The clamors continued. I knew what they expected of me. What they did not understand were the risks. They wanted to die without knowing if their power was what had contained their children from continuing to be as powerful as they once were. If that was the case and I let them rest, then I would know I had lost. I could face elven captains in quantity as long as they measured their magic consumption. But if they did not need to, if they had more raw power, I did not want to think about it. Besides, there was much I suspected they were not telling me. The need to live was great, but the need to die—did it have the same value?
I asked them to be silent. I asked if they knew the nature of the dragon's field's reach. They, a little annoyed since they were already expecting to rest, said it only covered the entire continent up to one kilometer into the sea. With that in mind, I knew what I had to do.
I told them they were responsible for the castle's creatures staying alive. Without them, the food, though meager, would have been suspended long ago. They said they were indeed responsible for the beauties around us, but those things only kept them here. Knowing that was not entirely true, I tried to inquire, but they closed themselves off. I did not know if they created them, for example, or if they could live outside this place.
I asked about knowledge—how they thought we would face the threat of their children. They insisted that only the death they provided would allow that rest and the breaking of the pact between the elves and the dragon. The offered image seemed that the only coherent alternative was to obey their request, even if it meant the death of an entire civilization. So I raised my sword. The stone rune was active; all that remained was to discharge it at the base, and the ceiling would collapse, destroying the runes that kept them alive. Just as I was about to let it fall, something caught my attention—one kilometer out to sea! They were treacherous!
I shouted at them, asking if they thought I was one of their ignorant servants. All stirred in their niches. Of course they knew what I spoke of. I ordered them to tell me the reason they kept supporting their children, when we were supposed to be trying to avoid the chaos of those who eliminated them and in passing mortally wounded their benefactor. All looked away. I saw some beginning to energize some of the chamber's traps. So I stopped them cold. I leaped to that nightmare place. Landing, I left the sword centimeters from the ancient king.
He knew what I was proposing, didn't he? He thought I was stupid enough to believe from the beginning that you were the only good ones—that everything your children did was only by your children's doing. Without your backing? Without primary knowledge of how to use that metal? You may be a king, but just because you tell me you were good or deceived does not mean I must believe you. The power will not disperse. The dragon's own magic was what gave you your power. But that has nowhere to go. You were a species with the immediate potential to produce magic, so he helped you fulfill it. The reality is he did not select only elves as a species—he used everyone. All who came here had that potential, but they were underdeveloped. That is why they took thousands of years, tens of thousands, to develop power—power that elves cannot compete with, as they have subspecies that preserve the magic since it was granted to them. If you die, they will have the accumulated power of an entire civilization plus the power of yours... cowards.
All the discussions were deafening—hundreds of voices speaking, justifying, launching into dissertations. I had no time for this. I raised the sword a little and let it fall millimeters from the king's withered face. He looked at me serenely. He confessed he hoped I would not fail. If he died, the rest would follow. All increased the volume of their laments, their demands. Some even accused me of the evils of those who now took refuge in the forest—how they attacked, stole cattle, were bad to the rest of the world. Some showed pictures of goblins attacking villages, of wolves tearing apart some of the sheep that strayed to the safety of the pens. All began as one to demand the justice I demanded.
Without stopping, the king sounded reasonable. He explained they were not angry about the deaths of the "Blood Elves," nor about the invasion's start, nor about entering the Dark Forest—that they saw their children die, and it all happened as a consequence of their acts, just like their punishment—leaving long life so all would retain some life. With bright eyes, he looked at me and said, "I forgive you, Dark Lord. Now give us the rest we have waited millennia for."
I certainly wanted to eliminate those blind ones, those opportunists who wanted more power for their offspring, their race. I told them—they were terrible. They did harm in the name of quality, of purity, of their genetic right. I saw evil in my ranks—evil that would be attacked in time. But it was evil produced mostly by hunger, desperation, and hatred. I would ensure it was properly focused. I had enemies—some worse than their children, who only sought death, dominion of the grave. So my duty was to reinforce life. But I understood the castle's burden over so long was difficult. That had a solution.
I could still see them cry—an interesting image as the gates closed. They no longer moved, did not speak. They would be trapped there while I dealt with the Lich and the one who possessed my beloved's corpse. When that was done, I would give them eternal rest. In the meantime, they would provide the necessary magic for the creatures used as guardians here to live. I would have to send someone to release all these creatures from their commitments. It was true they were not the ones who made their children the bastards they now were. But even so, thinking they sought to give them power—only to them—dying to prevent anyone from knowing how much the library, the armory, the castle's secrets contained—that was indeed selfish.
Still, I hurried through the hallways. In the highest hall, they said there were object and communication transport runes to reach the dragon. I had to get there, read, modify, make them work to take me to the dragon. Chapatrueno was almost there, and he must not kill him. No, that poor trusting one needed to suffer much before being able to free himself from such a heavy burden.