Vol.7 Ch.408 Valdas Vellanax’s Inner Turmoil

Lyra sighed and looked at Yevgeni, “How long has it been since we had to deal with the dissidents of the Wood Elf Kingdom of Agon?” she asked, her voice a low, melodic hum.

“About fifty years, Artisan-Prime. Archon Taron Vellanax’s son, Valdas Vellanax, and his Wyvern knights were the last ones to be in the Agon Continent. We have only been getting whispers of what is happening in the northern areas of the human kingdoms since he completed—”

Lyra tapped her finger on the armrest with frustration, cutting off Yevgeni’s explanation. Her annoyance wasn’t due to there plans to cull the newly formed independence of some wood elves who dared to think they were equal to the High Elves. It was the fact that Valdas had mistakenly created an abomination half-breed of his own. The marriage between Princess Yuliana Elderwood was a ruse to get Valdas and his men into the Wood Elf Kingdom to poison the Elder Tree and to end the Elderwood line.

It was meant to send a message to all the other Wood Elf Kingdoms that thought they could be independent of the High Elves. The mission was a success and a failure. King Eadric Elderwood, his wife, and his son were all killed by the human Kingdom of Marn, but Valdas’ wife and abomination somehow fled and are unaccounted for due to recent events.

The Artisan-Prime was convinced by the High Synod that they could go a couple hundred years without the Wood Elf Kingdom of Agon as their unwittingly resource of wood, herbs, and various other materials. While at the same time having them a cover to use in their covert operations within the continent. They saw the gains of a new religion taking hold in the central east part of Agon. The Virtuous gods of the Divine Three. It was the first time Gods of Virtue have taken hold in multiple human kingdoms and seemed to be a actual threat to Xylos Meredydd’s bloodline and the rotten Goddess that seemed content with having abominations within her domain. They also saw an opportunity to use the newly formed Holy Alliance to try and deal with the last of the Dark Elves, who were the only other race of elves that could match them in a magical battle.

They didn’t know exactly where the last tribe of Sorellia was, due to the powerful earth mage and High Priestess, Yoona. Who would constantly create walls and obstacles to keep their spies from entering their lands. The High Elves saw her as the only other powerful being on the continent who could match their chosen one, Velorae. As the Agon Elurim (Gods) didn’t seem to have any Summoneds yet.

The High Elves were unaware that two Chosen Ones where walking among the lesser species, and if they knew that Rya and Quinus were summoned at the same time as Velorae, they would be in full panic mode.

However, they weren’t aware of the new threat to their dominance and would be in for a rude awakening when they replace the old Wood Elf Kingdom with a new one that was more reliant on their power. They would also soon learn that their distant cousins, the Dark Elves, were about to make a comeback.

Sylva watched the Archons and Ambassadors squirm in their seats as they processed the news of a new healer being on the Agon Continent. The Epistarchess could see the fear in their eyes.

The Artisan-Prime’s finger stopped tapping. She leaned forward, her perfect posture a testament to her unshakeable authority. The silence in the chamber was absolute, every eye fixed upon her, waiting for her judgment.

“Sylva,” Lyra began, her voice dropping to a low, silken whisper that nonetheless carried to every corner of the vast room.

The ambassador straightened up and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes, Artisan-Prime.”

“Do we still have one of our people inside the Dwarven Kingdom of Hjorleif? We haven’t gotten any information from him in years,” Lyra asked, her voice was calm and measured, but there was an undercurrent of urgency that sent a shiver down Sylva’s spine.

Sylva’s mind raced as she tried to recall the last time she had heard from the spy in the Dwarven Kingdom. “Yes, Artisan-Prime. We have a couple of diplomats inside the Dwarven Kingdom. They were able to convince them to isolate themselves from the rest of the Human kingdoms on Agon. And they think they are close to finding…” She paused for a moment as she didn’t know if it was a good idea to talk about the slumbering dragon, Agon, who who the Elurim had to use most of their Primordial Essence to make it fall fast asleep and buried them deep underneath the mountains of Jorgunheim.

