“Do not struggle, human, if you value your life,” she said, cutting off Marcius’s protests. There was a brief noise of one fumbling for something, and then Marcius felt his left hand being wrapped by thin, but strong, rope. She even weaved it between his fingers, limiting their movement to barely being bendable. She then repeated the process with his right hand. “If I hear a spell from your lips, I will kill you, understand?” Marcius nodded emphatically.
And then she left him alone, with only the fading lantern to light the dark, vanishing so fast that she seemed merely the whisper of a dream. He thought about running, but where would he run, tied up in the middle of the night? Could he even run? He didn’t trust his legs. As it was, between his head injury, the dip in the ocean, and the spell he just unleashed, the tree was the only thing keeping him upright.
Minutes ticked away with relentless obedience and Marcius started to fear that perhaps she really did leave him to die. Suddenly there was a subtle rustle of underbrush off to his left. From the forest came the elf, astride a pale white horse. The hide of the animal made it ethereal, aglow in the dim light that barely reached them from the fallen lantern. Marcius was amazed that such a large animal could move so quietly.
The elf dismounted lightly, noiselessly. To his relief, she untied the rope and she tossed him something which he grabbed at reflexively. Clothing. “Put those on,” she said and it was only then that he remembered that he was naked.
The material was thin and soft, yet it kept the chill of night away. He wondered if she could see him in the dark. Marcius didn’t know much about elves as it was, but eventually just shrugged. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. Marcius still blushed as he changed (it was kind of hard, without the freedom of his hands), but the elf didn’t seem to give any notice. She stared blankly into the dark with the quiet intensity he’d started to associate with her, though he didn’t doubt she was observing him intently.
He no sooner had he pulled the shirt over his head when she grabbed him, half helping, half forcing him along to the animal. With a grunt, she helped him up, patiently waiting for his clumsy attempts to right himself on the beast before gracefully hoisting herself up to sit behind him.
Marcius’s heart skipped a beat or two when he felt the arms go around him to grasp the reins. She was so close! He could feel every breath she took as the animal led them into the forest, the darkness enveloping them. How the animal navigated the pitch blackness he didn’t know, but as time passed, he found himself relaxing against her. She was warm against his back, and her smell was an intoxicating blend that reminded him strongly of the forest itself. He had never been so aware of a person.
It was hard to imagine this beautiful being as the same fierce combatant that slew three men in front of him. Marcius felt his sense of self drift away, completely dominated with the unearthly nature of his captor. It seemed as if it was all a dream. She moved too unnaturally, the horse moved too surely through the darkness, and the whole situation was too unreal. One moment he was on a ship, the other he was watching a life and death struggle. Things like this just didn’t happen to a merchant boy!
Where was she taking him? It was just starting to dawn on him that his captivity wasn’t exactly voluntary, but he was powerless to resist her commands, it seemed. Did she have a spell of enchantment on him? No, he didn’t believe she did, but what was he going to do if he wasn’t able to return to his familiar soon? Without his blood, Faerill would die.
It was a sobering thought. Panic began to set in. Magic was all he had left! He had to get free. The relaxing warmth against him reminded Marcius that he had something else to worry about too. “Where are you taking me?” he said, his voice loud in the darkness. He was trying hard to remain calm, just like Jared always told him.
“Quiet, human. This place is dangerous,” the elf whispered, her voice hard against his ear.
Marcius shivered pleasantly, but did his best to ignore it. “Where are we going?” he whispered this time.
There was an audible sigh, before the distracting lips again came to rest near his ear. “Human, you are my prisoner. Consider yourself fortunate because we do not make a habit of such things. We are being hunted, but thanks to the aleare they are unable to find us. It is a moonless night, so you cannot see the danger, but if any further words come from you, I will slay you and leave the body to distract the beasts that stalk us.”
She had said it so calmly that it was unnerving. Marcius shivered again, this time not at all pleasantly. He didn’t have a clue to what an aleare was, but nodded anyway. The body behind him shifted back, apparently content with his understanding. The only thing that kept him calm was the thought of his best friend. What would Jared have done? Marcius could hear the blonde swordsman’s voice in his head, “Stay calm and wait. Do the best you can. That is all you can do right now. Going on and dying on us isn’t going to get you to the Academy or your familiar back. Stop worrying so much!”
Marcius smiled sadly. He’d do just that. Still, his mind pictured the dead soldiers, and he had to remember that his captor was dangerous, despite being so alluring. A part of him hated his obvious weakness to her feminine charms, and he silently resolved to put up a better wall between them. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the ride to where ever it was they were going! With a grin that Simon would have been proud of, he leaned further into her, finding the elf to be soft and yielding. The elf didn’t even seem to notice, so Marcius allowed himself to relax.
Time passed slowly, the gentle gait of the horse and the steady beat of the elf’s heart lulling him into a sense of security. Idly he watched vague shadows pass them in the darkness, savoring the closeness between him and his attractive captor. He thought it odd to feel such a thing for someone who made him a prisoner, but the feeling of enchantment still hung about the air, washing away such insecurities.
