Chapter 481: Ripples Through Hearts
A deep silence fell over the Great Hall as the halves of the ancestral horns clattered to the ground, each piece rolling briefly on the ground as the iridescent light that once illuminated it seemed to bleed into the air before fading away like fog on the wind leaving the severed horns cold and lifeless. The sound of Nyrielle’s ax passing through the horns, a high pitched -CRACK- like elegant crystal shattering on stone, continued to ring in everyone’s ears long after the severed horns rolled to a stop.
In her chair, Old Svenja trembled visibly and her stoop-shouldered frame seemed to shrink further as she watched darkness ripple across the horns, devouring what little light they had left and rendering them as lifeless as the stones of the mountain.
Once the greatest of her people, their stories had only recently been rediscovered, yet now, instead of taking places of honor in Ancestral Caves where generations could learn from their wisdom, they would only be remembered as the scheming manipulators who caused the fall of the High Pass. It hardly seemed fair for so many centuries of service to count for so little in the end, but if her long life had taught her anything it was that life was rarely fair.
Beside her, Commander Jannik stood rigid, his dark fur bristling along his shoulders as conflicting emotions warred within him. Part of him wanted to cry out at the injustice of it all. Twice this year, Lady Nyrielle had visited, and twice this year, she had destroyed the horns of his clansmen. For this alone, he should hate her from the soles of his feet to the tip of his horn.
And yet, when he recalled the overwhelming presence and the near irresistible urge to worship the horns of these ancestors... he struggled to say that Lady Nyrielle was wrong to destroy them. They had seen first hand the lifeless husk that the ancestors had turned Hauke into when he fought back against their control and he didn’t believe for a moment that he would have fared better than the young lord had.
Caught between both feelings, he could neither celebrate the destruction of their ancestral relics nor show gratitude for the woman who had freed them from a potential life of servitude, controlled by the ghosts of heroes long dead. Caught up in the maelstrom of conflicting feelings within his heart, he could only turn his eyes to the powerful vampire, waiting to hear what fate she had in mind for his people now that the trial had come to an end.
Further back in the room, Darfrir and his young followers responded differently. While the elders wore faces of deep loss and inner turmoil, the young men saw the world through much simpler eyes.
They finally understood just how strong Young Hauke had been to stand up against the ancient ancestors for as long as he had and seeing the way he had struggled to speak up on behalf of his father instead of pleading for his own life had cemented his position in their minds as the greatest Frost Walker of their generation.
"Next they will announce the new ruler of the High Pass," he whispered to his companions. "I hate it but... I cannot fight the vampires or the witches," he admitted, even though it pained him. Nyrielle’s single blow with her shadowy ax had removed every last doubt in his mind and heart that he could stand against her.
"But I haven’t lost my tongue to speak or my will to use it," the young warrior said. "When the time comes, I will speak up for Young Lord Hauke. No one else has his strength and I’m done with being lorded over by these old, fading relics who bow and scrape and surrender instead of fighting to the end. When I speak out, will you speak with me?" Darfrir asked. The others nodded grimly, quickly agreeing that it was time for someone who understood them to take the throne. Someone like Hauke who would fight with all his strength for his family and his clan.
On Nyrielle’s side of the hall, reactions varied just as widely as they had among the frost walkers, though there were far fewer expressions of grief or loss and many more who gazed upon the Harbinger of Death with a newfound sense of awe.