The night was thick with humidity. The air clung warmly to the skin like a blanket of a lover’s breath. The wind did not stir and the murky silence pressed close to all those embraced by the night. Nothing felt right about this night and not many dared to tread in the foreboding silencing darkness.

Smells oozed up from the sewers and Beggar’s Tread and mixed with the sticky sweet smells of tobacco, wood smoke and spice of the Trade District. The ensemble was then smoothed over by incense and sweat from Caleb’s Ascension where chanting echoed behind the closed doors. In the midst of all of this was the Sudland residence. It sat silent and brooding as the last light from the sun touched the peaked rooftop and glazed across numerous lightening rods mounted there. Between heaven and hell, as Merrick thought of it, with the various districts surrounding it at almost equal distances give or take. It was the unbeating heart of this little city.

Long shadows dripped off of three men, one supported by the two others, who lumbered down the path away from the Sudland residence towards the Trade District. They merrily jingled with coin, but their expressions were sullen and masked. The two hefted their companion who was adorned with red-soaked bandages and made their way to the tavern to disappear into the bottom of a tankard.

Merrick watched them leave through the West facing window. He watched the fading sunlight misting through the Jungle in the short distance. His expression was flat and untelling. His mind was stewing over the mixed feelings of the experience with the men he just had and the pieces of the puzzle he now possessed. He moved away from the window, extinguished the lights in the now gloomy room and padded quietly down the hall. He clasped his hands behind him still holding the belt and let the prizes clink behind him as they swayed with his walk.

He moved through the darkened house and made his way to the study. He moved to the back of the room where a large bookcase stood in a monolithic fashion. He twisted a portion of the wood and a latch clicked while the bookcase smoothly swung open. Behind it was a cramped room with numerous artifacts and texts. The focus of the room was a finely lacquered table numerous alchemical implements and a collection of silver vials that sat arranged in wooden stands. The wooden stands had specially crafted Cold Stones that had the full vials sweating in the humidity. The chemist set was arranged expertly with several texts, a few quite old, stacked or propped open on the surface of the workbench.

He released his arms and swung the collection of silver vials expertly to the tabletop. His thoughts wandered again as he reminisced about his meeting just earlier. Three trembling men survived when six had originally contracted with him. They ended up with only a fraction of what Merrick expected. He paid them the full price, and then some, including the portions of their lost. In their haunted eyes he saw that what happened had affected them to the very core. They didn’t speak about it and Merrick didn’t ask. He had seen enough.

Merrick arranged all of the silver vials into their own wooden stands and made sure the Cold Stone was in place. Then, with his silvery hand, Merrick picked up one of the vials, scrutinizing it, and poured it into a medium sized glass bowl. The velvety red liquid poured from the tube a coalesced thickly in the trough. As he expected, the treated silver vials preserved the Elven blood enough that it remained fresh for his purposes.

The heat was a little less in the confined room, but nonetheless the sweat was soaking into the silken tunic that Merrick wore. He removed his tunic that showed his soft, but wiry frame. His belly protruded slightly but it was still apparent he still had some strength there from his younger years. There were a few scars visible on his chest, but nothing unexpected from a life of a working man.

‘Ancient history’, he whispered to himself and smiled spryly. A fire lit in his eyes as he looked again at the spread of tools and science before him. The somberness from earlier was erased and it was replaced with a certain tenacity. He reached over his shoulder and ran his hand across the numerous scars running vertically along his back. ‘Ancient history’, he breathed through a disconcertingly twisted smile.

He took leave of the hidden room after initiating some tests of the Elven blood that he had procured. He would have to wait for the results to see if this would achieve the results he could use. As he moved in behind his desk he lit a candle, preparing to tend to his books from the transaction earlier. He heard a few quick raps at the front door. He looked at the water clock at the edge of the room, barely visible in the weak light, but he didn’t need that to tell him what time it was. It was late, very late, on a muggy night that was so thick that it could silence a whisper. One thing Merrick knew was that business done at this hour was most assuredly less than desirable. He shrugged to himself, drama aside, he just wasn’t expecting anyone.

The raps had become a series of loud thumps as the visitor’s impatience mounted. Merrick’s hands still rested on his books as he looked into the darkness leading to the front door. He closed the book looking inconvenienced. He opened his desk drawer pulled out a fine leather belt. There was a sheath with an inscribed horn handle jutting from it on the belt. He strapped it to his leg and looked around the room. He was still bare-chested but decided against putting on his clothing for this visit.

