Of Dark Elves And Dragons

by Greg Curtis

  “Would you like a drink?” He gestured at the crystal beakers full of precious liquids, and the very sight of them made her want to step back in horror. There was something wrong with them. Something she couldn’t quite identify, but never the less she would never have drunk those wines and liquors, no matter how precious they might be. The very sight of them made her skin crawl.

  “I thank you but no my betrothed.” She had to be polite she knew, formal and deferential. It was expected and Afri liked it that way. She knew that even when they were wed he would expect the same.

  “We must speak of the future.”

  “Yes my dear, the future.” He smiled some more and her blood froze in her veins. There was just something so wrong with him. More than just the normal arrogance and hunger for respect. More than even the jealousy.

  “To the glorious future!” He yelled it out for all the world to hear even though there were only the two of them in his house, and then grabbed a crystal goblet full of a dark red liquid and raised it to the ceiling in some sort of toast. Then he quaffed it all in a single messy gulp, letting much of the blood red drink splash down the sides of his chin. And it looked so very much like blood that it scared her.

  “You have heard then of my new strength.” One thing she was sure of, his upset over the defeat of the day before was gone, and what had replaced it was something between madness and triumph.

  “Ahh no.”

  “Then you shall!” He screamed it once more, clearly overwhelmingly happy in whatever madness had consumed him. “For it is wondrous.”

  “I have found the secret of ultimate power. I have tasted of its sweetness. I have drunk of its life. And soon I shall bask in its glory as I am raised far above this petty life.” He was mad, drunk on something frightening, and the smell all around her was getting worse, cloying, sickening, threatening her ability to breathe. But Afri noticed nothing of that. All he knew was triumph as he basked in his victory, whatever it was. And still she had to try and get through to him.

  “But the dragons.” That was as far as she got before he finally turned his thoughts back to her. Something of reality had got through to him, but not much.

  “Pesky lizards. I will flay their hides from their flesh, use their bones for my throne, and their queen will become my pet. Never again will the Huron bow to them. They will bow to me.” With the blood dripping down his chin on to his heavily embroidered robe and the floor - and she was suddenly certain it was blood - and the insanity behind his smile, she knew that he had gone far beyond any form of reason. He was lost in whatever lunacy had possessed him. The rest of the village had to know. It was time to leave.

  “Of course my betrothed. I will tell the others of your triumph.” Ashiel began backing out, knowing that she was in danger. For the moment he was gorged on blood, lost in his dreams of victory and power, but sooner or later he would turn back to the actual world, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near when that happened. He wasn’t just mad, he was dangerous.

  “Tell? Yes. Do tell. But later. For now celebrate.” He grabbed another goblet filled with blood and swung it toward her, spilling much of the dark red fluid all aver the floor as he did so.

  “No thank you, my betrothed. I am not thirsty.” She started backing away, terrified of what was in that goblet almost as much as she was of him. But not terrified enough. Afri stared at her for a heartbeat or two, and his expression changed from one of rapture to suspicion and then anger.

  “You won’t drink to my glory?” He looked outraged, as if she had done something wrong. “You won’t drink to the victory of your own betrothed?” His voice suddenly became louder with every word, and the expression on his face was swiftly becoming something dark and alien.

  “Of course not!” Suddenly he was shouting again, and the entire house was shaking with the echo of his rage. “It's him! You have betrayed me for him!” The accusation came out of nowhere, and even before she tried to defend herself Ashiel knew she would not be able to. He would not listen.

  “No - .”

  “Liar!” Lightning flashed and thunder roared inside the small stone mansion, and part of the wall behind him fell down as he lost control of his magic, and she shrieked a little. But that wasn’t as bad as the fact that in the rubble it left after the dust cleared she could see bodies, people, villagers, dead and lying in pools of blood, and she finally knew what he was drinking, their blood. They hadn’t left the village after all. She screamed and he didn’t even seem to notice.

  “Oh may the Gods have mercy!” The ancient benediction came out of her mouth by itself, a remnant of her childhood. But it didn’t stop her turning and running for the door behind her as fast as she could.

  “The Gods? Curse them all. I am your new god.” The door was sealed shut somehow when she reached it, the handle would not turn no matter how she struggled against it, and with every attempt at it she could feel him approaching her, and with him, death. Despite it being the worst thing she could do, she started screaming and panicking as she beat at the door with every ounce of her strength. But it was no use.

  Terrified she turned back, frightened that he might almost be upon her and hoping desperately to find some place to run to, but there was none, and worse, he had a silver chain in his hands, something that looked horribly like a whip.

  With a desperate, terrified scream she suddenly drew on her magic, pulling all her strength to her, and then cast it at him as a fireball. But it was useless. She was far from a strong wizard among her people and he was a master of fire. The room shook, and parts of the ceiling came crashing down, flames turned everything all around them into an inferno, but Afri just laughed at her from the midst of them, unharmed, and soon they were gone.

