Airel: The Discovering (Airel Saga Book Two)

Chapter X

The City of Ke’elei—1250 B.C.

HOURS HAD PASSED IN parliamentary debates, discussion, and testimony. Kreios was not born for bureaucratic procedure. He was beginning to desire either sleep or battle, so his patience therefore ran quickly dry. Enough waiting; I know what is required, he thought, and stood, saying, “It is time to act.”

No one acknowledged him; the council had degraded into a lower form of chaos as the elders chatted in their enclaves, oblivious, concerned not with the problem but with the minutiae.

Kreios cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “It is time to act, I say.” The council circle quieted down as his presence was slowly acknowledged. “What I ask for is this: the Army of Ke’elei. Assist me in eradicating the Seer’s horde from the face of the earth. If we do not attack, they will find this city, and all will be lost. Word of it will spread like a plague throughout the land. We must act quickly to destroy before we are destroyed.” Kreios looked at the frowning faces and continued.

“They are less than a day’s flight away. If we move with haste, we can attack them before the next sunset. I believe El has placed the key to victory within our hand already. With the aid of the Shadowers, we can attack them from the air without their foreknowledge.” Kreios felt the tide begin to subtly turn as he spoke. His face radiated with the power that the Sword had already demonstrated. He felt he could defeat the horde by himself, if it came to that. He was becoming one with the Sword, and the Sword one with him.

Anael shook his head, his white beard wagging with disapproval. “If we give you the Army, the city will be defenseless. What will happen if they send a second wave to take the city as soon as you are gone? I cannot allow our women and children to be sacrificed in order for you to embark on a battle that may leave all of your warriors dead, and therefore all of us, as well.”

Kreios tried to keep his voice even, but it shook slightly in spite of his effort. “I believe that the Sword of Light will protect us from the drain of power in battle—”

“You believe, but have no proof. What happens if the battle lasts for days? What if, over time, you lose all of your power? The Shadowers will not be able to protect you as you return to the city and lead the entire horde to our gates. Then, not only will you and the entire army be weak and dying, but also the city will stand at the mouth of its own grave.”

Kreios could feel his temper rise, but resisted. “Understand, they will be at our gates on the morrow no matter what we choose to do today. I do not know how, but the Seer is able to see past our defenses. How he does it is not the point. The enemy would not expect us to leave a fortified city in favor of open battle in the wilderness. If we attack swiftly, he will not see it coming.” Kreios stopped, looking at Anael, gauging his reactions. He was still stone-faced.

Kreios slumped his shoulders slightly in acknowledgment. “We have to try. I can leave half the Army here to defend the city in case we fail, but we must try. Our lives are all at stake.”

Anael muttered, conferring with the other elders in a hushed tone, occasionally stealing a glance toward Kreios and the Sword that hung at his side.

Kreios had no evidence that his plan was sound. He simply knew what was true and what was not. He knew he would protect his daughter at any cost. If that meant meeting the Seer in battle on his own, he would do it.

“We will have to hold further council over this matter,” Anael stated matter-of-factly. “It is a difficult thing to judge. The Sword is back in our hands now, and I have a hard time with the idea of risking it in open battle. It might be taken away again.”

Kreios flinched in fury. “Why is a sword forged, O Great Anael? Why are shields made? For what purpose does a man bend a bow and craft arrows? Why does he train his hands to battle? Is it to hide these things in obscurity when they are most needed? Would you, in fact, have us run from the risk of battle when the possibility of victory is at hand, if we would but reach out to grasp it? I lost the Sword once. Once. That will not happen again, Anael. I am the keeper of the Sword, and the rightful use of it is mine alone. If I must, I will fight the horde single-handedly. But you would open up the gates of the City of Refuge for the enemy to trample our very graves and defile them, while trying desperately to keep safe that which is not even your responsibility. Do you stand with me, or no?”

Anael smirked and turned aside dismissively in his seat. “Kreios, you speak as a fool. You are indeed the keeper, but the Sword belongs to us all. Even you must see that. If you lose it or are killed, we will be lost and our city will have no chance of defense. The enemy army will be here, as you say, in a day or two. Why attack them when we can prepare our own city and hold it when they come? After all, what is the purpose of the City’s great walls?”

“You are blinded by your own fear.” Kreios despised the weak of heart. “If we fight them away from the City, we have a chance of keeping it secret. If they find it—where do you propose to rebuild? We will then be locked in perpetual war. Do you not remember why we live in hiding? Our last refuge will be under attack until everything about it has been snuffed into legend—including any of us unfortunate enough to be caught here. And then where will we go? We will be outcasts, vagabonds, sojourners. We have no other home.”

Kreios saw that this got through.

Anael looked at each member of the council with growing concern. Some, he could see, were swayed, and he felt his grip on them slipping. He spoke, finality dripping from his voice. “We will prepare the City for war. I will give you a third of the army and enough Shadowers to hide you and your men. If you fail, we will defend the City with the rest of the army and pray for El’s mercy.” He stood, declaring that the council was done discussing this matter. Everyone stood and bowed. The council left the circle without a word.

Kreios stood, not as stunned as he probably should have been. He’s given us just enough to ensure our failure. He watched as the council departed.

The old oak, a hole torn in its canopy, symbolized the emptiness Kreios now felt. It fluttered majestically, moving regally with the breeze.

Zedkiel and Yamanu approached Kreios. Yamanu clapped him on the shoulder, grinning broadly. “When do we start?”

Zedkiel and Kreios were gazing thoughtfully at the hole in the tree’s branches overhead. “A third is not enough,” said Zedkiel, “but it is better than the three of us against the horde.” He was trying to be cheery.

Yamanu scoffed jokingly at them. “You two look like you’re on your way to eternal death. Do you not remember who you are?” His voice bubbled with joy. “Do I need to remind you? You are the Sons of God…”

Kreios and Zedkiel looked at him, and smiles began to break over their dark countenances.

“I will gather the best of my kind,” Yamanu said with a dark look on his face. “The old bat has much to fear. A third, two-thirds—it matters not. Numbers are like gold to El. What we need will be provided for us.”

Kreios smiled at them both and said, “Muster the warriors. We depart soon. It is time now to teach this Seer to see fear in spirit and in truth.”