King Gelleran could barely keep himself from nervously pacing around as he waited for Sir Fredric, his best knight, to arrive for the requested audience. There were too many questions, too many happenings of late that the king couldn’t understand; too many dangers to deal with. Gelleran was not easily intimidated, but with all the mounting pressure, he felt like the world was about to collapse. He hoped Fredric and this elven friend of his at least had some answers. The very fact that Fredric was still alive offered hope.
“Are you there, Klemm?” the king asked, walking up to a large painting on the southern wall.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” came the muffled voice of his most trusted advisor hidden in the secret room.
It was supposed to be a private audience, but the king preferred to have an extra pair of ears listening. It wasn’t that he mistrusted Fredric; he just wanted to have Klemm’s counsel readily available, without needing to retell him everything.
It had all started shortly after Fredric captured the formidable creature known as the Dark Elf of Syron. The elf of mysterious origins and extraordinary powers had been roaming the wastelands, holding three bordering countries in fear. Sormaria, Gelleran’s kingdom, was one of them. Gelleran had no idea why he’d chosen Fredric to go after the elf. The men who had tried before him, and died, were just as good, just as brave and loyal. Perhaps it was instinct; Gelleran prided himself for his intuition. Something told him Fredric could do it, and Fredric did. Not only had he defeated the elf, but he’d brought him back shackled.
Gelleran couldn’t believe his luck. Capturing such a mighty enemy had sent a strong message to other rulers. Treol, the proud northern neighbor, quickly agreed to the alliance Gelleran had been seeking for months. The powerful kingdom of Kerbia stopped viewing Sormaria as a possible target and even sent an envoy. Their king wanted to confirm that the dark elf had been indeed captured and that he was being held securely. Gelleran gathered that as long as he had the elf, Kerbia was not going to attack. They feared he’d set the creature loose on their border. For the first time in years, the weight of the Kerbian threat seemed to be off Gelleran’s shoulders.
He had Fredric to thank for that, and he’d shown his generosity by knighting him and appointing his brother, Malgrid, the governor of the Terestian region. Malgrid wasn’t exactly best suited for the position, but Gelleran felt knighthood alone wasn’t enough. Two of his advisors had openly asked why Gelleran hadn’t appointed Fredric himself to the position. Both had lost their job for that question. The answer was obvious: Gelleran needed Fredric in the army. If they couldn’t see it, he didn’t need such advisors.
Fredric had become quite an asset. His fame as the defeater of the dark elf went before him, adding weight to everything he did or said. Whenever Gelleran wanted to ensure successful negotiations, he could send the knight and not worry about it. Whatever minor threat he was dealing with, putting Fredric in charge of the mission was often enough to end the trouble before the knight would even get there.
Things started getting shaky when the king of Welmar sent a messenger with an offer to buy the captured dark elf. He promised to pay very generously in gold, and the messenger indicated the amount could be increased. The offer had come as a shock. Welmar was a kingdom unlike any other, a force of its own, and a force to be reckoned with. Welmarians needed no help to defend their vast borders, so they entered no alliances and never attended international war councils. They didn’t seem to care for any rules other nations had agreed to follow. Their warriors were fierce, their customs harsh. To top it off, Welmar was known for its ties with dark wizards. It was the kind of kingdom that you left alone, and hoped they would leave you alone as well.
Rejecting or ignoring the offer was out of the question. No one would risk displeasing Welmar. Accepting it? As much as Gelleran loved the offered sum, he couldn’t do it. The captured elf was his safety ticket, his protection from Kerbia. Something was telling him the alliance with Treol wouldn’t last, either, if he no longer had the elf.
So far, he’d managed to stall the negotiations by telling the Welmarians that, while the elf was held securely in the Dormigan Prison, he was not sure whether the captive could be safely transported. That was true: the mysterious creature’s abilities were yet to be studied, their origin and extent still undetermined. Gelleran wouldn’t want to give the elf the slightest chance to escape. The Welmarians seemed to understand and agreed to wait, but not for long. They made it clear enough that they wouldn’t be trifled with.
Gelleran didn’t know what to do. If he could secure an alliance to seal the deal, then he wouldn’t have to worry about Kerbia. He’d ask for it, but it was unlikely that Welmar would agree. Gelleran hoped to play the Fredric card again—let the knight continue the negotiations and have him offer the alliance. He planned to charge Fredric with this mission as soon as the knight returned from the Jewel Quest.
