see the brilliant blue eyes and she fell back with a cry. Hearing her, Nicon’s head snapped up and he moved to her side in an instant, catching her. Dark shadows flickered around his form for a moment, before fading away.

“It’s him,” She whispered.

Her voice broke as tears began to fall. Nicon helped her up gently.

Softly, he asked, “Who? Who is he?”

“My son. Taryn Aegivyl.”