Free Mythborn by V. Lakshman

his banishment since the Demon Wars. He’d created a new race he knew were utterly loyal to him. His blood had been the key, the power to shape his very flesh into these beings he’d named elves and giving him the means to defend himself from the Aeris demons that called this world of Arcadia home. His flesh, and sacrifice, for blood magic did not work unless the spell weaver gave something he cared deeply for, had been the catalyst for shaping a defense against the myriad of beings created by the dreams and nightmares of his people back home. The act of sacrifice powered the blood, gave it meaning and purpose. He knew here, with the power of the Way, that secret was faith.
    Of course, blood magic was forbidden by the council, but whom amongst them was here to censure him now? They had chosen their fate the day they pushed him through the rift to this place and left him for dead. Now he and his wife were close to his final goal, to return to Edyn at the head of an army of elves and restore order to the land under his rule. No sacrifice, he reminded himself, was beyond him now.
    He looked back at her as they entered a large chamber, her radiant gaze smiling back at him. This chamber was where they birthed their elves and entering it filled him with an undercurrent of hope every time he returned. On one end was a raised dais that led to a podium with a bowl made of wood, a piece of wood that had grown into that shape. No cuts or carpenter’s marks marred its simple beauty, just like the rest of Avalyon, for it had grown in answer to his will. Valarius stepped up and gazed at the thing hung on the wall behind it.
    A man—or the mummified remains of was what left of a man—was crucified there, his tattered robes now musty as centuries had slowly eaten away at the cloth and leather. The highlord’s head tilted to the side, his contemplation of the figure wistful. So much had been sacrificed to give his people life. He quickly blinked away any emotion and turned, a smile once again on his narrow, angular face.
    “Are we creating another archangel?” asked his wife.
    Valarius shook his head. “No beloved, I’m waiting for Malak and his men.” He gestured with an open hand and she walked up the dais to join him. “Stand here with me,” he said, kissing her gently on the forehead. “We’ll address the men together as highlord and queen.”
    A few moments passed in silence, then Firstmark Malak entered along with a platoon of men, all clad in light armor and armed with spear, sword, and shield. The firstmark bowed to them both. Then he smiled and said, “We have it.” He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew something. He threw the highlord a ring, which glinted gold in the soft light of the chamber.
    “When?” Valarius asked, inspecting the rampant lion embossed on the ring’s face.
    “Sparrow—” Malak gestured and one of elven warriors, a slim woman with fierce eyes—“recovered it less than a day ago.”
    “Then he’s here?” asked the queen in a whisper as hope, love, fear, or perhaps all three stole her voice.
    Valarius watched as Malak risked a quick glance at his queen, knowing she did not mean the ring’s owner. She spoke of their son, a boy who had been sent to Edyn for the safety of all of Arcadia. Now he had returned and with him came the need for desperate measures.
    Malak gave a brusque nod saying, “He’s here. Gabreyl brings him along with the king’s son. Sparrow came ahead so that we could act in time.”
    Valarius nodded, saying, “Gabreyl has done well.” Then his eyes hardened as he met Malak’s own and said, “This portal comes at great cost. Remember, I cannot bring you back, and we cannot follow unless Lilyth’s gate is aligned with Avalyon. Succeed or we are lost.”
    Malak nodded and replied, “We’ll not fail you, Highlord.” He caught the ring Valarius tossed back to him deftly, putting it back into his pouch.
    Valarius gave a curt nod, then turned to his wife.