I'd like more reviews, if possible. They make me very happy, more happy than a kid surrounded by chocolate bunnies
An ominous breeze whistled through the darkened landscape, carrying the scent of blood and decay from the inner parts of Gil'ead. Although the elves tried to keep the casualties to a minimum, the human mind was weak, easily influenced by emotions which too often led them on a wrong path.
It's their fault, Seruniel thought, looking at the sky. They are savage, close minded and aggressive. The grey clouds would soon spill their content, their cleansing waters paying a tribute to Oromis too.
It was the third day since Gil'ead had been captured, but it was not a victory that brought joy and celebration. It was a defeat that took its toll by claming the lives of Oromis elda and Glaedr.
Seruniel didn't like the clouds. Their gray, menacing bosom threatened to spill their contents this cold morning and weep, shedding crystalline tears for one who was once lord over the skies. Fairly young and inexperienced to join this war, Seruniel had a limited knowledge regarding Oromis and Glaedr. Try as he might to sympathize with the elders and feel the same heartache, experience the scathing sorrow, he couldn't. Others might consider him weird, with a perverse mind which lacked proper respect and education, but Seruniel was good at not drawing attention. He looked plain and ragged like straw in an open field, ravaged by a storm. His brown, uncombed hair flowed past his shoulders, covering a part of his torn and soiled green tunic. His brown leggings were in no better shape, but a city under attack could not provide the luxury of his home in Osilon. Seruniel stared at the clouds for a moment, then glanced away.
It was painful to remember the beauty of the forest, the fresh smell of dewy grass and the comfort provided by his home; the soft touch of his clean sheets and the hearty amount of food provided by the nature itself.
Seruniel shook his head and got up from his makeshift perch. While not quite a guard tower, the pile of rubble and stone fell from a ruined section of the city wall provided a good vantage point. Everything about Gil'ead made Seruniel cringe: pungent smells of perspiration and blood that soaked the muddied cobblestone; still, lifeless bodies that had yet to be dragged away. The houses themselves looked dark and gloomy, a stain of depravation compared to the glorious Du Weldenvarden and the beauty of elven structures.
Seruniel looked around. It was unusually warm for such an early hour. It was one thing Seruniel was content with. His guard post was located on the opposite part of Lake Isenstar, and the city walls acted as a barrier in the path of the chilling wind that usually blew from it. For one moment, there was nothing prominent about the landscape: Trees, a path, more trees in the distance, and open field on the left, where the lumberjacks made quick work of the majestic verdant forms which towered defiantly above the land. Nothing was wrong, until…
Seruniel frowned slightly at the sight in front of him. A weathered traveler was approaching from the forest with slow, trudging steps. Usually a vigilant scout, Seruniel could not quite explain this stranger's appearance. It was as if the forest itself spat it out from its innards, and his clothing was a testimony for this sudden appearance. Disheveled, with a white, unkempt beard, he appeared to be an ordinary old man. Maybe he was just a visiting citizen, returning to its home city.
However, the circumstances were grim, and one could not simply walk into Gil'ead at this point. After the elves secured the city, every human was locked in its house, a prisoner in what used to be their former city. Seruniel didn't care a lot about humans; it was because of them that the forest disappeared on the left, it was because of the Empire he was dragged into this war, it was the reason why he was not at home now.
Islanzadi considered such actions necessary, especially when Galbatorix had spies planted everywhere. Bound by oaths, those humans no longer had a will of their own, and the less casualties, the better their reputation would be with the Varden.
"Greetings," the man said hoarsely. "I came here for the funeral of Oromis the Sage."
Seruniel's frown deepened, and he almost reached for his sword. What held him back was the shaggy appearance of this old man. Although his face was wrinkled, his deep green eyes had an intelligent and deceitful power in them. Compared to him—an elf, the old man was powerless. Still, Seruniel was nervous. He never heard of a human who had known Oromis.
