Elf Lords: 02 - Last of the Elf Lords (5 page)

“I would be honored to have you join me.” Natis accepted.

Doogal could not remain silent any longer, “You murdered Lorili!” He accused.

Turk fixed his eyes on the bound half-elf, “ She shamed our family by taking up with a beast. Perhaps we could have kept it secret, but when it was discovered that she carried your bastard child, my father could not risk our family’s reputation, so he had her killed.”

Lightning flashed across the sky, followed almost instantly by another clap of thunder. ‘That was close,” Turk commented, “McRawl, make sure that Doogal’s ropes are secure, then we will leave him here to die, with my dearly departed sister beneath him.”

McRawl stepped behind Doogal. After confirming that the half-elf’s hands were still tightly bound, he whispered, “I thought you might want to know that before I hanged Lorili, the boys over there and I all took a turn at her. It isn’t every day that you get to lay with a princess.”

“You son-of-a-troll!” Doogal exclaimed.

McRawl laughed.

Turk grinned at Doogal, “I think that we’ll be leaving now. Feel free to hang around as long as you like.”

Doogal cursed at the men as they left him there to die. The rain began to fall harder, making the headstone slick to stand on. He did not know how long he stood there before losing his balance. He cried out in desperation as his legs kicked in frantic hope of regaining his footing to no avail. His fall came to a sudden stop as the rope went taunt. Doogal was unable to breath as his body twisted at the end of the rope. His neck burned and his eyes bulged. Doogal gasped in a failing effort to breathe. Then his eyes were blinded by a brilliant flash of light, at the same moment that his ears were pierced by the sound of deafening thunder.

* * * * *

Doogal sat upright with a start. He was breathing heavily as he looked about the small, caged wagon that he was locked inside of. He tested the chains that shackled his wrists and ankles for the hundredth time, as if he might discover some new way of breaking free. He raised his bound hands and rubbed the scar on his throat. His shirt was torn and soiled and his pants were in similar condition. Doogal’s feet were bare,
“To make it more difficult to run if you escape.”
He had been told by the constable, who now wore Doogal’s deerskin boots. From the conversation between the two nearest guards, who were riding on horseback behind the wagon, he estimated that he had only been asleep for a few moments. “How can I have that entire dream in such a short time?” He mumbled.

“You okay in there, Doogal?” One of the two guards riding behind the wagon mocked. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before we get you to Ducaine.”

“That would be a shame.” Doogal retorted.

The second guard sneered, “It would, indeed. McRawl is looking forward to putting a noose around your neck,
again.
”

“I hope that he has learned how to do it correctly this time.” Doogal returned.

The two guards urged their horses closer to the prison wagon. The guard who had just spoken asked, “How did you survive being hanged?”

Doogal refused to answer.

Someone from up ahead called back, “Don’t talk to the prisoner!”

Doogal recognized the voice as being Harper, the head constable of Latan, the town where Doogal had been unwittingly captured. The men who watched the rear of the wagon were simple farmers who served their rotation in the town patrol dutifully. Despite their part in his predicament, Doogal bore them no ill will. They were simply doing their jobs. Doogal even sensed a sliver of admiration coming from the two men. And why not, they had probably never met a renowned thief, and murderer, before. Despite his deeds, Doogal was the closest thing to a legend that they had ever encountered. Harper was another matter. The broad shouldered man with the thick beard—that covered his considerably ugly face—was the hard as nails constable of Latan. Harper was strict in enforcing local laws, especially against travelers. His hand was in the pocket of the Thieves Guild for everything else. The guild was permitted to prey upon travelers, and use the town as a hub for many illegal activities. As long as they kept a low profile in town, and gold in Harper’s purse, there would be no trouble.

Doogal looked at the trees on the right hand side of the road: The legendary Tilsaw Forest. To the left was the Plains of Tikal. Doogal wished that he had his lock picks. Maybe then he could free himself from these chains. Even if he could, he knew that there was little chance that he could unlock the door to the cage and escape into the forest before the four guards, or the driver, was upon him.

Doogal cursed his luck. After all these years, everything came down to this, being double crossed by members of the Thieves Guild, and being delivered up to his sworn enemy for execution. He took solace in the fact that he would see McRawl once more. Perhaps there would be one final opportunity to go after the man who symbolized everything that Doogal hated. If he had to die, it would be worth it if he could take McRawl with him.

It had been many years since the night that Turk and McRawl had hanged him. His miraculous escape from death had given the former soldier the opportunity he desired to extract revenge on the men who had defiled and murdered Lorili, and his unborn child. Doogal took his time tracking down each of them. One by one, the half-elf captured and hanged each soldier who had anything to do with Lorili’s death. That task had become more difficult after Doogal had hanged both Turk and Lorili’s father on two separate occasions. With the deaths of their lord, the soldiers who remained alive eagerly sought positions elsewhere within the empire.

