Page 12 of The Truth

To his right was Thoren Kalas, an elven mage of the kingdom of Kavathíl, and to his left was Mokhari, daughter of Alichtal – a Jotnar of Ölmur. Two more Jotnar and three elves made up the final number, all watching from their perches at the feet of the columns.

Even on the best of days, Eltoar had little time for the council. Theirs was a world of words and politicking, demanding this and that but never being willing to dirty their own hands. He understood their purpose, but there was something about chickens parading around as wolves that irritated him.

The warm glow of the candles shimmered across the white stone floor, catching the inlaid gold in blazing beauty, undiminished by the pattering rain on the dome above.

“You three,” Thoren Kalas pronounced, “have been called before the council to give account of the burning of Vastillion and the betrayal of thirteen of your own. You do so before the chosen council of The Order and beneath the watchful eyes of the Enkara themselves.”

Loik Hass inclined his head as he looked down at Eltoar and the others. “We have heard the report from Archon Thalumas. What we seek are the events as your eyes witnessed them. The reasons behind your actions and the honesty of your own hearts. I will begin with the questions most pertinent – why did those of your kin betray The Order?”

“What have you gleaned of their intentions?” another voice asked to Eltoar’s left. He didn’t turn his head.

“Are there more?” asked a third voice, this time to his right.

A litany of questions followed, each from a different voice, a different member of the council. And with each voice that spoke, Eltoar stared straight ahead at Loik Hass.

Eltoar waited until the flow of questions ebbed and silence fell amongst them, Alvira and Farda following his lead.

“Those are a great many questions,” he said, still staring ahead at Loik, refusing to play their games. “Which would you like me to answer first?”

Once again the council members spoke in turn, each naming their question as paramount. But eventually it was Loik Hass who spoke.

“Enough.” The man returned Eltoar’s stare, tilting his head to the side. “It has been a long day for us all. Let us not piss in the wind. Dragons have just laid waste to the largest silk trading city in all Epheria. Dragons and Draleid who are sworn to this order, who are kin to all five of you. Thousands are dead, thousands more maimed for life. The smoke can be seen for miles. Forgive me, honoured Archon, but we have stood here all night and listened to you weave a story of these events, and we are yet to hear a single answer that could hold its own weight. It is like watching a child push his supper around the plate to make it look as though he has eaten.”

“Remember to whom you speak, Councillor,” the First Sword snapped.

“I will speak to the Archon in a manner befitting the situation before us. In a moment like this, I believe candour to be more important than pleasantries.” Loik shifted his gaze from Eltoar, to Alvira, to Farda. “None of you have even the slightest understanding of why your own brothers and sisters betrayed us? Do you know how that reflects on the Draleid as a whole?” He drew in a long breath, shaking his head. “Who gave the order to engage above a city filled with a hundred thousand souls? Let us start there.”

“I did,” Eltoar said before Alvira could open her mouth. He dared not look at her, dared not give Loik or the others the sight of even a moment’s hesitation. Though he could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head. “It was the right choice,” Eltoar said, speaking again before Alvira had the chance to interject. He would rather face her anger later than watch her be torn apart now. “And I’d make it again.”

“Hmm…” A voice sounded somewhere to Eltoar’s left. That of Vanlin Iklas – an elven ambassador of Lunithír. Again, he didn’t turn to face her, didn’t play their games. “Is that so, Eltoar Daethana? Even against your Archon’s command? It seems disobedience is not an isolated trait amongst the Draleid. Worrying indeed.”

“Thousands of people were dead already,” Alvira said, turning to glare at Vanlin. She kept her tone level, but Eltoar could feel the rage within her. She needed to keep her composure. “We swore oaths to protect the people of Epheria. What would you have us do? Leave them all to burn?”

“So you approve of Eltoar Daethana’s decision, Draleid Serris?” Councillor Thoren’s words were spoken with the voice of an elf who had just watched a deer walk into his trap. “What of you, Farda Kyrana? Do you also approve? Does the disregard for command run so deeply in the blood of The Bound?”

“We should have seen this sooner,” another voice said, echoing through the massive chamber.

“We are Draleid,” Eltoar said, feeling Helios rising within his soul, feeling the dragon’s fury blazing like the sun. He did all he could to soothe it, for this was not the time nor the place, but grief was an old friend of rage and it held open the door. He looked to Farda and Alvira, shifting his gaze for the first time. “And I would rather suffer the consequence of disobedience than allow the innocent to suffer the consequence of our inaction. I was in command. The choice was mine, and I made it. Criticise my actions when you hold the lives of thousands in your palm, not while you sit in white stone halls beneath statues of the gods. You talk of these choices in black and white as though they are simple.” He looked at Loik Hass. “You asked for candour over pleasantries. You talk as though the lives of the innocent mean nothing. We saved Vastillion from burning, saved it from the slaughter of the Antiloch army. We did what you had no capacity to do. Does that mean nothing?”

Eltoar could taste the mistake of every word in the silence that followed. He had taken the bait.

Loik drew in a long, intentionally-loud breath, then looked to Thalumas, who stood just behind Eltoar. “Is this what the Draleid think of The Order?”

When Thalumas didn’t answer, Loik stepped from the slightly raised dais, the candlelight casting a shadow in his wake. His footsteps echoed as he approached Eltoar. As he walked, he gestured to the symbol of The Order beneath Eltoar’s feet. “This symbol, this is what we stand for. This is us. We are one. But today at Vastillion, you thought only of your own oaths when you chose to intervene as you did. You thought of the Draleid and of your honour. But you did not think of the consequences on The Order as a whole. Do you know why we commanded you to wait? Did you ask yourself why?”

Eltoar stared back at Loik. There was no answer to that question that wasn’t a trap.

“The battle was almost over,” Loik said. “Vastillion had all but surrendered. How many lives did you save? A few hundred? What of those crushed beneath Doaxes or burned in his fury when you executed his Draleid? And don’t worry, we’ll get to that soon. We ordered you to wait because overwhelming numbers could have subdued the traitors with enough of them left alive to find answers. We could have held them accountable, paraded them, given the people something tangible. Instead they will now whisper of The Order, that there is dissent still within us. That those thirteen were not alone. That we do not have the strength to keep our own in check. And that we only intervened to ensure the traitors’ silence.” He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. “And do you know what, Eltoar? I would believe it myself. Because it all makes sense. What were you thinking?”

Loik snapped his head around to focus on Alvira. “You captured Panakír alive, did you not Draleid Serris?”

The muscles in her jaw twitched, but she nodded. “I did.”

“And did you learn anything in that time? Did she speak of her betrayal?”

Eltoar clenched his jaw, doing all he could to keep his expression neutral. Alvira couldn’t lie, at least not well.

He could see the reluctance in her nod, but still she nodded. The nod slowly turned into a shake of her head. “She spoke in riddles as though she’d lost her grasp on the world.”