"Your concerns should lie elsewhere," Seruniel said. "Only a privileged few are allowed into the city, and-"
"But young one," he said calmly. "I knew Oromis."
Seruniel was surprised and confused. "You did?"
The man brushed his beard casually. "Dear boy, I knew him very well. I knew how he truly was." He reached into a pouch dangling from his side and presented an old, musty scroll to him. "Soranaar. The ballad of the First Rider."
Seruniel blinked apprehensively and reached towards the scroll, but the man jerked his hand back before he could do so.
"No you don't," he sneered. "This is a gift from Oromis himself, and-"he seemed to analyze the blackened city, its crumbled sections of the walls, "there are only two copies left." With a quick move, he stuffed it into his pouch and fixed his eyes on Seruniel.
"I can't say I've heard of it."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "You haven't?"
"No," Seruniel said curtly, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"It's beautiful," the man said, looking at the sky with a melancholic stare. "The poem is a homage brought to Eragon the Peacebringer; it elevated his feats and stirred the hearts of many elves. The blood of their kin and dragons alike still wet the ground, yet they sang and danced…"
"I…heard about Du Fyrn Skulblaka," Seruniel said uncertainly.
"Many elves died, many," the old man started to babble. "Until Eragon appeared— the first elven Rider, the bloody war thinned the numbers of both races tremendously-"
"Are you a scholar?" Seruniel interrupted, much to the old man's displeasure. "I didn't know that your race-"
"My race?"
"That humans are well accustomed with elven lore," Seruniel said awkwardly.
"Do not be quick with conclusions," the old man said. "Not everything is as it appears to be. For example-"he looked at the forest patch behind him. "What do you see?"
"Trees?" Seruniel answered, glancing unsurely at the man to make sure he hadn't missed something obvious. A peculiar question it was, but this old man was not just a simple human. If he was, he wouldn't sit in front of him, talking about Oromis and the elves.
"That's right. But when you look better," he said, moving his hand in an arc to include the deforested patch. "You will see that everyone attributes them a different purpose. Humans see them as wood, a raw material for their contraptions and houses, and elves consider them a part of the world without which balance cannot be preserved."
Seruniel looked at the trees thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. He definitely is a scholar.
"What's your name, stranger?"
"My name is Tenga, master elf," the man said politely. "A scholar too old for menial journeys."
Seruniel weighed his answer, searching for possible flaws. There were none, but a human that knew Oromis still made him feel uneasy. However, Oromis had his own secrets, and his kindness and compassion for humans was known by everyone. It would be unfair not to let Tenga present one last homage to him, especially when the scroll was a present from the elves, most likely. He wanted to know more, especially the details about how he came to know Oromis, but those eyes, the harsh, lustrous emerald eyes safeguarded his secrets well within their indomitable gaze.
"If you knew Oromis, that means you have been to Ellesmera," Seruniel prodded carefully for information.
"I have seen Ellesmera, but we used to scry each other," said Tenga. "When there is no strength left in your frail legs, even getting up in the morning becomes a tedious obstacle."
He has magic powers! Seruniel thought, struck by this revelation. It all seemed to make sense for him. He had heard that Oromis-elda was still keeping contact with the outside world, and scrying was the most convenient method.
"I can not be the one to deny you the opportunity to bid farewell to Oromis and Glaedr," Seruniel said, moving aside to allow safe passage for Tenga. "However, as a guard, my duty is to escort you."
Tenga's face lightened, a smile stretching across his wrinkled face. "Your kindness is to be commended. I can not extinguish in peace before sharing my knowledge about Oromis so that his memory will rightfully exist in the minds of the next generation."
"Your words are laced with truth and beauty, Tenga," Seruniel said, offering him a steady hand to help him cross the rubble and enter the city.
"You revere your kind, young one," Tenga smiled, walking besides him.
