Balen opened his eyes but his body was screaming for more sleep. He tried to clear his head, but his eyes would slowly shut again at the effort. He did this for what seemed like forever, in a fog, arrested between awake and sleep. Finally, he was able to sit up, the now all too familiar room still surrounding him, the rope still tightly wound around his wrists.

"What have you done to me?" Balen said to Two-Edge, though the dimness meant he was speaking to nothing but dark shadows. He scanned the room with bleary eyes.

"I must say, I am glad to see you awake." The voice came from the corner of the room, and Balen was able to make out the outline of Two-Edge.

"You did something… put something… in the wine," Balen said, trying to rub alertness back into his eyes.

"I did. But I've only been able to test this blend on much smaller creatures than yourself. Don't worry. I checked you several times to make sure you were still breathing."

Balen could only let out a crude scoff. Perhaps it was the strange brew still coursing within him, but the fear that had gripped Balen before seemed gone, replaced with a growing irritation at Two-Edge. He wondered how much time had gone by since his capture. Arrowstorm must have been looking for him, but the thought occurred to Balen that maybe Arrowstorm couldn't find him. He shifted where he sat, his hips and legs sore from being confined to sitting on the floor. The movement was enough to remind him that Arrowstorm's skinning knife was still tucked away in his boot. Balen's eyes flashed to Two-Edge who seemed occupied by something across the dark room.

Balen shifted around, more than was necessary, in an effort to collect the rags and straw underneath him into a mound large enough to conceal his hands. For a moment he stopped, eyeing Two-Edge, but his captor didn't seem interested in him at all. Gingerly, Balen pulled the knife from his boot and concealed it under the mounds of rags and straw. Then, he waited.

"Your Wolfrider hasn't come for you," Two-Edge finally said. He turned to Balen once again, his yellow teeth gleaming as he lit a candle.

Balen tried to respond, but every word halted before it could pass through his lips. Two-Edge stood and lumbered across the room to a small table, and Balen realized that his captor was now wearing a protective shirt made from shining silver metal. Leather gloves concealed his massive hands and his feet were now covered with strange metal shoes. Balen could only look at him, and as Two-Edge spoke, Balen slowly sawed away at the rope that bound him, a new urgency within him.

"I believe you should consider the chance that your Wolfrider never comes for you," Two-Edge said. Though Balen had spent only a small amount of time with his captor, he had learned already that Two-Edge liked to play games, his voice indicating the start of one. This time, Balen fully intended to play along.

"Why would I consider that?" Balen asked.

"Well, one should look at the facts before us, no?"

"Yes," Balen said, hesitantly.

"It has been over a day since I brought you here."

Balen nodded, that fact coming as a particular surprise to him, though he was relieved to know it had not been longer.

"We haven't moved," Two-Edge said, still grinning.

"I know," Balen said, exasperatedly.

"And yet…" Two-Edge said, stretching his hands out to indicate Balen's turn at the game.

"Let's also add the fact that you probably did not leave a trail for them to follow. And this room we are in is probably not out in the open," Balen said, halting his cuts against his ropes as he spoke and resuming when Two-Edge spoke.

"Your first fact is partially true. I was only able to conceal part of my tracks. However, this room was built and lived in by humans. They since abandoned it, but I assure you, it is quite visible to anyone who would happen to come near it."

As Two-Edge finished his words, Balen felt the rope release from his wrists. Leaving the knife under cover, he tucked the rope between his wrists, making it appear as if they were still bound together.

"You can tell yourself all of the facts you need to. But you cannot make me believe Arrowstorm is not coming for me and for you," Balen said coolly, though Two-Edge's words made him uneasy.

"He is not coming, my little Egg," Two-Edge said, a shift in his tone causing Balen's stomach to jump.

Balen's brow furrowed, and he could only shake his head. He tried to look away from Two-Edge's relentless stare, but eventually he would find himself looking into the mad eyes of the half-troll. The truth in his words became undeniable with each passing moment.

"Your father was obsessed with the Palace of the High Ones. He believed that he had the power to take us home in an egg of his own creation. Of course, that was Mother's plan, but Aurek never let it go."

