A Twist of the Sands

by P R Glazier

  ~

  Nar’Allia followed the T’Iea as she moved silently away. She knew that this other T’Iea was trying to make for the exit. Nar’Allia wanted to stop the T’Iea, talk to her, tell her she was wrong in what she was doing, ask her, persuade her to come back, back to the light. She skipped across the sleeping forms, she moved to cut the other T’Iea off from her intended escape route. They were close now, the T’Iea turned, smiled at Nar’Allia who was taken aback. She had to parry a curved blade, rich with the scent of some bitter substance, Poison! But a sudden pain in her side brought her to her senses. Nar’Allia felt a stinging sensation in her side just above her hip.

  The two opponents danced across the floor, blades flashed in the low red glow of the fire. The assassin pressed onwards, she knew that she would now have to press home the advantage she had or risk total failure. There! She countered a blade, she dropped her larger dagger and held her opponents forearm, a twist and the other T’Iea cried out in pain dropping one of the two swords, the assassin raised the poisoned blade above her head, she would bring it down into the side of the exposed neck. But she cried out in anger as someone grasped the wrist that held the dagger from behind, she kicked backwards with her foot, felt the bone crunch as someone’s leg buckled beneath them, felt the grip on her wrist release. Now down would come the dagger.

  Her smile was brief, she could not work the muscles in her arm, they would not respond. The strangest feeling had come over her, she could not feel her hands yet she could clearly see the dagger grasped there. She suddenly felt removed from the world; it was a strange feeling, a feeling almost of release. But then she gasped, her breath sounded rough, rasping, a burning sensation in her chest caught her attention. She looked down, the hilt of a short sword was there, slender fingers grasped the hilt, blood soaked her clothing around the place. She could feel the hot trickle running down the inside of her clothing soaking her belly, pooling where the dagger belt was tightly buckled. Her own blood she realised. She looked into the face of the other T’Iea, a weak T’Iea woman, dark skinned from being under the hateful sun for too long. The assassin wanted to hate but the emotion would not come, all she saw reflected there in the face of this other were the blue eyes of her people, a sadness, a look of deep concern. The assassin felt her heart die, felt the blood within her slow, felt her lungs expel her last breath. Darkness came over her as she continued to look into the face of the other T’Iea. She tried to smile, to thank her, but could not, the other T’Iea looked sorrowful, almost ashamed. Arms grasped her as her legs gave way, gentle arms laid her softly to the ground as all went into darkness and she knew no more.

  Nar’Allia wept as she lowered the T’Iea girl to the ground. The face reminded her so much of Solvienne. She let go of the young T’Iea who could not even have come of age yet she looked so young. She stood and stepped back, held her free hand to her mouth a metallic taste was there, she looked at her bloody hand, staggered across to the doorway. Someone had lit a torch, lots of people seemed to be shouting around her, but the sounds were muffled. Someone was holding her arm; she felt a soft pad held to her side where she was vaguely aware of a stinging sensation. But all she could do was remember the dead eyes of the T’Iea she had just killed, see her sword protruding from the body. In those staring eyes she saw Solvienne and Minervar, saw her kin, saw the ancient pain of many ages.

  Suddenly she understood what Serinae had said back there in the cave on the island of the little pigs. “I must save them Narny, save every one of them.” Nar’Allia found herself agreeing, Serinae wanted to save the T’Iea’Neat’Thegoran, the dark elves. She wanted to save every one of them. It was not enough just to save Minervar, she realised what all her race needed, they all had to be brought back, to be freed of the terrible position they found themselves in. They needed to be reconciled once more, reunited, once again an undivided people. The Rift had corrupted them, long ago in the Pnook city of old it had warped their minds, they did not deserve the fate that it represented. Nar’Allia slowly turned, she needed fresh air, chaos flowed around her as she walked, several times running figures glanced off her in the dark almost knocking her off balance. But eventually she stood outside. She looked up wanting to see the stars, but the ever present mist and cloud of the shroud obscured them from view. She sighed, was about to drop her gaze, when suddenly a single star shone through a gap in the mists. She could almost feel its warmth; she smiled in its light and said under her breath, “thank you.” Then she collapsed to the ground.

  Sometime later, Nar’Allia knew not how long, she was lying once again under the furs in her cot. She found Deanola talking to her. Deanola was thanking her for her actions and thanking the Maker that the wound on Nar’Allia’s side was not made by the poisoned dagger. But Nar’Allia could not feel any pride in what she had done. The young elven girl was not the enemy, not the true enemy; something far more evil and deserving of death was behind the young girl’s actions. She found herself again wondering about her smaller sister, wanted to hug her, protect her from everything that was wrong with the world in which they lived. Why had such evil been allowed to endure, why had it come to the world in the first place? She thought she may feel anger at the dark elves for the black purposes they represented, but all she could find in her heart was a deep pity that they felt such evil thoughts and found themselves bowing to such evil purpose. To Nar’Allia it all seemed such a tragic waste.

  She again felt the presence by her side, it was Deanola. “Do not blame yourself Nar’Allia, death comes in many forms. I understand your turmoil, the young elf you killed, so full of promise, yet also so misguided. Do not blame yourself, put this behind you and move on. There is much to do and many more may die before this is over. I wish this could be done without further bloodshed but I fear that is not possible.”

  Nar’Allia looked at Deanola, “can we end this? Do you really think we can do it? Change what has come about over all the ages of this world. Make everything good once more?”

  “No Nar’Allia, not in as many words. All we can hope for is to be able to help in some small way; we can perhaps restore some sanity to the world, at least to the part that we can influence. Make it a slightly safer place for those who follow us, for the generations to come, in the hope that they finish the work we have started. But there is one thing I can do, one thing I can attempt.” Deanola turned and walked back towards the entrance to the house.

  “What Deanola? What is it you can do?” Nar’Allia cried after her, but the old mage did not reply.