The wait for the trackers to return was long. It was not helped by the constant muttering
that arose from Vergrim's need to memorize his spells. More than one warrior was forced to
stretch stiffened wings. B'rak tapped his sword impatiently. The day neared its finish.
The trackers returned two hours later. They reported that the figure had led them from one
spot to another for no apparent reason. Just when they were convinced that he knew of
their presence, the solitary traveler had stepped into the clearing around a small
village. The inhabitants of the village were elves.
B'rak was slightly disappointed on hearing this, but he pushed the thought aside. Here, at
least, would be some action. One of the trackers handed him a map showing the location of
the village. It was some distance to the northeast. They would arrive just before dark.
Vergrim studied the map with great interest, but uttered no comment. B'rak ignored him;
this was a possible battle situation and his authority was supreme in that respect. The
magic-user could advise, but nothing more.
They moved cautiously through the woods in the general direction of the village. B'rak
sent men ahead in order to avoid an
ambush. As he walked, he noticed his head beginning to throb. An unusual occurrence, he
was not subject to such weakness. For- tunately, the pain was not severe enough to affect
his judgment.
-They met no resistance whatsoever. This might have been virgin forest, with the
draconians the first intelligent life to pass through it. B'rak's warriors relaxed, their
minds turning to thoughts of looting. The captain frowned; discipline was slipping. He
avoided looking at Vergrim, knowing the other would be wearing that mocking smile.
The village, when they came to it, was so small as to be almost unbelievable. It couldn't
house more than a dozen families. The homes were simple, more like one might have expected
humans to live in than elves.
B'rak saw immediately that even with only twenty warriors and the magic-user, he could
still have taken it easily. He spat on the ground, the throbbing in his head increasing
his anger tenfold. Too simple.
Unrest was spreading through his patrol. Even Sith, always calm and quiet, was shifting
impatiently. It Had been far too long since any of them had seen action, and now it
appeared that they had been deprived of it once more. B'rak finally gave the signal. The
patrol advanced into the clearing.
At first, they saw no one. Then, gradually, heads appeared in windows and doorways.
Surprisingly, there were no looks of anger, no shouts of hate. The elves stepped out into
the openings and stared. Just stared. They seemed to be waiting for something, looking for
someone.
The draconians stopped abruptly, alarmed at the unusual reaction of the elves. B'rak
turned to Vergrim.
“Well? Are we in any threat of attack here?”
The hooded figure shook his head in distaste. “We have nothing to fear from these
weaklings! I read only the desire to help and care for us. Pfah! Even their el-ven kin
would be disgusted at such tolerance as I feel.”
Sith leaned close. “Shall we destroy the village?”
B'rak waved him away. “It is not worth the trouble now. If this is an example of what we
can expect, the Highlord has little to fear from this region.” He studied the elves,
frowned, and turned back to his companions. “Where are their young? I see only adults-and
most of those are silver-haired.”
One of the trackers came up and bowed before him. “We studied the village for a long time
before reporting back, captain. Not once did we see any young.”
The throbbing in B'rak's head had become little more than a nuisance, but it was just
enough to unleash his anger. He shouted to the elves, “I want your leaders here now! If
they do not appear, my men will raze this village and kill everyone!”
The elves did not speak, but some of them stepped aside, opening a path for the oldest elf
any of the draconians had ever seen. His beard was a sparkling silver and came near to
matching his arms in length. He wore only a simple cloth robe, apparently the village's
only form of clothing since the other elves were clad in a similar fashion. He carried a
long wooden staff, which he also used as a crutch. As he neared the dra-conian leader, his
eyes sparkled. The ancient male wore no sign of authority that B'rak could identify, but
the captain had no doubt whatever that this was indeed the village elder.
Vergrim hissed. “Careful, B'rak. He may be a cleric. This whole village smells of a shrine
or something. See how they all dress, how they all act.”
“Do you detect any threat from this old one? From the look of things, he can barely stand.”