  “So weak. So pitiful. And to think I once considered that you could be worthy to be my mate.” He made a simple gesture, and abruptly the silver chain launched itself like an arrow at her, to wrap itself around her neck. It was so fast, there was just no time to react, and then when it had curled itself tight around her neck, the end, a tiny little silver snake’s head, bit into her neck and there was nothing she could do. That tiny bite had simply sucked the strength out of her, all of it. Her magic, her life, her ability even to stand up, all gone in a heartbeat.

  Ashiel fell to her knees, knowing that she was about to die, and that was a terrible thing. She had had a life ahead of her. But worse was to come. Even as she struggled for breath, her lungs simply didn’t seem to have the strength to take in air any more, she looked up to see Afri undoing the belt to his robe, and the look in his eyes was pure evil.

  “You betrayed me for him.” He undid the knot holding everything together and his robe fell open to reveal his naked flesh. Flesh that was no longer pink and tanned, but rather white with cold, and turning strangely green in places. But worse she could see what looked like patches of fungus growing in places, and she finally understood what the smell was. It was him. He was actually rotting in front of her.

  “Well he shall never have you. Not before me. And when I’m finished with you, no man will want you.”

  Ashiel had no strength but still she somehow managed to scream and put out her arms in front of her to try and keep him away. It was no use, and he crossed the last few steps between them, battered her arms aside with ease, and then picked her up as though she was a child.

  “You are nothing to me. You never were.” His hands ripped her robe off her, leaving her naked and cold, and the malice in his voice cut right through to her soul. The touch of his ice cold flesh on her body was worse.

  “Oh and your mother – I didn’t save her from those drakes. I created them and simply sent them away. It was just a way of getting you into my bed.” He laughed then, even as he started dragging her away to his bed chamber, a creature of pure pestilence. And there was nothing Ashiel could do.

  She couldn’t even scream. That didn’t stop her trying though.

  Chapter Thirteen.

  The morning of the fifth d
ay rose bright and cheerful, which was anything but how Alan felt. Although his words had been heard, and most of those in the renegade camp had acquiesced to the will of the dragons, some had not, perhaps as many as a hundred or even two hundred, and their time was up. Afri and naturally Ashiel who he suspected had been given little choice in the matter, were still camped out on the rise, preparing themselves for the dragons’ attack, while Alan, who would have wished to have been nowhere near the village that day, was forced to stand barely half a league back, and act as the dragon’s emissary to New Huron. It would be his job to tell them the terrible news of their kin’s deaths. Sera had ordered his cooperation and he could not refuse her. Especially not when painful as it was to know, her actions were justified. One way or another they had to be stopped.

  The renegades themselves meanwhile, had apparently spent the five days preparing for battle, summoning their magic and readying their best spells. Against the dragons they were probably all but useless as dragons were naturally immune to most magic. But that would not stop them trying and as he kept reminding himself, the ancients were powerful. Victory was almost certain, but not absolutely so.

  Perched in a tree, even though he was in human form and surrounded by dragons, mainly greens, yellows and reds, but also some of the supremely powerful blacks and golds, Alan waited for the signal. Already Han’gre had gone into the camp to deliver the final warning, and they were all awaiting his return. They had been waiting a long time. Too long, nearly an hour too long, and Alan’s nerves were on edge. Even the infinitely patient dragons were starting to wonder.

  “Why so long little one?” One of the golds, resplendent in his shimmering almost metallic scales, asked the question, and for no reason that he could think of, he asked it of Alan.

  “I don’t know Great One.” Which was only the truth. He was half expecting that Afri, who he had not seen since that first day, had launched an attack on the dragon even under a flag of truce. But even if he was stupid enough to do that and really anger the dragons, there had been no sign of such a thing, and he was sure they would have heard. He was equally sure the wizard would regret it if he had been so foolish.

  “Do we wait, or do we attack?” Incredibly the dragon was asking him to make that decision for them, and Alan nearly fell out of the tree in shock.

  “We should find out what’s happened. I will go and look.”

  Knowing it was probably madness he climbed down from the tree and began his transformation, this time into a giant black cougar. If the worst came to the worst and he got caught in a battle, the shape was fast, very fast, especially through a forest, and he did not want to be anywhere near whatever might follow. But the shape also had one other advantage; it was stealthy.

  Once he'd shifted Alan padded silently through the forest, trying to stay alert for any sign of a trap or an attack. But there was nothing. It was quiet. Disturbingly quiet.

  Eventually he reached the edge of the forest and cautiously pushed his way through the undergrowth as only a cougar could. He was completely unseen as his black fur coat merged seamlessly with the dappled light sprinkling down on him from above, while not a twig or leaf rustled as he wormed his way past it, until finally he was in position and took his first look at the doomed village. Half a heartbeat later he wished he hadn’t.

