Lenora didn’t like that young woman the moment she saw her: dressed in black, with an unkind face and small beady eyes that darted all over the marketplace. A thief? Possibly. Better watch out, even though Lenora didn’t have much money or any valuables.
She liked her even less when she noticed that the woman seemed to be following her. Lenora frowned. Why would she attract the attention of thieves? She wore a simple dress, no jewelry, not even a shopping basket to show whether she was buying a lot or penny pinching. She wasn’t here to shop; she had to find her brother Martin and bring him home.
Martin was going to be in a lot of trouble if he met up with his buddies again. Last time, he’d ended up going to a tavern and having a mug of beer. He swore he wouldn’t be talked into it again, but being fourteen and eager to grow up, sometimes he was rather impulsive. He was supposed to buy candles and come right back home; that was over four hours ago. Lenora hoped there was no beer involved this time. Perhaps the lads were just chatting or playing cards. In that case, all would be well if she managed to get Martin home before their father found out.
Lenora scanned the surroundings of the candle shop as she approached; her brother was not there. Not that she expected him to still hang around, but asking Mr. Glenmar when Martin was here and who he was with would help.
She walked inside.
“Miss Lenora!” The shop owner greeted her with a polite nod. “What can I do for you?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Glenmar. I’m looking for Martin. Do you happen to remember how long ago he was in here?”
The man looked surprised. “Martin? He hasn’t stopped by today.”
This was not good. He hasn’t even bought the candles?
“Are you sure?” she asked. “It wasn’t a large order, he might have gotten it while you were away.”
“I’ve been here at the counter all day, serving customers myself. Flora isn’t feeling well. I haven’t seen him.”
“Oh… I’m sorry to hear about Flora. Well, thank you, Mr. Glenmar.”
Lenora left the shop, wondering where to go now. She was getting worried. Martin could get distracted, but it was not like him to drop an errand altogether.
“I know where your brother is,” someone said from behind. “Come with me, I’ll take you to him.”
Startled, the girl swung around. It was the woman in black. Her voice, rough and grating, matched the unpleasant appearance.
“What happened to him?” Lenora asked. “Who are you?”
“Just follow me, and all will be well. If you don’t, Martin won’t be coming home.”
Lenora froze. “What?”
“You heard me. Try some foolishness like running or alerting the guards, and you’ll never see your brother again.” With that, the woman turned and walked down the street.
Lenora ran after her, heart pounding. What had Martin gotten himself into?
Trying to ask questions proved useless; the woman in black remained silent. She led Lenora out of the marketplace, through a number of increasingly narrower and darker alleys, to the part of the city the girl didn’t know and normally wouldn’t venture into.
Something was wrong, very wrong. Lenora pulled out the amulet Alvacor had given her and clutched it in her fist.
“Good Arian, help me,” she whispered. “Keep Martin safe. Keep me safe. Help me bring him home.”
They stopped in front of an old, dilapidated house. The woman gave four rapid knocks on the door, paused, and knocked twice more, obviously giving some sort of a signal. The door opened; a large man with a shaven head looked out.
“Here she is,” the woman said to him, stepping aside so that Lenora could enter first.
He nodded. “Come in.”
The place was small, dusty, and dark. Except for the shaven man, also dressed in black, there was no one else inside.
“Where’s my brother?” Lenora asked.
“Down below,” the man replied, opening a door in the corner and gesturing for her to enter. “Do what you’re told, and you both will be home in no time.”
She descended the squeaky stairs. What she saw in the basement took her breath away: there was Martin, shirtless, tied to a chair and gagged. Two more men, large and grim-faced, rose from their chairs as she entered. They had a fire going in the small oven and what looked like torture instruments carefully laid out on the floor before it.
Martin looked unharmed, there was no blood anywhere. He made no sound as he saw Lenora, but his wide eyes screamed in fear.
“What is this?! What have you done to him?” she cried out, dashing to him.
A hand held her back.
“Nothing—yet,” the shaven man said. “But we will use those neat little tools on him if you refuse to cooperate.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want information about the Dark Elf of Syron. You will tell me everything you know and answer my questions.”
Lenora swallowed, struggling to hold herself together. It was about Alvacor. He had warned her that something like this might happen. She hadn’t taken his words seriously enough, she thought he was just having one of his brooding moments.
