The Boy With the Silver Eyes ~A NaNoWriMo Entry~

When a new boy named Peter Menard comes to their high school, Best friends Sarah Wagner and Alex Haisgen know there's something different about him. When the truth is revealed, a whirlwind of lies, jealousy, and hatred stirs. An old rivalry begins again, and Sarah is right in the middle of it. Sarah must travel to a world were magic, monsters, sprites, and fairies roam. Will she succeed, or will her life end as she knows it?
Cover created by Willow Angel.

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44. Chapter 42

November 29th, 2015

Zlo’s POV:

The next morning, a large party of enemy soldiers were spotted coming towards camp, armed with swords and spears. The camp was thrown into a panic! Soldiers scurried this way and that, readying their weapons. We knew that we could easily over power them, but there was no problem with being prepared.

As the soldiers approached the camp, their flag of truce became more apparent, and the troops sheepishly put away their weapons.

 Bahadur, Dimitri, Vladimir, and I kept ours in case there were any signs of trouble. When the party of soldiers reached camp, they threw down their weapons as a sign of peace and knelt down on one knee, their heads bowed.

“We’ve come to make peace,” the leader of the group said, his voice muffled by the iron helmet that he wore. “Who are you?” the general asked, stepping forward. He was, hilariously, much shorter than the enemies’ leader, but he still managed to look threatening.

“Why do you need to know?” the man snapped, and I could imagine him smirking under his helmet. I drew my dagger and pushed my way through the large crowd. When I reached them, I pressed the point of my dagger into the man’s chest. The soldiers kneeling became uneasy, and I could hear our own troops whispering and muttering under their breath.

“Take. Off. Your. Stupid. Helmet!” I growled, digging my blade in a little more, piercing through the rough brown shirt he wore. The man’s black eyes stared at me with grudging respect, and he slowly lifted his helmet off of his head. “Liam?!” I gasped, lowering my dagger in shock.

“Surprise, Zlo,” he said, casting his eyes down with shame. Vladimir had moved up beside me, and his face was expressionless as he and Liam locked eyes. One of the soldiers kneeling coughed, breaking the awkward silence.

“What?! Oh, right. Do you accept our truce and surrender?” Liam asked, his arms folded across his chest. The general nodded and snapped his fingers. A young dwarf stepped forward, carrying a pot of melted wax and two brown leather gloves.

Liam and the general each put on a glove and grasped each other’s’ wrists. The boy poured the wax, encasing their hands in a thick layer of the transparent liquid, which quickly hardened and became white.

“Do you swear to depart in peace and go on your way?” the general asked. Liam nodded and the wave became softer. “Do you swear to honor the truce and not attack us as we depart?” Liam asked. The general nodded. “And lastly, do you swear to be our ally, and aid us in times of trouble?” they said in unison, and then they both nodded.   

“Then let this war end. Let these two sides live in harmony! Let our descendants live together in peace!” the boy chanted, his eyes closed. The wax glowed harshly for a moment before the wax fell away. When the droplets landed on the white desert sands, they sprouted and became a cattail flower, a symbol of peace.

“That was easy,” Liam laughed, shaking the general’s hand. “Yes, it was. That’s something humans don’t understand. Peace is so easy to achieve!” Dimitri said. The general clapped his son on the back, grinning.

“Now we must leave you, general,” Liam said, bowing and turning to walk away. “And Zlo? I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me,” Liam said, looking at me over his shoulder. I looked away, my expression hard. He sighed and began to walk away. The soldiers who had been kneeling quickly stood up and followed after him, leaving their weapons behind.

“Does this mean we get to go home?” one young soldier said hopefully. The general nodded and the troops erupted into cheers, hugging each other and laughing. Some even shed a tear or two. I know, so manly of them. Note the sarcasm. Vladimir started to walk and motioned for me to come with him. When we were out of earshot of the other soldiers, he stopped.

“You know what’s going to happen next, right?” he said softly, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I…become King,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound nervous. He nodded, smiling sadly at me.

“You don’t have to be King yet. Windtwist…” “No,” I interrupted, a new sense of determination stirring inside of me. “I’ll become king. Mom and dad would have wanted me to. So would…so would Peter,” I choked out. Vladimir smiled kindly at me.

“Zlo, did I ever tell you how proud I am to have you as my nephew. Even…even if you don’t call me ‘uncle’ or anything like that, we’re still family,” he said. Smiling, I nodded and gave him a side hug before going back to camp to help pack everything up for our journey back home.

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