by Carl Sargent
The elf bowed slightly and smiled at him. "I will let you think about that," he said. "But as I say, do no more than that. Otherwise amp; " He drew a line across his throat with his finger. "Not to mention the girl. Maybe you would risk your own life. But you wouldn't want to even contemplate what we could do to her. Then deliver what was left to you."
Serrin wanted to hate him, but all he could muster was a wretched, cornered, bleak feeling of resentment.
"There's also the troll, of course. Niall's spirit healed him. If he knew the truth, that he never destroyed anything worth the time of day, that his savior" the elf grinned a little at the words "was about to meet a rather unpleasant end, it could ruin his day. You would not want to do that, would you?
"But Niall was right. You do have a chance with the woman this time. If you don't throw it away, you might even come to understand. In the long run." The elf came forward, into the light, and touched Serrin's head. He felt nothing, and just gazed up at him. The other elf had an eerie beauty, a face both androgynous and sexless, golden hair tied back, violet eyes revealing nothing, long-fingered hands with almost translucent skin.
"Take him away." The elf was gone, leaving only the two assassins to escort Serrin, blindfolded, up the stairs and into the car again.
He scrabbled for the spare key Michael had given him. It was nearly five in the morning and he felt completely gutted, entirely empty. He knew the truth about Luther, but the truth behind that was buried in a shroud of secrecy and deception. I have nothing, he thought. It's all dust and ashes. And I can't talk about it. Not least for Tom's sake.
He opened the door quietly, his hand searching for the light switch. A glowing yellow line below one of the other doors became a shaft of light into the room as Kristen opened the door. She stood in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame and looking at him. The silk shirt reached halfway to her knees, and she stood bare-legged, something close to despair on her face.
Serrin felt something on his own face where the elf had touched him, and instantly he was somewhere else. Far distant, on the other side of the Atlantic, centuries away, and he had just learned that she was lost to him, sold by her father into marriage with a hateful and brutal righ, and the pain of it ripped through his heart and guts. He had to clutch at the door to remain standing.
Then he was simply himself again, looking at her.
Now I'm on the verge of throwing away what 1 would once have killed for. Frag it all. Luther. Magellan. Whoever has condemned me to wonder about all this drek. All the loose ends; I never did find the scarred man, though maybe he ended up just another nameless body somewhere in that charnel house at Schwandorf. I'll never know. And frag running from one place to the next, hanging around for only a week or a month or a season, then packing up the same suitcase with the same handful of things, all just so I can keep on with the same old running and moving and running just for something to do. Yes, I'm twice her age. I'm an elf, she's human. So what? It just means we'll grow old at about the same pace.
Serrin threw back his head and laughed aloud at the prosaic thought. Then he paused and wondered why he had let himself think so far ahead. He never did that.
Kristen took a few hesitant steps, stopped, then she was running to him, across oceans and centuries and so many other times, and he opened his arms wide and found her, found her at last.
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Document creation date: 06.09.2010
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