Chapter 8

“You’ll have to tell me about that on our way to Delver’s Deep, Syvilas.” 

Syvilas. He preferred the sound of Vezar on her lips but Syvilas would do.

As they prepared to leave, tossing the elf corpses into the entrance of the prison that had been built for him, and taking anything of value from their saddlebags, Vezar sent her to tie the elves’ horses to prevent them from alerting anyone else. Truthfully, he needed her distracted so that he could begin binding her to him. He would use the name she had given him, Syvilas, to bind her with a familial bond since it seemed easiest. She hadn’t understood what she was offering with her ploy to pose as siblings, but she didn’t need to for him to make her feel as if he were truly her kin. He would save his true name to bind her in other ways, but he needed a place to start.

He muttered her name and wove the threads, each repetition of brother and sister, every touch would pull them tighter. Embracing the name ‘Syvilas’ he hoped she had strong bonds already in place for her family. It would make his threads hold better.

Syreilla returned, rubbing beneath her ear. “I tied them loosely. I’d feel bad for them if they starved to death tied in one spot. The knots will come undone if they pull hard enough.”

“You’re very tender-hearted, sister.” He smiled at her warmly and she gave him a sour look.

“What have the horses ever done to me?”

Vezar laughed and offered his hand to assist her into the cart. She snorted and brushed his hand away dismissively before hopping easily onto the bench seat.

“I don’t need help but I’ll let you drive the cart if you’d like.” Her impish grin was an invitation and a challenge and he returned it.

“An elder brother is meant to help his younger sister.”

“I don’t think however long you spent sleeping counts, brother. I think I might be the elder sister.”

He started to laugh, climbing onto the seat next to her, “I was a little over three hundred years old before I… slept, sister.” Vezar watched her brows rise and her head tilt. “You can’t be more than…” He studied her carefully and she gave him an annoyed look, “Two and a half.”

“Not quite two.”

“So young!” Vezar laughed as she folded her arms and sighed.

“Fine, I'm the younger sister. Did your,” she gestured at him and then her arm, “your ability to change keep you alive for so long?”

“No, sister. At my birth, my name was a blessing and a curse, Vezar Edra, the Undying. I cannot die. I can be harmed, but nothing can send me to death…” He paused, “nearly nothing. I was warned that only one thing could.” 

Syreilla nodded slowly but she didn’t ask. Questions were bubbling in her mind like a pot about to boil over, he could see.

“Ask, sister, talk with me until we reach this, Delver’s Deep. You must direct me.”

“It’s not that far. Two and a half days, maybe, with the cart if we keep a good pace and don’t make many stops. We need to go back down to the main road.” She relaxed on the bench next to him and after they had begun their way down the narrow track she inquired, “you were blessed and cursed at your birth and someone told you you’d meet me?”

He ignored the first part of her question, explaining his heritage would be more than she could understand. “I was warned by a seer of… of my defeat. I was once a King. That I would meet you, was less clear. I would be freed by the spawn of my most bitter enemy.” Vezar smiled as she leaned toward him. 

“King of where?”

“Vezreya.” He saw her brow furrow. “It stood between Orileria and the Acrine, reaching to the lower border of Istira and reached from the Mountains of Hetherah to the sea.”

Comprehension dawned over her delicate golden features. “Vreya! I was told it used to be larger. It stops at the Acrine and it’s bordered by Laegrenna in the west now, not the sea, the upper border is where the Freeholds start, they go up into the Dragon’s Cradle Mountains.”

“Freeholds?” 

“Dwarf mines, and human towns or cities that either stand alone or have attached themselves to the mines. The town of Lew is attached to Delver’s Deep. It’s like an alliance of sorts. There are only a few across the Acrine, but the human Freehold cities know they’re on dwarf land. They pay their tax for it and get left in peace by everyone. The dwarves don’t tolerate foolishness.”

Dwarven Freeholds on his lands. That must have been what Olthon offered the dwarves to entice them to join him. He’d kept his lands free of them after what they had done… Syreilla reached out and touched his arm and he felt the threads cling and tighten. Her intent was to soothe him.

“I didn’t mean to upset you by talking about what you’d lost. I should have known that would be unpleasant.”

“I didn’t wish to believe the seer when she told me I would lose all I had built, but she did assure me that I would not be utterly defeated.” He smiled faintly, “I would be captured and compelled into a death-like sleep until the spawn of my most bitter enemy freed me. Until he sprang his trap, I didn’t realize it was Olthon.” The woman had at times been infuriatingly nonspecific but that at least was clear.

“What else did she tell you?”