Demonkin (15 page)

“It must be held in some file in here,” frowned the prince.

“How did you know of their abilities?” pressed Morro.

“I know the women,” answered the prince. “They all live in the Heart. I grew up in their presence. It was the only thing I could think of to tie them together.”

“It is too much of a coincidence that all of them were descended from royalty,” declared Morro, “but I cannot fathom what it means.”

“Are you sure that we have found the key?” asked the prince.

“Positive.” Morro nodded. “Out of thousands of elven women K’san did not just happen to choose five out of the possible dozen that can trace their ancestry back directly to our founding prince. He was looking for females with royal blood.”

“Then let us seal the archives,” stated the prince. “We will present this information to the king when he next awakens.”

The two elves put the scrolls away and exited the room. They closed the door and retreated from Legaulle’s home. Within minutes, they stood outside the prince’s chamber where the king now resided. Prince Saratoma knocked lightly on the door, and a healer promptly opened it.

“Is the king awake?” asked the prince.

“He is awake,” frowned the healer, “but it is best not to disturb him.”

“It is important,” replied the prince as he eased his way past the healer.

Morro followed, and the healer’s brow creased deeply. King Elengal groaned as he turned his head to see who had entered the room.

“You are causing him great pain,” protested the healer. “Any movement at all is painful for him. Please leave.”

Prince Saratoma ignored the healer. He walked over to the bed. He stared down at his grandfather’s half-naked body and cringed at what he saw. Elengal’s skin was like charcoal from the waist up. It was black and split open in numerous places. The inside of his arms were also severely burnt, but the outsides appeared normal. The scorching ended at the king’s neck, saving his face from disfigurement.

“Do not speak or move if it causes you discomfort,” the prince said softly and compassionately. “Morro and I have come to give you information. I will be brief.”

The king looked deeply into the prince’s eyes and knew that something important needed to be said. Without turning his head any further, he croaked out a command to the healer.

“Leave us for a moment, healer.”

The woman sighed in exasperation, but she followed the command of the king. She retreated from the room and closed the door.

“Morro and I have just come from the archives,” the prince said softly. “Do not berate us. We know that we have broken the law, but we needed to discover why those particular women were taken. I will take full responsibility for our actions. Morro believes that they were chosen for their royal blood, but we do not know why. Do you have any thoughts that we might pursue?”

The prince felt awful putting the king through such misery, but he felt a duty to inform the king. He also had faith in the king’s ability to understand the Federation far better than he did. For a long time, the king said nothing.

“K’san was not authorized to come here,” the king finally said. “I am fairly certain of that. That means to me that the priest was not doing the bidding of the emperor. He was serving a different master.”

“Demonkin,” hissed Morro. “The demons are no longer content with just any elven women. For some reason they have demanded royal blood.”

The king tried to nod his head and groaned in pain for the effort. “This is important,” he croaked. “The Alceans must be warned.”

“What can they do?” frowned the prince.

“Perhaps nothing,” answered King Elengal, “but they are the only allies we have. They have the ability to move within the Federation while we do not. They must find our women and kill them.”

“Kill them?” balked the prince. “How can you say such a thing?”

“It must be done, Saratoma,” pleaded the king. “They will die anyway. The demons must not be allowed to create demonkin from royal blood. No good will come of it.”

The king’s last sentence was spoken in great pain, and the door flew open. The healer came storming into the room with Eulena on her heels.

“I will not stand for this, Prince Saratoma,” stated Eulena. “Be you king or prince, it makes no matter to me. I am the healer in charge, and you will leave my patients alone. Get out.”

Prince Saratoma opened his mouth to object, but the king spoke once again.

“Leave me, grandson. You have my leave to handle what must be done. I must rest.”

Prince Saratoma nodded sadly. He leaned over his grandfather and kissed his forehead before retreating from the room. Morro followed him closely while the two healers fussed over the king. A moment later, the original healer left the room, leaving Eulena alone with the king. Eulena placed her hands on the king’s head and the king’s eyes closed. In moments he was sleeping peacefully.