The High Elves believe that the Dwarves of Hjorleif were close to the dragon when King Thrain Hjorgrimson’s miners found a dragon scale near a large deposit of white obsidian. It was turned into an impenetrable shield that not even their light magic could break. They didn’t have the means to steal the shield as the damn dwarven King slept with the damn thing attached to his left arm. However, if they found one dragon scale, then the slumbering dragon wasn’t too far away.

“Sylva? You seem lost in thought. Did you find something?” Lyra asked, her voice a low, melodic purr that was laced with a subtle, icy edge.

Sylva snapped back to reality, her mind racing to come up with a plausible excuse. “I apologize, Artisan-Prime. They found underground crevasse that the Dwarves haven’t discovered. They believe they’ll find the slumbering dragon, soon… But I don’t think it’s—”

“Interesting… That could be useful… Regardless of that, the Dwarves are isolated and don’t know what is happening in the human kingdoms, correct?” Lyra asked.

“Yes, Artisan-Prime. They refuse to speak to the dwarves that are apart of the Fiafyr Kingdom. And the Orc tribes are running rampant through the valley that used to connect them to the rest of the continent,” Sylva said.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed. A slow, deliberate smile touched her lips. It was a predator’s smile. “Good. But that doesn’t solve this possible healer problem. We need to send in someone who’s familiar with the territory, and Stellarch Valdas Vellanax is the only one who knows the lands. However, his moment of weakness makes me wary of sending him,” Lyra said, her voice a low, melodic purr that was laced with a subtle, icy edge. She looked at the Archons, her gaze a silent question, a demand for their opinions.

Yevgeni leaned forward in his seat, his hands clasped together, his eyes gleaming with a mix of ambition and cunning. “We could send my men with Valdas to make sure he corrects the mistakes of the past. Because until we know all of Elderwood’s line is extinguished, we can’t move forward with a new Wood Elf Kingdom,” he said, his voice a low, authoritative murmur. He looked at Sylva, a flicker of disdain in his gaze, his mind already calculating the best way to use this new information to his advantage.

Sylva’s gaze swept over the assembled Archons, her eyes lingering for a moment on Yevgeni. She didn’t like the fact that the noble knew about the dragon. She thought it wasn’t wise to use a dragon to help them defeat their enemies. The consequences could be dire. And the risk of the dragon waking up was too dangerous. If the Elurim couldn’t slay one, then what hope did they have? But she kept her thoughts to herself. She knew that the Artisan-Prime was not a woman who liked to be questioned about things of this nature. She just had to trust that she knew what she was doing.

“Has Valdas told us why he didn’t kill his daughter and his wife after the mission to weaken the Elder Tree?” Sarya asked, her voice a low, concerned murmur. She looked at Lyra, her eyes a silent question, a demand for more information.

“Let’s ask him when he arrives. Send for Valdas Vellanax at once!” Lyra commanded, her voice echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.

The guard at the door bowed and hurried to carry out her order. The rest of the council sat in silence, their minds racing with the implications of the Artisan-Prime’s command. They knew that Valdas was a man of immense power and influence, a man who was not to be trifled with. He controlled the skies with his Wyvern Knights and not even the mighty angels were a match. They were second to none, unless they went up against a dragon. Regardless of that, the council also knew that he had failed in his mission, a failure that could not be overlooked. If they tried to bring over a Wood Elf Noble to start a new kingdom in Agon. Yuliana or her daughter would be able to control the new Elder Tree’s Dryad would sense a connection that was flowing through the Forest Spirits of Agon. And they would know that it was the high elves who killed King Eadric Elderwood and his heir. There only saving grace is that the High Elves made sure to wipe out all the wood elves with the gift of Spirit Sight that allows them to find Spirit Spouts to grow new Elder Trees. It was a slow process to eradicate these wood elves, but that’s when the witches came through for them as they cursed those wood elves to be barren and sickly. After a the Wood Elves lost the ability to find Spirit Spouts they turned to their High Elf cousins for help. The High Elves made sure to have the only artifact that could find Spirit Spouts was the one in their possession. This made them reliant on the High Elves for millennia and used it as a way to make the Wood Elves become their unknowing puppets. That’s why they became annoyed with the Agon Wood Elf Kingdom when they saw fit to become bolder and more defiant with their demands as their Elder Tree became the biggest of all the Wood Elf Kingdoms. Offering them a sense of peace and prosperity the rest of their brethren could only dream of. And they thought the High Elves respectively them when they suggested that the two should become united by marrying Archon Taron Vellanax’s son to Princess Yuliana Elderwood. But it was a ruse to get Valdas inside the Kingdom. He succeeded and failed simultaneously. He killed the Elder Tree, poisoned the seeds, and managed to get the humans to attack them, but he couldn’t kill his wife and daughter. It was a stain on his honor, and a stain on the honor of the Vellanax House.