“All right, I… I’ll tell you, but it’s not much,” she said. “Why do you think I would know something?”
The shaven man took the only remaining chair and sat down, watching her closely. “You probably know more than anybody else. You’ve been taking meals to him and spending time in his cell.”
So they knew about that. Lenora couldn’t fathom how. The guard? It had to be him.
“Yes, I have,” she confirmed. There was no point in denying it. “But it’s just that: bringing the food and waiting for him to eat, then taking away the empty plates. A servant’s task, nothing more.”
“Let’s start from the beginning. Why do you do it?”
“My father told me to.”
“Did he explain why?”
“He said the elf asked for it. And he said the elf is very strong, stronger than the authorities think. He didn’t want to displease him.”
The man kept watching her. “The warden does not want to displease a prisoner… how odd.”
This wasn’t a question, and Lenora did not know how to respond. She saw that the man believed her, though. He must have had information of his own about Alvacor, and so far her words seemed to match it.
“What else has your father told you about this prisoner?” the man went on. “I’m sure you were curious and asked questions.”
“I did, but he doesn’t like talking about him. He wouldn’t tell me anything, except that the prisoner is very dangerous.”
“Yet he sent you to take his food to him, twice a day. Very telling. Now, describe the elf to me.”
Lenora wished she had listened more carefully to Alvacor’s warning. The only thing she could remember now was that he urged her not to reveal, under any circumstances, that they’d become friends. ‘If that is discovered,’ he’d said, ‘they’ll suspect you of trying to help me, and your every word will be questioned.’
Would giving his truthful description harm Alvacor? On the other hand, intuition told her that, once again, the interrogator already knew what he looked like.
“Very tall, strongly built,” she said. “Long dark hair, a scar on the cheek, and the scariest eyes I have ever seen: they can change color, turn red or black. They glow sometimes, too.”
“What was your first impression? Were you scared of him?”
“Yes, very much.”
“How about now?”
Here it was: the man was trying to probe how well she’d gotten to know the prisoner and whether her attitude changed.
Lenora did her best to make her answer sound genuine. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to him, somewhat. He hasn’t harmed me so far. But those eyes… I still try not to look at them.”
“Does he change the color on purpose?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, I try not to look.”
The man remained silent for some time, he appeared to be thinking. Lenora glanced at her brother. Martin’s eyes were locked on her, his forehead glistening with sweat. Arian, help us, she silently prayed again.
“Please,” she ventured, “let my brother go. Keep me if you want, I will answer your questions.”
“I will let you both go when I’m done,” the man said, “but only if you continue to be good. With your brother here, I think I have a much better chance of obtaining accurate information. Let us go on. A scar on his cheek, you said? Which one?”
“Left.”
“Any other scars on his body?”
Lenora instantly knew what he meant; indignation flared up in her chest. Frightened as she was, she didn’t bother to hide it. “How would I know?”
The man gave a mocking smile. “Are you telling me you’re not lovers? You haven’t seen him undressed?”
“Of course not! I told you, I only bring his food—that’s all!”
Lenora knew how it appeared, and didn’t expect the interrogator to believe her, but, somehow, he seemed satisfied with her reaction.
“All right, all right,” he said, raising one hand. “No need to feel insulted. I was only assuming what would be logical to assume. One last question about this and we will close the subject: Did you refuse his advances or did he never make any?”
“He never made any. Never attempted to touch me.”
The man nodded, as if marking something in his mental notebook. “Then why did he summon you?”
Lenora shrugged. “Perhaps he was bored. He asked me to read books to him while he ate.”
This was clearly something new for the interrogator. “Books? What kind?”
“Stories of elves and men. Legends.”
“Tell me about each one.”
The questioning continued for hours. The man wanted to know everything: whether Alvacor talked to Lenora and what about, how much he ate and what he preferred, what moods he was in, what angered or pleased him. It was agonizing. Lenora concealed what she could, giving out bits of hopefully harmless information and still fearing that she was revealing too much. She couldn’t risk showing hesitation, though, it would make the interrogator suspicious. She couldn’t let them hurt Martin.
“Have you witnessed any of his special abilities?” the man asked.
“Once. I saw him light a candle without touching it.”
“How long was the spell? One word or a phrase?”
“No spell, he just looked at it, and the candle lit up.”
“Are you sure he didn’t whisper it?”
