“Have a care, mage!” B'rak hissed. Vergrim turned away, thus ending any further
conversation. The patrol leader clutched his head; the buzzing was now at a level where it
hurt to think. He stalked back into the Speaker's home and shouted for the elf.
Eliyah was already there, a silent spectre. B'rak, already in a foul mood, cursed at him.
The elder smiled sympathetically and asked if he wished to rest now. The draconian
muttered an affirmative.
The sleeping room proved to be as drab as the rest of the speakers hovel, though it
mattered little to B'rak at this point. He only wanted to lie down and forget the buzzing
in his head. He wanted to forget Black Robes and struggles for domination. When Eliyah
finally stopped before a pile of pillows and blankets, the captain virtually flung himself
to the ground. It was not the most comfortable position for one of his kind, with his
wings all crunched up, but he was beyond caring about such trivial things. The Speaker
made to leave, but the draconian summoned him back.
“See to it that I rest peacefully, elf. No one, especially the Black Robe, is to disturb
my slumber.”
Eliyah looked down at him with great seriousness. “You shall not be disturbed, my son. We
shall see to that.”
B'rak smiled and drifted off, oddly assured by the statement. Soaring like a bird. High in
the heavens. Below him, some of
the creatures cursed to a life on one level trudged along their dreary way. He swooped
down on them, frightening the lot. They scattered hither and yonder, calling out his name
in terror.
He had not meant to frighten them. Not really. They were an interesting group, these small
creatures. Dwarves, most likely. He landed gracefully and called to them, telling them
that he meant no harm, was only trying to have a little fun.
It took much coaxing to get them to come out of their hiding places. When they did, it was
carefully and in small groups of two and three. He smiled in order to reassure them. They
smiled back.
When they were close, he let loose the flame.
They shrieked and ran. He could not tell if he had burned any of them. Truly, he had only
meant to play with them. He was horrified at himself. With a terrible cry, he shot into
the heavens. The clouds were not high enough for him. He flew up and up, seeking the stars
and the powers behind them. His cry ripped through the fabric of reality, touching the
ears of the gods themselves.
They were there. Opposites. The Queen of Darkness and the brilliant figure clad in
platinum armor. Both reached for him. He heard the countless voices crying to him, calling
to him as a parent calls for a child who is lost. Almost he came to them.
The light frightened him, though. It wanted to twist him, make him other than he was.
B'rak turned and fled, flying to the safety and security of the Queen of Darkness. She
welcomed him back.
All turned to black. The voices wailed at the loss and then faded away.
B'rak woke with a start. He hissed loudly in the darkness, having taken it for part of his
dream. Someone stirred nearby. The draconian sniffed. Sith. No one else. Vergrim had
apparently decided to seek rest elsewhere.
Sith hissed in his sleep, apparently the victim of dreams not to his liking. B'rak stood
up, his eyes now accustomed to the lack of light, and rubbed his head. The buzzing was
still there, but at a level barely noticeable. The nightmare was all but forgotten now;
the feeling of unease was not. B'rak flexed his wings in thought and then suddenly
departed the lodge.
He made his way quietly past the sleeping elves in the other room and stepped outside. The
sun was not yet up. The captain hissed to himself. He turned to one of the two guards at
the entrance and kicked him. The figure cursed and clutched its leg. B'rak tittered a
quiet but direct order-along with the
consequences of slow obedience. The warrior quickly stood at attention.
B'rak breathed into his face. “Seek out the trackers and have them report to me. Now!”
The soldier scurried away. B'rak switched to the remaining guard, who now stood poised and
ready for battle. The draconian commander moved so that he stood eye-to-eye with the other.
“Where is the Black Robe? Have you seen him or were you asleep all night?”
“He is with the stricken one, captain-S'sira.” “Where would that be?” The voice floated
through the waning night. "There is no need
to look for me, captain. I am here." B'rak whirled. Even in the darkness, he could make
out the
burning eyes of Vergrim. The magic-user was buried deep within the black cloak which
seemed almost an extension of his own form. The mage looked grim.