Doogal’s deeds had earned him the nickname
The Hangman
. Fortunately, only a few knew his real name. Still, a half-elf with a noose scar on his neck was easily recognizable. Even if no one knew that he was the feared killer, no one was about to hire the disgraced half-elf soldier who was rumored to have caused a noble woman to commit suicide by betraying her honor. Doogal was saddled with the lie. He did not care, for clearing his name was of no consequence. All he sought was revenge.

He turned to thievery to get by. Why not, he was already a murderer. What risk was there in adding larceny to his reputation? Doogal became very skilled at his new profession. There were few places that he could not break into. When he was unable to steal something, he was able to devise cons to trick people into giving him what he wanted. His reputation grew. Had he chose to remain in one location, there is little doubt that he would have risen in the ranks of any local Thieves Guild. But Doogal was not interested in rank or position. All that interested him was vengeance. Eventually he succeeded in avenging Lorili’s death on all but one of her murderers: McRawl.

McRawl had seemingly vanished from the Eastland. Doogal had gone too far to allow the captain of the palace guard to evade justice. Just when he had believed that McRawl must be dead, he heard news that renewed his thirst for revenge. Someone had mentioned McRawl as being an officer with the Lardashen Rebels. As Doogal investigated more, he learned that McRawl had been seen traveling back and forth between Ducaine, Cathaar, and Latan; the town where Doogal had been captured.

Doogal spotted something above him. He looked up in time to see a large, black raven land atop the cage. “Figures.” He muttered.

“Hold!” The driver called out as he pulled on the reins, bringing the pair of horses pulling the wagon to a stop.

The guards behind him rode up to cover either side of the wagon. Doogal scrambled to the front of the cage, causing the raven to fly away. He could see Harper and his deputy—a wiry man with shaggy hair, who was sitting upon a grey mare—waiting up ahead. Beyond them, Doogal saw a man and a woman on horseback, blocking the roadway. They were dressed in matching, dark green breeches and tunics, and both held short bows, with arrows notched, but pointed downward.

“Rangers.” He whispered in recognition.

“Let us pass!” Harper insisted.

The young man—Doogal guessed that he was not yet twenty—permitted his horse to advance closer. Doogal saw the pale features of the blond haired Ranger. He thought that the boy appeared to be part elf, but he could not be certain.

“We wish a word with your prisoner.” The young man declared.

Harper shook his head. “Why would Rangers need to speak to a murderous criminal?”

The female spoke up, “This man stole an item of value before fleeing west. We
have been hired to retrieve it. Unless it was recovered when he was captured, then perhaps we could inquire as to what he has done with it.”

Doogal half smiled at the woman. She was very pretty. Her long brown hair was tied back into a ponytail, revealing her slightly pointed ears. While Doogal was not certain of the boy’s lineage, he knew full well that the female Ranger was part Delowe’ elf, just as he was.

“All he had on him when he was arrested was a half-filled coin pouch, a sword, dagger, and thief’s tools, nothing more.” Harper vowed.

“Would you mind if we questioned him?” She asked.

Harper frowned, “What makes you think that he’ll talk?”

The female pointed to the blond Ranger, “My partner has ways of extracting information.”

“I cannot permit you to harm the prisoner. That pleasure is reserved for someone else.”

The boy spoke up, “My means will cause him no physical harm.”

The driver objected, “I do not like this, Harper.”

“Did I ask your opinion, Sulaar?” Harper replied. He viewed the remark by the driver as a challenge to his authority. Harper did not care if these Rangers found what they sought, but he was not going to let an underling make his decision for him. “They are merely Rangers. Let the boy question the prisoner, but the lady stays with me.”

The female Ranger nodded in approval, removing the arrow from her bow as she did so. The young man did the same, before climbing down from his horse to walk to the wagon.

Doogal sat back in anticipation of the fruitless line of questioning he was about to be subjected to. He just wished that Harper had permitted the girl to question him instead.

“Are you Doogal?” The young man asked when he reached the cage.

“Nah, I’m the driver. I just wanted to rest, so I’m letting Doogal drive the wagon.”

The driver sitting atop the wagon chuckled at the wisecrack. The Ranger leaned closer, speaking softly so that only Doogal could hear his words. “I have a proposition for you. Accept it and we will free you.”

Doogal smirked as if he did not care. Still, he waited to hear more.

“My name is Seth, have you ever heard of me?” The Ranger asked.

Doogal recognized the name. “I have heard of a Seth
who has been causing a great deal of trouble for the slavers.” He whispered.

“That would be me.” Seth acknowledged. “We have need of a master thief, to steal something out of the palace in Ducaine.”

“Why me?” Doogal wanted to know.

“It is said that you stole the Crown of Ikchas from the emperor’s palace.” Seth accused, “Getting into the emperor’s place would be a mighty feat in itself, but to actually steal the crown and escape is more than impressive.”