“Now the Sea of Elisedd, she’s been churnin’ noisy ever since.” The dwarf winds down. “Cryin’ for those Elemental boys whose voices ’ave gone to the graves of their fathers. An’ Draewulf? Well, he went back home to Drust and took his army full force against Bron. Leavin’ Faelen weak, but intact.”
My shallow inhale sounds brassy in the room’s quiet.
One breath.
Two breaths.
“Seventy years later, Draewulf lost to Bron, and Drust became a wasteland in which he disappeared. Altho’ on stormy nights, some say they can still ’ear the monster walkin’ Faelen’s High Court streets lookin’ to feed. And makin’ sure no Elementals is there to resist ’im.”
The blond-headed heckler stands with a raucous, grating laugh and claps his thin hands. “Bravo, Dwarf! Bravo! That fairy tale of yours nearly put us all to sleep. Except that the treaty was between two sane kings and it saved our nation from being torn in two! They were smart in taking sides against Bron and smart in seeing the Elementals as dangerous!”
“It’s no fairy tale—it’s the truth!” a woman yells. “An’ the Elementals weren’t dangerous. They was our only defense!”
“The Elementals would’ve destroyed Faelen! They were too arrogant and capricious with their powers, and they were growing too numerous. Sacrificing them to gain Drust as an ally was strategy.”
I slouch lower in my seat.
“Draewulf’s no ally! Never was. He got rid of the Elementals so we’d be powerless against him. And now he’s helpin’ Bron!”
“He’s not helpin’ Bron,” someone says. “He’s helpin’ himself.”
“That’s ridiculous!” the official yells. “First he helps us, then he’s against us? You peasants are superstitious!”
“Exactly,” Breck mutters a bit too loud.
“An’ what do you know of war?” the woman sneers. “You ever been in it? Cuz my husband has. Lost his arm, he did. And now he’s back there gettin’ hisself killed so the rest of us can sit here and argue about it.”
I watch the agitated crowd, all vying to add their pieces to the story. In my early years of being a slave, I assumed the story was a folktale, with Draewulf made up by my first owner to torment me. I can still recall him saying, And that’s what’ll happen to you one o’ these days. He’ll come atcha in the night and eat your brains out while I watch.
It took me years to sleep more than an hour at a time after that.
A trickle of sweat runs down my back. I suddenly want to get out of here. And yet, I want to hear more. About Draewulf. About Bron. About this war I’m supposed to help win.
“Tell us about Bron,” Colin shouts. I shoot him a grateful glance. “How close are they? And why do they want Faelen so bad?”
“They don’t just want us!” the drunk boy-soldier responds. “They wants all five kingdoms of the Hidden Lands! Faelen’s just the blockade keepin’ them from those other kingdoms. But what do our allies do? They wait and watch while we get slaughtered!”
“That’s what’s losin’ us the war,” the bartender says.
“No, it’s not!” someone fires back. “It’s the fact that Bron’s got industry that we ’aven’t. They’ve got armor for their soldiers and crossbows that shoot faster and farther, an’ they’ve got more of ’em. Rumor has it they even got these self-moving carriages that don’t need horses! While we’ve spent the past hundred years twiddlin’ our thumbs, the Bron kings were developing weapons we can’t even replicate! An’ now King Odion’s got these flying ships dropping boiling explosives. The only reason we lasted this long is because he killed his smarter brother. If the twin had won the throne instead of Odion, we’d already be dead!”
“How do you know that?” another voice yells. “Odion seems plenty smart to me. Why do you think he’s never even met with King Sedric for negotiatin’? It’s because Odion’s too busy makin’ those war machines to actually fight face-to-face.”
“It’s more than Odion’s weapons that’s losin’ us the war.” The drunk soldier gets louder. “It’s the plagues an’ Draewulf, I tell ya!”
Breck rises and places her hands on her hips.
Ah kracken. I eye her empty drink mugs. I should’ve cut her off.
“Well, maybe you all should be workin’ on inventions rather than standin’ here scarin’ yerselves with talk of imaginary wizards when we gots an enemy that just bombed us!”
The soldier’s chair flips out behind him as he jerks up and stands to wave his hand at Breck and the officials. “Shut up. You’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ of.” He sways back and forth. Someone reaches out to help steady him, but he shrugs him off and wags a finger at the room. “You arrogant fools. The plagues aren’t natural. They’re a curse. Sent by Draewulf hisself. And there’s a Dark Army of unnatural things followin’ him. Monstrous things.”
The blond from the officials’ table guffaws. “Go home, drunk. No wonder they sent you back from the war. Can’t even hold your liquid!”