Witch King

Chapter 1-3

Glittering dark brown eyes were the first thing he saw at dawn on the third day. Solna was wedged deep into his infirmary chair that he’d kept close to the elf’s bedside and he lurched back when he noticed the stare, instinctually trying to move into a defensive stance. The chair almost buckled under the sudden movement.

Solna jumped to his feet when he finally remembered where he was, and took in his guest. The long black hair tucked behind slender, pointed ears was still matted, though they had washed it, and the elf’s now clean skin was pale but not deathly so, where it showed above the coverlet. Life shone radiant in the elf’s eyes and Solna’s shoulders finally relaxed. It was one thing for Ke to tell him that the Archmage would live, but a whole other matter to confirm it for himself.

His thoughts started to cascade and tumble together, and he didn’t know where to begin. There was so much that he wanted to talk to the Archmage about, so much to do. And the elf only stared up at him, drawing back without moving a muscle.

All of a sudden, Solna felt like an ass. A bedridden enemy would doubtless feel trapped in his presence and looming like he was did not help. He slowed down his every move as he pulled the chair close to the bed once more and sat; straight and easy, trying to project a calm he didn’t precisely feel. The potential from this meeting could change the fates of so many lives.

But he still had no idea where to start. The Archmage took that decision from him.

“Why did you not kill me when you found me?” the elf asked. The sharp angles of his face revealed nothing, nor did the crisp, high tenor of his rather lovely voice. Solna had heard that all mages had exceptional voices; Ke certainly did, but never one quite like this. Maybe it was the elven blood that heightened the trait? That was a thought for another time.

“I don’t kill anyone who poses no threat,” Solna answered, gentle and firm. “Certainly not an injured warrior without a weapon.”

“Who are you?” His voice still gave nothing away and, while a bit disconcerted with the flatness of it, Solna was encouraged. This was far better than hostility.

He couldn’t help but straighten up completely. “I am Solna Nalion, King of Sumentan. You are in my home.”

“I see.” Those warm eyes, dark as the good loam of a deep forest, darted over Solna’s features like the elf was cataloging, memorizing, searching for a c***k in his armor. Finally, the elf went back to openly stare at him, expression like a placid lake. “And why have you brought me here, instead of a prison sickbed?”

“As an Archmage, you are of sufficient rank to negotiate an armistice with,” Solna decided on. “Since Osairan Kings never set foot on the battlefield, of course.” The slight popped out of his mouth without thought, but it was true nonetheless.

The elf’s plush lips twitched into a smug little grin. “No?”

“I haven’t seen an Osairan King enter the field with his forces. Only an Archmage.” Solna was sure of it. An elven King would be impossible to miss, as ostentatious as elves were.

The damnable grin on the elf’s face widened. “You have no spies in Tanchar, do you?”

Solna grimaced. “You know we don’t. King Tylele always has a spy waylaid before they can even reach the Court and any travelers that have had the chance to see the Court say that it is run by an Archmage named Vius.”

Dark eyes sparkled, and that grin turned into a smile. “Would you be surprised to learn that an Archmage and a King are one and the same?”

“Pardon?”

The elf started to chuckle, an enchanting sound that Solna would have been happy to hear if he wasn’t so damned sure he was being laughed at. “I am King Vius Tylele, at your service.”