— Chapter Thirty-Seven —
Unfinished Business
Saviadro wandered the outskirts of the forest, avoiding the celebration of the twins’ birth. How was it that a pair of squalling newborn brats were worthy of such adoration? He kicked a rock across the grass.
Nothing had gone as planned. Despite Nargaz’s distractions of poison and invasion, the Quenya and the Levniquenya had remained under constant watch. If anything, they had been more closely guarded than ever! There had been no opportunity to claim the Quenya’s power as his own.
Saviadro kicked at another rock in his path. How could Daroandir just leave him like that? The elf had been like an elder brother to him since his parents had been killed. Despite their disagreements, Daroandir was the one person who had always watched over him. Instead of being at Saviadro’s side, where he belonged, Daroandir had chosen to give his life to a sinking piece of rock. He had probably done it because it was the destiny the Quenya had mapped out for him. Ridiculous!
The world’s destiny was shaped by those who were strong enough to take control. The drakhalu had taught Saviadro that when they had killed his parents. He would never let his life be decided for him. But now he was truly alone. Daroandir had abandoned him.
Perhaps it was for the best. With no one left who was close to him, it would be easier to adopt a new, meek persona. As much as it would pain him, he would ingratiate himself to Valanandir and Iadrawyn. He would need to win their trust to gain access to the Quenya and the Levniquenya.
It was a shame Nargaz had perished. Saviadro had come to enjoy the dragon’s company. It was nice to be understood. He had only planned to use Nargaz to gain access to the Quenya. Once he had the power in his possession, he had intended to kill the beast, wise and majestic as he was. Nargaz had been too clever and dangerous to keep close at hand once Saviadro had what he wanted. But now he found himself missing the dragon’s presence.
Saviadro gave the pack at his side a comforting pat. Perhaps he could create a replacement. He found a spot that seemed appropriate. It was a hollow at the base of a tree. He looked around. No one wandered this part of the forest. He was probably the first elf to tread here. Kneeling, he unslung his pack from his shoulder and opened it. He looked down in satisfaction on its contents.
Seven eggs, each the size of his doubled fists gleamed dully from within. He had found them in his final travels of Ralvaniar, abandoned in a dragon lair. The mother had probably died in battle. He had immediately claimed them for himself. Imagine what he could do with seven dragons at his command! He settled them into the hollow, covering them with a thick layer of grass and leaves.
He was willing to wait.