He looked through the one way glass on the window but it was too dark to see. The thumping was now frantic with all of this preparation. Someone knew he was home and wasn’t making any subtleties about his presence. This could be a distraction, however he felt strangely at ease with the whole situation. He stepped onto a tile and twisted it slightly so that it sunk just slightly. He left his weight on it while he cracked the opened the door open.

A tallish man cloaked in black stood there. It would have been somewhat intimidating if the man would have kept still, but he seemed terribly wound up as he fidgeted. He clearly was not comfortable being there.

After reading the body language, Merrick decided to play coy. ‘By the God’s’ the sun is gone what business comes knocking at my door in the dead of night.’ The figured made a huff and moved towards the door. Merrick clicked his tongue disapprovingly to the visitor, but his foot tensed on the false tile. Merrick spoke in a low voice, threateningly, ‘I say who comes in. Show yourself and maybe we’ll talk.’ The moons were not in the sky this night so even if the visitor revealed themselves he wouldn’t know who it was. The dark shape moved uncertainly then rasped a fevered whisper, ‘You damn fool, let me in.’ Merrick was startled, ‘But of course, Regent, sir.’ He gently raised the tile back to normal and rotated it back into place before fully opening the door with a mock bow.

The cloaked figure walked in with a full stride. He threw back the hood and dabbed his face with a handkerchief. Merrick watched from the back of the door. The humidity made it feel like you were always sweating, but apparently San Tera was sweating. Wearing a full cloak in the warm night would do that, among other things. After his short dabbing, he spun on his heel and faced Merrick. They were both in nearly complete darkness, but each could sense where the other was easily enough like two animals sensing danger.

“You are going to start the war all over again!” The regent spoke in a jumble of words like it was something that he could hardly contain any longer. ‘And you are sending some of our best working men to their deaths by flagging gold in their faces.’ San Tera’s newly acquired accusatory stance was definitely something to make any man uneasy, even Merrick. Though he didn’t respect the man, he did respect his power and connections. These are things that could stand in the way of his own agenda and that would be very bad unless, of course, he could portray himself as a sizable threat. He just needed to find his muse.

Merrick decided that it was best to put him off balance. “Oh come now, you aren’t afraid of a little conflict.” He said with a slightly ponderous expression. He decided for the full effect he would have to get some light in this room. He moved to the different lamps and began to light them with small twigs dipped in a compound of his own invention. ‘But I’ve missed something,’ Merrick said with pause and turned towards San Tera with now ample lighting to full see the Regent. And of course, so the regent could see his silvery, wiry self stripped to the waist. ‘’ what war are you referring to?’

San Tera’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know full well what I’m talking of. Some fools errand to push the borders of Elven territory. By the Gods, what the hell are you thinking man.’ He had found his footing and San Tera was pressing it. Every so often, the kingly stature he was noted for would naturally appear, but it was a rare sight between the passion that the Regent was so often swept up in.

‘Regarding whatever you’ve heard my reasons are mine, sir.’ Merrick practically spat the title out. ‘Where did you find such information that would implicate me in anything? I am a businessman and I do business. I do not start wars. I pay the men I deal with well, which includes even you. When I pay these taxes, I am paying you. And I pay you very well.’ Merrick hissed the last of the sentence, finalizing his point.

San Tera glowered, he wasn’t bound to back down that easily. ‘I have reports of three dead and one injured out of a party of six worthy men whom you contracted with. I also hear that several more are planning on this conquest. Even one of the King’s best scouts disappeared and has not been seen in days.’ San Tera was wringing the handkerchief in his hands. ‘We have a certain understanding with the Elves and you are liable to break any peace we have with this move to power!’

Merrick listened, leaning up against a wall, his legs and arms crossed, but his face open and unperturbed. Power? Is this what this is about? San Tera looked him up and down and shudder involuntarily crept up his spine. He looked away and around the quaintly adorned house.

‘The only understanding that we have of the Elves is that they are not trying to drive us off of these lands.’ Merrick spoke evenly trying to ease the tension a little. If San Tera stormed out, it would only be trouble for him in the future. ‘I know as well as you that they have stopped pushing back. The King struck a blow that was felt through the entire Elven civilization. He toppled the ancient towers and destroyed Loth Tenna, their seat of power.’ Merrick could remember those days. It was a blissful recounting of the glory days of this now worm-eaten empire.

