SciFi and Fantasy Stories: New Life from Ashes: Part 4

Breaking

Grophin was gone into the nearby elfin town and Kepliar hoped Aevala would be able to visit. A slight worry nagged at the back of his mind. He hadn’t seen her the past three times Grophin disappeared. However, Bandit or Snitch appeared every night with some meager food strapped to their backs, so she must be okay—just occupied. Perhaps Belrasonare wasn’t sleeping as much as she had been.

Time had slowed to a crawl for the man billed as the Demon Spawn. For the first time in his life, there was a target and a goal. He’d often looked forward to Aevala’s visits, but this was so much bigger. This was freedom. The escape was planned, and waiting for the time to strike was the greatest torture he’d ever experienced.

Kepliar had no way to judge the time—truth be told, he had little concept of time. His life had been a simple cycle of sleep, beat, occasionally Aevala, recover, and repeat. He knew it had been some time since he fought back when Grophin displayed him for the crowds. He’d had time to recover, grow deathly sick, and recover again, which meant it had to be many days. In that span, he hadn’t so much as looked up at Grophin when he came to parade and torment. Let Grophin think he’d broken his slave. Let him think his money-making pet would lie back and allow the abuse forever.

Lately, he’d begun to feel they were close to the area where it would be safe to slip away—close enough to her clan. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew it was true. Perhaps it was a ‘new’ ability he’d simply never acknowledged before.

Kepliar lay back in the moldy, dried grasses, daring to dream of a day when he would live without bars, without tents, and without monsters beating him for money. He took a deep breath of the stale, heavy air. Summer had come in full force, and it made the tent insufferable. The sweat dripped off him as he lay in the darkness and yet it offered no relief.

It must be a cloudy night, as the tent was blanketed in a darkness that only fell when the moons and stars were absent from the sky. That’s what Aevala told him anyway. It made little difference to him; dark was dark. These ‘stars’ and ‘moons’ and ‘clouds’ held little actual meaning. His world was his cage and the ugly green tent beyond, no more; though he did enjoy hearing the stories she told about how the stars had gained their arrangements.

His eye-lids dropped. Apparently, an old teacher felt he needed a lesson. Kepliar opened his eyes and held very still. He didn’t want to jar himself awake and lose the moments of peace and relief the dreams offered. As he breathed in the sweet air, he tried to burn it into his mind so that when he was forced to return, he could call on the smell and pretend his world was not so foul.

“Hail, child,” the voice called to him, offering warmth and protection he’d once rejected in disbelief.

“Hail,” he replied.

“Why do you come to us tonight, dear one?”

“My escape is coming. I want to be strong enough to be successful.”

“Peace, little warrior,” the voice cooed. “Do you not realize your own strength? Have you not wondered why you are only recently sick for the first time?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” The voice was not nearly as patronizing as the words. “You are strong of mind and strong of body. Neither of which should you be.”

Kepliar inhaled to breathe out a sigh of frustration. He didn’t understand, and she wasn’t making it easier for him.

“Child, you are not normal,” the voice crooned. “For your treatment, you should have died long ago. Do not come seeking strength, because that you have and have aplenty. What should you seek instead?”

“I don’t know.” Kepliar’s nose and upper lip twitched in fury. Her words only reminded him of his hell. She said he wasn’t normal; she said he should be dead. What did that mean? He didn’t understand, but it made him furious.

“I will tell you what you did not know to seek. Your rage can take you far, but you must realize there are situations that must be dealt with by a gentle hand.” She interrupted his anger with a soothing tone and soft words. “Certain blossoms need a very tender protection. Times exist when the best action is no action. Slinking away into the shadows can be as much of a victory as crushing your enemy.”

“But what about…”

“That is all for now,” the voice cut him off. “Remember my words, young one. You will need them.”

Kepliar blinked wide-awake. That was the strangest lesson he’d yet received. Normally, the lessons centered on his magics—air elementals. They showed him small spells and how to harness and draw on the energy he would need. Why would they call him for a few words of advice?

He shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows. He glanced to where the tent canvas ruffled, allowing a puff of air to creep along the ground, offering the smallest measure of relief.

“You awake, Kep?” the small voice called, as the figure huddled down by the edge of the cage where she always sat when she visit.

“Yeah,” he answered, sitting up. He smiled through the darkness, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see it. Years of secret meetings taught him that her eyes weren’t as good as his. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

Silence met him, and he realized the weight of the air heightened when she entered. Something was wrong. “Aevala?”

Saying her name aloud was different than it had ever been before. Normally, it was just a small insight into her personality—kind, gentle, brave, slightly naïve, and a trickster—tonight he grasped so much more. Visions of what kept her away so long crashed through his mind like a white-hot poker. Every second, every fear, every moment of pain, every disgusting touch—it all emptied into his mind.

He didn’t understand what the memories meant; his isolated life had left him naïve in many ways. Regardless, he understood the pain and the filth the memories carried. The acid rose in his throat, and he doubled over, sides heaving.

He stood, fury raging through his veins like poison as his wiped his mouth. He wished the vile taste in his mouth had come from the bile, but it came from her memories as well. Adrestaar was a dead elf for this unbelievable outrage. It would all end tonight!

A simple wind spell would have been enough, but his fury brought him the power and the ability to harness the fire spell he’d observed a week ago. The bars bent outward and shattered under the force of the flaming projectile that slammed against them.

He strode towards the exit of the tent, when he heard her sniffle once. He froze, remembering the lesson that had dragged him to sleep only minutes ago—or was it hours? The advice about delicate handling, inaction, and silent escape rang in his ears.

Kepliar stepped to Aevala and knelt down. The fireball had ignited some of the dried grasses, and they cast strange shadows over the normally calm face. The pain etched into her visage and stormy eyes made her look years older. In that moment, the horrible non-physical pain rose again to torture him. As before, it was worse than any beating Grophin could ever deliver.

Aevala looked up at Kepliar, fighting tears. His sudden action had frightened her until she remembered she’d never severed the last healer’s link she’d formed—so she could continue to offer him strength and healing even when she could not be in close proximity. With his naming gifts and that link, he would have much to anger him.

Kepliar wanted to say her name again in an attempt to comfort her, but he feared the horror that would fill his mind. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shied from his touch. He drew back, cursing his confusion and her pain.

“What can I do?” he asked, resting his hands on his knees, not knowing what else to do.

She turned her eyes to his face, tears streaming. “I stayed away,” she offered a broken explanation. “Just like you told me to… I stayed away.” She pinched her eyes shut as if it would block out whatever memory flooded her mind. “You were right.”

In that moment, Kepliar wanted nothing more than to find Adrestaar and kill him—tear the elf’s head from his shoulders and laugh as he set fire to any who tried to stop him.

“Aeva,” he whispered, focusing on his—his friend. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“I can’t wait for the caravan to move again. I can’t stay here any more. I can’t stay—with him—another night…”

She broke into sobs as she fell off her knees, reaching for him. Through his acute discomfort, he was perceptive enough to put his arms around her—to offer her the protection she should have had before. He understood what she was asking—but how? How could a mentally wounded woman and a winged, clawed, social inept travel the distance they would have to cover to the land she said held acceptance? How would they fair when the hunters of the caravan came after them? They would not be the first to escape the hell of the owned life; the elves were prepared for those who ran.