“You are very gentle with him,” a voice said softly from the dark corner of the room.

Eulena whirled towards the sound of the voice. “Whoever you are,” she scowled, “you had best be heading for the door before I reach your corner.”

Before she could move around the bed, the man walked into the light shining through the window. The healer stared at him with confusion for he was not an elf.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“You may call me Fakir Aziz,” said the old man. “I have come to call you to service.”

“To service?” balked the healer. “There will be a call all right, but it will not be you making it.” She strode to the door and reached to open it. As hard as she tried to move, her arm would not cooperate.

“I would prefer to speak with you in private,” Fakir said softly. “Are you so afraid of me that you must summon the guards before we speak?”

“I am not afraid of you,” scowled Eulena, “but I will not have you in this room with the king. Release your spell, warlock.”

Fakir Aziz walked to the bed and stared down at the king. “You have done exceedingly well in keeping him alive. Your powers are impressive. Most healers would have given him up for dead. May I?”

Eulena looked at the old man queerly. She suddenly realized that the man’s spell was no longer affecting her, but she did not try to open the door. She turned and walked towards the bed opposite Fakir Aziz.

“Are you a healer?”

“I have been known to heal a few times. May I try?”

Eulena hesitated. The king was under her care, and the old man might mean well, but if the king died, she would never forgive herself. Still, Elengal did not have much of a future if skills better than hers could not be found. She sighed nervously and nodded her head.

Fakir Aziz placed his hands on the king’s chest. The only thing noticeable at first was a golden glow that emanated from Fakir’s hands. As the glow spread outward, the splits in the king’s skin began to close. Eulena watched with fascination as the outer edges of the scorching began to fade from dark black to gray. The burns on the arms were the first to disappear and then those on the neck. The charcoal area on the king’s torso retreated toward the center until only the chest was scarred. Fakir Aziz removed his hands and exhaled deeply.

“That is the best I can do,” he said softly. “The king will still bear the scar where the fireball impacted him, but he will be able to function once again.”

“That is miraculous,” exclaimed Eulena. “How did you do that? Who are you?”

“You may call me…”

“I know,” sighed Eulena. “Fakir Aziz. Yet we both know that the name means nothing. You act as if I should know you and that troubles me greatly.”

“Why?” asked Fakir.

“Because it means I must follow you,” replied Eulena, “but I cannot.”

“Cannot?” echoed the Mage.

“Will not,” clarified the healer.

“You would deny my call?” asked the Mage.

“My people need me,” answered Eulena. “Now more than ever. I was given my gift to serve my people, and I cannot walk away from that obligation. Our historian lies near death in the king’s quarters, and there will soon be much bloodshed among my people. You cannot expect me to walk away from those in need.”

“There are other needs more pressing,” declared the Mage. “I would not call you if you were not needed.”

“There must be others who can answer the call,” pleaded Eulena.

“There are,” conceded the Mage. “Some have already answered the call. They wait for me outside the Heart.”

“Can no one take my place?” asked Eulena.

“Is that what you truly want?” questioned the Mage. “Would you wish another to take up your banner?”

“Is that so bad a thing to wish for?”

“That depends,” shrugged Fakir. “Perhaps Liliana might suffice, although her skills are not yet ripe. Is that how you wish it to be?”

The mention of her daughter’s name worried Eulena. She was not sure why, but she felt a trap had been laid in her path. “Does your need involve great danger?”

“Perhaps,” shrugged the Mage. “To be truthful, I cannot guarantee that any of those who help me will survive the challenge. Great skill is needed because we will be battling great foes.”

“I suspected as much,” sighed Eulena. “You leave me poor choices, Fakir Aziz.”

“I offer only what I can,” replied the Mage.

“I am obliged to help you,” Eulena declared, “but I seek a bargain.”

“Speak.”

“I ask three things in return for my life,” stated Eulena. “If you will grant them, I follow you without concern for my own welfare.”

“And if I will not grant them?” questioned the Mage.

Eulena sighed and lowered her eyes to the floor. “As you already know, I will follow you anyway.”