San Tera seemed caught up in the same memories. His eyes glazed a little as Merrick spoke. There was a certain understanding there. It was an unwelcome kinship that they both shared with each other. San Tera cleared his throat and with a more even voice started back in, ‘And you are choosing to kick the hornets nest’ just because?’ His voice raised a little more in his slight baritone while he spoke, ‘And the men you send out go up against the Elves. They are going after the border guards first who are the most well-trained warriors that the Elven kingdom has to offer.’

‘How they do the job doesn’t matter. It’s that they get the job done.’ Merrick was getting tired of this. ‘They do it, they get paid. Easily done. Guilt doesn’t work on me, San Tera, I have worked my way to where I am. It wasn’t handed to me’ unlike some.’ Merrick narrowed his eyes at San Tera as he spoke the last of the sentence. He now knew what the Regent was afraid of. No more games. ‘Yes, you heard about those men. And unless you went and shared a drink with those poor bastards yourself, you are purposefully prying into my business and I don’t like that.’

Merrick moved forward slowly. San Tera held his ground. San Tera had a good foot of height on the diminutive Merrick, but Merrick’s eyes had a fierce feral gleam in his eyes. ‘I can ruin you. I will have my forces remove you from this place,’ San Tera hissed. Merrick grinned with contempt, ‘You can try, but likely the men and women of the Empire need only a little push to see that you have failed this empire utterly. You want to have me killed? Fine. Things are in place to assure your fall from power.’ San Tera’s face was reddening quickly. ‘Just as you have poked into my business, I have watched your progress and have poked into yours. I know your contacts, of your secret affairs and midnight meetings. One could almost say that you’re a good man gone dirty, but I know that you’ve a penchant for cheating when the game gets too difficult. I know that this was the King’s near fatal mistake when he trusted you to uphold law while he was off warring. It wasn’t an Elven spy that stole into his tent that night.’ Merrick spoke evenly and directly as he moved within a couple of steps of San Tera. These were all things he knew of the Regent, but even more, things that the Regent himself knew. Try as he might to forget it, Merrick knew that the truth of his own ineptness would be as bad as losing his only remaining power.

San Tera’s mouth was pressed to a thin line as he held his tongue. He let Merrick’s words pass over him. The Regent looked towards the door and made as if to move towards it then slighted back and lunged towards Merrick. A shiny blade tore through the long black cloak he was wearing and was met with a bone handled blade held by Merrick.

‘So, you want to dance?’ Merrick’s eyes gleamed with the animal intensity again and the twisted smile returned to his face as he looked up at San Tera. ‘I’m a little out of practice, but I’m a quick learner.’ He grabbed the Regents wrist that held the blade and spun so that San Tera was behind him and popped the blade out of his hand then proceeded to flip the larger, older man over his back crashing onto the ground. There was a grunt as San Tera landed then rapid breathing.

Merrick leaned over the Regents dropped blade and picked it up. ‘I am now inviting you to leave.” He walked over to the heavy wooden front door and opened it up. He waited for the Regent to look him in the eye before he slid the tile in place again. The Regent was mad with rage. He seemed to understand that he had been beaten at the battle, but the wheels were turning and the war was just beginning. He strode swiftly out the door with his face uncovered. San Tera spun to face Merrick and was about to say something but Merrick cut him off, ‘You want the last word? Spitting threats and hissing curses isn’t going to help you save face.’

He handed the blade, handle first, to the regent through the door. As he took hold of it the Regent made a move to thrust the blade towards Merrick’s gut but the silvery man was prepared, he released the tile and the door swung closed with incredible might and snapped the blade in two. There was a howling as the blade was torn from the hands of the man outside. Then footfalls as the man swiftly strode away.

‘Interesting,’ Merrick thought as he put his back against the door after it had snapped shut. His pulse was quick and sweat gleamed on his forearms and chest. It had been a while since he had felt this… alive.

With all of these threats now in place against San Tera, he knew he was going to need to make at least half of them a reality to keep this scavenger at bay. His previous experiences with San Tera had been brief and even endearing. Merrick had even sold him inventions of his own making and artifacts those in his employ had brought back from the far reaches. He had only had a few altercations with him and usually they were dealt with by a third party. Each raising of the taxes was handled by a sweating middleman. Every inquiry into Merrick’s dealing were done by a somewhat greasy Law Giver. All of which were San Tera’s way of giving people bad news. Using others to handle jobs that he was either too busy or too big for.

