The Elf King (33 page)

“
He has a plan. We can work
together.” Leis stated. “We’re running out of time.”

The rest of the group
shared concerned looks, eyes filled with caution and uncertainty
passed from one person to the next. Leis nodded his head with his
approval, waiting for the others to join him. But none of them made
a move; they were all waiting for Dornawee.

The old elf thought about
it for a long minute. But in the end, desperation gave way and he
nodded as well. “Time is short for all of us. If the banished wish
to help, so let them help.”

No sign of joy came from
the Dark Elf. He stood motionless for a few moments, staring at
Dornawee. It made the old elf uncomfortable. Until finally, the
Dark Elf motioned for a staff resting against the table.

“
Your staff,” he said
softly. He reached out and took it from Dornawee once it was
offered. He stared at it with great admiration. “So long since I’ve
seen fresh wood.”

“
How can you help us?”
Dornawee shifted his stance to lean on the table. He tried his best
to not sound intimidated. “What do you have to offer?”

The Dark Elf didn’t seem to
hear him. He quietly talked to himself for a few moments, then
looked up from the staff to the others. “You have resources that we
do not. Fresh water. Clean earth. Wood that is not
decayed.”

“
That is your own fault,”
Dornawee shot back.

A hissing sound from the
Dark Elf silenced Dornawee. “We have magic. True and pure. Strong.
Very strong. What each is missing, the other has. Your resources
and our resources can create the talisman needed.”

“
You’ve stolen all the
magic for yourselves!” One elf shot back in frustration.

The Dark Elf’s hands began
to glow red. The group backed away from him. “I can take what I
wish from you, if that’s what you would prefer, old one. You are no
match for me. Not with your trinket potions and your pathetic
concoctions.”

The other spit to the
floor. “You don’t have the right to keep what you have!”

Underneath the Dark Elf’s
hood, eye sockets began to glow red.

Leis interjected quickly.
“This bickering will not help us. We need to stand as one! We all
know the past. What we need is to focus on the present!”

“
The future.” Dornawee
added quietly. “Young elf, you are the future. What has happened to
you was not done by us. You not need be bitter now. We are not here
to judge you. Our mistrust in you is simply misplaced ignorance. If
you can help aid us, then you will prove your worth. Leis is right,
we need to end this distrust.”

Dornawee stretched forth
one hand in greeting to the Dark Elf, who waited a few moments,
allowing his hands to return to their natural opaque color before
joining hands. “Let elves stand with elves.”

One by one, each of them
added a hand until they stood united. The Dark Elf looked up, his
thin lips crooked and bent upright at the corners.

“
What is needed?” Dornawee
pressed, anxious to be working again.

“
Fresh water. Earth. This
staff.” The Dark Elf set the staff on the table, the others giving
him room, moving their elixirs and containers out of the
way.

Two men left the room for a
short time, one returning with a bucket of water, the other a
bucket of fresh black soil. They set them on the table. The Dark
Elf dabbled his tongue in the water and shrieked as if scolded. He
took another drink, then began to play in the soil.

“
The water you have is so
pure,” the Dark Elf groaned. “It would take some getting used
to.”

You’re banished. You don’t
have to get used to it.
Dornawee thought.
He turned away from the Dark Elf and focused his attention to the
staff. He wasn’t sure why it was necessary. Wood was very seldom
used in potions, he thought. But just as he began to look it over,
a small set of hands was sliding it away from him.

“
I’ll need to take these
back.” He turned to Dornawee with a smile that could not be
overlooked and mocked with great pleasure. “Back to the
banished.”

“
How will—?” Before
Dornawee could finish his question, the Dark Elf grabbed a hold of
the staff and buckets, then disappeared.

I
t
was black in the Shade, blacker
than midnights elsewhere. The Dark Elf appeared in a shabby room, a
would-be shelter deep within the swamp. The buzzing of insects
filled the silence, and the stink in the air could almost be
mistaken for fog. He set the buckets down on the floor and rested
the staff on the table. He had other implements as well, a few
crystals of different sizes and shapes, a few flat stones, and a
bowl of some kind of liquid—back and moving.

He went to work right away.
He knew he had a short window to work with before the others would
sense his doings and arrive. He didn’t want that. This was his
work. The others were fools.

He began to cover the staff
in the black liquid from the bowl, rubbing it on slowly, smoothing
it out with his bare hands and then washing his hands in the water
afterwards. The black liquid squirmed its way down into the wood,
disappearing quickly. The Dark Elf then placed one of the crystals
in the bucket of soil, summoning his own magic to set off a
reaction in the bucket that lit the room with blinding red light,
repeating a few set of words out loud while doing so. When
finished, the bucket sat smoking. He stood the staff in it,
watching the wood absorb the smoke.

