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

about to begin and that they must pour every piece of their being into witnessing the truth; seeing for themselves the justification they needed. Wiglim shared a moment with Merol, staring into his eyes, and then his anger relinquished. A pure sense of duty enveloped him, and he unbound the shackle over Merol’s mouth with a flash of blue energy.
    “Noo! Please, you’ve—” Merol immediately began to rant, crying hysterically, and with a wave of his hand Wiglim silenced his former master, and Merol became mute. The crowd was locked to the scene with anticipation, knowing what Terion’s orders had been.
    “As per the request of the King and the support of his citizens, you have been granted a chance, by reason of your past-done good deeds, to speak of the reason for your treachery before you are executed—so speak it now, for your time is short, and choose your words elegantly, for they will be the last any will remember of you,” came the monotone, unattached drone of Wiglim, purposefully trying to seem unconcerned with the fate of his once beloved master. Again a blue light flashed from the tips of Wiglim’s fingers, and Merol could once again speak.
    “It’s all wrong—a misunderstanding! I was controlled by Aulterion, he possessed me—his power was incredible, there was no defense against it! It was not I who betrayed you, it was a puppet of Aulterion’s!”
    “Enough! We’ve heard that line before, when you were first brought in!” roared Terion himself, standing up in anger from across the grand hall. “Have you no honor or pride, not even given the venerable death we offer you now?” Wiglim looked for a sign from Terion as to whether or not to let Merol continue to speak—it seemed Terion would allow one more chance, and so Wiglim turned for Merol’s last words.
    “Do not believe me if you wish, but I was being controlled by Aulterion, you’ve no idea of the power he gained from Vesleathren! And now Vesleathren and Zesm the Rancor have merged into one! You’ll see the monstrosity soon enough! My words will proof in a sky of fire!” Wiglim eyed Merol with extreme disappointment, as if trying to dissuade the former Vapour from the tale he was shaping, knowing it would rob him of his last chance to speak something that might give his memory some shred of dignity.
    “No More! Silence him, Wiglim—he spins evil webs even to his dying minute!” commanded Terion powerfully, and all the room grew so faint that not a whisper could be heard.
    “You’ve said enough,” whispered Wiglim, feeling anger trickle again into his heart. He waved his hands for a third time and a bright flash of blue emanated from them; this time the flash was abrupt, and it disappeared with a resounding crackle, as if shut off prematurely. From Merol’s body had come a surge of energy, a searing flash of jade-colored lightning—the old Vapour had somehow conjured enough spirit to counter the muzzling effect of Wiglim’s spell, buying himself one more brief moment to speak; it was clear immediately to Wiglim that Merol had been saving his strength for his last counterspell. Merol slumped down on his schist slab in exhaustion, but his purpose was achieved, and he used his last seconds to speak while Wiglim cast his muting spell once more:
    “Know then my last words— the prophecy has been fulfilled; The Departed Race has returned to Darkin! Fear their arrival, and let this omen of mine when it comes true allow you a fond remembrance of me! ”
    Wiglim ignored his chance to return a muting blast and instead he channeled his rage at the insolent dwarf that he no longer recognized to be his master—the great blue clash that erupted from Wiglim’s finger tips lit the grand hall so brightly that each dwarf had to shield his eyes, and each felt the temperature rise sharply in the drafty hall. Even King Terion stumbled with temporary blindness as he approached the slab, intending to punish Merol himself for his insolent last