Seruniel led Tenga through the outskirts of the cities, where poverty and filth were omnipresent. Vines clustered on the peeled off walls of the small houses with dirtied windows. With so much filth to block the light, their purpose became obsolete.
Tenga inspected them curiously, and then Seruniel had to explain him why some high voices permeated the air around the houses. He frowned slightly when he heard that humans lay trapped in their own houses, but did not object. Seruniel was impressed by his deterrence when it came to this subject. This lessened his suspicions about him being an agent of the Empire. At his age, he had probably seen death and suffering, or maybe the Empire disgusted him as much as it irritated the other elves. Turning a blind eye to your own kin was no easy feat, but Tenga… there was something odd, almost special, about him.
Surely enough, they encountered more and more elves along the way, most of them unpleased with his presence. Seruniel could only imagine what would have happened to Tenga were it not for him. Most elves looked at him with contempt and disgust, and some of them even unsheathed their swords, wishing nothing more than to expel this stranger out of their midst.
While most of them apologized and bowed their heads to Seruniel as they passed, a sign of acceptance of the stranger, some continued to stare at him with the same revulsion of a predator in front of a helpless prey that dared fighting back.
After their shouts and hateful spirits down died a little, Seruniel explained to Tenga that a gathering was going to take place in the middle of the city where the belongings of the deceased Rider would be present for everyone to see and speeches would honor the memory of him and Glaedr. Tenga nodded and continued to follow Seruniel through the noisy crowd. One would think that funerals were supposed to be blanketed by a veil of silence and somberness, but the young, talkative elves clearly had no idea that questions about who Oromis was and why he was so great had to wait for a better timing.
"They are too talkative," Tenga said, a slight grudge darkening his voice. "They tarnish the memory of Oromis and Glaedr with their very presence."
"They are young," Seruniel tried to explain, evading a passing woman who couldn't stop sobbing. "Most likely, they haven't even seen Oromis."
Tenga said nothing. Eruniel used the silence to solve yet another problem. "We have to talk to Queen Islanzadi. Before I summon her, I expect you to go inside that building," he said, pointing at one of the more respectable dwellings. "It's where she is staying for the time being, but it should be empty."
Tenga nodded and pulled the hood to conceal his face better. Seruniel looked at him warily as he made his way towards the Queen's quarters. By now, the streets were almost empty, and the direction in which Tenga was going distanced him from the central part of Gil'ead. Sighing with relief, Seruniel ran a hand through his hair and headed towards the place where the commemoration attracted a sea of elves.
When he arrived in the center of the city, Seruniel gasped at the multitude of colors. Each elf was wearing a rich but somber garment laced with golden fabrics, the color of Glaedr's sparkling scales. The colors varied from dark to green, but each of them was a deep shade, maintaining an eye catching contrast.
Seruniel's clothing was unfit for the funeral, but his duty was to guard the city, not to attend it. With great difficulty, he practically waded through the sea of elves. Most of them allowed him room. His tattered clothes were a clear sign that he was on guard duty, and the discipline of elves included an urgency of movement when a guard had to report something.
When he finally reached the middle, his eyes settled on the ground covered with golden linen fabric. There were fairths, sculptures depicting both Oromis and Glaedr, and a special section where a multitude of scrolls with the name of its author scribbled on them were piled up. Poems, Seruniel thought. But marveling at the works of art was not a luxury he could afford, and he could almost feel the disapproving glances embedding in his body like tiny spears.
The Queen was stationed somewhere in the middle of the offering, glancing at a much beautiful Fairth with Oromis flying on Glaedr above the lush forest of Ellesmera. It was only now when Seruniel noticed Naegling, the glittering golden blade, but his eyes did not settle on it for long. There were no guards with Islanzadi. With so many elves around, no one would even dare attack her.
As he approached her, he couldn't help but notice her dark blue attire that gave her a majestic appearance. She looked plain, not much different than the other elves. Funerals, above all else, promoted unity between the elves. Here, the ranks did not matter. They were all friends and acquaintances for the deceased one.