Marcius wasn’t sure how long they had been traveling, but gradually he began to notice that it wasn’t as dark as before, a greenish hue began to surround them and the atmosphere took on a less menacing presence. He recognized the sense of relief in the body against him, and guessed that they were probably nearing whatever destination she had in mind.
The forest itself began to change, the typical oaks and other unnamed trees being replaced by giant, ancient behemoths that seemed to reach up to the sky itself, and Marcius believed that even a dozen able bodied men, stretched arm to arm, wouldn’t have been able to go all the way around the trunk. Their massive roots broke free of the ground, creating a gnarled maze that twisted and turned every which way, creating the illusion that they traveled in a tunnel within a forest. Yet the horse walked steadily through it all.
“Are you not scared, human?” the elf’s soft voice roused Marcius from his stupor. “Scared of me and where we are going?” Apparently it was okay to talk now.
“No.” And Marcius found himself surprised at his answer, because it was true. He had just witnessed this woman kill three men, threaten his life, and take him prisoner, and all he felt was curiosity about where she was taking him. He supposed that, with everything that had happened in the past couple days to him, he had come to a point of grudging acceptance. Things felt as if it was all out of his control and all he could do was go along for the ride.
The elf didn’t respond, and the silence stretched gracelessly until, abruptly, the horse stopped in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by the massive inner forest of Selenthia. “We are here,” she said briskly, dropping down from the horse and looking up expectantly. He still felt so drained that it was an embarrassment when the elf had to help him down. Marcius half fell, half dropped off the horse
“So, where is here, exactly?”
“Quiet, human,” she responded, grabbing his hands roughly from behind, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. Marcius bit back his surprise and the realization that he was a prisoner hit him full force.
“Pregyliar’de en’reviliar!” a voice called
out from the beyond the forest edge.
“D’liare e’ Seleniale Destane Liarne!” she responded, louder than Marcius had ever heard her.
“Comiliar’ne et te reiliars!”
The elf motioned for Marcius to walk, and he did so, though his muscles protested every step. His breath was labored by the time they reached the edge of the forest. Marcius’s eyes widened as two elves in full battle gear walked out to greet them.
“Tiarle, Seleniale,” the tallest of the pair held a hand up in greeting.
“Tiarle, Dealiarn,” his captor responded.
Then the taller elf, a grim looking fellow with sandy brown hair glanced over at Marcius. “Diam leiarna?”
“Da.”
The tall elf nodded, and then with a gesture of his head, indicated a private session with Marcius’s captor. Marcius was surprised that she left his side so easily, at least until the smaller elf, a younger looking lad with raven black hair and sharp blue eyes, took her spot, prodding Marcius forward with rough gestures of his spear.
This particular elf wasn’t nearly as gentle as the previous, and Marcius found himself stumbling. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off his original captor. She was arguing with the taller elf, and the amount of animation in her face and body, so atypical to her normal detachment that Marcius knew, wasn’t at all unpleasant to watch. Curiosity nibbled at the edges of his mind and he wished he knew more about her.
An absurd thought, considering the circumstances.
He didn’t even realize he had stopped walking until his current captor jabbed him hard in the ribs with the butt of his spear, breaking him free from his trance and causing him to stumble to the ground. A wave of sickness shuddered through him and a sudden sense of vertigo made him collapse. Before Marcius knew it, the elf woman was by his side, helping him up and yelling in elvish at the boy, who had the grace to at least look apologetic.
“Are you okay?” she said, her hands steadfast under his arm.
“I think so,” Marcius mumbled, and another wave of nausea swept through him at that moment. “Why do you care?” he asked, trying to divert attention away from himself. Last thing he needed to do was puke on her.
“We elves are not like you humans. There is no point on abusing our prisoners unless they deserve it.”
“Ah, I se-" his sentence was cutoff as the world chose that moment to start spinning rapidly around him. Everything became muffled. He was briefly aware that the elf woman had started shouting before he collapsed, as he was suddenly feeling so very tired. The ground was cool to the touch and he relished it.
It all went black.
Chapter 22
Consciousness came slowly, like a figure through deep fog. Flashes of images buzzed in his head, brief instances of fevering consciousness. A warm hand pressing something cool against him, a soothing voice, a figure peering down at him intently as he coughed and fretted. It was all a jumble and thinking about it just made his head hurt more.
Where was he?
His eyelids sizzled and even the act of trying to open his eyes caused pain like a thousand hot pokers lanced through his head. Bereft of ideas, he listened instead.
At first he heard nothing but the throbbing of blood in his ears and his own breathing. But slowly, like a sieve, he began to filter out the noises. The sputter of a fireplace off to his left was dominant, but more delicate was the breathing of another being in the room with him.
“You are awake,” a soft and decidedly feminine accented voice said with confidence. “That is good. Your fever broke only recently. You have a nasty head wound too.”
Well, that would explain the pain and headache. Well, the head injury wasn’t anything new. Was the knock on the head worse than he thought? He reached up and felt the cloth; it was damp, though he wasn’t sure if it was from blood or sweat. “Who are you?” Marcius was surprised at how raspy and faint his voice sounded.
“I am a healer,” she said simply in Common. Her voice was familiar, but trying to place it while in his condition was like catching waves with a net. “Now drink this. It will make you feel better.”