One that confused the High Synod for decades after, for why a man like Valdas would spare his wife and daughter. Especially after they found out he had fathered an abomination. For some reason that abomination was cursed by special blood contract that the witches made for him to use, but somehow the intention’s tracking scribe somehow failed. Making Nieren untraceable by the Coven of Witches like all the others who were cursed by them. And now the Vellanax House had a stain on their perfect bloodline. That was something that Archon Taron Vellanax would move hell and high water to fix.

***

An hour flight west by Wyvern was the Kingdom of Tintagel. The Kingdom was set high in the sharp peaks of the Onyx Mountains. The city of Tintagel was carved from the very mountains it stood upon, its buildings a testament to the High Elves’ mastery of stone and magic, that would make a dwarf blush.

The air was crisp and clean, scented with the faint, sweet fragrance of snow-capped peaks and the sharp, clean scent of ozone, a byproduct of the powerful enchantments that permeated the very fabric of the city. Wyverns flew high above, their cries echoing through the valleys as they patrolled the skies, their massive wings casting long, shifting shadows on the city below.

The city’s streets were paved with polished obsidian, the dark stone reflecting the light of the twin moons in a way that made the city seem to glow from within. The buildings were a mix of towering spires and elegant arches, their surfaces carved with intricate designs that told the stories of the High Elves’ long and storied history.

Before this mountain became the city that scraped the sky, land was known for the Wyvern’s breeding grounds, and Valdas was the one who tamed them. He was the only one who could get them to be loyal to him and his knights. The Wyvern Knights were an elite force, their skill in aerial combat unmatched, their bond with their wyverns a thing of legend. They were the pride of Tintagel, a symbol of the city’s power and dominance, a force to be reckoned with, a force that could turn the tide of any battle.

In the tallest spire of the city, in a chamber that overlooked the vast expanse of the kingdom, Valdas Vellanax stood on a balcony, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed over the horizon to the southwest. His blonde hair was pulled back in a severe knot, his blue eyes were a cold, hard sapphire, and his striking face had the look of boredom, as if he had seen everything there was to see and found it wanting.

He was a man of immense power and influence, a man who was not to be trifled with. He was the Stellarch of Tintagel, the leader of the Wyvern Knights, and the son of Archon Taron Vellanax. He was a man who had been trained from birth to be a weapon, a tool of the High Elves’ dominion.

He had been serving his punishment by going through his normal routine as if nothing had happened, for the last fifty years, ever since his failure to kill his wife and daughter after he successfully completed his mission to weaken the Elderwood line and the Elder Tree of the Agon Wood Elf Kingdom. The punishment was a slap on the wrist. All he had to do was keep training his Wyvern Knights and wait for the next mission.

He wasn’t allowed to go on any other missions for the High Elves for the last fifty years. He had a feeling that this was about to change, as he could hear the flapping of wings and the distinct cry of a messenger Wyvern.

Soon, he heard the all to familiar heavy footsteps of his father, Archon Taron Vellanax. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He could smell the faint, sweet fragrance of moon-blossoms that his father always wore, a scent that was both soothing and unsettling, a reminder of the power and influence that the Vellanax House wielded.