"Your majesty," Seruniel said formally, performing the traditional elven greeting. "A matter of great importance requests your presence."
She frowned slightly. "What is it?"
"Well—"he paused, searching for the right words. "An old man named Tenga claims that he knows Oromis, and he even has a scroll about some ballad for the First Rider."
"Solanaar?" she appeared surprised, almost shocked. "Lead me to him. I would like to speak to this man." Seruniel bowed and made his way through the benevolent crowd which created a passage for them.
"And the copy is authentic?" Islanzadi inquired.
"I believe so," Seruniel said unsurely. "It's musty and the writing—"
"Only one copy exists in Ellesmera," the Queen interrupted. "The other one belonged to Oromis, but we never found it. If this Tenga has it, then he truly met Oromis at some point in his life, and somehow gained his trust faster than Eragon did." Her last words were hard and coated with slight envy. Elves took great pride in their artifacts, especially the very old ones, and when someone happened to own them, it triggered an innate dislike for said person.
Tenga did as Seruniel told him. When he and Islanzadi entered the house, Tenga got up from a chair and approached them, bowing his head to Islanzadi and respecting the elven greeting.
"Tenga," she said. "Your arrival surprised me greatly. It's not often that a human succeeds in sneaking into our cities, but I understand that you are not quite a mere human."
"Apologies, Queen Islanzadi, but my arrival has been foreshadowed by this tragic event." He groaned and tried to straighten his hunched back, a crack disturbing the silence. "I knew Oromis, probably better than most elves here." Islanzadi's eyes narrowed, and for a moment Seruniel thought that such words would seal his fate. However, nothing happened.
"It would be an honor and a privilege to share my knowledge about him," he said, coughing a few times to adjust his voice. Then, he reached into his pouch and presented the scroll to Islanzadi, who picked it from his frail hand with a quick move.
"It's only natural that what belonged to him once should return to its owner."
Islanzadi's emerald eyes ran across the scroll for a moment before she folded it and gave it to Seruniel. He knew instinctively that the Queen wanted it to join the rest of the ceremonial objects.
"A friend of Oromis is a friend of mine," she smiled, beckoning Tenga to follow them. Seruniel was quite bewildered at how easily a small object could win the trust of the Queen herself, but finally complied and shut the door behind.
The huge colored circle of elves cracked open to allow them entrance. The Queen moved first, her blue gown fluttering slightly above the ground. Many of the elves threw Tenga incredulous looks, but some were just plain puzzled. The Queen's presence was the only thing that kept them silent. Seruniel knew how the crowd of elves exploded when they entered the city, but now, the situation was totally different.
Islanzadi sat in front of the fairths with Oromis and Glaedr, her back at the platform designed for the ones which were going to hold the commemoratory speech. By facing the crowd of elves, she appeared as a paragon of power, represented by the ones who were going to step on the platform. Islanzadi was the symbol of the Elven People, so it was only natural that the elves would pay her homage. To avoid a possible disorder and chaos regarding the selection of those who wanted to speak, the aspirant was supposed to step forward and say its name. In some cases, the Queen would nominate some exceptional elves, and this time, it was no different.
"Tenga," the queen said on her usual dignified tone. Seruniel watched with surprise as the gnarled man walked onto the platform, which was wooden boards piled on top of another.
"The human in front of you has been a friend of Oromis, and his trust was repaid with a copy of Solanaar, the Ballad of the First Rider. As some of you know, only Oromis had a copy, the other being held in Ellesmera. He has proven that he was worthy of Oromis' and Glaedr's trust, and through his words, he shall prove that he deserves ours."
"Your majesty," Tenga bowed his head, and then looked at the rest of the elves. "Oromis was a great elf, but before all, he was righteous in his choices and resolute when it came to dabble with dark powers." The elves said nothing, but most of them were looking at him curiously. Seruniel too was impatient to hear what the human had to say.