Hurry! They will be coming
now!

Just the thought of the
other Dark Elves made him sick. They were tormented, he knew. They
despised one another like plagues. He more-so than the rest,
because he distanced himself from them. He fought off his disease,
as the others didn’t realize that they had one. His hunger was fed
sometimes, though he scolded himself afterwards, vowing not to let
it run his life. He would not fall even more lost than what he was.
He was not like the others. He understood the sickness; he
understood that he was dying. But as the others fought for more
power, craving it, satisfying themselves against all odds, he
fought for redemption. This was his chance to set things right with
himself.

He hated everything about
himself. He hated himself for allowing his life to end up where it
was. He hated the magic for luring him and swaying his mind to side
with it, instead of reason and righteousness. His mind was a ball
of madness, anger and frustration. It was the poisons’ work, he
knew. It was the reaction to the use of the strongest magic. The
type of magic that did not allow the user to live without it. It
was how the Dark Elves were formed. It was how they would all die
too, he knew.

But not him. His life was
shortening each day. And each day he had found ways to help it
shrink.
Deny the magic. Deny its hunger.
Starve it, and it will leave you
. But the
price for it leaving was death. But his life, as he saw it now, was
already suffocated. He was merely a host for something else living
inside him. The thought of it made him mad. He was supposed to be
more than this, he knew. His life was meant to be of more value.
And now that he had the opportunity to prove it, he would not
fail.

The Dark Elves could claim
their abyss, their banishment to the Shade of the Lyyn. I want
nothing of it!

Anger spewed from his
fingertips in red bursts, pouring his magic into the staff heavily.
The swampland around him lit up as if it were on fire. Still he
worked hard, emptying himself into the staff, using the magic of
the stones and crystals, the potions from water and earth, the
madness from within. For several long minutes he continued, sweat
streaming down his face and hands, his cloak soaked through and
through.

Then he stopped. Exhausted,
he toppled to the floor. The room was spinning. Air was vacant. But
he was finished. He began to sit upright, when a voice called out
behind him.

“
Smells like you have
something for me,” a voice whispered coldly.

The Dark Elf quickly stood
to his feet, hands snatching the staff off the table. Another of
his kind entered, moving slowly on all fours like an animal. Its
face was bent and twisted, jaws open, snapping at the air. Sounds
emitted from it as if it carried deep wounds. But in the darkness,
none were seen.

The Dark Elf stood his
ground. “You cannot have it! Back away!”

“
It’s mine!”

The Dark Elf turned
instantly to protect the staff and use his magic to disappear, but
was too slow. Clawed hands ripped into his chest and back, flaring
with crimson heat a second before he fled.

Once gone, the animal
screamed viscously, howling as it began to rip the room to
splinters. In the darkness outside, dozens of red eyes began to
move closer.

“
I
’
m
not sure where he went! How would
I know when he’s coming back?” Leis shouted in response to the
interrogation.

“
Where did you find
him?”

“
He came to me!” Leis was
tired of the questions.

“
You brought him here. How
did you know—?” Dornawee stopped talking, as the Dark Elf’s body
appeared suddenly between him and Leis.

“
My Lord!” Leis gasped,
noticing the blood flowing out of the Dark Elf’s cloak.

“
Set him on the table!”
Dornawee shouted, the others clearing a section of the table at
once.

But as they moved to lift
the Dark Elf, he stopped them in protest. “Don’t touch me! Get away
from me!” With the aid of his staff, he slowly made it to his feet.
Blood stained his cloak, dripping down his hands to join the puddle
on the floor.

“
What happened?” Dornawee
groaned.

“
Here. It is finished.” The
Dark Elf handed Dornawee the staff. It looked the same as when he
had left with it. Seconds later, he collapsed to the
floor.

The others quickly removed
his cloak, seeing now the terrible rips into his flesh. They tried
to stop the bleeding, but there was little they could do now.
Dornawee knelt down next to the Dark Elf’s face. It was pale with
splotches of open sores. His eyes were half open, streaked with red
lines. His cold body began to tremble.

“
The staff will work. I
promise.” The Dark Elf began coughing up blood, choking on his
words. He looked into Dornawee’s eyes and smiled, whispering
softly. “I’m not scared anymore.”

A second later, he stopped
breathing.