Page 98 of Forged in Fading

“I still think it’s a mistake to not visit the dwarves. To not even try.” Alvara’s words snapped him out of his trance, and he turned to the chief and opened his mouth. She waved her hands in his face before he could speak. “Don’t translate that! I’m just saying, between you and me, if we can find a way to convince him, it could be very worth it in the long run.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Convincing the humans to train with two elves and eventually a horde of barely in control demi-elves went about as well as Alvara expected. Rav had joined her, offering not only his ability to somewhat speak their language, but his own training with his father. But really, she missed the positive energy of Lilja and Kat, who were too busy with their own tasks to take part in her training like they had in Ilmanir.

The humans’ angry voices repeatedly punched through the peaceful morning air. Alvara leaned her head to one side and shared a look of exasperation with Rav. How were they going to win a war when the two sides refused to even work together? Many of the demi-elves in the Eskenti settlement still weren’t willing to set foot in Gosibik knowing the state of affairs, and the humans were suspicious of even their own people who had only discovered they possessed magic a few weeks ago.

“I’m going to make what is probably a very terrible speech, but I need you to translate,” Alvara said.

Rav inclined his head. “I’m not as fluent as Boden, but I’ll do my best.”

Alvara’s voice rang out through the clearing, earning some, but not all of their attention. “You don’t have to like each other. You don’t have to agree. You do have to work together, or we have no chance of winning this. This is exactly what King Einar wants and expects us to do. To turn on each other, unable to overcome our differences enough to stop him. So, stop your whining and pick up your weapons or leave. We have work to do.” She rammed the shaft of her spear into the ground. It was a poor replacement for the one she had left behind in Malva, but better to be equipped with a stick than nothing at all.

Rav translated, his voice thundering with an authority she had yet to feel, and the faces of those listening hardened. But none left. Maybe they were debating whether they should just impale the both of them for fun.

A quiet voice speaking in the human tongue emerged from the crowd, and every head followed the sound. The humans made way for the one responsible, a wiry man with short, ice-blond hair whose steps were followed by the hushed whispers of those around him. As he came closer, Alvara held back a gasp.

Silver scars, large and small, marred his pale face from forehead to chin. But it was his green eyes that held the true horror—they were lifeless, as if whatever had caused the marks on his skin had stolen away his very will to live.

As the man spoke, the faces of every human fell, their hatred dissolving into something soft and fragile. Rav didn’t translate, likely too afraid of breaking whatever spell this man’s words held over the crowd.

And when silence reigned over the clearing again, a woman as well built as many of the men, with red hair woven into long cascading braids, stepped forward to join the speaker. As her gaze swept over the crowd, a handful of humans groaned and trudged to join her.

She gave Alvara a curt nod and tapped her chest. “Gerdavir.”

“Thank you, Gerdavir,” Alvara said. Rav relayed her orders as she spoke. “We can start here. Have them pair off and show me their fighting techniques. I want to see what we have to work with and what we might be able to teach our own people.”

The man who had spoken addressed Alvara, in Elvish no less. “I am Erun. Frigar’s brother.”

Alvara did her best to swallow her surprise. She hadn’t heard anything of the chief having a brother. “Thank you, Erun. For whatever you said to convince them to stay and train.”

They watched together silently as the warriors sparred with each other, their fighting style violent and aggressive in a way that the elves’ wasn’t. Hopefully it would be a slight advantage.

“I hear you helped my son,” Erun said.

Alvara’s brow wrinkled. “You mean the chief’s son?”

He made a small sound, like his heart had lodged in his throat. “He is mine by birth. But I suppose Frigar’s by choice. He raised my son in my absence. Frigar believed I had abandoned him for the elven realm, but it could not be further from the truth. My wife was an elf, from⁠—”

“Valo,” Alvara finished. She could still feel the boy’s flames devouring her leg.

Erun shook his head. “Her mother was Valonian, but her father was Elan. She grew up in Tasírath.”

The very mention of Ela’s capital flooded Alvara with mind-numbing fear and dread. Dread of the nightmare she knew would come from the man’s lips.

“That is where she fled from when she came here, looking for a more peaceful place to call her own.” He rubbed his chest, as if even speaking of her caused his very heart to bleed. “We had a son, a beautiful son. But only a year after he was born, her family found her and forced her to return to Tasírath. They refused to allow their daughter to associate with a human man.”

Alvara knew what would come next—she could feel it in her bones. And yet it did nothing to soften the agony of his next words, the anger that set her gut aflame on his behalf.

“I followed her with every intent of bringing her home. But King Einar discovered me first.” His chin quivered. “I spent ten years in his palace. Ten years at the service of a monster. I only escaped a few months ago.”

“How?”

Erun looked her in the eye now. “At the cost of my soul.”

Alvara resisted a shiver and pulled her spear closer to her chest. “Why are you telling me this?”