There was a subtle movement of cloth and he could feel the presence of her over him. A gentle touch of pottery to his lips and a strong but sure hand guided his head forward, coaxing him to drink. Marcius tentatively opened his cracked lips, taking in just the tiniest amount of the liquid. It was warm and a bit spicy in a good way, hitting just the right spot in his empty stomach. He drank greedily until the last of it dribbled in and the healer took it away from him. He leaned back, sated though a bit disappointed.
“Good, now you must rest. I will inform those who must know of your recovery.”
“Wait,” Marcius bade her, though he was already feeling groggy. “Where is she?”
“Do you mean the warrior that brought you in?”
“Yes. I wanted. . . I wanted to thank her.”
There was a brief moment of silence. “And why would you want to do that, human? You are still a prisoner of Selenthia.”
“She didn’t kill me.”
“We do not make a habit of killing those that do not deserve it. That is why you are here. If we did, we would be no greater than humans.”
“Now I’m the one confused. If I didn’t do anything, why am I a prisoner?”
“You were found in company of those who had committed wrongs against us. Those soldiers were criminals. But you were not in the first battle and she couldn’t decide whether you were guilty of the same. So she brought you in to be questioned by our wizards. You are a prisoner, human. Do not let our kindness fool you. If you are found accountable, you will be executed.”
“I see.” And Marcius’s head spun at the implications. He knew he was innocent, but what did it mean to be questioned by wizards? Most likely they used magic in their questioning, and only Avalene knew what type of magic the elves were capable of. He wasn’t foolhardy enough to not realize how much of an amateur he was.
“Your arrival caused quite the uproar,” the voice continued, “You do not have an Academy amulet, and yet you are a wizard. An unguilded human wizard is rare around these parts. You have intrigued all the wrong people for the wrong reasons. That is also rare.”
Marcius winced internally. “I was on my way to Aralene to join the Academy,” he said quickly, “But my ship wrecked and woke up on the beach. I ran into those soldiers and they helped me out. They didn’t deserve a death like that.”
“Oh? And who are you to decide that? Do you have any idea what they were doing to us? They burn our forest, slaughter our families, and accuse us of crimes we are innocent of. They died so others, so that we, may live. That is war, human.”
Marcius was silent, not really having anything else to say. It felt like a dozen dwarves were mining for gold in his head and his exhaustion got heavier with every passing second. He still didn’t agree. There is no point to slaughter somebody, anybody, like that.
There was the pitter-patter of footsteps away from his bedside and the groan of a door being opened. Marcius noticed that the door sounded heavy indeed. A prisoner he truly was. There was a pause in movement and he got the distinct impression that the healer was thinking about something.
“I’ll tell the mages about your circumstances. They will investigate anyway, but maybe they will not be as rough now.” There was a longer silence and Marcius thought she had left him, “Also, I will let War-Mistress Selene know of your gratitude.”
There was a thud of the door closing and of a bolt being slammed into place. With nothing but silence to accompany him, it wasn’t long before he lost his battle against sleep for the second time. Still, the last thought in his mind was that he had the name now of that striking elf warrior.
Selene. . .
❧ ❧ ❧
“Hello, human,” the quiet voice once again invaded the slowly awakening mind of Marcius. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“How do you know when I’m waking up?” Marcius mumbled,
groaning before stifling a yawn.
“Humans sleep with much noise. When you stop, you are awake.”
“I see.” Marcius tentatively opened his eyes, the light in the room invasive and causing him to squint. But it wasn’t painful in the malicious sort of way as to indicate something being wrong; it merely stung in a way as to suggest lack of use.
Colors began to merge, taking shape around him. There was an intangible power that hung about the air, like static electricity. It set his nerves on edge. Where was he? He glanced around the room and couldn’t really hide his surprise.
The head cocked a bit to the side, the near white blond hair falling over to partially hide the face. There was the smallest trace of amusement in the vibrant emerald eyes that gave hint that she recognized the shock registered on Marcius’s face. His healer, the person that had nursed him back from the throes of sickness, was none other than that same fierce elf that had captured him.
Selene.
“Marcius,” he blurted out. It was the first thing that came to mind.
She didn’t respond to his outburst. So Marcius felt the need to elaborate, if merely to keep the silence away and hear the sound of his own voice.
“My name. It is Marcius.”
Silence greeted him and he couldn’t deny that he felt a bit disappointed. But then she gave an imperceptible nod of her head, so slight that Marcius wasn’t sure if maybe he just imagined it. “Are you feeling better?” she asked.
“My mouth is dry,” Marcius responded truthfully. “I’m thirsty and I feel like a tribe of oggrons had their way with me. But everything seems to be in place.”
She stood up and went over to the desk. It didn’t escape Marcius’s notice that she wore distinctly different attire than when he met her. It was still a practical green tunic with leather pants, but the make was softer, less confrontational. It indicated ease and familiarity with her surroundings. She still carried that deadly sword and her movements bespoke of lethal grace lurking beneath the surface. The elf reached down and picked up what Marcius recognized as a water skin, sitting down before handing it to Marcius.
A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) Page 33