Page 62 of The Truth

Fane nodded slowly. “On that I can agree wholeheartedly. Not a drop of blood need be spilled where it can be avoided.”

“Thank you.”

Fane dropped his hand to the pocket of his cloak, feeling the outline of the gemstone within. There was always going to come a point at which he would need to do what would happen next. But the choosing of that point would be the difference between life or death.

He looked at Eltoar as the elf stared up at Varahír. A twinge of sadness bloomed in Fane, for he had never seen Eltoar look so devoid of hope, so lost.

“His heart is broken…” A voice whispered in his head. He knew it. Had heard it before. Efialtír had whispered to him ever since Mar Dorul, ever since Amatkai had set him on this path. The irony was not lost on Fane. A god whispering to a man who abhorred gods. “His will is shaken... He is vulnerable.”

Fane shook his head, pushing the voice away. “Eltoar?”

Eltoar turned his head just slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“‘And the gods will answer no prayers because they do not listen’,” Fane repeated Eltoar’s words.

Eltoar closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky. “I have always believed that the gods watched over us. That Varyn was within us, within our hearts. That Achyron would guide us in times of war, and that Elyara would steer our destinies. I… I’ve always believed.”

“But now you falter?” Fane watched Eltoar’s lip twitch at the question. “There is no fault in it, Eltoar. I am where you are. The gods may have one day cared for this world, but that day is long gone. They leave us now in a world filled with war and disease and death. They watch us tear each other apart and do nothing to stop it.”

“I believe they are there,” Eltoar said, staring off into the distance. “I simply no longer believe they care for our fates.

“I must tell you something, and I need you to listen. Can you do that?”

Eltoar turned to face him now, apprehension in his eyes. “That depends on what you tell me.”

“No.” Fane shook his head. “You must swear to listen. Have I done you wrong at any point?”

Eltoar inclined his head. “Speak.”

“On your honour, Eltoar.”

Eltoar hesitated a moment, then nodded an acknowledgement.

Fane reached his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the gemstone within, feeling it call to him, feeling it probe at his mind. Slowly, he lifted the stone from his pocket, the soft red glow of its light drifting through his fingers.

Eltoar looked curiously at Fane’s hand, staggering backwards when Fane opened his palm to reveal the glowing red gemstone.

“Fane…” Eltoar dropped his hand to the pommel of the sword at his hip. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it to be.”

Fane looked down at the stone. “We have been lied to, Eltoar. Our entire lives, we have been sung a song written by the victors of a war that ended before time itself began.”

“Tell me that is not Blood Magic, Fane. I need to hear the words leave your lips.”

Fane looked down at the gemstone in his palm, a soft smile on his lips. “You swore you would listen, on your honour.”

Eltoar pulled a deep breath through his nostrils, his chest swelling. His hand did not leave the pommel of his sword, nor did his muscles relax. He looked around quickly to see if any other souls had wandered into the yard. “Speak. But take care with every breath you use.”

Fane continued to stare down at the stone. “With all the lies we have been told in our years, is it too much to think we were told another? ‘Blood Magic.’” Fane gave a soft laugh at that. “When we go to war, when we charge into battle, when The Order allows the slaughter of forty thousand innocent souls… is no blood spilled?”

“It is not the same, Fane.”

“And why not?” Fane lifted his gaze, challenging Eltoar. “Tell me why? Or do you not know? Because we were not taught to challenge, to question?”

“It’s simply not. Blood Magic is of the traitor god. You know this.”

“I do not accept that.” Fane held Eltoar’s gaze as he shook his head. “That is not an answer, it is indoctrination. It is the regurgitation of a lifetime of ignorance and lies. Efialtír is no traitor. Against whom was his betrayal? Against us? Surely not. Efialtír carved away a sliver of his own heart to grant life to the mortal world. Even you do not deny that, it is known.”

Eltoar looked back at Fane without a word, and Fane could see the hesitation in his eyes, see the opening.