Then Gelleran had discovered that Fredric’s assignment for the Jewel Quest was a carefully set up death trap. The original reports about the killings in the Gallean forest had been altered. The new forged version suggested the attacks were done by draccans, no more than two or three in number. The beasts, while vicious and dangerous, were nothing compared to what it had appeared to be from the original reports: another dark elf. Even though Fredric had defeated a dark elf before, he stood no chance against another with only four men.
Gelleran had panicked. He wanted to call the knight back, but when he began to investigate the forgery, the tracks pointed to Lord Gordon, one of the most powerful lords of the kingdom. Once again, this was someone Gelleran couldn’t afford to quarrel with. Gordon had enough supporters to challenge the king and win such a war. Of his four brothers, three stood strong with armies of their own, and one was reportedly a wizard with dangerous connections. The Siberius clan held a grudge against Gelleran, too. They would all rise if things went bad, no question about it. There was no way the king could charge Gordon with the forgery, even if he had all the proof he needed. However, he couldn’t afford to lose Fredric, either. He had made a clumsy attempt to keep him out of the quest, in a roundabout way, but it didn’t work.
As the king sat and waited for the news of Fredric’s death, wondering what on earth he was going to do, more news came: Lord Gordon had disappeared. Just like that, with no word to anyone, no warning, no trace at all. The investigation was still underway, but it looked like he had fled the country. This could mean all sorts of trouble: conspiracy, treason, even war. Gelleran doubted that Gordon would flee because his forgery was discovered; he was way too strong and far too arrogant for that. It had to be something worse.
A word from Fredric—his sudden request of an audience—was like a breath of fresh air among all these headaches. The knight had survived! It was unclear how he’d dealt with the other dark elf; the letter said nothing about the quest, stating only that Fredric wished to see His Majesty on a matter of utmost importance. He also asked whether his new acquaintance, an elf named Alvacor, could come. According to Fredric, Alvacor had useful information about dark elves. That was enough to guarantee Gelleran’s instant permission. Wherever this Alvacor had come from, he was a godsend. If he knew something about the creatures and especially about their powers, he could help handle them—both the imprisoned one and the one in the forest. If they could capture the other one, Gelleran could have the gold of Welmar and keep Kerbia in check. Dared he hope for such luck?
“Sir Fredric, the Knight of Corwell, and Alvacor, an elf of Zyrrea,” the royal butler announced.
Zyrrea? Gelleran wondered. He had heard of that elven realm, but never had any dealings with it; it was too far away.
“Ask them in.”
The knight entered and bent the knee, bowing his head. The elf followed him a few steps behind. Gelleran found himself staring. He had seen his share of elves, but this one was different, although the king couldn’t quite tell what exactly fascinated him so in the visitor’s appearance. He was very tall, shaped like a warrior, with that youthful look elves were famous for, contrasted with hardened, knowing eyes—the eyes of a much older person. He had long dark hair and a thin straight scar across his left cheek. Perhaps it was the scar.
The elf did not kneel. He bowed, low enough to show respect to a king who was not his master, straightened his back and stood still, head slightly lowered, refraining from looking directly at Gelleran. Gelleran, however, had the strangest impression that the elf was watching him very closely.
Tearing his eyes away from the elf, the king rose from his dark-red velvet armchair, walked up to the knight, took him by the shoulders and made him rise.
“Fredric, I know all about the forged reports, they’re being investigated. It was too late to warn you when I had found out, though I still tried. What happened? How did you survive? Did my message somehow reach you in time?”
Something in Fredric’s eyes made Gelleran suspect he knew the truth: it had not been too late, and the king had sent no message.
Gelleran dismissed the thought, keeping the concerned expression on his face. No, he can’t possibly know it.
“No, Your Majesty’s messenger never reached me,” Fredric replied, calm and confident as always. If he had doubts, he didn’t show it. “But my brother Malgrid had found out about the forgery as well. He had warned me.”
Malgrid? Perhaps he was not as useless as the king thought, after all.
“Malgrid knew and he stopped you? Good! Excellent,” Gelleran said, nodding. “I’ll reward him for saving my knight’s life.”
“Not him, Your Majesty,” Fredric replied. “He tried to stop me, but I still went, and I fought the elf. I would be dead now if it wasn’t for Alvacor.”
Gelleran stared, trying to process his words. “You fought the other dark elf?” He turned to Fredric’s elven companion who still stood motionless, eyes fixed on the floor. “And you killed him?”
“No, Your Majesty,” the elf said without looking up. “I did not kill him. I only restrained him and ended the fight.”
