After Numril’s first failed escape, he was kept under constant guard. This didn’t stop him from trying to get away any chance he got. Even after they had crossed into the dark lands of the Daran Stari and his captors had taken him to their home in the caves of the Hamadi Orom, Numril continued to rebel, often killing or maiming drakhalu in the process.
Still, Vlaz would not kill him. Instead, Numril’s bond with Vlaz grew stronger with each passing night, until it became impossible to even think about escaping without Vlaz being aware of his thoughts.
How much time had passed since he had been taken captive, Numril could not say. Day and night had little meaning in the cavern city of the drakhalu. It seemed like an eternity. Numril eventually decided it would be easier to become the subservient captive they wanted him to be. Perhaps he could learn what Vlaz had planned. It wasn’t as if Valanandir would be leading an army into the heart of the dark lands any time soon. Numril doubted his friend even knew he was alive. His only hope was to escape on his own.
Obeying his master’s wishes had its advantages. The more restraint Numril demonstrated, the more freedom he was granted, but the exits of the caverns were always closely guarded. As Vlaz’s favored chosen, he was also treated with fear and grudging respect within the drakhal caste system, but their fear of his master was greater.
Numril soon learned behaving the way Vlaz expected him to while harboring thoughts of murder and escape was no good. Vlaz’s mind had become almost indistinguishable from his own. Numril was forced to abandon any plans of violence and replace them with worshipful thoughts of his master. At first it was only a charade, but gradually his old self seemed to slip away and the thoughts became almost genuine.
Numril’s memories of Vila Eadros and the Quenya faded into darkness. He became accustomed to his retractable fangs and cold skin, and began to sleep during what he assumed to be the daylight hours, when the drakhalu rested. He fed on whatever bats or rodents he could find. Although he had retained his Light Elf coloring, there was little about him anymore that could be called elven.
There was only one memory Numril saved for himself. He kept it tucked away in the farthest corner of his mind like a hidden gem. When he couldn’t remember the Quenya or Valanandir’s face, it was the only thing that gave him any glimmer of hope. He didn’t dare think of it when Vlaz was awake. He would wait until he felt his master’s mind drift into slumber before daring to cast his thoughts back to the first day of his drakhal life.
He watched as he flipped the drakhal attacking him at the opening of the cave and into the sunlight. The creature screamed as it burned to death. Numril felt the gentle warmth of the sun on his left hand. He opened his eyes and looked at the smooth, unbroken flesh of his palm. Although he had been bitten, he had survived the heat of the sun and remained unscathed.
Numril was the first Light Elf to be turned by the drakhalu. The blood of his kind was irresistible to the drakhalu. Once they began drinking, they were couldn’t stop until their victim was sucked dry. Only the Orag, the First among them, had proved strong enough.
When Vlaz had bitten him, he had created something new, something different. Somehow Numril’s previous association with the Quenya, combined with being turned had created a new breed. If Vlaz ever found out…
Numril let the memory slip away to its hiding place and returned his thoughts to the worship of his master.
Light Chasers (The World of Lasniniar Book 0) Page 32