Lenora paused for a moment—a moment she didn’t need; she remembered it well. “No, there was no whispering.”
“Was there anything he intensely disliked?” the man went on.
“What do you mean? Food?”
“Anything. Food, fabric, any other substance? Smells, gestures, words? Did he ever tell you not to do or say anything in his presence?”
“No, he…” Lenora paused again, this time without pretending. She did remember something. The man saw it and jumped on it.
“What? What is it? Don’t test my patience!”
“He didn’t ask any such thing, but I noticed that he doesn’t like to drink.”
“Drink? You mean wine?”
“Wine, beer, milk, water, juice. I brought all sorts of drinks, but I don’t recall him ever taking more than a small sip. Usually he wouldn’t even touch the bottle.”
The man’s crooked smile told Lenora she’d given him something important, some key he was searching for. His further questions all revolved around that; in about ten minutes he finished the interrogation.
“Well. Thank you, Miss Lenora Torren, you have been very helpful. I will keep my word and let you and your brother go now. I suppose you are smart enough to understand that you both must keep quiet about this meeting.”
Lenora nodded. “Yes. I understand.”
“If you tell anyone, you’ll pay dearly.”
“I understand,” she repeated.
“Good.” He gestured to the other two men. “Release the boy.”
***
King Gelleran folded the letter and threw it across the desk. How dare they! A bunch of outlaws who wouldn’t be allowed at any respectable court contacted him as if they were a legitimate entity! Offering—what did they call it? Cooperation, no less.
“The Order of Onyx, yeah, right,” he muttered. A fancy name to disguise a haven for practitioners of black arts.
They claimed they could help with the “dark elf problem,” for a modest sum. The audacity of the offer aside, how did they even know he had a problem? Gelleran thought only he, his two closest advisors, Fredric, Alvacor, and Captain Torren were aware of the situation; the rest of the world was supposed to marvel at the fact that the king of Sormaria had captured dark elves.
This was unsettling. Not that he’d ever dream to have any dealings with these sorcerers, but such unexpected insight… What else did they know? Did they have anything to do with the golden dragon attack? Thank goodness Alvacor happened to be around at the time. Thank goodness he showed up at all, wherever Fredric had found him. Speaking of Alvacor…
The king glanced at the clock. Yes, it was about time; the elf should be here soon. Gelleran rose from the desk and left his study. As he walked to the Chess Room where he usually held private audiences, he wondered what he would do without Alvacor. The king still didn’t know much about the fellow, and he didn’t like it, but there was no question about his usefulness. If Alvacor managed to do what Gelleran was going to suggest, have the dark elves comply, and if the test worked… This would be the first step to solving everything.
Gelleran entered the room and checked whether his two advisors, Klemm and Faran, were already in the hiding place. They were, with quills in hand. He wanted them both this time, just in case. It was still unclear what had possessed Klemm during the last audience; the man swore it had to be magic. He said he’d been fully alert, but a second after he heard the visitors walk in, he was out, sleeping more soundly than he ever had in his life. Gelleran wasn’t sure what to think of it. This was unusual, but Klemm was growing old; perhaps his age was starting to show. At any rate, having Faran there as well wouldn’t hurt.
The butler announced Alvacor. Gelleran greeted the elf by standing up—a sign of special favor and respect; in his hand he had the parchment with the signed edict regarding Alvacor’s newly issued title.
“Welcome, Alvacor,” the king said after the visitor bowed and lowered his eyes, just like he’d done during their first meeting. “You have saved my life and the life of one of my strongest spell-breakers, in addition to saving my best knight. For that, I grant you the title of a Lord of Sormaria.”
He held out the parchment. The elf looked at it with a strange expression that Gelleran couldn’t quite read.
“Your Majesty… I do not deserve this.”
The king frowned. He didn’t like being contradicted. Besides, what sort of nonsense was this? Why wouldn’t someone want a title?
“You do if I say so,” he replied. “Take it, don’t anger me. I don’t appreciate it when my lords are disagreeable.”
The elf hesitated another moment, then stepped closer and accepted the scroll. “Thank you, Your Majesty. This is most generous.”
Gelleran nodded. “That’s better. Now, on to the matter at hand: the dark elves. I am inclined to take your advice and attempt to reach an agreement with them. However, as they must certainly understand, their history makes it difficult for me to simply begin to trust them. Therefore I would like to give them a test assignment first. Do you think they will go for it?”