But now, a whole new side had emerged. The frustrated older man who was watching his power and sway over these people slip away while the King remained at a distance. No doubt the letters from San Tera to the mainland were filled with worshipful statements and the people’s praises of this land. The King had been a great man. Seeing that San Tera was in charge without any scrutiny seemed like an utter failure of the King. It spelled a slow demise for the entire empire… and that was bad for business.

Merrick moved a hidden wall panel aside and turned the crank that reset the heavy springs that reinforced the door’s hinges. Everything clicked into place, just as he had designed it, and the tile snapped back into its proper position. He extinguished the lights and then moved back to his study. He looked again at the gurgling water clock, it was almost time. He settled down at his desk and opened his books. He scratched in the costs of the contract and blotted it before closing the book again. He stood from the desk then moved into the concealed room again.

As he sidled up to the table and watched the final moments of his experiements, he saw that something wasn’t quite right. He looked at his notes and compared them to older texts. He held his breath as he looked again at the results of his test, playing with lenses and magnifying the results.

“Hmmm,” he couldn’t help but verbalize his finding. “Well if that doesn’t make things even more interesting.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, partially in disbelief and partially in exhaustion.

“This Elf has a human ancestor.”

A good stretch to the North of the city that same night it was just as dusky and sullen. The echo of insects and nocturnal animals shuffling through the darkness made it feel like the entire jungle was readying to pounce. The night air hung with a certain density that felt nearly like silk brushing your face. The stifling nighttime was met only by blackness and a brief view of the horizon moon. It etched itself through the trees and trickled down where Hemmer lay as it hovered along the horizon. He was completely exhausted and still felt he hadn’t caught his breath though it had clearly been a better part of the night already.

His captor had snuffed the fire yet again. This was no longer an unusual pattern for him. He found that she wasn’t so much hiding as much as she was being mindful of the forests. She took small amounts of wood to keep the fire up long enough for a small meal and to prepare the salve she had been using on him. It also kept this human from trying to escape, though that wasn’t his intent. Regardless, the night was warm enough that it needed no fire though he knew that most beasts would be kept at bay by the sight of it.

Whether she knew better or there was something else at play here, he was unsure. He knew that this taskmaster had put him through one of the most torturous forced marches that he had experienced. When delerium set in, he swore that she was taking them in circles, but then she would crest through a break in the trees and introduce him to a new stretch of forest overlooking some Elven ruins or cultural landmark that he had not seen before.

He had been keeping his own feelings at bay as his intention was to make it to the Elven city and escape from there. Anger choked up inside of him as he glanced her direction. Bitterness welled up as the past tore at him then it subsided replaced by anguish. The brief touch of such extreme emotion forced a tear that made a clean trail in the dirt over the bridge of his oft broken nose and connected with the soil in a whispered exchange. He pulled back, rolled onto his back and put himself back in order. He clenched his hands together as he fought for control of his own feelings.

He turned back towards her position, laying on his side again. Hemmer then released himself and felt part of him slip into the darkness. He saw her shape against the darkness. She was breathing slowly but he could see that she lie wide awake looking at him. She was watching him like a hawk when circling it’s prey, but with more than a little intrigue. She traced every inch of him with her eyes. In the Ether things appeared not entirely as they are. The dark centers of her eyes glowed with incredible intensity. The once fevered red was blending to more of a purple to blue as she became less intent on hating him and more interested. Hemmer was a little taken back by this. It seemed that she had been letting her hate waver in lieu of something else. It is hard to maintain that much anger for so long. He knew the feeling. It has to become something different to be sustained. He had learned that lesson a long time ago.

He didn’t know how much more silence he could handle. Threats, chatter, anything! It had been nearly three days and not a word spoken between them. It was getting harder to keep up with her demanding pace. Whatever medicine she was using on him to nurse him back to health instilled in him a sense of vertigo and she had been driving him through this unforgiving terrain. Many a time a moss covered rock gave way or a fallen tree branch broke under his weight and he rapped his head, arms or body on the varied and craggy terrain. Blood and dirt covered his face and he could guarantee that the ripe smell was his unwashed self begging for attention.

She seemed impervious to exhaustion as she moved silkily through the woods. Admirable to say the least, she was a skilled marksman and quiet as a jungle cat when stalking prey. He had seen her face, but the shocking amber eyes swam in the midst of a dirty mask. Her frame was also a little heavier than he expect, more shapely and full featured. Almost to the point of being stout for an Elf. His usual encounters during the war and thereafter had been light, wispy sorts who would fall easily… if you could hit them.

