Chapter Thirty - The Bittersweet

“You will fail, Valerahyme. Why even bother, when you know that it is pointless, that it is fruitless? It is but a waste of your time and energy. I am the most powerful Varnhyme alive.”
“There are but two of us, Varderahyme. Consider it not an accomplishment, for you are but older, with more experience. You may hold more power now, but you are also old. I am in the prime of my years, in the flower of my youth. Do you really think that you can beat me, Varderahyme?”
“I do not think, my young Valerahyme, I only know.”
“Yet the future is but a possible one. The choices we make effect our future. Unless you think that you are beyond that, you are above that, you are more worthy then that.”
“You sound as though you would not expect it of me, Valerahyme. Naturally I am. I am above it, I am beyond it, and I am most definitely more worthy than it. I am I, the lord of the Varnhyme. All shall fear me, and serve me! All shall bend their knee to me, from the poorest beggar to the greatest emperor. For I will control all.”
“Perhaps it would be best if you did not count your chickens before they hatched, Varderahyme. And perhaps your ego is larger than it should be.”
“Perhaps you have more wit than you should have, Valerahyme. It does not befit a woman to have any wit. But then, you are not a woman.”
“Then what am I, Varderahyme? What am I, if not a woman?”
“You, my dear Valerahyme, are but a servant of my will.”
“That part is debated, but nonetheless I am a woman.”
“No, you are but the spawn of those who have been utterly destroyed. You can not call yourself a woman. For that implies honour. And honour, Valerahyme, is something which you have not one single strand of. You are honourless, Valerahyme. You are dishonourable!”
“You speak of that which you do not know, Varderahyme.”
“That is what they would like you to believe. But come with me, let me show you things for what they really are.”
“And who, may I ask, are ‘they’?”
“They are those to whom you appear to be serving, those to whom you falsely believe you are serving, the fool pretender Eldor, the pitiful excuse for a knight, Paulo, and the others. Join me, and together we can defeat DiCaprio! He can not rule without my help, indeed he cannot win this battle without my help. Do you not wish to come? Do you not wish power? Come with me Valerahyme, let me show you what you have only gotten a taste of here.”
“I will not go with you, Varderahyme, even if it means my death.”
“Do you not fear death, Valerahyme? If you but fear it, let me show you what it is, pull off its cloak of mystery, show you the secrets of life. If you but come with me, you will see for yourself all the mysteries of creation, that I alone do know and understand. Together we can spread the word, and educate and enlighten those lesser beings who populate this place.”
“I will not join you, Varderahyme!”
“Then you will kneel before me, begging for mercy! Make your choice!”
“I have! And I choose this!”

She pulled her mind away from her powers, she pushed it into the unwary and unwarned mind of Draziw. Murmuring silently in the ancient language, she twisted his unprotected mind with hers. Silently moving her lips, calling on the power vested in her, and the power she had developed with telepathy, she slowly twisted his mind. Then, right when she felt his defences coming back up again, she moved deeper, into the very essence of the brain itself, and pulled it. As she pulled, he pushed her away, yet pulling back too. With one final yank with her mind, and one final thought, and one final murmur of the ancient language, she withdrew herself, tumbling to the ground. She had just enough strength to watch his body slowly crack and tumble to the ground, a column of smoke rising from where he had stood. Her job was finished. Then, blackness overcame her.

Edmund and DiCaprio looked up, as a large crack echoed throughout the entire countryside. There they saw where once Draziw Varnhyme had stood, the remnants of a pillar of smoke rising to the sky. DiCaprio turned in harsh anger against Edmund. He felt that his mind was no longer his, but he did not carry. Uttering a scream at the top of his lungs, he swung his mighty sword. Filled with some unknown strength, Edmund raised his sword and blocked the blow. He felt a shudder ring through him, as the swords shook against each other. Then, he immediately changed the swing. There he stood, numb, as he watched the Duke collapse at his feet. He withdrew his sword from the body of the dead Duke of the Seventeens.