"Before I follow the traditional elven rite and honor his memory, I shall tell you about a people that existed before the proud elves, a people which suffered a tragic extinction that banned most of the information about them. While many disagreed and condemned them for what they did—or particularly, what one did— their influence still lingers in Alagaesia, for before our time, this land was theirs." The Queen frowned slightly, but did not interrupt him.
"They were named the Grey Folk. Some vestiges can be encountered today, and they too will disappear. They will be remembered in scrolls only, but traces of their existence would be long gone. One of the more important cities was Crolis-Vaden, the half buried city. An important mining location once, the city developed near the mountains where it began its expansion process. The labyrinth of tunnels and chambers were split into worshipping chambers and training areas for their spell casters. It is unknown why they preferred the underground for their training, maybe it was because of the seclusion it offered, or the shield provided by the rest of the city in case of an attack." Tenga paused, regaining his breath. Seruniel kept wandering why he didn't share the location of the city, but its existence was barely scrambled in history scrolls. Maybe the city just vanished, conquered by nature.
"Very few of their artifacts were found, yet—" Tenga brushed his robe aside and reached towards his right hip. The sound of metal scratching against a tough surface followed, and a collective gasp of surprise followed, but Tenga lifted a hand for silence, and everyone did as he requested.
"Lorhalarn, Shard of Rising Dusk."
"Wha-What…" one elf stuttered.
"Where did you-"
"My Queen, patience," Tenga demanded and glanced towards Islanzadi, who shifted uncomfortably. The sword was unlike any weapon Seruniel set his eyes upon. Intricate runes and patterns decorated the blade, much too complicated for young, inexperienced eyes. The pommel looked even more peculiar, having the aspect of small, jagged and twisted stalactites masterfully chipped, bearing an obsidian color. When Tenga lowered his arm, the sun gleamed off the blade, forcing Seruniel to squint, his eyes watering because of the powerful reflection of light. It was then when he understood why the runes were hard to see, and the patterns did not look random anymore. The fractured lines which Seruniel previously confused with runes actually represented what appeared to be the outline of some form of mountain, with runes carved inside the beautiful pattern.
Maybe the sword represented a symbol of the city mentioned by Tenga, but the runes embedded on its surface… Seruniel thought, staring at the blade intently. They look crude, but somehow powerful, unlike ours.
"It's truly a marvel of craftsmanship, isn't it?" Tenga smiled, lowering it. "Some claimed that such swords have a strong connection with magic, that they use magic to fuel their hunger and then mingle the energy to unleash their own attack. I never tested it, so…" he trailed off, analyzing the reaction of the crowd. Most of the elves have yet to erase their dumbstruck expressions, and whispers began to reverberate through the crowd. Tenga coughed several times, but the whispers continued. It took the Queen's intervention to silence the shocked elves, and Seruniel could tell that she was very interested in the sword. Maybe Tenga was a fool to present such artifact in front of an elf like her.
"Such a remarkable piece Lorhalarn is. Unfortunately, Oromis was not quite fond of the Grey Folk. He despised them, especially after the most unfortunate fall of their kind. They were known to practice some forbidden magic, which ultimately, was their downfall. But don't let that deceive you!" Tenga suddenly raised his voice, causing most of the elves to wince. "Their other spells were equally dangerous." The whispers grew in intensity. The young ones were losing their patience, and the elders were at hard work berating them verbally or nudging them in the arm.
"But Oromis didn't fear the spells. For him, the wrongness had deeper roots, and he knew that power corrupts even the most resilient of minds. Cold logic deemed such knowledge not worth sharing. Cold logic, however, does not account for the power of free will. It's up to each of us to make use of that knowledge and pursue our goals." He glanced around, his green eyes fixed on everyone. "And even fulfill them."
"Before I go, however," Tenga said, "I will say a few words about Oromis in a language older than the ancient one which the elves speak." No one could hope to comprehend the words that were uttered for a moment before Tenga stopped. Seruniel narrowed his eyes with apprehension and continued to follow Tenga.