No. It didn’t matter. He’d asked what he could do to help her and she’d told him. Fine. He would see himself dead before letting her live one more day in her deteriorating hell.

“Do you have your ring?” he asked.

She nodded, her head still hidden in his dirty, bruised arms. Kepliar looked around the tent, realizing this was the last time he’d ever be cursed to see the green canvas hiding his face from the sky, sun, moon, and stars. He took a deep breath and gripped her tighter.

“Let’s get out of here then.” He drew up with him and steadied her on unwilling feet.

Aevala had never seen Kepliar standing before. He was much taller than she, and suddenly, he seemed incredibly large. Without the bars between them, she could almost pretend their strange lives had been no more than nightmares; however, she could still feel Adrestaar’s tainted touch, and Kepliar wore the permanent emblems of his imprisonment.

Though his height made him seem different, his voice remained the same. “Are you strong enough to make it?”

She nodded, swallowing her fear and her pain. They were escaping tonight. No more!

Bandit tugged at the satchel while Snitch sat atop it looking up at the winged-man. Kepliar bent to pick up all three. He held Bandit out by the scruff of the neck and deposited the limp fuzz-ball into Aevala’s waiting arms while Snitch leapt to her shoulder. Stupid, fearless ferrets.

“I want to take Phenneas too,” she whispered.

“Phenneas?”

“Belrasonare’s horse.”

“Is that wise?”

“I can’t leave him to her brutality. He was the first one to ever be kind to me here. I can’t just leave him…”

“Alright,” he agreed before letting her go much further. Even Kepliar knew that whatever her increasing volume and intensity would lead to was not good.

It took little time to retrieve the horse, some clothes for Kepliar, Aevala’s hidden stash of coins, and a few additional monetary ‘donations’—thanks to the furry thieves—from members of the caravan which had held them in such torture for most of their lives. Aevala was more than happy to snitch a large portion of dried cattle from the meat-merchant. She also stole one of the strikers the elves used to light their fire pots.

Neither had any experience on a horse, and it was a moment of need and weakness that allowed the wounded Aevala to accept Kepliar previous physical contact, so the only option was fleeing by foot. They would not be missed for some time anyway, as dawn was still hours off and the caravan would not stir until the hot sun burned away their drunkenness. Grophin might not even miss Kepliar until dark—when the patrons arrived. In that time, the two renegades could lay quite a track of hot, dry land between themselves and those who would follow in pursuit.

It would have been nice to see the camp razing blood-red and to hear the confused shouts and bellows as they snuck away into the darkness. However, that would have just alert their owners to their absence earlier, so they set no angry fires and they destroyed nothing upon their departure.

“Do we have any idea which direction we should be going?” he asked as he held the reins of the obedient horse.

“As far from them as possible,” was her simple reply.

Okay, so she didn’t know which direction to go. Now they were just running. That suited Kepliar just fine. A straight line away was a good enough direction for the time at hand.

A shadow watched the silhouettes disappear into the dismal murk beyond the caravan’s meager ring of light. It would have been wiser for Aevala to flee later and alone. However, her new life with his monstrous brother prevented the first and her compassion prohibited the latter. He’d never observed her to be wise—only right.

Kahlee shook his head, knowing what daunting obstacles stood before the young creatures. He only hoped that Greshen—or whatever her real name was—had her mother’s determination and that the creature had the same scorching passion as the strange human who’d leveled their caravan sixteen years ago.

“My debt is repaid, healer,” he murmured into the darkness even as plans for delaying the search-party started to wheel through his mind. “It’s your turn now to watch her.”

He turned back to his tent to tell Halehya what he’d seen.

A Day of Firsts

Kepliar dropped to the rock protruding out of the ground, grateful for the rest. His mind flitted back to his last dream. Something had given him strength far greater than his life should have offered him, but he’d never walked this much in his life—he’d hardly walked at all—and their pace would have strained a healthy individual. Perhaps that was what the old spirit meant? He felt there was something important in her words, but he felt it would take much time to puzzle it out—if he was ever able to.

He did his best to avoid gasping for air. There was not time for such weakness. He closed his eyes, trying to still the burning in his lungs and legs. He opened his eyes again and looked to the sky. Strange, brilliant colors gathered in the distance. It was colors like he’d only seen when rich individuals came to gawk at him. Even so, these colors were brighter, cleaner, and without the blemish of a vile owner. Crimsons, oranges and pinks set the sky on fire.

Kepliar felt his brow furrow and his mouth fall open. “Wha…?” he breathed in confusion.

Aevala looked up, startled by his strained and sudden speech. “What’s wrong, Kepliar?” she asked, studying the east. Surely no one was coming after them yet.

“What is that?” he asked, releasing none of his confusion or apprehension.

Aevala turned back to him to stare for a moment before understanding dawned in her eyes and filled her soul. She wanted to cry for the wretched life Kepliar led. Her mind tried to figure out how many years that would have been—he had to be older than she was.

“It’s a sunrise,” she explained.

He stood, keeping his face turned towards the burning sky, studying it in confusion. “Does it normally set the sky on fire?” He looked back to her, his eyes projecting something between fear and absurdity.

Aevala looked up at him in disbelief. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow she just couldn’t help it. “Have you—have you never seen the sun?”

He looked back to the east. Now the sky was lighter, and the growing dawn cast more light on the two fugitives. He shook his head, causing his filthy, matted hair to sway. “I don’t ever remember seeing it,” he answered. “Is this normal?” he persisted.

“Yes, Kep,” she answered. “This happens every morning and every night.”

He looked back to her again, trying to believe what she said but finding it impossible. How could the sky be set on fire twice a day and it not become obliterated in the flames? He knew how damaging fire was.

She gazed at his gaunt face. It was the first time she’d had a moment to study it without a thick veil of darkness between them. In the added light, she could see his eyes weren’t the obsidian she’d thought. They were almost black, so dark green, but they were green. Likewise, his hair and wings weren’t black either. Rather, they were a filth-covered crimson which only appeared black in the shadows. His skin was abnormally pale—paler even then Teldrelïe’s—but if he’d never seen the sun that was to be expected.

Kepliar turned away, unable to stand the strange glint that filled her eyes when she beheld him. Darkness or daylight made little difference in his vision; the additional light offered more vibrant colors, so the inflections in her eyes were now apparent. He wished they weren’t.

“Are you still certain I’m not demonic?” he challenged, fearing the disgusted look in her eyes.

Aevala brushed the tears out of her eyes and opened her mouth, but for a few moments nothing came. She tried to think of something comforting and convincing to say, yet she found her mind blank.

In the distance she could hear the world begin its song as the first light rolled across the sky. In the open, the song was as thunder in her ears. It made the air tremble with power and energy as it flowed like water over mighty falls. As it rose to its full force, the Song of the Summer Dawn filled her soul and wrote answers on the blank pages of her mind. Aevala started to sing. Morning was come and a new day broke upon them. Why waste words when she could answer even better?