Balen listened to the words carefully. Despite being free, Two-Edge's size kept Balen frozen to the ground. As his captor continued to speak, Balen could not deny his interest in what Two-Edge had to say.

"That's what you're going to help me do, Little Egg. You're going to help me take Mother home."

Balen's heart seized, the words terrifying as they were mystifying. "I don't understand," Balen finally said in a small voice.

Two-Edge sighed and sat down on the stump before Balen, though his new attire made it seem cumbersome. "There will be at least 4 elves in the palace. Luck is with us in that Venka has not returned from the Sun Village. Rayek and his rock-shaper will be the most difficult to dispose of. The other two should not give us much trouble."

"Dispose of?"

"Yes. Rayek loves the palace, but he may very well love Mother more. I intend to take them both. Since Rayek will not accept that, Rayek must die."

Balen remembered Arrowstorm telling him one of the fundamental truths the Wolfriders held close: no elf must die. Such an idea was wasted on the people of the Mountain, since elves rarely ever died, but the Wolfriders remember a time when life could end any day.

Two-Edge shifted his body and leaned closer to Balen. The gleam in his eyes was haunting, a sickening excitement brewing as he pondered his plans.

"You want me to kill elves? I cannot do that. I will not do that!" Balen said, a nervous sweat forming on his brow.

"You can Balen. We will use surprise to take them unawares. Once the palace is ours, we will awaken Mother. I will need you to activate the Scroll of Colors. Then, you will be free to leave the palace."

"And what will you do?" Balen asked. His mouth had grown dry, which made speaking difficult.

"Why, I will go home, Little Egg. Don't you see?" Two-Edge's eyes softened, as if tears may form any moment. "This world ruined Mother. And then Mother ruined me. This will be my greatest work."

"And what if I refuse? With Rayek and Ekuar at my side, we could kill you," Balen said.

At this, Two-Edge only smirked. His eyes ripped through Balen's front, and it felt as though the half-troll could see Balen's soul.

"You won't kill me," Two-Edge said. "We have ancient blood in our veins, Little Egg. The palace belongs to us, not that raven-haired pretender. My mother, your father… they are the children of High Ones. The palace is what they left for us. And they meant for us to go home. Mother needs to go home. It's the only way."

For a moment, Two-Edge's words lingered in Balen's mind. Maybe it was the strange powders and potions Two-Edge used on him. Maybe it was the pain in Balen's hips and legs. Or maybe it was the fact that Arrowstorm had not yet come for him. No matter what it was, Balen began to think that maybe Two-Edge's plan made sense.

"And, if you like, you can come with us, Balen. Just like your father always wanted to do, but never could."

"No. I want to stay with Arrowstorm."

Two-Edge shook his head. "I thought you figured it out, Little Egg."

Balen only looked at Two-Edge, a growing concern twisting across his face.

"Arrowstorm is dead."

A sickening scoff escaped Balen's lips. Before Balen could speak his protest, a weak, flickering sending from Two-Edge revealed Arrowstorm's face. He watched as Arrowstorm struggled to pull himself up into the hole. He felt himself looming over Arrowstorm and watched as he slowly knelt down to him. And in another flash of a sending, he watched Arrowstorm disappear from sight. There was no sound.

"Now do you see?" Two-Edge asked, standing and retreating to the other side of the enclosure.

Balen sat back, momentarily forgetting to keep his hands together to still appear bound, though Two-Edge was too occupied to notice. For a long time Balen sat still. At first, he felt nothing. A strange numbness took hold of everything. Then, slowly, Arrowstorm's face crept into his mind. Balen could only lie down on the tattered rags and filthy straw, pull his legs into his chest, and let the tears fall. He tried not to make a sound, and after a time he was silent. And in that silence he stayed.

He liked the sound the stick made as he whipped it through the air. Whip whip whip. The long council member's table was deserted at the moment, the morning meal cleared and each member off to one task or another. Balen wanted nothing to do with it, and rather, found a piece of rock that he could shape to a thin sword-like weapon, which made a sound that enchanted Balen each time he swung it through the air. Whip whip whip. He jumped and swung, landing clumsily back on the table. I must keep practicing, he thought.