“He’s captured, then?” Gelleran asked, his heart leaping with joy. He was afraid to believe it. “Where is he?”
“In the Dormigan Prison.”
The king felt a happy grin spread across his face. “What? You’ve gotten me another dark elf, and you’re only reporting it now? Why on earth, Fredric? I’ll forgive the delay, of course, and I’ll reward you both handsomely, but why? Did you wish to tell me in person?”
The knight remained serious. “Yes, Your Majesty. And I’m afraid the news I bring is not the happy surprise we seem to have made you think it is. The matter is very complicated. I have discovered some things about dark elves that… change everything.”
Gelleran’s grin faded. He should have known that it was too good to be true.
“What things?” he asked in a flat tone.
“Allow me to begin with the most important matter,” Fredric said, holding the king’s darkened gaze. “Your Majesty, I wish to give up my knighthood. You granted it to me for my victory over the Dark Elf of Syron; I have established that the victory was false. The elf had not fought to the full extent of his powers. He’d let me capture him.”
The king stood, thunderstruck. “What? Wait… what? How do you know that?”
“I will explain in a moment. The fact is that these elves are far, far stronger than we ever thought. He could have killed me with ease; he simply chose not to. Another fact is that he can just as easily escape from the Dormigan. He has been staying there because, once again, he chose to. He has led us to think that the prison is secure enough to hold him; it is not. He can walk out at any time.”
Gelleran was speechless for a few moments. He wondered how Klemm didn’t fall off his chair in the hidden room.
“Fredric… you are killing me. You have no idea what this means! Are you sure?”
It was a silly question, he knew. Fredric was not the type to speak lightly.
“Yes, Your Majesty. The information has been verified.”
The king walked back to his chair and sat down, shaking his head. This was bad, very bad. His supposed protection from Kerbia turned out to be a sham, and he couldn’t begin to think of what he was going to tell the Welmarians. At best, he’d be the laughing stock of the whole realm when the truth came out. At worst, he’d have a two-front war on his hands, with enemies far stronger than he could hope to handle.
“How is this possible?” the king asked, doing his best not to sound defeated. “Torren, the warden, has been sending regular reports, telling me everything’s fine. I trusted him fully! Your brother Malgrid had personally inspected the prison and wrote the same thing. Had they both lied?”
“From what I understand, they had been working to uncover the truth,” Fredric said, “and chose not to confuse Your Majesty with alarming reports that would lack substance and proof. In the meantime, Captain Torren had done his best to keep the elf in the prison. It is only thanks to the captain’s efforts that we’ve had him there this long.”
The king looked up, grasping at the straw. “So it is possible to keep him jailed, after all? And you said you’ve locked up the other one.”
“No, Your Majesty, we have not locked him up. Alvacor has convinced him to submit to the authorities and stay in the Dormigan, for the moment.”
Gelleran turned to the elf. “You know how to handle them, don’t you? Tell me everything you know.”
The elf took a step closer; he still wouldn’t lift his eyes. Perhaps it was a custom of his land, a way to show respect to royalty.
“I will be glad to help, if I can,” he said. “Before I share the information I have, may I ask what Your Majesty’s plans are, or were, regarding the so-called dark elves? It would help me to better understand the situation.”
Gelleran was not used to disobedience, even mild and in a courteous form, as the elf had just allowed himself. The king’s irritation rang clear as he answered. “My plans? The creatures are dangerous, they are a threat to my people! I want them locked away! I want to be sure they can’t do any harm. Isn’t that obvious?”
The elf’s eyes slightly narrowed, as if he knew this wasn’t the truth—not the whole truth, anyway.
“Unfortunately, it is not possible,” he replied. “They can’t be controlled, but they can be reasoned with. An agreement is possible. Would Your Majesty consider that?”
Gelleran thought he misheard him. “Negotiate with creatures of the Darkness? That never ends well, as you certainly must be aware!”
“I am aware of that, more than most people or elves,” Alvacor said. “But they are not creatures of the Darkness, as hard as it is for Your Majesty to believe.”
He was right about that; Gelleran couldn’t possibly believe it. “You make me doubt your competence. The first one killed over thirty of my men, the second one, a dozen peasants. Did you know that?”
“I did.”
“And you still maintain that they are not murderous beasts?”
The elf didn’t reply right away, but Gelleran noticed no hesitation. He must have been searching for a better way to word his answer.