Just like their last sunrise together, she sang the words to encourage and to comfort. Kepliar turned to face her as the frown fled his face. He closed his eyes and answered her aerial song. His deep, throaty voice added harmony the best minstrels couldn’t hope to rival.

As their song died away, Kepliar turned to watch the great orb climb higher in the sky for his first sunrise—his very first day. It was his first view of the world beyond the wretched, reeking, green tent. Kepliar smiled as he turned back to Aevala. He was glad she was there on the first day of his life. “We should probably go, huh?”

She nodded, smiling. Snitch jumped at her leg, and Aevala bent down to cuddle the pushy ferret.

Red wings rose and twitched as Kepliar stretched. He watched a filth-covered feather drop to the ground. His eyes widened in horror as he searched back the way they’d come. “Oh no…” he breathed.

“What?” she asked, jerking her head up.

He turned to her, those strange eyes filled with frustration and denial. He lifted his wings which caused more feathers to fall. “I’ve been dropping feathers,” he answered, shaking his head, “probably all the way from the camp.”

“Oh…” she breathed, understanding his horror. Nothing could dampen a day like leaving an obvious trail for hunters to follow. “Is that normal?” She was far more worried for him than for being followed. They were bound to be followed anyway. The elves were excellent trackers, so something a little obvious wasn’t terrible, just inconvenient.

“I don’t know,” he answered, frowning. “I’ve never really paid attention I guess. There were always feathers in the cage. Maybe we should just pull them all out now…”

Aevala pressed her lips together as she approached and touched one of the wings. It shivered under her fingers. Oh, yeah… He wasn’t often touched. She drew back from the tattered, crimson wings and looked at him.

“Wouldn’t that hurt?” she asked.

“Definitely.”

She straightened, unwilling to cause unnecessary pain. “What if you give them a couple of good flaps, get the loose ones out, and we’ll call it good. Bandit and Snitch can help with any more that fall now.”

Bandit harrumphed at being volunteered for clean-up duty, but Aevala ignored him just as Snitch ignored her.

Kepliar raised his eyes and glanced over his shoulders; he’d never done that before. He lifted his wings and gave them a swift shake. He blinked, wondering why he was suddenly staring at a great field of blue and white and purple. Aevala’s laughter broke through his confusion and surprise.

“Huh,” he mumbled, studying the white and purple objects. “What are those?”

She stood over him, fighting her laughter, and he couldn’t help but offer a sheepish smile. “Are you okay?” she gasped, still snickering.

He rolled his eyes as he sat up. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, reaching to rub his back. “I guess they’re a little better than decoration.”

She burst out laughing again, and he smiled, enjoying the sound. The smile that painted her face when she did so wasn’t an awful sight either.

He turned his face up and squinted in the gathering light. He’d never had to deal with such intense light before. He raised a bony finger to the sky. “What’re those?”

Aevala glanced up. “Clouds,” she supplied. “When it rains and thunders, it’s because they’ve eaten too much and swollen too big. It makes them cranky and uncomfortable. They’re happy now.”

Kepliar stood, shaking his head. There would be time later for more questions. He glanced back and shook his wings again, this time more careful to keep his footing. He was surprised with how much pull the appendages produced. It made him wonder if it would ever be possible for him to fly. That would be interesting to find the answer to, but for now…

“Maybe we should be going,” he said.

She smiled and nodded, finally in control of her laughter again.

~¤~

The sun was high overhead when the pair stopped again, this time near a small stream. Aevala pulled out some of the smaller rations the ferrets helped them ‘borrow’, and she joined Kepliar by the stream. He sat next to the water and watched it as if he half-expected it to jump from its bank and do something impressive.

“Is it dancing there, Kep?” she asked as she plopped down. It had been a long night and she was tired. She couldn’t imagine his exhaustion.

For a moment he didn’t answer—just continued to stare, awestruck. “Is that what water’s supposed to look like?”

She gaped at him, the horror of his life again cropping up in her chest. She was going to have to get used to his questions, or he was going to think they bothered her. She remembered the water he was supplied with and shuddered.

“Yes,” she answered, pulling off her beaten shoes and tattered stockings. She dipped her feet in the stream and sighed as the cool water raced over her toes and cooled her whole body.

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped at her actions.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, noting his look.

“Is it that valueless?” he asked. How could she put her feet in something so pure and beautiful?

She realized what he must mean, and she shook her head. “Kep, water is for using. We drink it, but it’s also for bathing, and cool streams are great for tired feet.”

For a moment he could only look at her.

“Try it,” she encouraged.

He shrugged and mimicked her motions. “Wow…” he breathed.

She smiled and reached out to hand him the food. As he stretched to accept it, impossibly thin wrists appear from under the long sleeves. Aevala looked at him. They’d cut the back out of a shirt, and now it fell forward revealing ribs covered only with skin. If she had time enough and inclination and he wore a scrap less clothing, she could number every bone in his body.

She looked down at herself as well, acknowledging that she wasn’t exactly healthy either. Sharing her meager rations had thinned her as well. She was very glad she’d been able to do what she could while still in the caravan, but still… Aevala sighed, wishing she knew how to remedy their situation. No, he was no longer being beaten, but he was still dangerously thin. They had to find enough food to live on but also grow on.

“You know, your wings would be a lot lighter if we washed them off.”

He glanced back at the grimy, feather covered appendages. Like the sun, stars, clean water, and clouds, bathing was a detached idea for him. It was something he knew of but something he would never consider available or ‘real’.

“Your hair too.”

He glanced up at the dreadlock hanging before his eyes. “Doesn’t hurt, does it?” he asked.

She snickered a little. “No.”

Kepliar resigned himself to her advice and the two waded out into the stream. The flow was chilly and made it difficult for him to breathe—especially when the deepening water reached certain sensitive areas.

“You said it wouldn’t hurt,” he accused, biting his lip.

“It’s just cold,” she giggled, fighting her own yelps from the chilly water. “You’ll get used to it in a minute.”

“I’m not so sure…”

The healer laughed. “You’re going to have to put your wings in the water if you want them to get clean.”

Kepliar glanced behind him at the red wings that had risen above the water level as if of their own accord. He locked his jaw and forced them down.

Aevala couldn’t help but explode with laughter at the ensuing screech and the look on his face as the wings gave a violent jerk that sent him face-first into the stream.

She helped pull him up again, giggling as his wings twitched, lurching his six-foot body like it was made of paper. Water flew in all directions and his face twisted as he attempted to control the spasm that took his wings whenever the cool water reached the sensitive skin beneath the feathers.

Aevala couldn’t remember a time when she’d laughed so much or so fully. It felt good.

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” he asked, allowing a small, embarrassed grin to cross his face. He shook his head, attempting to get rid of the water that dripped into his eyes.

“No,” she answered, gasping for air as she chuckled. “Just—funny. Are you okay?” she asked, forcing her gales of laughter down to quiet snickering.

“Fine,” he answered with a frown. “Not sure I much like bathing though.”

“It won’t always be this bad,” she promised as she moved to help him begin cleaning one of the red wings. The blood and mud dripped off to swirl in the clear water like the breaking of a void spell. She ran her fingers through the feathers almost enjoying the sensation of silty filth loosening. She felt him shivering under her touch and wondered if it was the chill.

