After speaking with the guild leaders of Del’Oradon and ambassadors from Eldalon, Whill returned to his new chambers on the first floor with the help of his personal guard. There he found Avalyn waiting for him.
“Are you turning in for the night, sire?” she asked.
“I don’t think that I could sleep if I wanted to. The sofa is fine for now.”
Avalyn helped him to the sofa beside the fire and began pouring him a glass of wine.
“I’ll have whiskey instead, please.”
“Yes, sire.” She brought him his drink and stood waiting for further commands.
Whill was tired. His constant pain had kept him from getting more than a few hours of sleep a night. It must have shown on his face, for Avalyn looked upon him with sympathy.
“Is there anything else I can get you, sire?”
“That will be all for now. Thank you.”
No sooner had she left the room than a bright flash of light lit the dim chamber. When Whill looked again, Kellallea was standing before him, glowing like the full moon.
“Hello, my fearless champion,” she said with a purr.
Whill tried not to show his excitement upon seeing her again. She had not appeared to him since before his capture by Zander. “Hello, Kellallea. Have you come to tempt me once more?”
“Still stubborn as ever, I see. Even as a cripple,” said the goddess with a snide grin.
“I won’t be like this for long.”
Kellallea raised an eyebrow to that. “Oh?”
“You know of what I speak. In Zander’s tower, magic returned to me when I needed it.”
Kellallea gave a laugh. “You think that you did that on your own, do you?”
Whill watched her closely, but her luminescent eyes gave nothing away. “I know what you are trying to do…”
“In your despair you prayed to me, and I answered. It was I who sent Avriel after you. It was I who struck Zander through you.”
“You are a liar,” said Whill. “The necromancer said that he had laid wards about the tower that would keep you from interfering.”
“And you believe him, a bringer of death?”
“I believe what my heart tells me.”
“And what does your heart tell you?” she asked with a smug grin.
It was in you all along…
The Watcher’s words echoed in is mind.
“The power lies within me. It always has.”
“Yet, you have not been able to heal yourself,” she noted.
“It is only a matter of time,” said Whill.
“Time that you do not have.”
“Why did you intervene? You say that you answered my prayers, but you would have had to send Avriel after me days before I called to you.”
She floated over to the large fireplace and stared down at the glowing embers. “You are my champion. I do not wish to see you come to harm. It saddens me that you hold me under such suspicion, even now, after saving your life.”
It was true. Had Kellallea not intervened, Whill might likely be dead, or worse, an undead lich. “If you hadn’t taken my knowledge of Orna Catorna, I wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place.”
“You know why I did what I did. Magic is too great a power to leave unchecked. I have offered you my blessing.”
“Yes, if I agree to do your bidding.”
Kellallea sighed. “You prayed to me in desperation when you thought you might die. Now that you are safe, you treat me with scorn once more. Will it take another near-death experience to sway your mood again? Or do you have that much confidence that magic has returned to you?”
“If you had been more forthright with me from the beginning, I might have considered your offer more seriously. I know that you are holding something back. You told Avriel that you could not meddle in the affairs of mortals. What did that mean? And if it is true, why do you interfere when it comes to me, yet you allow the elders to die? Why am I so important to you?”
She turned away from him, and Whill thought that she meant to leave. “You are unique, Whillhelm Warcrown,” she said, almost reluctantly.
“Why? Why am I unique? Because I am a human who can wield magic? My entire line has that gift, given to us by the queen of the elves five hundred years ago.”
“None in your line have ever exhibited power before being taught.”
Whill considered this. It had come as a shock to Abram when he healed Tarren on the boat, and the man had said the same thing as Kellallea. The elves had also spoken of how strange it was that Whill possessed the ability to use magic without being taught.
That was it, Whill realized. That was the secret.
“Where does my power come from?” he asked Kellallea.
She stared at him pensively, and he felt as though he were on the cusp of discovery. She saw it in his eyes and narrowed hers—debating. Finally, she seemed to have come to a decision. Kellallea walked to him and held out her hand, waiting.
“What are you doing?” Whill asked.
“Giving you the answers that you seek.”
He watched her cautiously and considered her outstretched hand. Slowly he reached out and took it.
The world melted around them, and all went black. Just as suddenly, a strange scene unfolded before Whill’s eyes. He was standing on a hilltop overlooking a smoldering battlefield. Tens of thousands of humans, elves, dwarves, and dragons fought against each other and themselves. Magic streaked across the smoke-laden sky, blocking out the dying sun and wreaking havoc on both sides. Men, elves, and dwarves died by the hundreds, and still the battle raged.
“Where are we?” Whill asked.
“Just as appropriate a question would be
when
,” she said. “This is Drindellia many thousands of years ago.”
“But the humans…they’re wielding magic.”
“Yes, and the dwarves control much more than stone. The dragons breathe more than fire. This is the final battle. This is where the first Taking took place.”
The scene faded and was replaced by one of the wide open sea. They stood on a hill as before, but rather than a battle below, there were dozens upon dozens of sailing vessels. Figures moved about the docks, loading various items onto the ships.
“Those are humans,” said Whill. “But where are they going?”
“To Agora,” said Kellallea. “If we wait long enough, we will see many of the dwarves leave as well. I took from them all knowledge of what happened here. That is why there is no mention of Drindellia in human history, or dwarven for that matter.”
“Wait,” said Whill. “How is it that humans and dwarves used such magic at the battle we witnessed?”