“No. As with the others, I detect only the wish to help. Curious.” The Black Robe sounded
almost disappointed, B'rak noted.
The elder paused before the reptilian warriors. “I am Eliyah, the Speaker for this
village. We bid you welcome and offer you our humble hospitality.”
The captain waved away the offer for the moment and went immediately to the point that
concerned him. “Where are your young? Your children? I warn you, if they do not appear, I
shall give the order to have you all put to death.”
Eliyah sighed and a sadness seemed to sweep over the entire elven population. B'rak was
taken aback by the intensity of the emotion. Had some plague struck down the young? Were
he and his patrol in danger? He quickly discarded the thought; no plague he knew of would
take the young and strong and leave the old and sickly.
The elder waved a feeble hand at the group of elves that had closed in behind him. “These
are all you will find here. Our children have been turned from our ways and no longer
recognize us. We pray they will return to us, but our hope grows faint.”
Draconians are not known for their sympathy. B'rak, however, found it impossible not to
feel some of the hurt the elves bore. Even Vergrim looked downcast for a moment.
The pain in the captain's head brought him back to reality. He
cursed harshly, clutching at his head. Eliyah touched his shoulder in a gesture of
concern. Sith came to his commander's aid.
“Are you all right, captain?”
“My head pounds, that is all. We will stay here for the night. Secure the area. Post a
guard. Secure hostages.”
There was a commotion at the back of the patrol. B'rak steadied himself but could not see
what was happening. Vergrim, who stood taller, looked at the commotion and then came up to
B'rak.
“One of your men appears to have collapsed. Exhaustion, perhaps. I will see to him.”
“Captain . . .” B'rak turned once more to the Speaker. “What is it, old one?” "You and
your companions need food and rest. Come. You have
nothing to fear from us. My people will see to your men. Food, shelter-whatever they wish."
Sith jumped on the last statement. “A trick! They will poison the food.”
“Unlikely. We will take hostages if necessary. They will not dare harm any of us if their
kin are in danger. Any attempt to do so will be answered with the total destruction of
this village.” B'rak summoned two of his warriors. “You two will come with me.” To the
elf, he said, “I will accept your hospitality-by staying at your home.”
Sith opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it. He merely glared at the elven
Speaker and then stalked off to do his duty. Eliyah bowed respectfully and turned, his
face having revealed no animosity toward his sudden houseguest. His pace was so slow that
the captain had ample time to study the other villagers as they walked along.
As a whole, they were a sorrowful people. B'rak wondered what could have brought elves to
such a state. They did not seem to fear draconians and were certainly not hostile to them.
There were no signs of plague or destruction. The entire place was an enigma. What had
really happened to their children? He chuckled. Boredom, perhaps.
The dwellings of the elves proved to be even more dismal up close. All were constructed
from wood and generally consisted of one room. With that in mind, the home of the Speaker
appeared comparatively luxurious. It rested against one side of an enormous tree and was
no more than a few yards from the main village. Like the others, it was of wood, but large
enough to house the entire population. B'rak suspected the structure doubled as a meeting
house and contemplated future uses for it. An elven woman with long, flowing tresses of
silver mixed with
flakes of gold greeted them at the entrance. Though obviously old, she was still a
handsome woman. B'rak, though, could not think of her as anything but someone's
grandmother.
“My greetings to our guests.”
Eliyah hugged her briefly and then turned back to the draconian commander. “This is my
mate, Aurilla Starleaf. She will prepare food for you while I show your men where they may
rest. Is that acceptable?”
B'rak blinked. Acceptable? The question made him smile. He was beginning to like these
people and their ways. With a flourish that would have done the Highlord justice, B'rak
gave his approval. The Speaker left and his mate entered the building. The captain
hesitated before following her and turned to the guards.
“See that I am not disturbed. Keep an eye on those two old ones, too. Sith will see to it
that you are relieved. Until then, I expect you to be on your guard.”
