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

freed slaves of Arkenshyr!” Erguile finished, stepping back down. The crowd roared.
    Erguile was lined up with many other captains, all of whom were under direct command of Flaer, including Erguile himself. Erguile beamed from the center of the room, winking at Slowin, who was trying to let a group of gnomes pass without tripping them.  
    “In two days’ time, we set forth. Over the Hemlin hills—through peril—to feats that make ballads!” Peren ignited the chamber council for the last time of the night. Everyone stood, cheering with a newfound optimism, instilled in no small part by the leadership of Peren Flowerpath.
     

V: CARBAL, FAREWELL
     
    Adacon peeled off Calan’s sky blue dress as she planted several warm kisses on his arm. The Carbal life had become paradise for Adacon during the last several weeks, though it seemed as if he’d been there for an eternity. The small Carbal village of Rainside Run had been one of the few villages untouched by Aulterion’s fire attacks, known as Artheldrum magic. Left unscathed, Rainside Run had quickly become the center of the Carbal elves’ livelihood, and had transformed into their new capital.
    Calan sighed teasingly as Adacon turned her on her side. The sparkling droplets of mist that hung everywhere in Carbal Jungle somehow seemed thicker here, in his room, where Calan and he had made their home. Iirevale had gladly welcomed their relationship after Adacon’s return from Erol Drunne, knowing full well how much of a part the former slave had played in ending the havoc caused by Aulterion.
    Her long muscular legs constricted him and he struggled for a moment to breathe in, but soon she submitted, and his eyes drifted and wandered down, following the deep curve of her thigh. Must be the Miew stew, Adacon thought to himself, and he smiled. The freedom of life in Rainside Run wasn’t without a looming shadow—Adacon knew he would have to leave her behind soon. They would have to part, only so soon after they had met.  
    “I know I saw it though,” Calan said, lying limp across their soft bed. “When you blacked out, I was just getting to my feet, when I saw you start to—glow. I was shaken from hitting the ground so hard after falling from Falen, but I don’t mistake what I saw.”
    Adacon took her story as reassurance that going to see Tempern was the right thing to do, though in his heart he still felt much doubt about possessing the power everyone believed he had. While he certainly had evidence—his feeling of being guided with fatal accuracy in combat—he still retained the idea that maybe, somehow, everyone had mistaken his power for something or someone else. After all, how could he be a Welsprin? He was just a slave, a boy, who had been lucky enough to see Krem’s small door tucked under the side of a sand dune.
    “Can we go for a walk?” Calan asked, lazily stroking his hair.
    “This late?” Adacon replied, tired from a long day of elven festivity. Iirevale had begun Rainside Run’s newest tradition earlier that day: a three week long festival of sporting, woodcraft, and other tests of stamina, endurance, and strength. Iirevale had vowed at the Erol Drunne council to aid the West Continent in what ways he could, but only after he had restored his people to a state of peace and equanimity under the wise leadership of Gaiberth. Though in desperate need of forces to fight the evil in the west, the council understood the depth of Carbal Jungle’s devastation, and had allowed the elves as much time as they needed to rebuild what Aulterion had destroyed.
    “I want to give you something,” she said. “Come on, follow me.”
    Adacon quickly dressed and raced to catch up to Calan, who had already descended the vertical hall from which their room sat atop, carved from a giant tree trunk. Adacon knew his time would be up the next day—Falen was to arrive and take him north, to the ice country of Nethvale. As much as he’d asked during his stay,