Page 56 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

“Honestly, I'm not sure. We could get lucky and go our separate ways, each as we were before, or our bodies and minds will be damaged since we function as one. Worst case, we both die.”

Shalendra’s chin shook, and her tear-filled eyes met Cyran’s. “This wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. Freyja wouldn’t have sent me on a hopeless mission. She must have seen something in the God’s Glass…she must have.”

Cyran stepped forward, the need to comfort her beating at him. He had never been comfortable around tears, but seeing the watery pools in her beautiful eyes broke his heart. She straightened as he reached her, her eyes wide and fearful.

“Oh, gods…” she whispered.

“What—” A heavy whiff of tobacco hit Cyran in the face. “Haman!” He peered around her now trembling body to find his stepfather stooped behind her, an evil grin on his face as he pulled a long syringe from her back.

“Just the candidate I needed to make sure my formula was complete,” his thin voice said, morphing into a cackle. “Now, everyone will see that even the royals can fall. This is a strong dose, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were already feeling ill, my dear. Sickness finds everyone, but it isn’t everyone I want to fall, now, is it?”

He jerked his head, but before Cyran realized what was happening, two massive werewolves snuck up behind him, grabbing each arm, their iron grip unmovable.

His stepfather preened, thinking his goal was achieved. “Now, you will watch your woman die, just like all elves and those disgusting dwarves.”

Forcing his mind to calm down, he considered his few options. He hated to admit it, but their ace in this game lay with Loki. Haman did not have the powers to go up against such a powerful god. Even crazy, Loki could best him in his sleep.

But did he trust the god of mischief and deception?He had to.

Shalendra, how do you feel?

I want to curl up in bed and shut out the Nine Worlds. My skin is hot and itchy, my joints are achy, my head is pounding, and I feel as if I could throw up.

So…horrible. Can you mentally reach out to Loki? He is your grandfather, and if you are powerful enough to talk to me like this, you may also be able to speak to him. Tell him to do what he must so I can get to you—unless he can heal you.

She closed her eyes, her head drooping lower.I sent him the message. Cyran, whatever you do, please hurry. Ireallydon’t feel well.

Cyran did not like how flushed her usually pale skin was. Whether she realized it or not, her body was shivering. She seemed so fragile.

Behind him, a low voice muttered, but he could not understand the words. Whatever Loki was doing, though, seemed to be working because the grip on his arms eased. He jerked away from the creatures, whirling on his heels as he summoned his dagger, which appeared in his free hand.

As he moved the blade forward, the two creatures toppled to the floor, landing on each other. The one on top had a growing bloodstain covering his back. Blood pooled from a jagged wound over where the beast’s heart was, saturating the fur and then dripping onto the floor below, where a second blood pool expanded from the werewolf lying beneath him.

Cyran’s gaze met Loki's, and he raised the blade to his forehead in deference before turning back to Shalendra and his stepfather. Neither moved, their bodies frozen in place. He turned his gaze back to Loki. “You stopped time?”

“It was the only way to change the course of events so Shalendra would not die. I cannot save her from whatever Haman injected her with. My powers would only kill her faster, but I can aid you. From the few visions I do have, you alone save her. You have the power to both stop your stepfather for all timeandsave my granddaughter if you can figure out what you need to do.”

Loki stepped closer, staring into Cyran’s eyes. Up close, Cyran realized Loki’s eyes were not black but such a deep blue the color fooled everyone. “Think about your childhood and how Haman was then compared with how he is now. You know him better than anyone else. What makes him tick? Does he want something more than everything and everyone? How does he wield magic? What is his breaking point?”

Cyran thought back, replaying his childhood events. He was just a toddler, sitting on his mother’s lap as she watched her new husband work. Cyran, too, paid attention to the preciseness of each spell and the hours Haman took for an experiment.

“I remember how specific he was with every word, motion, and ingredient when he created his spells. I always wondered why he had jars of small animals—even a few pixies and other tiny creatures found throughout the Nine Worlds. He always said they were for verification but never elaborated.”

He scrubbed his face, the haunting memories so difficult to relive. “Later, when I became his apprentice, he expected perfection and would become furious if I made a mistake. My punishment would be an ancient spell thrown at me to counter. If I reversed it, he would send another and another until I was so exhausted, I couldn’t think straight.”

“So, he is a perfectionistic sadist? I might have liked him under different circumstances,” Loki chuckled. “So, he wants control, but control of what?”

Cyran stared at his stepfather’s unkempt appearance. His long, untrimmed beard had bits of food tangled in the strands. His heavily lined face made him look much older than he was, and there was a maniacal look deep in his brown eyes.

He looked nothing like the man who raised him. Haman could have been such a talented healer. Instead, had he chosen to throw it away on something as fleeting as control?

“For decades, he spouted nonsense about how King Glanduil was destroying the legacy and future of our race. He began disappearing for long periods instead of healing those who needed help.

My mother stepped in to help those in need. She finished my apprenticeship and taught me more than Haman ever could. Her talent was natural, not learned, passed down through generations of her family. When Haman returned and discovered what she had done, he killed her for it.”

He turned his gaze to Shalendra, needing the solace she gave him. “I know what Haman wants. His goal is not just the ruination of the Dwarves but the entire Elven race.”

19

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