They saluted. B'rak nodded, turned, and sauntered inside, feeling every inch the conqueror.
If the outside appearance of the dwelling hinted simplicity, the inside stated it quite
bluntly. There were few pieces of furniture, save a table and two chairs. From the pillows
and blankets scattered around, B'rak guessed that the elves here had little use for such
things.
The female called Aurilla stepped into the room, a hot bowl in her tiny hands. She
gestured to the table. “Please sit. I have made you some broth. I am sure you will find it
to your liking.”
B'rak purposely displayed long rows of sharp teeth designed for tearing. He much preferred
meat to plants and broths. Fresh meat, especially. The elf was unaffected by his act. She
smiled and placed the broth on the table. The draconian sniffed. It did smell good. There
was meat in it, too, judging by the aroma. He made his way to the table and sat down in
one of the chairs.
The bowl was small, allowing him to swallow the contents in three gulps. He looked up,
tongue clearing away the last vestiges of the broth. Aurilla was already there, a second
bowl in her hands. B'rak grunted his satisfaction, and she smiled like a mother who had
just been complimented by her favorite child. The draconian could not help chuckling at
the odd picture that presented.
He took longer with the second bowl. His headache was nagging. Sleep was now becoming an
urgent need. He grew
impatient for the Speaker's return. One taloned hand gripped the now-empty bowl and
crushed it. As if on cue, the ancient elf returned.
“I have prepared sleeping quarters for you with your men. Or you may stay here if you
wish.”
“I will stay here. My second and the mage will be allowed in here as well. My warriors
will be satisfied with whatever they can find.” Such are the privileges of rank, the
captain added mentally.
There was suddenly a commotion at the entrance. B'rak, hearing draconian voices raised in
anger, pulled out his sword. A trap! I've been a fool! They've led me on a leash! He
rushed through the doorway.
Vergrim was there, looking very sinister and very upset. The two guards blocked his path.
B'rak cursed;
he had not meant they should prevent the magic-user from entering. No doubt the only thing
holding Vergrim back from retaliating was the fact that he believed they were only
following their leader's orders. The patrol leader sheathed his weapon and stepped forward
to try and rectify the situation.
“Hold, all of you! What is it, Vergrim? Why do you disturb me?”
The Black Robe straightened his hood and glared at the two guards. “If I may be permitted
to speak with you in private?”
B'rak waved the two aside. “Come inside.”
“I will not go in there. It is tainted by the weak creatures who live in it.”
“I'll remember that when I'm sleeping in there. What is it you want?”
“I said I would speak with you in private. Send these away.”
The captain stretched his wings. “You try my patience, Vergrim. Very well. You two, seek
out Sith. Tell him you are to be fed. Return here immediately after, however.”
The guards responded eagerly. B'rak turned his attention once more to the mage. Vergrim
stared past the patrol leader and frowned. B'rak twisted around and discovered both the
Speaker and his mate standing in the entranceway. Both wore looks of concern.
“Await me inside. Go!”
They reluctantly stepped back inside the dwelling. B'rak focused on Vergrim and prayed
that this time he would hear what the magic-user was so distraught about. Each delay was
costing him sleep. To make matters worse, his head was now buzzing worse than before.
“You have three minutes. Speak!”
“I have inspected the warrior who collapsed. His name is S'sira.”
“I know him. Quiet but deadly. Go on.”
“He is not suffering from fatigue. He complains of headaches and dizziness, but it is not
due to a lack of rest. I cannot say for sure, but I believe he may be suffering from some
disease.”
The captain folded his arms. “You believe it has something to do with the villagers.”
“Look for yourself. Where are all the young? The strong? It would explain much.”
B'rak laughed harshly. “It explains nothing. I have already thought of that. What disease,
pray tell, kills the young and strong while allowing one such as the Speaker to go
untouched? Sickness is nothing new to me. If you cannot care for S'sira, it shall be in
the Queen's hands.”
“You are a fool. Like all warriors. Your own life may be in danger.”