She had tied his hands with a number of leather straps with metal ends with another arrangement of leather cords that attached to a belt to keep his hands limited in mobility. The straps would clink together whenever he began to work on his bonds. He tested it once, and was immediately met with a swift backhanded strike across the face leaving him ringing yet again. She had done this before. Hemmer sighed resignly as he edged a waterskin to his lips and sipped cautiously. He focused on her again and saw her attention again completely on him.

They both lay on their sides facing each other less than four strides apart. The once burning fire was extinguished and buried between them. There was a small spongey wooden branch that he was using as his pillow to prop up his head. He rolled to his back again and he stared at the starry sky. Now seemed as good a time as any. He had her complete attention.

He clenched his teeth. I hope this works. “They will come looking for me,” Hemmer rasped until he found his voice. He waited to see the response but she didn’t even flinch. He opened up again and saw only mild fluctuations in her own etheric counterpart. Just as he did that she propped up on her elbow so quickly that it startled him. She looked at him oddly and squinted. Can she see this?

He quickly retreated into himself, but something beyond vision caught sight of him, too. He had left himself exposed long enough to garner the attention of some otherworldly influence. First it felt like hands gently on the sides of his face then quickly turned to agony as whatever influence grappled with his soul. His skull felt like hot lead was being poured inside. His teeth clenched and hands strained against the bonds while his whole body rocked with the entity’s assault. He could feel that his consciousness was being torn from his body but he didn’t know how. In his current, overly-exhausted state, he couldn’t maintain his focus long enough to push the entity back as he had before. He could feel himself slipping towards the other side. This was not the end he wanted! To die in captivity of his enemy and to something he couldn’t see, feel or kill!

His vision of the outside world was subdued while he was struggling with the presense wracking him, but his body flinched yet again when a cool hand pressed against his forehead and another touched his chest. There were whispered words, but it was Elven that he was unfamiliar with. He caught words here and there that he recognized, but it didn’t phrase correctly. The pain was growing more intense as he body grew more and more numb. He felt his will slip and waited for whatever forces to take him, but he stayed anchored to his body, though it didn’t remove the enemy’s attack. Hemmer realized that where his soul remained anchored was at the two places that he was being touched by the cool hands. He thrashed against the ground becoming more and more aware of his physical surroundings while the entity violently gave up its assault and drifted off in search of other prey. All the while he was painfully away that this Elven maiden had him pinned to the ground with a hand on his forehead and a hand and knee on his chest.

He rasped in a breath as sweat soaked his whole body. It was getting harder. He was meant to have died and this was just one more time he narrowly escaped it… and saved by a foe out of duty. She was just doing what tradition mandated, though, he knew that. There would be retribution if he died in her care when he was meant to stand in a Judgement.

“Kel’shak.” Her expression was bewildered and completely surprised. “Kel’shak!” That shock turned to anger as she shouted towards the heavens a blur of Elven tongue that he could hardly follow. He dared not chance a peek to the other side to see what she was feeling as the entity may well still be close. It didn’t take much to read from her actions that she was very, very angry.

After she finished her skybound rant she dropped to his side and aggressively put a tense, now-warm hand on his throat. She began first in Elven, but stalled for a second while she seemed to dredge up more of the common human dialect. “By the Goddess! Where did you learn the ways of a spirit-walker! You can’t have been born with it. No low-lander filth would have been given such a gift. No … simple human would have been offered a gift of her chosen!” She chewed and spit the words with ferocity though her accent lilted through the words as the unfamiliar dialect rolled over the inexperienced tongue. Hemmer thought the irony of it almost humorous. She had just saved him and was now choking him with her intensity and her empassioned response. Women, he realized, would be the end of him.

Hemmer swung his left leg behind her, trapping her legs while she kneeled over him and he immediately rolled towards her and thrust his hands, though tied, up to break her grip on his throat while he pinned her under his weight. He was successful as she was not expecting it. After the last few days exhaustion and the battle of wills sapping his strength, he was surprised himself. The bony feel of the bamboo crafted breastplate dug into his chest as he squirmed to a better position on top of her, but that was the least of his concerns. She tried to strike him but was unable to get a good swing in. He put his knees on her arms and his own hands around her neck as they were tied at just the perfect position. He held her down as she struggled, but did not try to squeeze the life out of her. He wanted to let her know he had the upper hand and that was all. This is not what I intended. What the hell set her off? The thoughts ran through his head, but he couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she was thinking.