“They would be the first to call themselves monsters,” he said at last. “And it wouldn’t be incorrect, but not in the sense you’ve implied, Your Majesty. These creatures have been scarred by the Darkness. They live with great pain, and they can be dangerous when provoked. However, they have not taken the dark path. They do not seek murder or vengeance. They have no connections with the dark side and serve no evil master.”
The king studied him, far from convinced. Who was this fellow, anyway?
“How certain are you of this?”
“Absolutely certain, Your Majesty.”
“And you are telling me that if we reach some kind of an agreement, I can trust them to keep it?”
“Yes. The first elf is willing to cooperate, even to offer his services to defend Sormaria. The second is not as open to be of help, but he will follow the lead of the first. They only ask for one thing in return.”
“Let me guess. They want my full forgiveness and absolution of their crimes.”
The elf appeared surprised. “Uh… no. Risking to displease Your Majesty, I will allow myself to point out that, with their abilities, they worry little about that.”
It took quite a bit of effort on Gelleran’s part to keep his anger in check. The elf was right, of course: the creatures seemed to have the upper hand, and it was infuriating.
“What is it, then?” the king demanded.
“The first elf is aware that Captain Torren, the warden, may pay for the unorthodox methods he used to keep him in the prison. The elf has grown to respect the captain, and he asks that no harm is done to him or his family.”
Gelleran frowned. “What unorthodox methods?”
“Understanding and reasoning instead of brutal force that would have only resulted in more violence and death.”
The king’s frown deepened. “Torren has befriended the creature? I don’t like it. That’s why he’s been withholding crucial information from me. I’d never expect it from him, but I guess one can’t put too much trust in anyone these days.”
The elf glanced up for the first time, just for a moment, but that was enough to send a chill down Gelleran’s spine. Were his eyes red?
“I can vouch for Captain Torren’s loyalty, Your Majesty,” Fredric spoke up. “He’s been doing his duty the best he could, and he has not compromised his position or honor in any way.”
Gelleran missed half of what the knight said, still bothered with what he thought he saw. He tried to get a better look at the elf’s eyes, but the elf kept them down.
“Uh… your word means a lot, Fredric, and I will keep it in mind.”
The king paused to think, still watching the elf closely. If what this fellow said was true, there was a good chance everything could be settled. The first dark elf offered to help defend Sormaria; with a warrior like that in his service, and perhaps even two, Gelleran wouldn’t have to worry about Kerbia or Welmar. They had shown some respect when they found out he had a dark elf captured; he couldn’t wait until they heard that he had more!
Of course, Gelleran would need to check out this Alvacor first, to see whether he and his information could be trusted. The elf came with Fredric, and Fredric said he’d saved his life, but still, all this could be an elaborate trap. He’d need to investigate Torren, too. Despite Fredric’s assurance, being “understanding and reasonable” with an enemy of the Crown, to the point of lying to the king in his reports, was outrageous.
“I thank you both for your service,” Gelleran said, rising from his armchair and thus letting them know he was concluding the audience. “Fredric, I refuse to take your knighthood from you. Do not protest; I won’t hear of it. You deserve it more than anyone, if not for the capture of the dark elf then for your honesty and your bravery. As to the matters you have brought to my attention, I need some time to think. I will summon you when I’m ready. It shouldn’t be long, perhaps a few days. Alvacor…” The king hesitated. He knew Klemm was going to cringe at the question since it could be perceived as a sign of weakness. Well, Klemm would have to hold his tongue. “Alvacor, do you think the dark elves will stay in the Dormigan… for now?”
“They will wait for Your Majesty’s decision and behave, as long as Captain Torren is safe,” the elf replied.
Once again, Gelleran had to stifle his anger. It sounded too much like a threat. Whether he liked it or not, he was already negotiating with those creatures. All he could do was try to keep up the appearance of being in control.
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Do not leave the city, my advisors may wish to speak with you. Fredric, I want to have you close at hand as well. You may stay in the guest quarters here at the palace.”
The knight bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The elf bowed as well. When he straightened his back, he glanced up again. His eyes were brown. Gelleran must have imagined the red, which was no wonder; he’d been too stressed out these days.
The visitors left.
“They’re gone, Klemm, you can come out,” Gelleran said. “What do you think of all this mess?”
There came no response.
“Klemm?”
The king stepped up to the painting, moved it aside and gasped at the sight of his advisor lying limp in the armchair. His head hung low, chin resting on his chest; his right hand still held a quill. An open notepad lay on his lap. No notes were taken; whatever had happened to him must have happened right at the start of the audience.
***