Aevala squeezed, trying to get the old, dirty water off and the clean water in. She felt his wing tighten beneath her touch before it flexed outward. It hit her square across the chest and sent her flying backwards. She felt the cold water close around her head even as she started to laugh.

Kepliar gasped in horror as he realized what happened. He reached through the water and drew her out. She sputtered and he studied her face.

“I’m sorry, Aeva,” he hurried, worried that he’d hurt her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answered.

Kepliar realized her face darkened and her laughing expression fled. He jerked his hands away from her shoulder and waist, feeling his face blaze at his own stupidity. “I’m sorry,” her murmured, turning away from her, his head hung.

He returned to raking his sharp claws through the dirty feathers and felt her hands working again. Through the silence, he could hear the tears as they ran down her already wet face and then each tiny plink as they hit the water below.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s okay,” she answered. “Really… You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You should have let me kill him,” he said after a moment of silence.

“Whatever we are, we aren’t murderers.”

“I would have been,” he growled. His cleaning motions stopped as he sat in angry thought.

Aevala studied his thin back. Her stomach twisted as she observed the protruding bones. “It wouldn’t have been worth it,” she promised.

He glanced back at her and sighed. He knew she was right, but when he felt such strong emotions from her, coupled with his own hate and rage, reason was not easily seen. He sighed and nodded his head, returning to their preening.

When they were finished, the wings weren’t perfect. The feathers were still tattered and damaged, but at least they were clean. Aevala ran her fingers along one of the feathers’ shaft trying to get it to lay smooth.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kepliar said, pushing the excess water out of his hair. “It’ll fall out anyway.”

She sighed, noting most of the feathers were kinked and rough in some way. “But it’s here now,” she argued. “No reason not to take care of it.”

He pressed his wings against his back, shivering as he did so. “There’s a great reason,” he answered, stepping out of the stream. “I hate them.”

Kepliar pulled the half-shirt over his head and tucked his arms through the sleeves.

Aevala sighed and followed him, pressing the water from her bandana.

Kepliar watched her motions and raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t right that she kept it. “You should get rid of that thing,” he commented.

Aevala glanced up at him, surprised he’d suggested such. It was the only thing she had of her father. It was the only protection she had. How could he recommend something like that? “I’ve never gone without my bandana,” she stated as she shook her head.

Kepliar frowned in confusion. She would be in no more danger without it than she was with it. Not now. “I had to bathe…” he murmured.

“Sorry, Kep,” she whispered as she turned her back on him to pull on her over-shirt. How could she express to him how vulnerable and afraid she felt without the simple cloth? “I’m just not ready for that.”

“Did you hear that?” Kepliar asked, turning to stare back the way they’d come. His wings stuck out straight behind him in his tension. His gaunt chest expanded and contracted much like a frightened lizard’s—collapsing as he exhaled. His dark eyes trained over the horizon behind them, his face a mask of anxiety edging on fear. He could almost feel Grophin’s club bearing down on him again as the green tent and iron bars closed in—suffocating.

Aevala turned and looked back. She’d heard nothing before and still she heard nothing. She looked over Phenneas’ back at Kepliar. What could he hear that frightened him so?

“I don’t hear anything,” she murmured, unable to handle the oppressive silence any longer.

“Shh,” he instructed, his eyes still locked on the distant horizon. After a moment, he looked back to her. “They’re on horses and they’ve brought dogs.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“I’m telling you,” he insisted. A deep frown twisted his mouth that just let his frantic voice escape. “I can see them. They’re at the stream, and they’re heading straight this way.”

Aevala wasn’t familiar with the Jade Clan’s abilities, so it was best to trust him. Maybe he wasn’t hallucinating. 

“Have you been doing your job?” She glanced down at Bandit and Snitch.

The poor, male ferret was frenzied as he tried to pick up the feathers lying around Kepliar’s feet. Bandit looked up at her, his mouth full of crimson feathers. The look on his face was almost human. What! Snitch was much more relaxed, picking up the fallen shafts; inconvenienced with the whole experience. Aevala couldn’t help but snicker at the comical creatures.

Kepliar looked down at the weasel-like animals but couldn’t see the comedy Aevala found. Those feathers were going to get them killed or worse: captured. He ground his teeth and brought his wings around to the front.

“What are you doing?” Aevala cried when she saw the small, red feathers floating to the ground. She rushed around Phenneas, causing the old horse to rear in surprise.

Kepliar didn’t stop as she approached. He backed a step away from her. “I’m going to confuse those stupid hounds and stop endangering us.”

“Not like this.” She laid her hands on his forearm, gaining a strange look from him as he paused.

He regarded her, wondering just what the look on her face meant. It was one he’d never seen before. Whatever it was, it made him want to listen to her.

Aevala didn’t want to talk to him like she talked to the animal. Kepliar wasn’t an animal, but when she saw him tearing at his feathers, he seemed more like a stressed bird than a thinking-human. She’d seen caged birds pluck their feathers in frustration and fear; perhaps it was the same thing.

Kepliar loosened his grip on the feathers attached to the now throbbing wing and dropped his hands. He pulled the wing out of Aevala’s reach when she moved toward the wounded appendage. “You don’t have the strength to do that.”

“But you’re bleeding,” she argued, trying to convince him.

He resisted this time. “And whose fault is that?” he argued. “It’ll stop.” He turned and stepped a few paces away and widened his stance. The wings shook, dislodging the loose feathers.

Aevala looked at him, finding it strange the wings made no noise as they beat through the air. There were other things to worry about for now…

“How many were coming?”

He stopped moving as his head hung. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I can’t count… Enough to hurt us.”

“Look at them again and describe each one to me.”

He glanced back at her before setting his eyes back the way they’d come. “There’s a short elf with black hair, and he’s wearing an eye patch. It looks like he has a sword.”

“That’s one,” she said.

“A she-elf in rough brown-leather holds the leashes of the hounds.”

“Two.”

“Grophin’s there.”

“Three.”

“So’s Adrestaar.”

“Four.”

“There’s another in a long robe and hood. I can’t even tell if it’s an elf or not.”

“Five. Are there any others?” she asked when he paused.

He shook his head, fear creeping into his eyes again.

“Are they all armed?”

“Except the cloaked one.”

Aevala rolled her eyes in frustration. He was probably a dealer in the elfin magic of the void. That could make things difficult. Normally they didn’t send mages out after runaways. It made sense this time. The tent would have been so laced with elemental magic that any who was even slightly in tune with any of the arts would know Kepliar used magic to escape. The fact that nearly the entire side of an iron cage had been blown off was a good indication too.

Aevala didn’t know much about the void magic, but she knew it was different than the elemental magics, or even the healing magics, in fundamental ways. She knew it was a darker, more dangerous art. It was dealers of the void who unleashed the real demons on their world. Even though she didn’t know much about that particular path of magic, she knew enough to fear it.

“How many dogs?” She had to concentrate on something else.

He narrowed his eyes concentrating—trying to remember her numbers when she’d spoken of the elves. “Two…” he answered only semi-sure. He looked down at his fingers using them to represent the dogs in his mind. “A black one and a white one.”