He had to keep his head before, but it was now his turn to spit wrath and fire. He took a deep breath as he prepared to speak his mind when she went limp and stopped struggling. She had just given up. In his moment of power, when he felt like he could have a little retribution, it was taken from him. He looked down and saw a tear leak out of the corner of her eyes as she turned away from him. He saw a debilitating and overwhelming sadness rise in her. Despite the outwards signs, he couldn’t trust her and he knew it, regardless of how convincing the show she was putting on was. He let go momentarily so he could get a good swing in with his hands. It would have to be a good, swift strike to knock her out or at least stun her until he could get out of his bonds and decide what to do with her.

This is not what I intended. That line ran over and over in his head. He had to protect himself and in the process put his whole mission at risk. He began to bring his hands down hard, locked together for the best impact, only to be jerked back. He grunted as he legs flung up on either side of him and crossed over his chest. He helplessly flung backwards with the strength of her legs and met the ground with with a crack as his head hit a partially sunken rock. The jungle lit up and a purple haze covered everything. His whole body shuddered as the overwhelming light at the center of his vision grew until it saturated everything then there was nothing but fathomless darkness.

By the Goddess. Naleth’s whisper was feverish. The man lay quiet and still with the exception of the rise and fall of shallow breaths. Her legs still entwined around his trunk. She extricated herself from the mess and stood quickly. Her pulse rushed and she paced back and forth with excess adrenaline running through her system. She finally dropped to a knee by his side and rolled the man over. His head had struck a rock and was bleeding profusely. Yet again she was playing healer for a man who had now almost killed her. She was still trembling as she hauled him up to the foot of a tree and leaned him against it. The wound was sore, but she was not willing to take a chance on a second scuffle. She was not in the mood.

After binding the wound and arranging several leather straps to hold him in place, she stood and gave focus to the matter at hand. Kel’shak were rare, exceedingly rare, and only found in her own race. Yet the Goddess sees fit to bestow such a gift on this feral low-lander. One that had used the very gift to kill the Goddess’ own children. She was filled with rage but felt helpless. She wanted to break something. Kick something. Hurt something to show it how she felt. The only thing there was a human that showed her that her entire proud, no … haughty race was being taught a lesson by the Goddess herself.

She sat aggressively on the ground and put her head in her hands. What was she missing? What did this mean? She had taken as long as possible to return to her own city so that the man could be judged. Partially because she wanted him fully healed before then and partially because she wanted to discover what his ability was. Naleth had found what it was and now she desperately wished she hadn’t.

Tears leaked from behind her hands. She was forsaken, as was her people. The Goddess had abandoned them to side with the filthy and defiled low-landers. The very ones who threated her temples and destroyed the towers built to praise her. Now she sat across from an unmaking of all that she held dear. Tradition was chaff in the wind to her, but heritage and spirituality were a foundation beyond the pettiness that the interpretation of tradition had brought. The Elven empire was failing. She had felt it ever since she was old enough to understand it. She saw it in the advance of the low-landers on her people’s soil and in the way her own people were treating each other.

She had to seek guidance, but no one must know. She had to find her way to speak with the Goddess directly. It was unheard of for one not of the Elder councils to approach such a feat, but she knew of the cleansing rituals required to approach that of the Goddess. Loth Tenna was a short distance. It had long since fallen, destroyed by the infestation of humanity and their leader who fell shortly after the Goddess’s own towers fell. One tower still stood, it refused to come down even with the might of the human army brought to bear. Perhaps this would be enough.

Naleth scooted over to another tree a short distance away and faced the low-lander. She took out a dagger and played with it in her hands. Reflecting the Horizon moon briefly in the blade. She remembered something that bewildered her. He didn’t have the control she expected such a one would have. She looked at the palm of her hand that she had touched his chest with. She was able to keep him here when other forces threatened to take him away. She had saved his life again… and she was counting. Something about his energy spoke that he was hardly ready for such a gift. She pressed her palm to her head in disbelief. This is not happening. Nothing about this is right.