“What are these three things?” asked the Mage.

“Heal Legaulle,” answered Eulena. “Ripen the skills of my daughter so that she might take my place when war comes to my people, and help us free the elven children from the reeducation centers.”

“You seek a tremendous bargain,” frowned the Mage.

“I am giving you my life,” retorted Eulena. “Were I able to accomplish those three items on my own, I would die a happy woman. Is that too much to ask?”

“You have been a faithful servant,” stated the Mage. “Send for your daughter. While we wait for her arrival, I will look at Legaulle.”

Eulena brightened. “And the reeducation centers?”

“I will dwell upon it,” answered the Mage. “There is a matter of timing to be considered. I cannot deviate from my task when the time comes.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Eulena. “I will take you to Legaulle first. My daughter is not in the Heart. It will take her some time to get here.”

Eulena walked to the door and opened it. Fakir Aziz followed her. As they stepped into the hallway, shouts of surprise erupted from the elves when they saw the old human man. Eulena waved dismissively at the elves and led the Mage to the king’s chambers. When they entered the room, the young healer tending the historian jumped to her feet. Eulena dismissed her from the room and closed the door. Fakir Aziz walked to the bed and examined the historian. Before Fakir Aziz could start the healing process, the door flew open and two male elves raced into the room.

“Who is the human?” Prince Saratoma demanded to know.

Fakir Aziz looked up at the two men and Morro gasped.

“Fakir Aziz?” he asked with disbelief. “What are you doing here? Get away from my father.”

The Mage looked at the doorway and saw other elves peering into the room. “Go to your grandfather, Prince Saratoma. You will find him better company than he was a while ago. And close this door behind you.”

“Wait!” shouted Morro. “Who are you to order around an elven prince?”

Eulena closed the door and then stood in between the two male elves and the Mage. “Did both of you pray for healing for your relatives?”

Morro and Saratoma nodded, but their faces were clouded with confusion.

“Your prayers are being answered through Fakir Aziz,” Eulena declared. “Prince Saratoma, go to your grandfather. Morro, you may stay if you remain quiet. If not, I will have you removed.”

Prince Saratoma turned and quickly left the room, Eulena’s words bringing hope to his heart. Fakir mentally dismissed the elves as he turned his attention to the historian. He placed his hands on Legaulle’s chest, and the golden glow appeared once more. The cuts and abrasions on Legaulle’s body had already been healed, so there was little for the observers to see. The real damage to the historian was internal, and the Mage’s golden glow soon encompassed all of Legaulle’s body. Eulena and Morro watched in silence. As the minutes dragged on, Morro began to fidget. Eulena glared at the elven thief, and Morro sat down in a chair. After half an hour had passed, the golden glow winked out of existence.

“Were you able to help him?” Eulena asked worriedly.

“He will be fine,” smiled the Mage. “His body still needs rest, but he will wake up soon. Go and summon your daughter. Morro and I will remain here.”

Eulena nodded and left the room. Fakir Aziz glanced at the elven thief and smiled.

“Who are you?” Morro asked softly. “I do not believe in coincidences. What did Eulena mean about you being the answer to prayer?”

“I guess you could say that I am a healer,” offered the Mage. “As to who I am, Fakir Aziz will suffice. Know this, Morro. I am not your enemy.”

“Then why hide your identity?” frowned the thief.

“There is no name that I could use that would satisfy your curiosity. You may not know me, but I do know you. Your goal of freeing the elven children is an admirable one, but it may take more than your gift of speed.”

“You know about my gift?” Morro asked with a raised eyebrow.

Fakir smiled in a fatherly fashion and reached inside his tunic. His hand came out in a closed fist, and he held it towards Morro before opening it. In the palm of his hand was a tiny hourglass.

“Take it,” urged the Mage. “You will have need of it.”

Morro picked up the hourglass and held it up to his eyes. It was exquisitely carved, and the sands inside it were the finest the elf had ever seen. He was about to thank Fakir Aziz and question him about the gift when Legaulle moaned and sat up. Morro shoved the hourglass into his pouch and raced to the bed.