  “Creator have mercy on us all.” The instant that Alan saw Han’gre, and saw who or rather what surrounded him, he knew they were all in big trouble. He even knew who had done this terrible thing, and why. He just couldn’t quite believe it. He supposed he must have felt pretty much as his ancestors had when they had seen the same terrible sight two hundred years before.

  In his madness and desperation Afri and the others had made contact with the demon and the Everliving were suddenly in the world once more. The Huron rebels had made exactly the same terrible choice as the dark elves before them. Why?

  That was the one thing he couldn’t understand. What could possess someone to do something so evil? So stupid? He didn’t understand it of his ancestors, and he didn’t understand it now.

  Two hundred years before, Alan’s own ancestors had done the same stupid and evil thing, seeking eternal life, or at least the elders had, and they’d been perfectly willing to sacrifice their people, their own families, even their own children for it, and for an elf, dark or light, there could be no greater crime. No greater shame. The results had been nothing short of a disaster ever since. A disaster that even the elders hadn’t escaped as some of them became vampires themselves, while others became thralls, the personal servants of the demon, with a life expectancy exactly as long as the length of time they could please their master. None had become what they had dreamed of, and nearly all had died in the subsequent battles, after killing all that they had once cared for.

  They should have known better. Even the demon’s own words should have told them. It was true that the demon, the Everliving had promised them immortality of a sort, at least from what had been written in the journals of those who had made the deal. But it had also shown the lie in its own words as it told them its price. Life. All life. The demon wanted all life. It needed it, it ate it, and while it might imbue some with a fraction of its power and immortality, it would only be until it ran out of life to suck dry. Until they were unable to provide more victims. Then it would take everything back, them included.

  Meanwhile the demon would send its own demonic underlings to help the elders, and effectively become their masters, so that they were only servants of its servants, while they in turn created the vampires, creatures with their own life force so damaged that they had a never ending need to consume more of it to replace what was constantly being lost to their lord in his demon realm, but with their bodies strengthened and their wills controlled to do his evil.

  The cost had been horrendous. The dark elves had once numbered in the many tens or hundreds of thousands. They had had cities and towns of their own, and been a respectable people blessed with the power of nature as the other elves called it. In a single year as the battles had raged, those tens and hundreds of thousands had become mere tens and hundreds. And while the cost to the other races was terrible as the vampires had slaughtered their people as well, no one had suffered more than the dark elves. Of course ever after, those hundreds and their descendants had been hunted, reviled and forced into hiding.

  It was insanity, and surely even a madman should have realized that. It was insane to unleash the plague of the Everliving upon the world when it could only destroy everyone. But apparently Afri no longer cared about such things, and Alan could remember only too clearly the look of hatred that had been in his eyes only a few days before. That he suspected was what had truly turned him.

  Alan slowly returned to the real world, realizing that he had to act. Han’gre was down, held to the ground by the bindings of the Everliving while his vampire initiates - once the people of the small village - were busy draining the life out of the ancient dragon, or trying to. They had to, they were hungry and if they didn’t feed, they withered and died quite quickly, but a dragon was no easy meal, even bound, and his friend was fighting them.

  The rest of the ancients were nowhere in sight, and that was a worrying thought. Either they were already dead, victims fed to support those of their fellow villagers who had been turned to the demon’s initiates, or they too were now vampires, somewhere out there, hunting for more victims in their never ending quest for food. They were hunting for the life force, perhaps even the souls of every living creature they could find. And as he suddenly realized, the nearest group of warm souls they could find was New Huron. It wouldn’t matter that the villagers there were their friends, their family, even their lovers. The only thing that mattered was that they were food.

  Afterwards, when they had eaten their fill and so many lay dead at their feet, those poor unfortunates who had been turned would know some terrible measure of grief, sorrow and shame, as some of their soul returned to them, and perhaps even try t
o kill themselves. They wouldn’t succeed. The curse that had turned them into these ghouls wouldn’t allow it, and sooner or later they would return to their feeding, trapped by the demon’s insatiable hunger. Death was preferable to their tormented existence, and it would be their only release but they could not grant it to themselves.

  Afri of course, was somewhere in the village, probably with the demon itself. There was no doubt in Alan’s mind as to who had started this. Only someone so twisted with hatred and with a hunger for power so great, could be so stupid. And the destruction all around them, bits and pieces of the golems lying all around, as well as shattered houses attested to the fact that there had been a battle in the village. Though probably only one or two people had made the fatal mistake it was enough for the rot to set in and the rest had been destroyed by it. But Afri was the strongest of them. He would have survived, and he would have killed his followers as fast as he was able. Maybe even tried to steal their magic from them as he prepared himself to fight and kill him. Alan knew without question that he was a target for the lunatic, and equally that he would have set traps for him.