Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
Diluted Blood
I didn’t know where I was, or what would happen to me.
My belly ached from being roughly thrown and draped against the saddlehorn for gods know how long, and my arms screamed for relief from the bindings that firmly held my hands behind my back. My head pounded mercilessly from being in such a position for so long. Luckily, my captor had been kind enough to at least let me rest my head a little against his knee.
There was a gag in my mouth and a sack over my head, making it impossible to scream or to even see which direction we were going. At first I had tried to figure out where we were going using the senses that were still at my disposal--I’d heard the familiar babbling of Greershock Brook and then the stiff perfume of the privets just before crossing Ithan’s Bridge. But then I’d lost consciousness somewhere in Holdren Forest and woken up hours later, losing my grip of my location with it.
It had been nearly midnight when the two men attacked me. I hadn’t been able to sleep and had gone just outside of the door to catch some fresh air when silent shadows crept up and snatched me, covering my mouth and holding a blade to my throat to silence the screams that might have saved me. I’d been cursing myself for being so careless ever since, my pounding head making my ire against myself even more pungent.
From the faint light that was peaking through the threads of the sack that covered my head and the soft, wet chill that clung to my clothes and skin, I gathered it was likely early morning, right at dawn.
The horse’s steps beneath me were choppy but rhythmic, almost like a drum. There was another horse nearby, likely carrying the other man that had attacked me. At least I guessed that they were both men, judging by the rugged strength in their grasp. It had been too dark to see their faces. I wondered if the other horse carried another prisoner thrown over the saddlehorn like a sack of potatoes.
I guessed that I should be grateful that they hadn’t raped me, as my first fear had been, but that didn’t guarantee that my luck would hold out as soon as we stopped. I wondered why no one had stopped them or questioned them as we passed, but the soft crinkling sound of grass and pine needles under the horse’s hooves suggested that we weren’t even on a trail--we were riding through wild forest.
My captor leaned forward, crushing my gut more against the saddlehorn. I grunted in protest, just as the soft prickle of pine needles brushed my arm. I was right--we were pushing through the thick of the forest. I prayed that my captor was kind enough to evade briar thickets. I hadn’t a copper to my name, but I’d found that inheriting my mother’s beauty had made life a little less harsher--people were always kinder to those who were easy on the eyes.
A gruff male voice to the right of my captor’s horse called out in a language I didn’t recognize. My captor--a male with a clearer voice--replied in the same strange tongue before pulling the reins to a stop and dismounting, allowing my sore body to flop from the saddlehorn into the much more forgiving curve of the saddle seat.
“It’s a wonder you haven’t pissed yourself,” my captor said in my own tongue, his speech clear despite the strange lilt. It was an accent I’d never heard, even in my time with the merchants’ caravan. It was musical yet severe, much like I would imagine a fabled prince to speak.
Strong hands grabbed my hips and pulled me off the horse and to the ground. Light blinded me a moment later as the sack was removed from my head, and I laid eyes on my captors for the first time. They were both handsome, much different from the warty and dirty thugs I’d imagined. The one that had held me on the horse for hours still stood close, hands gripping my arms tightly as if scared I would run. He had clear, penetrating blue eyes enhanced by the thick raven curls that crowned his head. He was almost clean shaven, light stubble shadowing his jaw.
His companion was of a darker complexion, though his hair was a sandy blond and his eyes so dark I couldn’t distinguish the pupil from the iris. His thin lips were twisted in a smirk as he looked upon me.
“No need to look so scared, sweetheart. We aren’t going to harm you.” His was the gruff voice I’d heard before.
“As long as you don’t scream,” the dark haired one added, untying the gag.
I spat and coughed as soon as the cloth was out of my mouth. The dark haired one held a water skin to my lips. I drank eagerly, several droplets escaping and coursing along my neck and down my shirt.
I drank all that was in the water skin before looking to my captors once more. “I would appreciate it if you would tell me what you planned to do with me. My first guess would be that you planned to sell me as a slave, but I can guess that this forest isn’t anywhere near the slave markets to the south.”
The golden haired one’s smirk grew even wider. “And how do you guess that?”
“There’s too much pine here to be south of Homweil, and the air is too crisp.”
“She’s sharp, this one,” the dark haired one mused, raising a hand to run a thumb along my jaw. I shiver, the fear of rape not completely gone.
“No worries, love,” the golden haired one soothed, approaching to stand shoulder to shoulder with his companion. “We aren’t here to harm you. Our mistress wouldn’t be pleased at that.”
Apparently their mistress’s orders didn’t forbid them from looking hungrily over me. The dark haired one’s thumb still grazed my jaw and neck, up and down, until it touched my earlobe. It skimmed the rim of my ear to the top, and I tensed as he pushed my dark hair back and touched the scar that ran along the entire edge of my upper ear.
“No worries, love,” the golden haired one mused, then lifted his own hair from his ear to show a similarly disfiguring scar at the top. “We are just like you.”
