Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) by Joseph Turkot

six Vapours together to destroy the curse that had bound Flaer’s tongue—Krem counted among them. Flaer had never told Erguile how the curse had come upon him, and Erguile had never inquired. Had Adacon been awake during the months after the Battle at Dinbell, he would have surely asked; Adacon never feared being too nosy. But Erguile had known not to pry with Flaer from the start; his presence was too ominous and uncertain. All he knew was that Grelion’s men had found and captured Flaer as he was roaming the hills near Morimyr.
    Krem had briefly told the tale: he said Flaer had been mad with black magic, cursed by a demon, possibly the new-christened pawn of Vesleathren, Zesm. Upon questioning, Flaer hadn’t responded, and had acted as if possessed, dancing sporadically in strange rhythm. Grelion’s men at once brought their strangely powerful prisoner—it was said it took a hundred men to restrain him—to meet Grelion himself. Not being able to determine the origins of the mysterious prisoner, nor recognizing the haggard appearance of the long thought dead hero of the Five Country War, Grelion decided to imprison wild Flaer in Ceptical Tower, deep upon the Vashnod Plains. Grelion gravely underestimated his prisoner, unaware of his true identity and that of the sword the wild man carried.
    It was said that Grelion’s men tried to take the sword from the fevered vagabond, but that upon touching the handle, the sword seared them beyond hope of healing. Finally, Grelion had imprisoned the mysterious wanderer, deciding to deal with him later, as more pressing issues were threatening his trade routes. According to what Krem had said, it took all of Grelion’s best wizards to transport the mysterious sword and house it in Ceptical’s nearby sister tower. Beyond what he’d learned from indirect sources about Flaer’s recent past, Erguile knew very little about his new friend, and he smiled wide in anticipation of Flaer’s address.
    “I will be once again commanding a legion. We will march directly to meet Vesleathren’s Feral force, just as they pass Marsh Ravine, the only direct path through the Forest Sea,” Flaer said. “We will be accompanied by many legions, and we will march accordingly. It is widely known that Vesleathren, and Zesm, have corrupted Gaigas to their will. There will be a great cohort of wizards among their ranks, make no doubt about that. That is why we must now discuss a maneuver of attack.”
    As Flaer continued to explain, Erguile understood less and less. Flaer used strange words—flanking, kiting, volley—that the former slave was wholly unfamiliar with. After more than twenty minutes, Flaer finally stepped down, and another of the veterans from the Five Country War stepped onto the plinth and began to address the audience with a plan for the defense of the city. Flaer stayed at the edge of the platform, listening intently.
    “How long is this council supposed to last?” Erguile asked Slowin, who didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable at having to stand through the whole ordeal.
    “Several hours at least,” Slowin guessed.
    “A few more hours?” Erguile cried. He felt lost already in the jargon of the new speaker; it all seemed too technical for him to understand.
    “Calm yourself, you’ll be taking the stage soon enough,” Slowin said.
    “Me?”
    “Sure. Remember that you have been appointed a captain for superior valor in the Battle at Dinbell.”
    “Well then, when I get up there, I’ll give the people something they can understand!” Erguile said. He smiled, once again feeling engaged by the council.
    Hours passed, and Erguile made his speech, firing up the crowd despite their fatigue, and several freed slaves in the room roared especially loud for their new captain.
    “And so on the back of Weakhoof I will ride to death, or to glory, and my name will ring in the ears of our enemies! I have slain beast and man, and will do so once more at your side! Long live the