There was none of that attitude now, and the suddenness of the change frightened him.
“What are you saying, Father?” he asked. It was near impossible to keep his voice from shaking.
The Neyvar turned to him once more, those gray-green eyes holding none of their usual force. He reached over and squeezed his son’s arm, though his grip seemed weak, as if all energy had been drained from him in the last few seconds.
“Look upon this place,” he said. “Gaze upon the beauty it has to offer. Dezerea is the crown jewel of our people, Ceredon. It says much that Celestia chose to descend from the heavens to help build it. You must appreciate it for that.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” he said. He felt his eyebrow twitch involuntarily, a nervous tic he hadn’t felt since the first time he’d spoken with Aullienna Meln.
His father shifted in his seat, leaned toward the window. He sounded almost whimsical when he spoke.
“You were not yet born when we turned down Celestia’s offer to foster the humans, and you were only two when the land was divided to make way for the brother gods and their new children. How much do you remember of leaving the ruins of Kal’droth?”
“Some,” Ceredon replied. “I remember Mother gathering our things, and I remember sailing south on the river and the hike that followed, but mostly I simply remember Quellassar being…home.”
“Yes,” his father said with a nod. “As well you should. After the destruction of our homeland, we were given the Quellan Forest to call our own. Previously there had been naught but a small fishing village there, but we went to work directly, creating a city among the trees.”
“Yes.”
“We are a capable people, driven and hardened by time and trial. But the Dezren…they have always been the more sensitive of Celestia’s children. Lord Orden refused to relocate to the Stonewood Forest, where Cleotis and his small faction of the Dezren had taken up residence long before. He blamed me for our race’s refusal to assist in the upbringing of the new humans-and he was right on that account. Because of his innocence, he wished to remain as close to his former homeland as he could. He pleaded with the goddess, and his pleas must have been hearty, for she appeared before his people in this very clearing and, with a touch of her glorious hand to the ground, she allowed their spellcasters to raise the structures you see before you from the very earth.
“Fittingly, the Dezren created a paradise within Paradise. And our people…our people were not amused. It seemed as though our creator were choosing them over us.…We Quellans were being punished again, just as we had been a thousand years earlier, when the last of our winged horses were destroyed during the Demon War. We were being punished for our strength. Why should the weak be rewarded with the goddess’s assistance, our people said, when we had worked our fingers to the bone to create our city?”
There was no derision in the Neyvar’s tone as he told this tale, which struck Ceredon as odd.
“Do you not agree with this?” he asked.
“No,” Neyvar Ruven replied. “I do not.”
Ceredon shook his head but remained silent, allowing his father to continue.
“To be honest,” he said finally, “I felt for our poor cousins. Our way of life is vastly different from theirs. While we Quellan have always taken pride in our strength, hard work, and physical prowess, the Dezren followed a different path. We are hunters and warriors, whereas they are poets, musicians, and mystics. While we built architectural marvels and learned to manipulate the land with our hands, they honed their connection to the magic that is woven throughout this land. We once balanced each other out; we taught them to build with their hands, and they instructed the few spellcasters among our own people. When our singers sing, it is the songs of the Dezren that flow from their mouths.” He sighed. “The coming of the brother gods changed that. They…disrupted things somehow. The connection our Dezren brethren had to the weave was weakened. Where once they could conjure great orbs of fire, command the lightning in the sky, and cause barren fields to suddenly take to seed, now it is all they can do to light a torch with their fingers or nurture a few plants to adulthood. I assume Celestia helped them erect this city out of pity.”
Ceredon looked at his father in wonder. “But why did this occur? What happened to their magic?”
“The gods took it. Think of it, son. We now have two deities walking on this land. The power it required to create their physical forms must have been massive. They are weakened in their current states, which has made them sieves for magical energy. They draw it into themselves, slowly rebuilding their strength so they might one day regain their lost might. There is not an unlimited supply of anything in the universe, including magic. Balance, my son, everything must have balance. The arrival of the two gods destroyed the balance in the land of Dezrel.”
“I see,” Ceredon said, nodding.
“However, I am in the minority of those who feel this way. Most of our people look down on the Dezren. They feel we have been disowned by our goddess and creator. They gape at this sparkling city and wonder why we were left to fend for ourselves by the sea. Then the anger runs deeper, and they wonder why we were forced to abandon our homes at all for that lesser race of humans. They question the fairness of it.”
“And you do not?”
The Neyvar smiled a sad smile. “I have. I have questioned everything. It is in my nature to do so. However, I came to peace with our status in this land long ago. I know Celestia loves us, even if she does not show it. I choose to think the goddess is challenging us because of our strength, not punishing us for it. But many think differently. We are the apex, they say, so we should take what we want rather than bending to the whims of a goddess that does not love us anymore. Then, a full four seasons ago, the opportunity to do just that came calling.
“That was when Karak’s Highest, Clovis Crestwell, visited Quellassar with a proposal for the Triad, a proposal that was finalized by his son and the Triad soon after the betrothal. His plan was to crush the western god and the Paradise he had created. If we assisted him and his people, Karak would grant us whatever land we desired, upon his victory. We came here under the pretense of friendship, becoming conquerors instead.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and Ceredon had to lean close to his father’s lips just to hear him. “If not for the brother gods’ damage of the weave, the Dezren would have crushed us with their magic the moment we attempted to usurp them. But instead they have become the weaker race that many have always assumed they were.” His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Sometimes I wonder if this was Celestia’s design all along. A final test we have failed.”
Ceredon sat back, shaking his head. “I am truly lost, Father,” he said. “Why tell me all this now? Why enslave this city and its people when you don’t believe it is right…or righteous?”
When the Neyvar looked at him then, his eyes had regained their hardness.
“I am the leader of my people. It is my duty to carry out the wishes of the best and brightest among us, even if I do not agree. And I tell you now because you are to one day replace me. I am nearly five hundred years old, son. I will not live forever. You must know how to lead, how to sacrifice your personal beliefs for the good of the Quellan Empire. If you do not, our cousins will destroy you.”