“What kind of assignment?” the elf asked.
“I want them to clean out the Morgana caves for me. They are infested with trolls; all the nearby roads are unsafe and deserted. It’s hurting trade. Can the elves handle this? And, most importantly, will they?”
“They can, and they will.”
The king studied Alvacor’s confident face. “You are so certain?”
“Yes, at least regarding the one known as the Dark Elf of Syron. I can’t vouch for the other one, but I think there is a good chance he will agree as well.”
“Well, you’ll need to convince them both to go. While they are away, I will send men to the Dormigan Prison to interrogate Torren, the warden. I know you think well of him, but his behavior is unacceptable. I won’t let it slide.”
There was a pause. When the elf spoke, he kept his head low, and his voice seemed strained. “With respect, Your Majesty, this would violate the one and only condition the elves have set. They want Captain Torren safe and untouched. If he is arrested, the Dark Elf of Syron will not cooperate.”
The king didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. Did Alvacor suffer from extreme honesty, like Fredric? If so, some training was in order. “You don’t have to tell him, do you?” he asked, crossing his arms and walking away to the window.
“Too late. He already knows.”
Stunned by the words, Gelleran made a sharp turn to the elf. What he saw chilled his blood: Alvacor stared squarely at him, and his eyes were dark-red, pupils blazing. Not just that, but the whites of his eyes were rapidly turning black.
“Yes. You are looking at him,” the elf said.
It took all of Gelleran’s willpower to stay composed, without any visible reaction to the shock. The Dark Elf himself? Here, in his palace?
“You...” was all he could say for quite a long time.
The elf waited, his terrifying eyes fixed on Gelleran.
“What do you want?” the king managed at last. He hoped his voice was firm enough, and he hoped Klemm and Faran had already called for the guards… unless they were both unconscious.
“Everything I have said as Alvacor, which is my real name, is true,” the elf said. “I have come in good will. I offer my services to Your Majesty, on the one condition I’ve mentioned. The other elf, just as powerful as myself, will not do any harm and might agree to help—if the condition is met.”
“And if it isn’t?” Gelleran didn’t know why, or how, he asked it. He certainly didn’t want to anger the creature, but the question had tumbled out of his mouth before he could think.
The elf’s glowing eyes studied him for a moment. “Your Majesty knows a small part of what I am capable of. Do you really wish to turn me into an enemy? Or would you rather keep me on your side and let your adversaries worry about my powers?”
The king felt a drop of cold sweat trickle down his temple. “Good point. So… you are willing to accept my test assignment?”
“I’ll do it. I will leave to Morgana tomorrow. The other elf will stay in the Dormigan and watch over Captain Torren as I no longer trust Your Majesty’s intentions regarding him.”
Gelleran thought it wise not to argue. “How many men do you want?”
The eyes began to change back to normal, turning brown. “Men? What for?” the elf asked.
“There are dozens of trolls there, possibly over a hundred. Are you going to handle them all by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Gelleran knew he was capable. It gave him shivers.
“I would still send at least a couple,” he said, “to watch and report to me how it went.”
“Very well. They can find me at the Dragon Claw Inn.” Alvacor placed the scroll on the chess table. “I will leave this here since Your Majesty might wish to reconsider making me a Lord of Sormaria now.”
He made a short bow and exited the room.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Gelleran collapsed onto a chair; his hands were trembling. The Dark Elf of Syron, on the loose, coming right into his palace! Setting conditions, making demands… Now it was just Torren, but there’s no telling what he might want next. Offering his services? Promising cooperation? There was no way Gelleran could believe the creature.
He could have killed me. And he still can, at any time. Any time he thinks I have crossed some line.
Something had to be done, and soon.
Minutes passed. Gelleran gathered his strength, rose, picked up the edict and tore it apart. Then he went to the painting. He knew what he was going to see.
“Klemm?” he asked, nonetheless. “Faran?”
No response. The king pulled on the frame and opened the hidden door. Both advisors were limp in their chairs.
“How does he do it?” the king muttered. “Knocking men out through a closed door! Especially when he isn’t even supposed to know there is one…”
Something had to be done. If Gelleran had to accept help from the Order of Onyx to handle this, he would.
***