“A good luck charm,” Jacob replied, winking at the beautiful elf beside him. “Just a bit of glass Brienna gave me when I bested her brother in a dual.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Roland, mesmerized by his own reflection as it flashed before his eyes.
“Very much so,” Jacob said. He flipped the crystal over in his palm and then stuffed it back into his pocket. “Apparently, I am not as brave as our dear Warden here. I’ve seen much of the world and tasted plenty of fear, but still I find myself unhappy in its presence. It almost makes me wonder why Azariah even bothered to tell such a sorry little tale.”
Azariah chuckled, shaking his head.
“The boy wanted to know about fear,” he said.
“What boy?” asked Jacob. Brienna giggled and snuggled closer to her man, her head resting against his chest. Jacob glanced over at Roland and winked. “I see before me Roland Norsman of Safeway, my steward and the one man I trust more than any other.” He winked at Azariah. “Certainly more than any Warden, I can assure you.”
“Thank you,” said Roland, joy filling his heart.
“It would be wrong for you to think you know more than Roland,” Jacob continued. “Dead wrong. You know torment, not fear. There is a difference between them that’s ten chasms wide.”
Azariah chuckled, and there was a sense of familiarity to it that convinced Roland that these two had had such a conversation before.
“So enlighten us,” said the Warden. “What do you think true fear is?”
Jacob turned to Roland, fire in his eyes. It was his turn to rule the fireside chat.
“Our tall and graceful friend here has it all wrong. The worst of all fears is not doubt. For one to doubt, one first has to believe in something. That belief counts as knowledge. And should we doubt it, as Azariah did, then you have knowledge of a different kind. True fear, the fear that even little children have the moment they are born, is reserved for the unknown. That is the part of Azariah’s story that should inspire the most terror. Who were the beasts that invaded his world? What did they want? Why did they slaughter his people? And with each answer he learned, there were thousands more that he did not. The more you learn, the more you realize how much there is you don’t know, and that, my young steward, is truly frightening.”
Roland shuffled, trying to imagine it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “How could anything be scarier than what Azariah said? I’m not sure what I’d do if I found out Ashhur was wrong.”
“Your fear isn’t because Ashhur is wrong,” Jacob said, shaking his head. “It’s because suddenly death has become a great unknown. That is what you fear. Let me tell you a story, Roland, one the Neyvar of the Quellan elves told me a long time ago.”
“Fantastic,” muttered Brienna with a roll of her eyes. “This again.” She rested her head in his lap and wrapped her hands around his knees.
“Shush, you,” he said, patting her head. “Go to sleep if you don’t want to listen. Anyhow, Roland, according to legend, a thousand years ago the elves of Dezrel banded together to fight a wicked yet unknown enemy.”
“It’s just a story,” came Brienna’s muffled voice.
“Yes, it’s just a story, but one important enough for pictograms to be dedicated to it in the crypts beneath Dezerea. Roland, do you wish to hear the tale?”
“I do,” he said, captivated.
“I’ve not heard of this either,” added Azariah, looking interested.
“Then you listen up too, Az. You might learn something.”
Azariah laughed. “But if I learn something, won’t I realize I didn’t learn anything at all? Is that not what you just said?”
“Very funny. As I was about to say, a pox laid waste to this realm a thousand years ago. It was a pestilence from the underworld that came in the form of three demon kings. Their names-Darakken, Velixar, and Sluggoth-are inscribed on the walls of the largest elven crypt, dedicated to Neyvar Kardious, who ruled the Quellan elves for nearly four hundred years before his death at the hands of these demons. They were creatures of immeasurable power, and over the span of three centuries they transformed this world into a wasteland. They were masters of the dead, and their magic made them lords of blood and disease. Darakken was known for his size and strength; Velixar, for his cunning manipulation; and Sluggoth was a bringer of plagues, whose mere presence could kill. They were ancient, and the elves had no defense against them. Worse, they had no knowledge of them, and for a time it appeared that they would raze both the Dezren and the Quellan from the face of Dezrel.
“Although Darakken was the most powerful of the three, commanding a vast army of hell hounds, snake-men, and other lesser demons, it was Velixar who nearly extinguished all elven life. He was a shrewd, manipulative beast, master of the art of blood and the enslavement of the dead. Armies of elven corpses rose from the battlefields, taking up arms against father, mother, brother, and sister. Those too ruined to be resurrected had their remains used as weapons-bones for arrows, blood formed into solid whips, and rotten flesh used as burning ammunition. A few elven tales claim this Velixar once commanded tens of thousands of dead made living, though Ashhur only knows how he obtained the power to control so many.”
“You almost sound as if you admire the creature,” said Azariah.
“I’d say it’s more like I am intrigued.” He patted the sack propped against his leg. “I’ve been searching for proof of the demons’ existence since the first day I heard this tale. My journal won’t be complete until I’m able to inscribe their secrets within.…”
“Darling,” said Brienna, squirming impatiently in his lap, “you’re drifting.”
Jacob laughed. “So I am. Where were we? Oh yes, the rise of the undead. With Velixar’s desiccated army standing beside those of his brother demons, they pushed the elves far north into Kal’droth, the last vestige of hope in the land, where they fought to a stalemate for fifty years in the mountains. The stalemate worked to the demons’ advantage, for the dead require no sustenance. The elves on the other hand.…
“It was Celestia who saved her creations, of course, though why the goddess allowed her children to suffer so, none can say for certain. Some say it was the pride of the elves, who had thought they were above needing Celestia’s guidance. Some say the demons were beyond the goddess’s power, and even others claim she was slumbering during the attack and was awakened at last by the damage done to her beautiful world.”
Jacob’s eyes twinkled.
“But no one knows what happened to the demons, or where the goddess sent them. In fact, I dare say they still might be out there, waiting, lurking, hoping to return.…”
“What?” gasped Roland. His heart was racing, and suddenly a world he’d believed to be so safe and secure was filled with wolves, winged monsters, and demons of old. “Is that true?”
Azariah rolled his eyes, and Brienna sighed as Jacob nodded.
“I found a scroll that had been hidden deep within the sarcophagus of Neyvar Kardious. Within that scroll was a single prophesy, written in Elvish and with the typical prophetic vagaries. It said that after the deaths of the Mother, the Skeptic, and the False Prophet, the demons will be reborn on the very spot where Celestia had cast them out. A portal will be opened to their prison, and the demon kings will rise again.”
Roland gulped. “And where is that? Where will they be reborn?”
The fire created flecks of red that danced across Jacob’s features. He leaned closer, looking Roland dead in the eye, and said, “No one knows. The only mention I have found is one that says, It is in the place of eternal cold, where the rocks on the earth have been sewn shut and not a blade of grass will grow, where the eternal have wandered, and the air is thick with the musk of creation and the darkness of dreams. That could be anywhere.”