Page 17 of In Darkness Forged
The storm cat let out a growl before it was once more a tall, imposing night elf warrior wearing a disgruntled expression.
“When you’re all done being entertained, it’s mine,” he said, glaring at Aislin.
“Enough, Mal.” The female spoke again, with the clear assumption that she would be obeyed. Perhaps she was of higher rank. “Blindfold her and bind her hands. It is unlikely one of her stature and abilities would be trusted as a spy, but that is no reason to abandon caution. We will take her to the settlement, turn her over to the regent, then return to our patrol.”
Settlement? Regent? Aislin opened her mouth to explain her errand, but almost before she could draw a deep enough breath to speak, her eyes were being roughly bound in a dark cloth. Her mouth was covered next, then her hands were drawn together in front of her and tied at the wrist. Once she’d been rendered helpless, she was unceremoniously picked up by none-too-gentle hands and slung over someone’s shoulder.
Hopefully not the vengeful Mal. This was uncomfortable enough without fearing that he intended to return to cat form and eat her when the others weren’t looking.
But then the night elf carrying her began to run, and Aislin reconsidered everything she’d ever said about discomfort. A firmly-muscled shoulder dug into her midsection, bruising her ribs and making her very glad indeed that she’d eaten little that day. Before they’d gone much farther, her head began to ache, pounding furiously with each stride her captor took.
She could only pray that this settlement they spoke of was close and could be reached before she was completely shaken to pieces.
* * *
Sadly, Aislin did not lose consciousness and so felt every step of the run from the border, up until the moment she was casually dumped on the cold ground some time later. Her head hit a bit harder than was comfortable, her mouth was dry, and she thought there might be blood on her face from where she’d accidentally bitten her tongue during the journey.
But she was alive, and from the sounds she could make out, she was inside a building of some sort—entirely surrounded by night elves. From every direction, she could hear the flowing syllables of an unfamiliar language spoken by many different voices.
Lifting her bound hands carefully, she used them to wriggle to a seated position, wincing as her sore ribs and stomach protested even the slightest movement. No doubt those would hurt even more by the morrow.
Amid the cacophony of voices, Aislin finally made out a set of footsteps, heavy and sure, coming nearer and nearer her position. As they approached, all other sounds died away, and she wondered whether the newcomer was someone important. Perhaps even this regent her captors spoke of?
“Uncover her face.” The voice was cool and male, and its command of human language was nearly perfect. “I wish to see what kind of spy the humans have sent us this time.”
The cloth covering Aislin’s mouth was removed, and her blindfold suddenly wrenched off. She found herself instantly grateful that the night elves seemed partial to low light, as she could almost immediately make out her surroundings—not that the sight was encouraging.
She sat on the floor near the center of a round, open room with a high ceiling. It was built of dark wood and largely unadorned, but for the benches that lined the walls. At one point, the circle was broken by a single chair.
No one sat on either the benches or the chair, however. The night elves she’d heard conversing in low tones were standing about, arms folded, looking quite pointedly in her direction. And none of them appeared very happy. Particularly not the one closest to her, who wore a dark cloak and carried what Aislin judged to be a ceremonial staff of some sort.
“The humans are desperate indeed if they sent this creature here on purpose.”
A few chuckles could be heard in response to those dismissive words.
“No one sent me,” Aislin said. “I came of my own free will.” More or less, anyway.
“Then the humans have grown foolish, if they have not taught their children to fear the wilds of Dunmaren.”
Not afraid?
“Of course I’m afraid,” Aislin snapped. “But I didn’t really have a choice. I know very well that you’re stronger and faster and can take the shape of predators whenever you like! That you could eat me if you wish, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But my family’s lives depend on me, and this is the only place I could go for help.”
The night elf in front of her raised one eyebrow curiously. He appeared to be around her mother’s age, with only minimal lines around his eyes and mouth but the weight of years and experience in his gray gaze. His silver-white hair—a few shades lighter than his skin—was bound back in a tail, and his clothing appeared well made.
Aislin had never seen a night elf before, so she found herself staring in spite of her best intentions. This one seemed more statesman than warrior, at least judging by appearances. He wore more jewelry than she would have expected of a human male—cuffs around both wrists and a silver earring—and his clothing was more elaborate. The loose trousers tucked into his knee-high leather boots bore silver embroidery down the seams, and his flowing shirt was so bright a white it nearly seemed to glow. Over the shirt, he wore a sleeveless vest of tooled leather and a belt worked with silver.
“Are you the lord here?” she blurted out, and was rewarded with a frown.
“I am not,” he replied. “Though at present, I bear the Marlord’s responsibilities. What is it that you want, human? What could have driven you to abandon all sense and cross the border alone?”
Aislin suddenly found herself reluctant to speak of her errand, now that she was surrounded by night elves, quailing beneath the weight of their disapproving stares. She felt shabby and ridiculous, and if it were not for her family’s plight, she likely would never have mustered the courage to open her mouth. But the memory of her grandmother’s fading eyes drove her onward, along with the thought of her mother’s willingness to trust her, and the tiny but tenacious hope of her father’s return. If her courage deserted her now, they would lose their home, and she could not allow that. Could not let her father find his way home only to realize that she’d failed.
Struggling to her feet, Aislin stood in the center of that circle and tried not to feel small and silly. Tried not to compare herself to the night elves around her or wonder what they saw when they looked at her.
Short, dirty, tiny ears…No. She would not apologize for being human. Nor would she beg forgiveness for doing everything she could to survive or for protecting those she loved with her very life. Even if the night elves could not understand, those were nothing to be ashamed of.
“My village is not far across the river from here,” she began, hoping she sounded confident. Earnest. Trustworthy. “We owe fealty to a lord who provides our homes and livelihoods, but”—she swallowed a renewed surge of shame—“my father is gone, and my family can no longer pay their rent.”