A moment of eerie silence followed, the whispers suddenly coming to a stop. Time itself seemed distorted, every elf watching Tenga with a transfixed look. Seruniel knew what this meant. The human made a grave mistake, one of the few which were not lightly suffered by the elves.
Seruniel was beginning to like this human. He was different compared to the others he had seen. He knew it from the very moment he met him. He feared not breaching a ceremony dedicated to the last elven Rider and his scroll gave him certain privilege. However, his knowledge about elves was not quite refined, and he was walking on a very thin thread which would snap after the heralding silence. He almost insulted Oromis, and that was a mistake.
The crowd burst with the force of a volcano, words of disapproval flying while a select few passively glared at the old man. The Queen did her best to soothe the burning spirits, but the young elves which firmly believed that Oromis had no flaws protested and accused the human of lack of coherence and memory.
Tenga bowed to no one in particular—or to everyone, and stepped down carefully. A muffled thump summoned Seruniel's attention. Although it was hardly distinguishable in the sea of whispers and accusations, the distinct sound of something hitting the floor was one Seruniel knew. It was almost like…
Another one followed. Then another. Seruniel had a vague sense of familiarity related to its origins, and the chill crawling across his spine was something he felt before, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was only when the crowd regained its control when Seruniel realized what was happening, and his heart froze.
"Aranel, Lagel!" an elf screamed with a high pitched voice. Chaos broke loose. Elves sauntered towards the edges of the group where the two elves have fallen. Seruniel squinted, trying to see what was going on, but the sheer number of elves obscured his vision. He was about to break through the ranks of the elves and do his duty when a fierce, bellowing roar caused the whole crowd to shudder.
What in the… Seruniel thoughts froze when his eyes met the dark, menacing shape of the black dragon which was circling the city.
"The Dark King!" An elf shouted.
"Galbatorix!" another one followed.
"It's the mad beast Shruikan," the elf standing next to Seruniel bellowed, pushing him aside in his rush to get out. "To arms!"
What followed could only be described as utter chaos. The whole crowd began to disperse, the outer circles being the first. Some of them were too shocked to even move, their eyes staring fearfully at the belongings of Oromis. The King had come to desecrate them. He truly was insane. In all that mess, the Queen tried to keep order and handle some orders referring to the protection of the artifacts.
Seruniel tried to do something, but his limbs refused to cooperate. In his panic, he tried looking for Tenga. It was possible that the old man could become the victim of one of the young elves. Yet he was nowhere to be seen.
A loud, shrilling cry chilled the blood in Seruniel's veins. It came from where the Queen was standing. In a few strides, Seruniel reached the center, but then, he stopped, as if an invisible force held him into place.
"Tenga!" he shouted. The blade in the old man's right hand pierced Islanzadi's chest.
"Her fate shall be yours," he said with hate coated voice, his green eyes sparkling threateningly. "But not this day."
With a speed he did not deem possible, Tenga withdrew the sword and for a brief moment, Seruniel realized that the rune near the tip was glowing with a faint, silvery light.
"It absorbs magical energy when it kills elves," Tenga sneered, as if he noticed the confusion in his horrified stare. The elves surrounding Islanzadi began to chant in the ancient language and some even charged at the old man, preparing to land a fist in the skull of the one who killed the Queen, but like cursed misfortune itself, Tenga performed a circular slash around. In that exact moment, Seruniel and the other elves were knocked back by a powerful gust of wind, sending them crashing on the back.
The elves positioned behind the fallen ones began chanting in the ancient language, erecting wards against sword blows and other spells. Others attempted to knock Tenga down with wind blasts or to hold him in place, but their contorted figures showed that the old man could not be so easily subdued. Shruikan's menacing roars still reverberated through the air filled with tension, but the elves were too shocked by what happened, and ignored them. Instead, their attention was directed at Tenga, who could attempt to kill one of them at any given moment.