She smiled. The hounds she could manage easy enough, and Phenneas could help with the horses. “What do you say we run a little farther—see if we can make it to that forest before we let them catch us? We’ll do better, and it’ll be dark by the time they get to us.”

He nodded, seeing her good logic. Elves didn’t function as well in the darkness as they did in the daylight. The trees would offer additional cover, even from the one who would use magic.

~¤~

Kepliar peered up at Aevala sitting in the crook of the massive tree. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his flopping stomach and settle his raging mind. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide. Every instinct screamed: flee! But now was the time to stand up to those who’d dominated them. Only a decisive victory could free them now.

Kepliar’s heart thundered as he listened to their pursuers enter the forest.

The elfin hunting party may as well have beat drums to announce their comings for the amount they strove to hide it. Why should they? They trailed two wayward slaves—one a simple beast who could hardly speak and the other a pathetic slave who’d shown no aptitude in the elfish gifts. They’d only brought the mage because he’d insisted on coming. He kept babbling on about some old prophesy telling of the one who could bring ruin and an evil pair that could bring destruction to all elves. It had all worsened Grophin’s hangover, so he’d waved his hand in acceptance only to buy silence. It was unfortunate for Kepliar and Aevala that the mage didn’t know the prophecy had stemmed from the drunken ravings of a half-rate, washed-up fortuneteller—no more talented than Belrasonare.

Though he would have been out of hearing range for an elf, Kepliar could hear their words as if he stood in their midst. Their steps were like thunder in his ears, and their breathing like the howling wind of the summer storms.

“We should hold here,” the mage whispered. Kepliar didn’t know how he knew it was the mage; he just did. His voice tore at Kepliar’s ears. “What are you doing, you fool?” he hissed, angry and exasperated.

“I didn’t come all this way to stop here,” Grophin growled. “I’m going to get the scum, and the, we’re all going to go back to the caravan.”

“Have you listened to nothing Kehlin has spoken?” a different voice interjected. “We have to be wise or they could kill us. I didn’t come to let you endanger our lives.”

“You are both complete idiots.” Kepliar felt his muscles tense as the new voice raked over his ears. Adrestaar. “She’s nothing and he’s a stupid monster—not even a true demon. What are you so afraid of?”

“Silence your tongue, sapling,” an acidic female voice snapped. She was at the end of her patience. A full day of traveling with the likes of Kehlin and the tracker would have been bad enough, but throw in the two slavers—it was enough to try the patience of even of those belonging to the holy order.

“Kehlin has never been wrong before, has he?” she growled further. “I don’t care if they do belong to you. Kehlin is in control of this party; what he says goes.”

Kepliar heard nothing further. Had they somehow set a spell that deafened him to their sounds? His breath quickened as he contemplated the possibility. Their plan would not work if he could not hear them coming. Granted, his vision was excellent, but it was only so valuable in the dense forest; he couldn’t see through trees.

“Okay,” the mage’s voice rose again and Kepliar forced himself to relax. They were quieter now, but he could still hear them. “Ellannak, set your hounds out first. Let us see if they can flush them out.”

Kepliar cast his glance up to the tree where Aevala watched his dark figure on the forest floor. “The hounds come,” he whispered.

She strained her ears, waiting to hear them. It would only work if she could get their attention before they sounded their call. Aevala heard none of the exchange, but she trusted Kepliar had heard it well enough.

As she’d not heard the elves speaking, she did not fear the elves would hear her speaking with the animals. She closed her eyes and focused on what she would say and what would be the best way to gain their attention.

She looked down to the forest floor and saw them approaching, their noses trained to the ground following old trails of the fleeing pair. Aevala took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“Why do you seek us?” her voice was soft and inquisitive.

Both dog’s heads snapped up and stared in the direction her voice came from.

A light feeling washed through Aevala’s head as she fought to hold consciousness. She realized she’d made a mistake. In her muddled, shaking state she grasped at the tree but couldn’t grasp hold. Luckily, she was close enough to the ground that when she fell she neither hurt herself nor made a large noise.

“No,” she mouthed, holding her hand up to Kep when he moved to rush to her side. She shook her head, cursing her luck and her stupidity. She should have expected as much. The dogs carried strong mental shielding over them. She would not be able to speak with them easily.

Aevala looked up into the severe faces of the two hounds that now stood over her. She tried to swallow as her mouth went dry. The shaggy black hound raised his lips as he growled. The other moved closer and growled as well. At least they hadn’t raised the hunting call yet.

“Why do you seek us?” she squeaked her question again. She kept her eyes focused on the dog closest to her. He was the one that would be most difficult to sway. The lips lowered as if the hounds considered her question.

She took some courage from this and drew in her breath to speak again. “What harm have we done your pack? What injury have we offended with? Do you hunt us for food? Why?”

The dogs looked at her as if questioning her words. The pale hound tilted her head to the side as if wondering for the first time why she did as the she-elf instructed.

Aevala glanced at her. “Do you love your master so much that you do her bidding without thought? Does she treat you so well that you will harm those who have not harmed you; who do not even want to harm you? Is she strong enough to force you? Do neither of you have power to disobey? If you stand together, are you still weak?

“Wouldn’t you be happier running as a pack and not following the elf? Wouldn’t you be doing what you were meant to do?”

Kepliar watched as his heart leapt to his throat in apprehension. He wanted to do something, but he was helpless in this matter. Aevala knew what she was doing, or at least he hoped she did. The dogs hadn’t attacked her yet, and they were looking less and less threatening as her gentle murmurings continued.

The dogs glanced at one another before turning to trot back they way they’d come.

As soon as they were out of sight, Kepliar rushed over and helped Aevala stand. She drew away, but Kepliar didn’t have time to be embarrassed before the hound’s chilling hunting call rang through the night. It moved in the opposite direction, so he didn’t whirl to prepare for a sudden attack.

“What happened?” he asked.

“They were shielded from mental tampering. It throws the spell back at the sender. I’d tried to dull their senses first, so it came right back to me.”

“Then how…?”

“Talking to them isn’t a spell, so there’s nothing to shield from. Hopefully, they’ll take care of the she-elf at least for us. I think I made them angry enough with her.”

Kepliar’s body tensed as a sudden shriek rang through the forest followed by a short, pained bark. He jerked his head in the direction the hunters came from and strained his ears to hear. The woman bellowed before falling silent. The men shouted and screamed but he heard the dogs thunder through the forest yelping with joy as they went. He took a deep breath and sighed.

There were four.

“They must have killed her,” he breathed in relief as he turned back to her. “I’m not sure you should go back up there…”

She glanced up the tree’s trunk again and shook her head. It was still swimming from her own spell turned on her. “I’m not either,” she admitted. “Maybe I’ll just stay down here for now.”

“Keep hidden,” he advised.

She nodded and curled up next to the base of the tree, hiding in the shadows and the thin brush. Kepliar returned to his hiding place. He wished the exchange would have settled his fear, but it only heightened it. His heart beat harder against his chest, and his mind whirled in fear. There were four left, but three were armed elves, and the fourth was a void mage… Things weren’t looking much better.

