The Exiled King

Nicon’s heart jolted for a moment before he relaxed.

In all the chaos, I guess I must have forgotten to tell them, He thought ruefully.

Still, the guard’s words were instilling an uneasy unrest in the civilian crowds below and Nicon glared at the guard, hissing, “Shut up! Lower your voice!”

The guard shut his mouth with an audible clop and instead conveyed his feelings through his wide and fearful eyes.

Out loud he turned to address the townspeople and said, “There is no cause for concern! Please continue to enjoy the festival.”

He gestured for Dethemina to follow him and excused himself from the festival, giving a small nod to the other queens before leaving.

Away from the square, the streets were dim and silent. Not a soul wandered the streets on festival day—all enjoyed the festival for all it was worth. It was here, under the flickering light of a street lamp, that Nicon told Dethemina the news.

“The travellers have awoken,” He said, “I’ll bring you to see them.”

Dethemina nodded, her expression unreadable, and the two made their way to the outer wall of the city, where the barracks lay. It was within the barracks that the bodies had been laid. They entered the barracks, Dethemina pausing only for a moment to steady her racing heart.

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Haverik felt… numb. Which was not a feeling he thought death would feel like. His ears felt muffled and buzzed incessantly. There was a dull metallic tang in his mouth and his eyes felt heavy and impossible to open. As he lay, trying to get his senses back, he briefly noticed the feeling of soft sheets beneath him.

What felt like an eternity later, he was finally able to move his fingers and his eyelids fluttered.

What greeted his eyes when they opened was a wooden beam ceiling. He slowly sat up and surveyed his surroundings as a scream pierced the silence. He saw an elf, dressed in a plain leather tunic, let out a shrill shriek and wildly wave a sword at Haverik.

Haverik tried to calm the elf, but all his throat could produce was a parched cough that only served to scare the elf more. The elf ran outside, screaming bloody murder and Haverik sighed, his head throbbing.

What’s gotten into that elf? He wondered, Do I have something on my face?

Movement by the door caused his eyes to snap up and eye the newcomers.

The first was a male, with short-cropped black hair that glistened a strange blue-ish sheen in the torchlight, who was dressed in splendid black robes with gold trimmings. A circlet graced his forehead, embedded with a gem of the deepest onyx. Beside him stood a female with long white hair and sad golden eyes.

The woman looks familiar, He thought, then realised, She looks just like Eryna!

They approached him and the male spoke.

“Ryis erv aum telo, Taryn?”

How do you feel, Taryn?

Haverik had often studied the ancient language at home and immediately understood the words the elf spoke, but could not articulate a reply.

In the end he muttered one word, “Aesin.”

Water.

The female nodded and disappeared in a flash of cold blue light before returning a moment later with a beaker of water, which she gently handed to him.

Haverik drank the cool water with relish and smiled in thanks.

She stared at him, conflicted, and asked, “Erv aum pol yun au reis? Erv aum yun ai ovaal lenga?”

Do you know who I am? Do you know the old language?

He shook his head, wondering how to explain…

“Kro jyrsin… kron… sima…”

Can understand… can’t… speak…

The elves nodded, ignoring his horrendous pronunciation and intonation, and said something he could not catch, then a sound brought his attention to the other beds in the room. On one of them, he could see Eryna sitting up, muttering a string of curses under her breath, as she rubbed her eyes. Her braid had come undone and her white hair was a tangled mess down her back.

The female elf made her way to Eryna and hugged her.

Haverik wondered, Is she Eryna’s mother, perhaps? They seem close…

Out loud he said, “Eryna! Can you speak the ancient language?”

She looked over at him and her eyes widened.

“That hair! Are you… Haverik?” She muttered, her eyes glued to his hair.

There’s nothing unusual about my hair, right? Haverik thought, grabbing a couple of strands and lifting them up to see. They sparkled silvery-white in the torchlight, and he cursed.

Of course, He realised, Eryna only saw me with that horrible dyed muck.

Eryna turned and exchanged a couple of words rapidly with the elf beside her and finished by introducing her to Haverik.

“Haverik, meet my aunt Dethemina,” She said and pointed to the elf.

In the ancient language she repeated the introduction to Dethemina, who repeated his name several times under her breath, having trouble pronouncing it.

At last she looked up and said, “Taryn.”

It was not a word Haverik understood from the ancient language.

A name, maybe?

Looking at Eryna, Haverik spoke.

“Hey, can you tell her it's fine to call me ‘Taryn’ if she wants? I don’t think she can pronounce my name,” He added with a grin.

Eryna relayed his message and Dethemina smiled, then said, “Taryn, feium aum eiti nuom auman? Re aumaen au feium teia aum um liun.”

Taryn, would you come with me? There is someone I would like you to meet.

He nodded. She looked like someone who could give him answers to his questions.

Haverik stood up and she grabbed his hand and the world around him erupted.

The feeling of falling… his stomach twisted into knots… the world felt stretched and condensed all in one but before he could blink he stood in a completely different location. He dropped to his knees, dry-heaving as the ground tilted and swirled.

He dimly registered the sound of footsteps approaching. Looking up, Haverik saw a young elven boy. He had the similar stark white hair and had pure golden eyes like those of Dethemina’s.

“Omadr! Yun re? Yoen hae aum jeim auman kaem?”

Mother! Who is this? Why have you brought me here?

Haverik stood up and properly appraised the boy. He looked no older than ten or eleven, but elves aged slowly so looks were deceiving. The boy wore a smart grey tunic and pale blue overcoat and he wore shorts paired with long white socks and shoes with a single buckle at the front.

“Aranel, re auma brotr, Taryn,” Dethemina said, gesturing to Haverik.

Aranel, this is your brother, Taryn.

Haverik’s jaw dropped. He’d often wondered who his elven mother was, but it was an idle curiosity and no more. He despised his elven mother for abandoning him, although he loved his human parents, flaws and all.

Haverik watched as Aranel’s face morphed from confusion to fury.

“Ot! Au fei otojo cae! Au otojo brotr, yae ai vaeum rahnunset!” He shouted, then stormed off.

No! I will never accept this! I never wanted a brother, only the Winter throne!

A pang shot through Haverik’s heart as he heard Aranel’s cry. He’d always wanted a brother, but clearly Aranel did not share the sentiment. A myriad of emotions he could not place swirled around within him, threatening to burst to the surface.

“Tar-” Dethemina fixed her sad eyes on him.

White hot anger rushed through him and his temper flared. It all dawned on him suddenly. ‘Taryn’ was the name she had chosen for him, without consideration for his thoughts on the matter.

“Do not call me by that name! I. Am. Not. Taryn! My name is Haverik, mother!” He yelled, without caring that she could not understand him, “A name I wear with pride. A name given to me by my true parents!”

“You’re no mother of mine,” He finished.

A tense silence hung in the air after his outburst, and he looked away, avoiding her hurt-filled eyes.