The man gasped and struggled as his eyes opened with a start. He struggled to get his feet under him, but it was all in vain. She had him strapped to the tree in such a way that any movement would bite into his neck. He stopped and breathed heavily. She faced him, still twisting the blade in her hands. In the darkness, she still had tears in her eyes but knew he couldn’t see them. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever. His breathing rasped against the single leather strap that was held taut around his neck. “What do you intend to do with me,” his speech was slurred and movements jerky. His wild eyes tried to take in what they could. She watched him, especially his eyes, as they would occasionally roll back in his head. He seemed to have a moderate concussion, but he was awake and sitting up. This man was tough. Perhaps he had been playing her the fool all along.

She struggled again with the human tongue, “Only you matter.” His eyes shifted, bewildered by her response. Naleth’s thoughts were harried. The night was waning and dawn was moments away and the sky was lightening, she had to make a decision. He still looked to her with anticipation as the stranglehold pressed his head at an awkward angle against the tree. She stood and walked over to him with the knife still in hand. He fidgeted but straining against the leather cord was keeping him in pain and immobile. She dropped to a crouch, sitting on her heels but still at a ready. “How can I imprision what the Goddess has touched,” she had a hard time concealing her emotions. The words betrayed her as did her voice as she faltered with the unfamiliar human tongue. She cut the bonds that held his head to the tree then cut away the bonds that held the rest of him. She left only his hands bound and attached to his waist. His eyes were wide and he sat perfectly still during the process.

“It is in the Goddess’ hands now.” She involuntarily wiped her face on her sleeve. “She will tend to you. She has forsaken me and mine.” She took the dagger and swiftly stabbed it into the ground between his legs just out of reach of his hands. “If you choose to kill me, that will be my reward as the Goddess wills it.”

Naleth was resigned and forlorn as she stood. It seemed to take all of her effort to keep moving. She moved towards her pack that had the things that he had carried when he was captured. She drug it out from the place she hidden it and plopped it in front of him. The newly risen sun glanced off of the barrel of his prized rifle. She swung her own light pack and bow over her shoulder and began to move slowly through the trees. This day… this is the day that I die. Though she felt she already had. As she moved, she prayed that the Goddess would grant Naleth Treewhisper, her ever-loyal follower, in the very least, a death fitting of a warrior.

Hemmer was as shocked as he was delirious. He watched the almost ritual-like cutting of his bonds from a half dream-like state. His head rang and any movement made him nauseous. As she slowly walked into the trees, clearly not intending to hide, he leaned forward and took hold of the impressively crafted knife and proceeded to cut his hands free from the tinkling leather straps. His freedom was truly unfortunate for him. And this remarkable change that had come over his captor was nothing short of absolutely befuddling.

He fumbled for his pack and began draping himself with all the things he owned. From the rifle to the numerous clinking silver vials. Several times he became unbalanced and fell to his knees. Hemmer’s head rocked with pain and his vision would blur and adjust at random. That Elven woman had completely given up and there was no reason, absolutely no reason. May we all be beggars in a world of change. Madness. And she clearly had him beaten just to cut him loose and turn away offering her back as a pin-cushion. The first instinct was to take the cheap shot. Unarmed, uncaring, a martyr to be, let alone a woman gone mad, Elven or no, she didn’t deserve a fate like that. And he wasn’t a man who believed in murder. He stopped for a second, at least not like this.

Far be it from him to let her off to tell the others, though. He stumbled down the path she had taken, swinging his gear gracelessly as he toddled along on numb legs with a head in the clouds.

It only took him moments to catch up with her. The Elven woman tensed as she heard him approach from the rear, but she did not look back. She resolutely moved forward, chin raised in a certain defiance, toward the crest of the hill they had been moving on. He slowed his pace and cautiously advanced with her dagger in his hand. She stopped, her shoulders were arched as if she was bracing for something. A moment passed and she spun at her waist, her feet still firmly planted.

“The Goddess watch, man. I will not move with you hovering behind me.” Her golden eyes glowered at him. He noticed an uncharacteristic gathering of freckles on her cheek. It had been exposed when she had wiped her face earlier. He froze in his tracks feeling as if he had done something wrong. “If you wish to kill me, I have accepted it, but I will not cower and wait for my end like this.” Her speech was lilting and faltering as if she were speaking with marbles in her mouth, but the point was poigniantly made. He chanced to move again but was unsure of what to do. Her eyes followed him impatiently. Her hands clenched, but remained unmoving at her hips.