Death walked among the four as they moved ever closer. They were nearly silent, but when it came to Kepliar, ‘nearly’ wasn’t good enough. He heard them creeping through the brush. He heard the leaves stir around them and their feet falling against the moss and dirt. He tried very hard to think, but found it difficult at best. Who would be the worst threat? The mage. Who would be the easiest to remove? Probably Adrestaar… However, Kepliar had never seen Adrestaar in an actual fight, nor had he even seen the man with the eye patch.

He heard a soft movement, and he jerked his attention to the far left. They’d spread out to sweep the area. He hadn’t heard that; it could make things worse. He looked to Aevala and pointed in the three directions he heard them coming from. Her head barely moved as she nodded in acknowledgment.

Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl as all the hairs on the back of Kepliar’s neck stood on end. He turned to stare into the murderous, black eyes of Grophin. Through the darkness, he could see the enormous elf’s thick arms and hands reaching for his throat. How had he gotten behind him unheard? How had he gotten so close unfelt? Why did Kepliar find himself feeling as he did—strange and detached? Why was he even concerning himself with such foolish questions right now?

For a moment, Kepliar felt paralyzed in the rules of the past. When Grophin reaches, remains still. Struggling only brings down a worse punishment. A split second before the dirty fingers wrapped around his neck, Kepliar remember that things had changed. He was no longer bound to do as Grophin required. No longer did his fate rest in the swarthy elf’s wicked hands.

If time had slowed seconds before, it accelerated to the place it should have existed. His own actions where incomprehensible as Kepliar sprang into them. The human heard Grophin’s pain-filled howls of anger as he twisted the elf’s arm far behind his fat back. He felt the bones shudder and crack as joints gave way.

“I bet you wish you’d been a little kinder to me,” Kepliar whispered over the hot curses spewing forth. “I bet you wish you’d taught me the meaning of the word ‘mercy’. Too bad.” Kepliar heard the others crashing through the wood in response to Grophin’s calls. He didn’t even have the time to be disappointed he wouldn’t have the opportunity to make Grophin really sorry.

Kepliar had hoped he could kick hard enough to break both of Grophin’s knees with one blow. Unfortunately, he’d only been able to put enough force behind the kick to break the knee he’d hit first. Pity.

The huge mass that was the black-hearted elf crumpled to the forest floor. There was nothing more he could do for now. Kepliar could ignore him for a while and focus on the other three.

In the distance, he heard the mage chanting in a strange language that stung his ears. He didn’t know why the sound of it filled his heart with a cold fear, but it did—an aching cold that numbed his whole body. There was no way he could understand with the limited training he’d thus taken that the mage was trying to call on lost souls and wretches un-namable to fight for him. Kepliar did, however, understand it was a blessing unparalleled when he heard the mage break off and begin cursing at the ‘damnable rats’ nipping at his ankles. The mage’s battle became a personal one with the furred snakes that kept sliding in and out of view, drawing blood where ever possible and breaking his concentration whenever he had two seconds together to gain it again.

Kepliar turned, satisfied that Bandit and Snitch would keep the mage busy for a few moments more at least. He searched for whoever it was he heard approaching him now. He couldn’t see whoever it was, but he could hear them as if they were breathing in his ear. He heard the fear and the anger burning in their breath as if it were a toxin.

He’d lost track of the third elf, so where ever he was… Kepliar shuddered trying not to think about what a hidden elf could do with a well-aimed bolt. He focused on the breathing close to him.

“How nice of you to join us,” he challenged. “Come out so I can welcome you properly.” The breathing stopped altogether and Kepliar wondered if it wasn’t some sort of trick. Did they know he could hear as well as he could? Was the mage perhaps playing on that?

He turned to glance over to where Aevala had last been. He hadn’t heard from her in a while. She now stood near the tree, her face wide with terror as her voice ripped through the cold night air. Her fists, glowing muted red, rose above her head as fire burned in her eyes. Kepliar didn’t know what spell she’d used, but he knew it required more energy than she should have expended. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed prostrate on ground. Good thing she hadn’t gone back up the tree.

Kepliar turned to look where she’d been staring. The one-eyed elf stood, clawing at his own neck. The terror in his eye spoke of a great horror clutching at his chest. His weapon had fallen to the ground—forgotten—as he tried to fight this nameless, invisible enemy. Kepliar wished he’d make some noise, so he could understand what was going on. A few seconds later, the elf fell to the ground and remained motionless.

Kepliar watched for any motion that might indicated a trick of some kind before darting to Aevala. She struggled to her hands and knees as he dropped to her side.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded her head, though she didn’t open her eyes to look at him. No doubt her head swam as her body shook with the exertion.

Kepliar jerked his head up as he again heard movement in the branches beyond their tiny clearing.

“Stay here,” he told her. “Recover your strength.”

He knew they wouldn’t have stood a chance if they’d remained in the open, but he couldn’t help it as a part of him wished they’d done just that. At least he would have been able to see them. In the forest his excellent eyesight meant nothing. All it had afforded him so far were glimpses of what elves in horrific pain look like. Not that he minded that view—a wayward part of him enjoyed it.

As he stood waiting, the forest seemed much louder than it had before. The insects’ noises gnawed at his consciousness, and the constant movement of the trees made his ears itch. Had the mage succeeded in one of his spells? Had the elf blinded Kepliar’s ears just as the trees blinded his eyes? Of course, Grophin’s pitiful groaning didn’t make things easier for him either.

As Kepliar stepped back to where he’d heard the breathing that must have belonged to Adrestaar, Aevala forced herself to stand. Kepliar focused on any noise that might belong to either the mage or Adrestaar.

The sound of a small explosion echoed through the trees and slammed against his chest. “Filthy rodent!” the mage’s voice roared in frustrated fury. “Bring that back here right now! Ahhhrrrrgh!”

Kepliar couldn’t deny himself a small snicker of pleasure as Bandit dashed across the ground before him. The little ferret paused a moment to glance up before scurrying away again into the thick darkness. Bandit was obviously pleased with himself and with his new treasure. The mage could chant all he wanted to now, but to no avail. Without his power-converging medallion, his repertoire could not exceed a few basic spells at best.

The hooded elf stumbled through the trees, panting in anger and fatigue. Kepliar watched him come with a raised eyebrow. Now was the true test. Could he survive a bout with a real mage—a mage who felt… evil? Kepliar didn’t know much about the magic of the void, but he knew it was nothing he ever wanted to see. He recognized that if he never saw it, he would be a lucky man. Luck, it seemed, didn’t think much of Kepliar’s company.

The elf’s blue eyes shined with fury and loathing.

Kepliar did think it funny that a pair of simple ferrets had been able to stop the mage from wielding a single spell.

The smile must have been apparent on Kepliar face, because the mage growled at him. “You think this is a game, wretch?” In close proximity, the mage’s voice was like acid dripped on already wounded skin. “You think I’m here to smile at you and turn away, sulking, when you won’t play my game?”

Kepliar heard Aevala murmuring something behind his left shoulder. The mage also seemed to notice her, though she could have been little more than a dim shadow in his eyes. His scowl deepened as his eyes locked on her dark form. He smiled a cruel smile that sent chills down Kepliar’s spine. Even Adrestaar couldn’t rival this monster’s absolute malevolence.