“That is a long story indeed. But I will tell you what you need to know to understand. At the dawn of time, the gods created all things. They created the heaven and earth, oceans and land. They created fish to swim in the oceans and beasts to run free on land. Looking upon what they had created, they saw that it was good, yet their hearts yearned to create beings in their own image. Four gods there were at that time, and they set themselves to the task.” Kellallea regarded him, as though waiting for him to understand.
“And they created men, elves, dwarves, and dragons.”
“Indeed,” she said. “They created the four sentient races and sent them to live together in Drindellia. But you see, the god of the dragons had made them too large and powerful. Their nature was like that of his, violent and full of fire. To counter the power of the dragons, the other gods bestowed powers upon their creations, hoping to balance the scales. To the elves their god gave Orna Catorna and the blessing of long life. The dwarves were given incredible strength, not only of body, but of mind, as well as an ability to move objects with their minds. Their god made them long-lived as well. Seeing all of this, and to the surprise of the other gods, the god of man made them short-lived, so that they might strive to accomplish great things in the time they had. Also, realizing the great peril that the humans would soon find themselves in, your god gave to humans the ability to mimic the powers of the other races. The power would lie dormant, however, until such time as humans came in contact with the other abilities. This way, the god of man hoped to keep the peace. His humans would remain without magic, happy to go about their days in peace. And for a time they did.”
“Until they were attacked by one of the other races,” Whill guessed.
“Yes,” said Kellallea. “The dragons started it. Thinking to test the hidden power of the humans, they attacked a city. Thousands perished, and it seemed as though the humans had not the power that had been foretold. Until one day revenge came swiftly and without warning. Many of the humans of the city had gained the ability to change into dragons. They attacked the closest lair and killed every dragon within.
“This small affair is only the beginning. For the dragons had tested the power of the humans, and they had been satisfied. And for many centuries there was peace. The elves practiced and refined their arts, the dwarves burrowed deep into their mountains, and the humans went on. The stories of the dragon people slipped from history into legend.
“But then the humans began to spread. It seemed that their short lives indeed spurred them to want to accomplish great things. Their empires and kingdoms spread far across the land, until they began to encroach on the territories of the other races. The elves, dwarves, and dragons fought to push them back. But from every conflict arose a group of humans with the ability to mimic all other power. It was a disaster. Without the wisdom of the long-lived, the humans were like children playing with fire. At this time the dwarves and dragons were warring continuously. We elves had split into different factions, and shamefully we fought against ourselves. The humans, however, fought with everyone. Once they got a taste of magic, they became insatiable. In the end they proved the most dangerous of all, for their numbers were great, and the most powerful of them had no regard for life.
“The warring escalated for many centuries into the battle that you witnessed earlier.”
“And that is where you stripped all magic from the four races, not just the elves,” said Whill.
“You are correct. I had lost much to the wars, and I began to see magic not as a gift, but a curse. A curse on all the races. I took it all and left them with no knowledge of it.”
“And then you became a tree,” said Whill, remembering his elven lore.
“Yes, to live out the eons keeping watch over the elves. And for many millennia we lived in peace.”
The scenery blurred and melted like watercolors, shifting and spinning and coming back together to form a grand city of wood, stone, and crystal with great stretching spires and monolithic pyramids. The rivers of the land flowed deep and clear, the fields were full of flowers, wheat, and corn. The elves lived in harmony with the land and with each other.
Kellallea waved her hand, and she and Whill were suddenly standing before a gargantuan tree. So thick was it that its roots could have drained a lake. Branches stretched high and far. The top flirted with the clouds above, wearing a mountain’s crown of white.
Realizing that he was looking at Kellallea as she had once existed, he was humbled and awestruck.
Kellallea moved them closer to the base of the tree, which reminded Whill of a towering wall. An elf approached and touched the old weathered bark. He then began to chant.
“Is that…Mallekell?” Whill asked.
“Yes.”
“This is when he discovered Orna Catorna on his own. He came to you to beg for your guidance…and you allowed him to proceed.”
Kellallea bowed her head. In all her great beauty, Whill could see weariness.
“Yes,” she said. “I allowed the rebirth of Orna Catorna. I thought that perhaps the elves had changed. But they had not. For once again magic nearly destroyed my people, and yours as well.”
“And just like the elf Mallekell, the dwarf Ky’Dren rediscovered the power of old on his own,” said Whill. “The gods gave back the blessing that you took.”
“Yes. And then came you. A human with the ability to mimic all other magic.”
A chill ran down Whill’s spine. “You’ve been preventing me from doing it all along. You never
took
anything, did you? Zander was telling the truth. He laid wards about the tower to keep your influence out, which is why I was able to hit him with a blast of power. I was free from your intrusion. It wasn’t until I did it instinctively that I was able to do it at all.”
Whill’s mind was racing. All of the pieces were beginning to click into place.
“You tried to take magic from the races for their own good. But the gods found a way. They blessed their people anew. First Mallekell, then Ky’Dren, then me…and now the dragon that stirs in Drakkar. But why were you not able to take the powers from the other races this time? Why have the dwarves retained their power, or the necromancers for that matter?”
“When you gave to me the blade of power given, I used that power to strip magic away from the elves. I stole their power, and in doing so ascended to the heavens. And in becoming a goddess I became beholden to their rules—for none can take the power of another god’s creation.