Elves, channel your magic, Lord Dathedr said to him and the other elves. We're going to use a series of spells passed down to us through each Lead Rider, some that were used when Du Fyrn Skulblaka ended, and our magic was most potent.
Seruniel was uncertain of what Dathedr was talking about, but it was not a proper moment to question the one that could end the dire situation. Obeying, he opened his mind to him and funneled a part of his magical energy, the process making his limbs shake and frame tremble with weakness.
Through tired eyes, Seruniel glanced at Tenga, who adopted a defensive posture. He was as cautious as the elves were, for an attack could easily expose him to a sudden retaliation from one of their ranks. For a moment, Seruniel's gaze drifted towards the now bloodied dark sword, its lethal blade coated in crimson liquid. The rune near its tip was not glowing anymore. Could it be…
"Islanzadi was crippled by pain and grief once her mate had been vanquished. Her leadership has led your people astray, vigilance and lack of ambition keeping you secluded while the world changed around you. There will come a time when you will realize that nothing is eternal." Tenga's lips stretched into a smile, his green, cold eyes looking at each elf with contempt. Such eyes wanted more than just delivering a speech in the memory of Oromis. They lusted for revenge.
"Look at you!" he said. "Wasting a sliver of the time that is too merciful with your kin to mourn the past while your allies die in their reckless attacks, their lives too short to care for such insignificant things."
The crowd of elves gasped and cried alarmingly. Tenga, displaying the same unnatural speed as before, whirled and slashed two elves, the lifeless bodies falling to the floor with a sickening thump.
"Gratitude for allowing me to claim my inheritance," Tenga said kindly.
Dathedr, do something! A desperate cry resonated in Seruniel's mind, making him flinch. Silence. The other elves prepared to charge, but Tenga pointed at them with his sword.
"When he wakes up, ask him why I so easily distinguished the spell he was going to use. But for now…"
The cobblestones around Tenga imploded into shards of rock, dust slowly rising around him. The elves drew back instinctively as Tenga walked towards the offerings, stone breaking and exploding around him. He was going to do something. Something terrible.
Seruniel tried to withdraw, his weakened body lurching and legs giving in when an elf pushed him from the left. With no means to regain his balance, he fell to the ground. Although terrified, he still turned his head around to look at Tenga. There was a smile on his face. Whatever he came here for was in his grasp.
"Stone storm."
The stone particles left from the crushed cobblestones acquired a circular yet chaotic move, pounding the crowd relentlessly with fine, sharp, and quite dangerous shards that moved at frightening speed controlled by Tenga's magic. The other elves dropped to the ground too, even if their wards deflected the stone chips.
"That's quite impressive elves," Tenga's chilling voice bellowed. "Dathedr, however, decided that offense is the best defense. I'll prove you that he was wrong."
The intensity of the spell increased, and the rocks below Seruniel gave in, shattering at Tenga's command.
"Why, how…" the frightened elf stuttered, crawling away into the middle of the crowd where Tenga's spell was weak and inefficient. The others, however, were not faring well, and by the time Seruniel distanced from the inner circle of elves, cries of pain and agony mixed with the whooshing of stone.
Seruniel shouted and lifted his head from his lower position to watch Tenga, but the old man smiled and vanished from his view, along with the personal effects of Oromis and tribute. Rock shards and dust fell upon the crowd of elves: a harmless layer of filth that just moments before wreaked havoc and pain upon them.
"He…teleported?" An elf stuttered.
The awesomeness in this chapter is second to none. In my opinion, it is the best chapter in my fanfic so far, mostly because it has so much suspense, a lot of action happening at the end and nice dialogues between characters. When I proof-read it, I felt very excited because of how this chapter turned out.
Please, leave a comment if you liked it. There is a lot to talk about, lots of theories waiting to be developed and speculations to spawn.