“First you must go, my flower,” he sneered as he raised his hands.

Kepliar would never in his life describe anything glowing as ‘black’, yet his eyes beheld such. Swirling about the mage’s hands was a glowing darkness that radiated pain and cold. The Master of the Void gathered this darkness in his hands and moved to throw it at Aevala.

Kepliar’s heart dropped to his knees as he realized what the elf attempted. Killing Aevala would be the wisest first move the mage could make, as she was obviously better trained in either of the magic disciplines.

Kepliar’s wisest move probably would be to let it pass and hope Aevala knew a counter. Kepliar had never been accused of being wise and probably never would be.

His mind raced faster than it had ever before as he struggled to grasp any sort of defense. He realized in this moment, time wasn’t slowing down, his mind was simply speeding up, but that would be a thought better focused on later. He delved through any memories he had. He didn’t exactly want this thing to kill him. He couldn’t remember hearing anything about countering void magic anywhere in his life, but he knew there had to be a way to stop it; nothing was invincible—or so he hoped.

Kepliar gave up searching as it approached his body, which he perceived to be suspended in the air where he’d leapt before Aevala. He’d just try the very first thing that came to his lips and hope beyond hope it would be a decent answer. His eyes stung in pain as fire erupted all around him, encasing him in something like a protective shell. The flame licked at his gaunt body, but they may have been imagined for all they could do to him.

Then he felt it. A flaming shield must not be the way to defend against a glowing darkness called from the void of eternity. Kepliar felt the attack slam against his chest. None of the beating’s he’d ever endured compared with this horrible, smashing sensation that wrenched into his chest.

He hit the ground hard, every exposed bone smashing into the forest floor like a mallet. He felt the rocks and sticks bite into his exposed skin, but really, that wasn’t anything compared to the torturous twisting over his ribs.

It started as only a small area in the center of his chest, but after little time the heavy, cold stretched full across his chest. Time sped to its normal rate, and he found himself shaking, trying to understand what happened. The pressure on his chest was cold but at the same time, it reminded him of the time Grophin had set him ablaze. Never in his life had he felt weaker. All he wanted was to slip into sleep and never wake up again. He wanted an end.

He stared up through the trees at the single star he could see in the heavens. A star.

He tried to focus on something—to remember the words the mage had spoken moments ago: something about hell. It must not have been that important. He’d heard the mage screaming in pain, but he didn’t fully comprehend that until it stopped. Now, he heard nothing. Only the sound of a few insects and breathing—two sets of breathing. The mage must have died…

Adrestaar. Kepliar ground his teeth and forced himself to sit up. As much as he wanted release, he wasn’t about to leave Aevala to deal with Adrestaar alone.

A blinding pain fired through his body, even to his toes, as this wound seemed to twist his chest. Couldn’t even leave my toes out of this, he thought as they tingled in protest.

A dark form moved towards where Aevala still sat, trying to recover. Whatever had just happened, she had not been shielded from it entirely. It had knocked her to the ground in a daze. She didn’t even move as Adrestaar approached her.

Kepliar stood as his hatred and rage rose in his heart like bile. The strange pressure on his chest entrenched itself deeper in response. Kepliar thought it felt like a giant insect burrowing deep into his chest; but more than into his chest—into his mind?

It was hard to breathe with this thing on his chest. Yet… “Don’t touch her,” he rasped as he staggered forward, fury giving him strength his body didn’t possess.

“Or what?” Adrestaar scorned. “You forget that I own this slave. You forget that you, yourself, are owned by another. Who are you to tell me what to do with that which belongs to me?”

“She doesn’t belong to you,” Kepliar growled, raising his lip in a hateful snarl. “Get away from her… Now.”

Adrestaar lost interest in Aevala. After all, she’d be there when he was done killing the Demon Spawn. He’d waited a long time for this night. He’d always hated the winged creature, and since Grophin wouldn’t be getting up, he could do what he liked with the larger elf’s property. It had, after all, already killed two of their group. Adrestaar had every right to kill the beast now.

Kepliar noted the glint in the angry, black eyes, and he knew, tonight, Adrestaar meant business like never before. Kepliar was happy to oblige the stupid, young elf. Let the halfwit-elf attempt to take on the Demon Spawn. Even with this strange pain clutching at his chest, Kepliar knew his rage would carry him.

Adrestaar was quick—quicker than Kepliar expected—or perhaps Kepliar was slower than he meant to be.

The winged human leapt from the forest floor after Adrestaar’s swift punch sent him down with jaw throbbing. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Kepliar glared at the elf. “You know,” he growled as he wiped his mouth, accomplishing little beyond smearing the crimson flow. “If you hadn’t touched her, I would have let you live.” His tone was of such darkness that the shadows quaked in chilled fear.

Adrestaar, in his arrogance, took little noticed of the threatening words or the strength behind them. He had no fear of this creature that should have struck terror into his black heart. “If you haven’t noticed, devil,” Adrestaar taunted. “You haven’t even touched me, yet.”

“Yet.”

Kepliar had never moved so fast in his life. He felt like he was the wind itself flying over the fields, barely touching that which he moved over. Adrestaar could do nothing in the face of such an enemy. His only hope lay in his clumsy blocking of the furious beast crashing down on him.

Kepliar paused, gasping from the exertion. He glared at Adrestaar who wheezed for breath and coughed on the azure blood that flowed from his nose, mouth, and a gash over his eye. “Go home, Adrestaar,” he growled. “Go home, now.”

Adrestaar glowered up at him from under heavy brows. Hatred was written across his face plainer than any other thing Kepliar had ever seen.

“I’ll see you dead first!”

 “Stop!” Aevala’s voice shattered the still night.

Kepliar would have dodged except the strange word that flowed from Adrestaar’s mouth rooted him to the spot, that as well as the strange words Aevala had screamed. The elf reached back and slammed his fist into Kepliar’s chest. Some elves just didn’t have the brains to realize that sometimes victory comes at a terrible cost. Sometimes victory isn’t worth gaining.

Kepliar did not understand the fierce pain that consumed him. Getting struck didn’t hurt that much—it just didn’t—it couldn’t. For a moment, all he knew was suffering. It was all there ever had been, all there ever would be. The blinding, fierce pain stretched from where Adrestaar hit him to every part of him that was him—from his body to his mind to his soul.

Kepliar opened his eyes again, feeling his wings crushed beneath him, but he couldn’t even begin to tell himself to move off them as he tried to capture his racing mind. He felt the silent tears rushing out of his eyes as his muscles constricted in response to the strange pain. His breath stopped coming in shuddering half-breaths, but as whole ones. The brutal pain ebbed after a few moments. His mind translated the strange signals it was receiving into sounds that said Aevala was crawling to him.

“Lay still,” he heard her voice.

“Not moving,” he answered. He felt, more than saw, her eyes roll. Through the darkness that seemed darker than usual, he saw her hand moving in the air above him. It held its blue almost-glow, which said she was healing him—or at least trying, because he didn’t feel anything.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I was stunned when the mage hit you,” she answered. “I don’t know what he hit you with, but I we need to figure it out.”