Part elves. The elven people had been pushed and butchered from the land years ago after the long-fought war was finally won by the people that had raised me. True-blooded elves hadn’t been seen in the lands for over fifty years. Some claimed that they had gone extinct, while others claimed that the remnants of the elder race had escaped to the northern Hythren Mountains. The wilderness up there was too wild and cold for many to care enough to venture. As long as the elves weren’t seen, they didn’t exist.
Except that I had been a reminder of their existence my entire life.
My mother had been a half elf, my grandfather being some traveling bard that had ended up in my grandmother’s bed one night. One fateful decision had cursed generations. I’d been born with slightly pointed ears, not quite as pointed as my mother’s had been, but not quite rounded enough to pass off as a natural-born human. Part elves like me were hated by nearly all people, being related to the fiends that had butchered their loved ones in the war, so my mother and I had had the points cut from our ears. It was a common practice of part elves to hide their obvious heritage, though the scars were still tell-tales, which is why I’d always kept my ears hidden behind my thick chestnut hair.
I found myself relax slightly at the reveal, though confusion quickly replaced the worry that had gripped me. “Why do you need me?”
“We will protect you,” the dark haired one responded. “You must have heard of the newest elven purge that is happening.”
“I have.” There had been whispers in the town of how the king’s army was going from village to village and burning anyone with elven blood. But it was happening so far away that I hadn’t given much thought to it.
“It’s only a matter of time before they reach you,” the golden haired one explained. “We find it our duty to save th
ose with the elder blood, for such blood is precious.”
I nearly laughed. I’d heard my entire life that having elder blood was a curse, that the possibility of wielding the evil powers of magic made me a monster. Even my half elven mother had told me to hate that part of myself and embrace my superior human qualities.
“And what makes my blood so precious?”
My two captors exchange a glance, any smug or haughty expression gone in an instant. It was the dark haired one that spoke. “As you well know, the elves were nearly killed out in the war.”
“The warriors at least,” I retort. “It is known that they were defending a grand nation of nearly immortals.”
“Elves may seem immortal to us,” the dark haired one replied, “but the youthful ones make the best warriors. The issue is that elven youth are also the only ones that can bare children. The war killed a vast majority of these elven youth, as well as plundered the villages, butchering elven children and wives like cattle.” The dark haired one’s eyes turned cold at the mention of this.
“And why should I care?” I said coldly.
“Because even if those damned humans drilled it into your head that elves are your enemy, they are still a part of you,” the golden haired one snarled. “Elven blood, no matter how diluted, is more precious than gold or gems.”
“You keep saying that,” I drawl, “but I still don’t understand why you took me against my will. I’ve survived the human race for twenty two years, and I quite like it. Why couldn’t you have asked if I was interested in my family history?”
“Because this isn’t a matter of asking or your family history,” the dark haired one whispered severely. “This is a matter of saving a dying race.”
My stomach tightened when the implication of his words hit me. “You want me to bare elven bastard children,” I whispered, hoping they would contradict my words. When they said nothing to the contrary, anger roiled in my gut. “You expect me to come with you to be an elven whore, to be nothing more than a breeding mare for your little monsters?” Had my hand not been bound right then, I would have gouged their eyes out.
“Nothing will be done against your will,” the golden haired one said.
“This is against my will.”
“Nothing beyond this,” the golden haired one corrected, “will be done against your will. You will be given a safe home amongst your kind, and if you decide that ours is a noble race, you will want to offer yourself to the furthering of your bloodline.”
“I though elves didn’t claim anyone who was less than a pure elf,” I retort. “We are shunned by both sides.”
“That was the case, years ago,” the dark haired one agreed. “Even in my lifetime I’ve seen the shift. The elder elves are desperate to preserve their race. They’ve seen some success in creating pure elven generations, but they fear the progress is too slow. They hope that including part elves into their society will eventually produce generations of nearly pure elves.”
My chest heaved, and the golden haired one’s gazed to it. I wondered if the elves were more interested in preserving their race or if they were merely horny shitbags.
“So I have no say in whether or not I go,” I said.
The dark haired one grinned. “You know too much now. But if you promise you won’t try anything funny, I’ll let you sit up in the saddle without the sack over your head.”
Not seeing any way out of this, I nodded.
“Good,” the dark haired one said, grin even wider. “Now, make sure to take a piss before we continue on our way.”
Chapter Two
Blood Lineage
I’d hoped that we would make it to our destination by nightfall. I was sorely mistaken.
My thighs had fist-sized welts on them by the end of the second day, which then popped and bled the third day. Luckily, my captors had a enough mercy in them to allow me to rest and even supplied me with a salve, muttering their constant reminder that elven blood was precious. They fed me with trout they caught from the streams and shared a flaky biscuit they carried in their saddlebags. For travel food, the biscuits weren’t half bad, though I tried to act indifferent, not wanting to act too keen on the idea of eating elven food for the rest of my life.
