Chapter 7
Long ago, deep in the forest of Aldeon, the Forest Lords created a race full of magic, strength, intelligence, and cunning. This race divided itself into two factions. And so the light and dark elves came to be. The Forest Lords were not pleased by the division of their creation, and so they removed themselves, watching as they fought and destroyed one another. But the time has come for the Forest Lords to once again bring order and peace to their children, the time of the light and dark elves is over. The time of the Elfin is just beginning.
Lorsan felt his anger rising as he listened to the report from his second in command. He felt his Chosen’s hand rest on his arm, an attempt to calm him. It wasn’t working.
“You’re telling me he left a week ago, you haven’t heard from him since, and you are just now making me aware of this?” Lorsan gritted his teeth in frustration.
“My Liege,” Alok said as he knelt before the Dark Elf King. “I thought he must be handling something for you and I didn’t feel it my place to question. Trik has always come and gone as he pleased.”
Lorsan paced the throne room as his mind raced. He had always allowed Trik more freedom than any in his army, but then Trik had never given him cause to question his loyalty. Trik had always done what he’d asked, always followed through, even if he did give Lorsan grief over just about everything; he still did as he was told. But that was before he had found his Chosen.
“Alok, how are the crops coming along?” Lorsan asked.
“They are growing well. The human soil seems to be mixing well with our own,” Alok answered quickly, which irritated Lorsan further because he knew that Trik would have purposely dragged out the explanation, adding a few smart-ass comments of his own. Oddly enough he found that he preferred a contrary assassin to a cooperative one.
“When will the first batch be ready to harvest?”
“By the end of this week,” he answered again with a no non-sense tone.
“That will be all,” Lorsan dismissed the warrior.
“What of Triktapic, Liege?”
Lorsan’s head snapped around and the look in his eyes made Alok step back.
“I will deal with Triktapic and you will make sure the first batch of Rapture is successful.” Alok bowed and quickly made his way through one of the mirrors in the throne room.
“What is your plan?” Ilyrana asked once she and Lorsan were alone again.
Lorsan threw his hands in the air. “Of all my warriors, he was the one I would have bet my life would remain loyal.”
“You don’t know that he has defected yet,” Ilyrana argued. “This is Trik we are speaking about, my King. He has always come and gone as he pleased but he has always returned.”
“He has never gone so long without checking in with me or one of his warriors. Nor would he ever allow a project of this magnitude to go unsupervised for so long.” Lorsan’s eyes narrowed as he continued. “He is being distracted by his human at a time when I don’t need him distracted.”
“She is his Chosen.”
“So he says,” Lorsan cut his own Chosen off.
“So bring her here,” Ilyrana challenged. “Let us see for ourselves that she really is his Chosen.”
“What will that change?” Lorsan growled. “I still expect him to do his duty; I still expect his loyalty to be to me first.”
“I agree with you, love. But maybe if Trik feels that we are welcoming her into our race, then he will not feel the need to stray.”
Lorsan looked at his Chosen and was, once again, struck by her aptitude in forethought. He, more often than not, let his temper get the best of him while she remained cool and logical. He had decided long ago that this was why the Forest Lords had given her to him.
“So we shall have a banquet in honor of Triktapic’s Chosen,” Ilyrana told him with a smile.
“I can’t decide if this plan in ingenious, or just your way of getting to throw a party,” Lorsan chuckled, but felt his anger diminishing as he watched his Chosen.
“Maybe a little of both,” she teased.