“It is odd that you should come seeking me, captain. I was just on my way to speak with
you. Interesting, don't you think? Tell me, is your headache better?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I shall tell you when you have answered my question. Is your headache better?”
“Yes. It only buzzes slightly now. I found it difficult to sleep.”
The hood bobbed up and down as Vergrim nodded. “I suspected as much. You might be
interested to know that a number of the men have also complained of headaches and buzzing.
S'sira is apparently the only one to have been stricken badly. He babbles like a madman
and his form is contorted from pain.”
The first rays of light broke through the darkness. B'rak bared his teeth. “He wasn't that
sick before. When did this start?” "Soon after the patrol settled down. Most of those
touched
were asleep. Shortly after waking, they grew better." At that moment, the other guard
returned with the trackers.
They saluted. B'rak ignored them at first, his thoughts on a hundred possibilities. At
last, he came to a decision. He turned to the newcomers.
“Did you survey the surrounding forest?”
The two trackers looked at one another. B'rak's eyes narrowed. “That is standard
procedure, is it not?”
The senior of the two spoke. “Captain, we did survey the forest. It is just that we found
nothing to report. You saw the map. Nothing but trees and grass for miles.”
The patrol leader nodded. “I see. Very well, you are dismissed.”
The trackers departed with great haste. B'rak looked at the Black Robe. “You detect
nothing from these elves?”
“Only the same as before-the desire to help and care for us. I have not really paid much
more attention to them. They are worth less than gully dwarves. At least those creatures
know no better. These elves are purely pathetic.”
“Then, what do you believe the cause of this-this illness to be?”
“I know not. I felt it necessary to report my feelings and possibly warn you.”
B'rak grunted. “Consider me warned.”
Vergrim hissed. “I shall see what else I can do for your man. I fear it will not be
enough, though.”
“May we be of service?”
The elven Speaker and his mate stood behind them. The captain had no idea how long they
had been there, but he was pleased to see that the Black Robe was just as startled. He
looked from one elf to the other. “How can you help?”
“Our knowledge covers a span of countless generations. It may be that there is something
in it that relates to your ill warrior. We only wish to help.”
B'rak eyed them skeptically. “Vergrim?”
The mage's voice was barely audible. “I still sense nothing but worry and care for us. I
do not understand it, but it is there. They may be of some use. I shall, however, trust
them only so far.”
“Shall I dispatch a guard to assist you?” Vergrim scoffed. “I think I can safely handle
two aged elves.” The draconian commander nodded. To the elves he replied, "Very
well. Go with the magic-user. Be warned-he shall watch your every move! If my warrior
dies, you two will follow immediately."
“We understand, captain. We will do what we can.”
Vergrim hissed and motioned them to follow him. They did so, maintaining a respectable
distance from the magic-user. B'rak watched them depart and rubbed a leathery hand across
his chin.
“Sith!”
His second, looking half-dead, stumbled out of the Speaker's dwelling. The captain allowed
him a moment to organize himself.
“Captain?”
“You are in charge for now. Organize the patrol for action. I shall return shortly.”
“Yes, captain.” B'rak adjusted his sword belt and set out toward the forest
himself. Now and then, he would pass one of the elves. All refused to meet his gaze. He
hissed softly; there was a difference in their attitude. What it was he could not place.
He only knew there was a difference. The sadness was there, but something had changed.
He walked for some time. The woods replaced the village. Eventually he paused at what he
estimated to be a fair distance from the community. The land was hilly; another two hours
would bring him to one of the lesser mountain ranges in this region. The hills, though,
would serve his purpose.
He chose the tallest, most jagged of the hills. One side ended in a sheer cliff. The
slight breeze tempted him. Though his wings were of little use for actual flight, he could
easily glide some distance. That, however, was not his purpose for being here.
As he had surmised, the hill gave him an excellent view of the surrounding landscape,
including the village. Far to the southwest lay what looked like the edge of the New Sea.
On either side, vast mountains thrust up from the earth, like great walls protecting the
region. The flatter lands consisted only of forest. Virgin forest. Massive trees and lush
fields.