Pausing but a moment to wipe the blood off of his sword, he rushed back to the main battle. It was all confusing to him, it seemed that some of the soldiers of the Seventeens were fighting others and yet they were all fighting the soldiers of the king. Glancing briefly around he saw one familiar face. He ran towards it, than stopped in horror, as the face twisted in pain and sank slowly to the ground.

“Sir Paulo!” he cried as he ran towards the knight, and immediately slew the man who had slain his knight. He then dropped to his knees beside the fallen lord, and cradled the head of the knight in his lap.
“Edmund!” came a cry from Octavian who had just come up. “Thank heavens you are not dead! The enemy is falling back into confusion. But come quickly, you must come! It is the King . . . he has not long to live I believe.”

Edmund glanced up at Octavian, and saw the pain etched into his face. Octavian had loved Eldor like a father, and Eldor had loved Octavian as a son. He nodded as he lay Sir Paulo on the ground. He stood up and placed his sword back in his sheath. Then he followed Octavian to where Yoran stood beside the fallen King. The other Knights of the Eleven were gathered nearby. Edmund went forward and knelt by the King. Eldor opened his eyes and looked at Edmund.

“Hand me, your sword, please,” he whispered. Edmund did not protest, but unsheathed his sword and carefully handed it to King Eldor. Then, very carefully, Eldor lightly tapped Edmund on each shoulder with the flat of the sword. “By the power vested in me, and as King of Elenaesia, do I dub thee, Edmund, knight.”

He fell back onto the cot they had laid him on, and let the sword fall. Edmund picked up, and sheathed it. Eldor raised his hand and placed it on Edmund’s head. Then he spoke a blessing.

“May you rule Elenaesia well, Edmund King. May you have the Light before you, and the Light behind you. The Light on your left side, and the Light on your right side. May you rule well, and may your reign be prosperous.”

With those words, the light passed from Eldor, King of Elenaesia. He lay peacefully as if in sleep, the last of his line to rule from the throne of Elenaesia. Edmund knelt there for a time, holding Eldor’s other hand in his. So much had happened over the past few days, few weeks. So much had happened, so much gained, and so much lost. He had gained a kingdom, yet lost his king and father figure. How much more must be lost before peace could once again engulf Elenaesia? How much more must they do? How many more lives must be sacrificed?

At long last he rose and turned towards the knights gathered around. They all dropped to one knee and announced their allegiance to him. Yoran was the first, followed closely by Octavian and the rest of the knights. Edmund nodded in appreciation to them. Then he remembered the standard tradition of Elenaesia. He beckoned to Octavian.

“Octavian, please, kneel,” he said quietly. Octavian nodded and knelt in front of Edmund, proffering his sword. Edmund took it, and slowly tapped each of Octavian’s shoulders. Then he repeated the words spoken to him by Eldor, just a few minutes before.

“By the power vested in me, as King of Elenaesia, I dub thee knight. Please rise, Sir Octavian. As was instated in the earliest annals of Elenaesian history I do hereby declare Sir Octavian Head Knight of the Eleven. So let it be written, so let it be done.”

Just then an officer ran up to them. He dropped on one knee before Edmund, and waited for the acknowledgement before he began to speak.

“What news do you have?” asked Edmund quickly.
“My lord King Edmund,” the man began. “We have captured one General Binks. He says he is second in command to Orlando DiCaprio. Or was, my liege.”
“Bring him to me,” commanded Edmund. “I wish to speak with him.”

A few minutes later, soldiers of Elenaesia brought the once proud general of the Seventeens, Binks Vizzini, into the presence of Edmund, their new king. With a sharp nod from Edmund, they bowed and left.

“So, you are the king?” asked Binks as Edmund gestured for him to sit down.
“Yes, now, more or less,” responded Edmund.
“You and I have seemed to trade places, you know? There are a few minor differences, such as you being in complete command, whereas I was only second in command. But you and I, my friend, have traded from being in command to being prisoner."