“The Artisan-Prime has summoned you,” his father’s voice was a low, husky murmur, a stark contrast to the melodic lilt of the High Elven tongue. It was a voice that had been hardened by centuries of command, a voice that was used to being obeyed without question.

Valdas turned to face his father, his expression a mask of stoic indifference. “I figured as much. I’ll be on my way,” he said, his voice a low, dismissive murmur.

Before Valdas could leave his room, Taron firmly grabbed his son’s forearm, his grip like iron. Valdas halted in his place, his jaw tightening, while keeping his unenthused demeanor. He looked at his father’s hand, then back at his face.

“Don’t you dare take this lightly, son. You have been a thorn in the family’s side for the last fifty years because of your moment of weakness. Do you not understand how fortunate we are to have the Artisan-Prime even consider speaking with you after your… lapse in judgment,” Taron said, his voice a low, dangerous growl, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. He looked at Valdas, a flicker of disdain in his gaze, his mind already calculating the best way to use this new information to his advantage.

“All I got punished for was keeping up that appearance of a fateful husband, for a few days longer than they wanted, father. The fates seemed to throw a wrench in the plans when, Yuliana told everyone that she was pregnant—”

“Then you should have used the Wood Elf folklore and made her miscarry the abomination! What were you thinking!?” Taron roared, his face turning a shade of purple with rage. He was a proud, arrogant man who believed in the absolute superiority of the High Elves, and the stain on the family’s honor was a source of constant humiliation for him. He looked at his son, a mixture of disappointment and anger in his gaze. “You could have found a new bride after the mission! One that is worthy of your station! One that wouldn’t have tainted the Vellanax bloodline! But no! Your failure has made it impossible to broker an alliance with the Archons from the other kingdoms. They all look down on us! They think we are weak! They think we are tainted! And all because you couldn’t bring yourself to do what needed to be done!”

Valdas didn’t even bat an eye at the verbal assault. He just looked at his father with a cold, detached expression, as if he were watching a play unfold before him. He had learned long ago that the only way to survive in this world was to suppress his emotions, to bury them deep beneath a facade of stoic indifference. However, if someone else was in the room with them they would see that the Stellarch’s right hand balling up into a fist, ready to strike. It was blocked from Taron’s view by Valdas’ side.

The air was silent as Valdas just stared at his father’s face, letting him fume in front of him as he held a firm grip on his son’s forearm. The Stellarch finally broke the silence, his voice a low, dismissive murmur. “Are you done?” he said, his voice a low, and uncaring.

Taron’s grip tightened, his knuckles white with tension. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, boy! You will listen to what I have to say! You will—”

“Should I tell the Artisan-Prime why I’m late? I’m sure she would be… interested to know why her most valuable warrior was held up by his father’s… grievances,” Valdas’s

voice was a low, dangerous purr, a threat that hung in the air like a shroud, a reminder of the delicate balance of power that existed between them.

Taron’s face went from a shade of purple to a pale, sickly white. He gritted his teeth and reluctantly let go of his son’s forearm, the resentment burning in his eyes like a dying ember. “Fine. Go. But don’t think for a second that this is over. I will be watching you. And if you fail… I won’t be there to… I will not be as… forgiving… as the Artisan-Prime.”

Valdas didn’t even dignify his father’s threat with a response. “Come now, father. I must go to see the Prime, and bring back some honor to our family’s name,” Valdas said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

He then turned and walked out of the room, leaving Taron alone on the balcony, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He watched as his son’s back disappeared, his shoulders straight, his stride confident, a picture of unshakeable resolve.

“Of all my sons… Why did it have to be him to dishonor my name,” Taron whispered to himself, his voice a low, guttural growl. He looked out at the vast expanse of the kingdom, a kingdom that had been built on the backs of the lesser races, a kingdom that was a testament to the High Elves’ power and dominance. And for a brief, fleeting moment, he felt a pang of regret, a pang of something that felt suspiciously like fear. What if his son fails again.

***