His suspicions confirmed, B'rak made his way swiftly down the hill. He prayed Sith had
obeyed his instructions and mobilized the patrol. There was still a chance for victory if
he had done so. At the very least, the draconians would not be unprepared when the elves
made their move.
A trap. Even elves left signs of their existence other than a single, tiny village. B'rak
knew of the elaborate dwellings formed from nature, knew of the cities created by the
artistic race. A population, though, must eat, and B'rak, a veteran of many battles, knew
that even the elves cultivated food and traded with their own kind. Eliyah and his people,
though, had no fields, no groves of fruit-bearing trees, no cities coexisting with nature.
In short, the village existed only for the patrol's benefit. A lure. Somehow, they had
known his patrol would be coming. After that, it was a matter of waiting.
The draconian cursed his blindness. Sorcery had to be involved. Such colossal errors in
judgment were not possible, at least not by a veteran such as himself. Even Vergrim had
fallen prey to it. Vergrim with his power, his spells, his ability to read what others
felt. All the Black Robe had found was the desire to help.
That was the piece of the puzzle still hidden. They could have killed him, several times
over. He had certainly been careless enough, pretending to be the mighty conqueror of a
handful of peaceful elves. They could have killed him in his sleep.
They had done nothing.
He reached the outskirts of the village, half-expecting battle. The elves were nowhere to
be seen. Neither was Vergrim. But Sith and the patrol were awaiting him. His
second-in-command jumped to attention.
“Your orders, captain?”
B'rak surveyed the village, the trap, and hissed, “I want this village burned to the
ground! I want the elves slaughtered, their bodies burned! Start with the hostages! The
responsibility is yours. Be prepared for battle! This is a trap! I must seek the Black
Robe out before it is too late!”
Sith grinned as the captain hurried by. His teeth glittered in the sun as he barked out
orders. Here, at last, was what he had been waiting for. Here was action. He pulled a
burning stick out of a fire some of the warriors had built earlier. Others followed his
example.
It was then a race to see who would be the one to start the inferno.
B'rak was nearly spent by the time he reached the dwelling where the elves had housed the
stricken warrior. It was apart from the rest of the village. Behind him, the shrieks of
his warriors could be heard. He hoped they would not accidentally burn down the forest in
their enthusiasm. At least, not until the patrol was well on its way.
He was met by Vergrim at the entrance to the hut. The Black Robe, looking drawn, eyed him
in a peculiar manner.
“What have you done, B'rak?”
“This is a trap, mage! Just as you originally believed! A very subtle trap!”
The Black Robe continued to stare at him. “What have you done?”
“My patrol is even now burning this village to the ground! I have ordered these elves to
be slaughtered before their kinsmen can arrive! They are crafty, Ver grim! Crafty enough
to fool the senses of a magic-user!”
The other draconian nodded slowly. “True. It was all for nothing, though. The plan failed.
Nothing could be done. The Queen's spell was stronger than we had imagined.”
B'rak hissed angrily. “We? What spell? What are you talking about? Where is the elf and
his mate? What have they done to you, mage? You're acting even stranger than usual!”
Vergrim moved to one side of the entrance. "You had best see
for yourself, captain." Pushing the mage aside, B'rak burst into the hut. The darkness
of the interior prevented him from seeing anything at first and he wondered why there were
no windows. Within moments, though, his eyes had adjusted completely.
The draconian backed up a step in horror, every oath to the Queen of Darkness escaping
from his mouth as he sought to avoid looking at the thing on the blanket. It was
S'sira-and it was not. The form changed constantly, as if two forces sought domination and
could not successfully defeat one another, the commander thought.
Disgusted, he pulled the sword from its sheath and forced himself to stand over the
shifting mass. One stroke cut off what should have been the head. B'rak picked up a large
piece of cloth, intending to use it to clean his weapon. The cloth turned out to be part
of a dark robe which had once belonged to Vergrim. The magic-user's charred body lay
crumpled in a corner.