"What have you got there?" said Sal. Balen turned abruptly to see him standing in the doorway. When Balen hesitated rather than respond, Sal entered the room and stood before Balen, who even standing on the table was shorter than Sal.

"It is just a stick. Mother said I can't make anything sharp, though," Balen said, pressing the tip of the stone stick into his palm as proof.

"Can you?" Sal asked.

Balen hesitated once more, sensing a trick, but couldn't resist the invitation. In an instant, the stick took on an edge, and Balen thrust it close to Sal's face.

"Ah. I see," Sal said, before the sharp edge disintegrated back to its original dull form.

"Mother said I can't be in the games, anyway," Balen said, standing on the edge of the Council's Table, idly balancing his stone toy on the tip of his finger.

"When you're old enough to be in the games, you'll be Lord Balen. And you'll be able to do what you like," Sal said. Sal always seemed to know things Balen didn't, things about the future and the past. Sometimes Balen couldn't help but believe him, and other times Balen knew Sal said things just to make Balen happy. This time, Balen's eyes lit up, and Sal gave him a knowing smile. Both of their expressions withered as Lord Umber strode coolly into the room.

"Get off the table, child. Saladin, I do wish you would make a better example for the boy. Teach him some manners," Lord Umber said as he passed on his way to his chambers.

"Respectfully, Lord Umber, I'm no elf to be teaching manners to a little lord," Sal said, though his eyes remained on Balen. He winked and grinned, as Balen let out a small giggle. Lord Umber could only shake his head as he left the room.

Balen climbed down from the table and took a seat beside where Sal stood. He placed his stone stick on the table and proceeded to roll it back and forth between his hands.

"Are you sure Aurek is my father?" Balen asked, rolling the stone until it formed a perfect ball.

"Of course he is."

Balen paused. Then, "I wish he was not."

"You don't mean that, Balen," Sal said, crouching down to look Balen in the eyes. Balen spent everyday looking up at the elves around him, but Sal was the only one who always talked to Balen at his own level.

"I wish you were my father," Balen said, squeezing the ball of stone in his fingers until it crumbled.

For once, Sal didn't have a quick response, his eyes momentarily thoughtful. "No you don't," he finally said. He brushed Balen's hair and patted his cheek with a laugh and said, "You wouldn't have turned out so damn pretty."

At this, Balen feebly slammed his fist into Sal's chest, but the hunter didn't seem to even feel it. Instead, he let out a rumbling laugh, which caused Balen to smile, though it faded quickly.

"Aurek is gone. He did not want me."

"Whether it's your mother or your father, it doesn't matter. All that matters is you have someone that loves you. And this whole mountain loves you."

Balen let the rock crumbles fall from his hands, though they made no sound as they were absorbed into the stone floor. He wrapped his arms around Sal's neck in a rare embrace, and Sal returned the hug tightly.

"And I love you, too."

000

"What's going on in your head, Little Egg?" Two-Edge said, drawing Balen away from his memories and back to the dismal present.

"I was thinking of my family back in the Mountain."

"Is that a happy memory?"

"Not usually, no. But sometimes."

"Parents should be punished for wrongs against their children." Two-Edge's eyes darkened as he spoke.

"No. I do not agree."

His captor scoffed. "You're weak of spirit for one so strong of magic."

"No elf must die," Balen said, though he heard Arrowstorm's voice in his mind as he said it, and the thought comforted him.

"I suppose a Wolfrider told you that."

Balen glared back in response.

"What about a troll?" Two-Edge said, his eyes flashing with curiosity. "Must they die?"

"Elves and trolls… they are different," was all Balen could muster.

"Are they?"

"No elf must die. And hope the day never comes in which you forget that."

"An enemy is your enemy, whether he's elf or troll, man or beast. And he will die, if he must."