The dark haired one, who was named Gaelin, gave me a cloak to wrap myself in at the end of the fourth day. The slight chill of the mornings had stretched into the days until frost blanketed the pineneedles and moss. I knew we would see snow soon, if we traveled much farther north.
The golden haired one told me his name was Folwin. The two of them were cousins, both taken by the elves at a young age when the bearing of pure blooded elves was proving too slow. There were hundreds like them, half elves, and they were now gaining a fair number of quarter elves like myself. There were even a few that had even less elven blood than I did, though they were hard to find, as the elven traits usually hid themselves after a few generations, though those people with distant elven ties tended to maintain their youth a little longer than other people and even lived longer, though it wasn’t enough to raise suspicion most of the time.
They told me stories of the elves as we rode, and I half listened, hating myself for feeling intrigued. Though people hated the elves, it didn’t keep some from creating fanciful tales of the beautiful elven women who could draw any man--or woman--into her bed with a mere nod of the head. From what Gaelin and Folwin suggested in their talk, these fanciful tales weren’t far from the truth. They also talked of the plentitude of feasts and nightly dances, how the near-immortals could drink and eat for hours without becoming sick and rise in the morning as spry as ever. Gaelin especially seemed proud that this trait had been passed down to him.
“So if our elven blood is so precious, have you yourselves created any new generations?” I pried, breaking their laughter after Folwin told a rather crass joke about bedding a full-blooded maiden.
“Not yet,” Folwin said mournfully. “Maidens of any blood lineage are reserved first for the pure elves. Any that are either refused or refuse to have any of the purer blooded elves may choose someone like us.”
“So women have a say in who they are with?”
“Yes,” Gaelin replied, “Though you should thank the gods that you aren’t full-blooded. They have little say in who they are paired with.”
It was sickening, but I didn’t push the subject further.
It wasn’t until the middle of the sixth day of trudging through the forest, which was now brittle with ice and frost, that Folwin sighed in relief as a valley came into view. “We’re nearly there, just beyond that mountain pass.”
I squinted to the wall of mountain that stood on the far edge of the valley, where a break in the stone was just barely visible. It would be at least another half-day’s ride.
“Do you think the horses could stand to go a little faster?” Gaelin asked Folwin.
I ran my hand against the fetlock of the roan mare I sat on with Gaelin. Sweat glistened on her thick coat despite the cold, and her breath was labored.
“We’ll give them extra grain at the stables,” Folwin replied and urged his gelding on.
We cantered across the valley, huddling our in our cloaks against the wind until we reached the thin mountain pass. The pass was more of a crack in the mountain, the cold stone walls mere inches from either side of us. The horses’ hoof falls echoed clearly up the mountain pass, creating an eerie chorus as we headed farther into the mountain.
“How do you keep intruders out?” I whisper to Gaelin, my eyes lifting to where the darkening sky peeked from the top of the pass.
“Scouts.” He whispered as well. “They’re always there. There were some at the entrance, waiting at the top. If we had been intruders, we’d have arrows through our hearts right now. Chances are, there are more watching us now.”
I shivered, wondering how they could hide so well with only stone.
The pass finally widened, and an ornate but fearsome looking gate loomed in front of us, nearly rising hu
ndreds of feet to the top of the pass. I could see the guards plainly here--two standing between us and the gate, and then two more standing on ledges along the edge of the pass, staring down at us from over two dozen feet in the air. They were all armed with heavy, ornate armor and lethal looking weapons.
“What have you brought?” the first guard, a woman, asked in a commanding tone.
“A rare treasure,” Folwin replied, and Gaelin pulled the hood of my cloak back to reveal my face to the guards. “She’s cut her ears, but her blood lineage is strong.”
“I can sense that,” the woman guard said, approaching. She peered at me with strange golden eyes. “I would guess a quarter elf?”
I nodded stiffly, not liking how she scrutinized me as if she could see every fiber of my being.
The guard nodded to her companion, who pulled the gate open. “Take her straight to Elura. She’ll want to have a good look at her.”
I didn’t ask who Elura was, but I gathered from the gleeful looks on Gaelin and Folwin’s faces that I was in for a treat. What that treat was, I had no idea.
The pass stretched on a short ways after the gate, then opened into a wide forest path. I breathed a sigh of relief to be away from the cold stone walls. I strange, sweet smell wafted through the trees, and I crinkled my nose.
“That’s the magic you’re sensing,” Folwin explained, laughing. “You’ll get used to it. Magic lives in everything we see and do here.”
Up ahead, a beautifully crafted building rose from the forest. High arches and ornate carvings accentuated the ancient-looking building, strange fireless lamps illuminating the path and edifice so is seemed to glow in the darkening night. A half elven man came out to greet them as they approached the entrance of the building.
“We’ve got a quarter girl for Elura,” Gaelwin said, dismounting his mare and helping me out of the saddle.
The half elf looked me over appraisingly, his green eyes twinkling in the strange lamplight. “What’s your name, girl?”
Elven Treasure Page 1