“Where’s Adrestaar?” he asked, forcing his unwilling body to sit up.

“He’s dead.”

“What?”

“When he hit you…” she stopped talking.

Kepliar tilted his head towards his traveling companion. He looked down at her hand, which glowed with a brilliant sapphire and rested against his chest.

“When he hit you, it killed him.”

“What did?”

“This.”

Kepliar focused for the first time on the thing below her hand. It was like a slick of black oil, oozing over his chest. It didn’t spread, but it did move. It swirled and tumbled. He raised his lip disgusted as he realized he could feel it moving and the motion hurt. The adrenaline started to wear off and a dull ache began to step in as replacement.

He looked up to Aevala and sighed. “Well, this was a good start.”

“As long as it is start.” She shook her head as she tugged on his arms, helping him stand. “Let’s go.”

“I’m so tired,” he complained with a wince.

“I know,” she answered as she rubbed her throbbing head. “I am too. We have to get some help.”

“But…” Kepliar would have said more on the subject, but the last living elf drew his attention from his exhaustion and his objection.

Kepliar paced towards Grophin, who still lay on the forest floor. He sneered at the elf that had terrorized every moment of his life. His breathing quickened in fury as the object on his chest writhed and twisted.

Grophin’s eyes opened and locked on the beast he’d dominated for the past sixteen years. For the first time, he feared the creature as the old scar on his chest blazed with pain greater than the day he’d received it. The words, spat at him after the devastating storm, forced to the forefront of his mind. For first time, he had to admit they were not a lie or wild ranting. The creature was going to end his life.

Kepliar snarled as his fingers gripped tighter around the knife he found in his hand. He didn’t even remember picking up it…

“Go ahead,” Grophin jeered. “Kill me, Demon Spawn. I don’t fear death.”

Hatred thundered so strong through Kepliar’s mind that all he could see was the red rage of death and bloodshed. He held that power. He was in control. If he chose to do so, he had every right and ability to kill the elf—and he would enjoy it. He would laugh as the blue blood stained the passive forest moss.

A small voice cut through the haze of hatred and wrath. “Kepliar?”

He glanced at Aevala. His fury ebbed, and he loosened his iron grip on the knife. Kepliar took a single deep breath and expelled a little of his rage. More than anything, Aevala encouraged him to choose control.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Kepliar spat as he turned his face back to the elf. “You fear the life of humiliation that’s going to follow you forever.” He tossed the knife into the underbrush. “I hope you do survive. I hope you survive to crawl back to that miserable caravan and admit that your own beasts bested you and the four other slave seekers.

“May your life be long and steeped in shame, wretch.”

The human turned and joined his mix-breed companion. Together, they pressed out of the forest leaving the cruel elf to his abilities and his string of condemning profanity. There was little doubt he would live, unless he killed himself. Even if he did not move a muscle, he would not die before others came after him to see what happened to those who’d set out after the fugitives. There weren’t many predators in the area.

“I’m proud of you, Kepliar,” Aevala whispered as they emerged from the timber. She called to Phenneas, and the horse approached from the forest some distance away.

“Don’t be,” he murmured. “You were the only reason I didn’t do it.”

“For now, that’s good enough.”

Her half-smile through the darkness made his face burn and he turned away in twisted embarrassment and discomfort.

Bandit and Snitch exploded from the shrubs, half-running towards Aevala and half-wrestling over Bandit’s treasure. Bandit gave up his claim on the rune-covered medallion and loped to his mistress, leaving Snitch with the task of dragging it to where the bipeds stood. The black ferret extended to stretch his forelegs against Aevala’s leg as he yawned.

“Yes, of course, we’re pleased with you,” Aevala answered as she stooped to lift the creature to her shoulder—a favorite perch. “You both were brilliant.”

Kepliar looked down at Snitch, who’d turned her bright eyes up to him after placing the medallion at his feet. He reached down to lift the medallion she offered, but as his hand drew near, a strange burning heat radiated from the evil jewelry. He jerked back, suppressing the urge to yelp in response to the sting rising in his chest. Kepliar lifted the thief instead and glared down at the evil talisman. There wasn’t much he could do against a void mage, but that was a piece of metal. He stepped out of the way as a small, powerful wind lifted a large near-by stone. Both the smashing sound and the fact that he’d succeeded was gratifying as the rock shattered the brittle piece of jewelry.

The group turned back the way they’d come. When fleeing to the forest, they’d passed over a wide road. Wide roads meant common travel, and furthermore, they meant cities. Cities could mean help.

Despite their exhaustion, dawn came mercifully soon. Aevala squinted at a sign hung with shoddy workmanship, but present all the same. She furrowed her brow trying to make out the words through the lifting darkness.

“What’s it say?” Kepliar asked as his bleary, tired eyes studied the wooden sign.

“We’re not too far from an elfin city,” she breathed somewhere between relief and nervousness. “Heshrab, I think. Some dunderhead chipped off part of the name.”

“Are we stopping soon?” He prayed he would hear an affirmative. He felt like death. He was amazed he was still standing—his body was threatening to drop him on the side of the road and refuse to move further. However, every now and then a warm sensation filled him, and he would find he had the strength for one or two more steps at least.

“It’ll be light soon,” she commented as she turned back to him. “We shouldn’t risk traveling a road in broad daylight. I wouldn’t trust our illusions when we’re this tired.”

Kepliar felt his heart leap for joy. Sleep.

“May I see your chest?”

Kepliar’s heart wrenched. He didn’t want to show her. It had begun to bleed and it really hurt; however, she was in no state to try and help. He was about to tell her no, but the look in her weary eyes made him think again. Apparently, she hadn’t actually meant it as a request. He tugged the half-shirt up and steeled himself against her gasp.

Aevala reached up and pressed her hand against the dark mass. Not only was the wound bleeding, but she could see that it had spread. It pushed back against her hand as if rejecting her touch, stinging her as it did so. Aevala clenched her teeth and trembled as she pressed harder with her mind. It cowered back, and she sighed with a shake of her head.

“I think I see a place up ahead where it will be safe to rest for the day,” she commented as she took her hand away. She rubbed her fingers against her palm, trying to lessen the sting.

Kepliar sighed and followed her away from the road without a word.

There were two large boulders that protected a small chaparral from the fierce plains’ winds. They would also protect the fugitives from discovery. Aevala bid Phenneas to remain out of sight from the road as she and Kepliar collapsed in the tall grasses beneath the plants and few spindly trees.

“I think we’ll reach the city just after nightfall,” Aevala murmured. Sleep already dragged her down as she reached her arm behind her head for support. Snitch, likewise, already seemed to be dozing, curled up against her mistress’s side.

Kepliar didn’t answer. He was too busy fighting the sharp pain in his chest that rose when the void wound twisted as if in response to her words. He pulled his knees up and stretched his stiff wings behind him. He jerked back up as something pressed against his head followed by a warm, wet tapping in his ear.

Bandit stared at him with accusing eyes. He hadn’t done anything wrong, after all—just licking. The human overreacted.

“Sorry,” Kepliar whispered as he dropped down again.

Bandit huffed as he walked around the human’s head to curl up beneath the chin.