Balen shook his head wearily. "No. No elf…"

"I watched elves kill trolls to get a sparkling palace. Those trolls must die, but your kind weep and blubber over every fallen elf."

"Elves are different from trolls," Balen said, his voice growing in agitation. Arrowstorm always seemed so sure of the truths of the world. Balen wondered why he could not seem very sure of anything.

"Even if that elf is a killer? Even if she destroys the lives of anyone who dares to cross her?" Two-Edge leapt swiftly to his feet, the sudden movement startling Balen. His massive form moved to loom over Balen, and the rock-shaper was powerless as two massive hands gathered up the leather of his collar. A piercing but muddled sending struck Balen's mind. Soon, the feeling, the images, became unbearable, and Balen groaned in protest.

**Listen** Two-Edge sent. **Can you hear them screaming? Those are Gliders, clawing for air as the rubble crushes their bodies to dust. Rayek did that. Mother did that. And they must die.**

Balen tried to close his mind, but it was impossible until Two-Edge eased away and removed his hands from Balen. It took a moment for the pair to catch their breath.

"My father did that, too," Balen said through heavy breaths.

Two-Edge shook his head, taking his seat across from Balen once again. "He was a tool. A means to an end. You don't blame the arrow when it pierces the heart. No, your father was blameless, as you will be when my task is complete."

Balen watched as Two-Edge rose and peered into the cooking pot. The rock-shaper's heart began to quicken as he watched his captor move to the door and begin to open it. He pulled his bound hands close to his body and watched. Two-Edge remained in the doorway for a moment, until he took a few steps out into the dim evening to empty the contents of the pot. Balen stood and knew this would be his only chance.

The first few steps were difficult, his legs weak beneath him after being bound to the floor. But soon, his want for freedom took over, and he ran. The outside air hit him suddenly and acted only to invigorate him. The trees rushed past him. Run, run, run, he thought. But also, within his mind, he sent out a calling for Arrowstorm, for anyone, to find him. His mind ached with the desperate, constant sending. Never did he feel his mind connect with another. The shock of powerful arms wrapping around him took the wind from his lungs. He felt his feet leave the ground, and he looked up to meet the eyes of a monster. His vision became hazy as the hands tightened around his neck. And though his legs kicked in protest, his hands futilely pulling against the massive hands of Two-Edge that were cutting off his air, he continued to send. A blackness began appear in the periphery of his vision, but he sent as far and as fast as he could. And when he knew in one more instant the blackness would take him, his hands and knees hit the ground.

Balen could only heave and suck in the little air that would pass through his throat that felt as if it was almost completely crushed. He was still only partially aware of his surroundings when he felt the ground sliding beneath his feet and a massive arm around him, dragging him. In another moment, he was back in his prison, a fresh rope pulled tightly to his hands and attached to a loop in the ground. Two-Edge tossed around the fur and straw beneath Balen before he found Arrowstorm's small skinning blade. Balen's breath was beginning to return to normal, though every breath hurt as it passed through his throat. Two-Edge took the knife and only looked at Balen solemnly before returning to his pot and cook fire.

A long stretch of silence followed as Two-Edge slowly prepared another stew. He stopped suddenly and turned to face Balen.

"I'm sorry that I brought you near to death. I don't want to harm you but you leave me with no choice if you interfere with my plans."

Balen let out a word of protest, but a hoarse croak came out instead. Though painful, he said, "Bugger your plans. And bugger you. I cannot wait for the moment I can rid the world of you."

"What happened to no elf must die?" Two-Edge said, his voice low.

Balen laughed, despite the pain. He swallowed. "Killing you would be the greatest gift anyone could give you. You're a sad nothing with no one who loves you."

Two-Edge turned his back to Balen and said nothing.

Another time of silence came as Two-Edge finished and poured the stew. He placed a bowl before Balen, but proceeded to move away from Balen, into the shadow of the room, and remain silent. Balen ate, though his throat felt raw and screamed in protest with each swallow. Balen many times looked at Two-Edge's form, slumped silently over his stew. He knew he should be angry, but a part of him could not deny the nagging feeling that he wished he could take back what he said.