He saw that she was picking a path to the crest of the hill they were ascending so he decided that he would move ahead of her. The plan screamed against everything he had ever believed. His most bitter enemy had released him spouting nonsense about the Goddess. Complete insanity is what he would call it. What had she seen? He was deep behind enemy lines and yet his fear had been completely erased which was equally insane. He picked a path that would lead him in front of her up the mountainside. He bobbed along at a quicker pace being extra careful as his head swam. He glanced back at her, she had not yet moved. Hemmer stuck her knife in the ground in plain sight in her path, then turned his back to her as she had done to him just earlier.

Hemmer was unfamiliar with the place he was at. He could be walking right to the edge of a city and he wouldn’t know it, nor be coherent enough to get away quickly and silently. He was a dammed fool for even being here. Lost, with an bitter enemy gone mad behind him. Yet, he had to trust her. He could navigate his way back eventually, but if he was as far in as he thought, he would be no good on his own.

“Apparently I’ve been here afterall.” The whisper escaped his lips. A solitary white tower gleamed in the rising sun. As he crested the hill he could see the hillside fall away to a treacherous earthy slope. Just beyond that were archways, paths, bridges and walls overgrown with the lush jungle vegetation dotting the landscape below. He had been here only once before. Kingsfall or, as the Elves called it, Loth Tenna.

His head was pounding again. The dizziness had somewhat subsided, but he still felt ill. He settled on a piece of fern and grass overlooking the scene below. There were black scorch marks from the black-powder bombs that were used to bring down the walls and the toppled towers. The one remaining tower was further back in the trees but rose like a beacon to the surrounding area. It seemed that this place had been abandoned since the the blow was initially struck.

He could remember seeing the King leading the battle. Hemmer would have followed him to Strife if he would lead him there. But when an Elven infiltrator stole into his tent the night of the taking of Loth Tenna, he was greviously wounded. The healers were able to stablize him, but the King, though he lived, had not been heard from since. The empire was devastated and began to drift to ruin. With nothing to believe in and the people being exploited under current rule, it wouldn’t be long before the empire would crumble into bickering villages. Things needed to change soon, but nothing seemed likely to reverse the course of events.

A Holy war is only Holy to those that believe in it. Olio said before he joined the campaign into Elven territory. Hemmer had been blinded by rage after the loss of his family. This kept him from the truths that Olio was trying to drill into him. So he came here, where he exercized his retribution and grief. Now his head was clearer. Maybe it may be possible that Elves had some good to them afterall. The thought made him shudder. Even long after the battle had past, even long after its destruction Loth Tenna was breathtaking. Good could be found in bad.

That wasn’t the way a soldier thought. When you muddled your vision with a person’s potential for good in bad places, you could find yourself betrayed by your own beliefs. In military training, an enemy is an enemy; No family, no morality, you fought to kill those who sought to kill you. Lines didn’t blur when you thought that clearly. Your conscience may itch with the thought. That is, until you eventually killed that portion of yourself. That’s when you become the soldier they wanted you to be.

Hemmer’s mixed feelings rose to the surface. He looked at the breathtaking white laid out before him, miles of forest mixed seamlessly with structures, towers and all manner of architectual wonders. Some was destroyed, others remained standing. That itch of conscience had returned. He wasn’t watching his back and living in fear of staying alive. He wasn’t afraid he wouldn’t find work and he wasn’t being a soldier. He just was.

It is like I have a family again. The thought hit him with a rush and he choked on the emotion that rose to the surface. He let it wash over him and did not fight it, but he didn’t let it overwhelm him, either. More than a few tears flowed as he looked over the ruins. Hemmer hadn’t realized how much it meant to him. And this was the one place he shared his grief by spreading anguish of his own.

Reality set back in as he saw the Elven woman crest the hillside a short distance sprint to his right. She had moved ponderously up the slope only now reaching it. She seemed deep in thought as well. She only glanced briefly at him, still strangely hurt. Her insanity was starting to make sense as he began to understand, even if just a little, how she felt. Hemmer noticed that the dagger was now sheathed at her waist. She looked over the ruins and with barely a pause started down the treacherous slope.

He was torn. He was free to return home, but the recent course of events had opened his eyes to something else. He looked at his hands. She had been able to keep him from being lost to the fear and enveloping blackness that sought to tear his soul from his frame. He felt that it was harder to keep himself together when he gazed into the etheric darkness. Olio was only able to teach him so much and warned him about going further. That woman kept him rooted when nothing else would save him. She had answers that he needed, he wasn’t about to let that chance get away from him.

He stood, slightly lightheaded, and began to pick a path into the ruins of Kingsfall