The Thief
"Noooooo!" Elrohir screamed as Tariq dragged him back towards the darkness of the den.He kicked ineffectively at her massive paw. She paused, swatted away his foot and then began the inexorable pull. Almost crying Elrohir flipped over onto his stomach and clawed at the sand, reaching toward anything to stop. But the strength of Tariq was too much and the sand slipped away beneath his fingers.
"Please," he screamed. "I will die in there PLEASE."
Of all the words that Tariq had heard from the voice of men, please was the one word that she remembered. It was the sound of sorrow and of terror. It was the sound uttered in pain and despair. Abruptly Tariq dropped the elf's feet. In shock, he scrambled to a crouch. Breathing hard he stared at her. His face was dirty and streaked with tears. His clothing was torn and filthy. The long hair that covered his scalp was tangled and hung in clumps about his shoulders. Tariq felt deep sorrow, how could she make him understand. Above ground was dangerous, wicked men killed and maimed.
Elrohir tensed as the big bear thing rose to her full height. She towered over him. Her huge paws descended and he flinched as she took him by the shoulders. She opened her mouth in a fierce growl and he saw the long pointed teeth that lined her jaws. So filled with trepidation was he that when, instead of attacking, Tariq began to speak, he almost fainted.
000
They caught him just he slipped the bridle over the horse's head. Veren grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Growling in anger, he drew his sword. The thief's eyes grew large as two angry elves backed him up against the stable walls and a sharp blade was held against his throat.
Tell me why I should not end your life." said one of them.
"Well," said the thief in his most pleasant voice, "I can help you find the ones that you seek."
The elves were taken aback, but only for a moment.
"How can this be, there have been no slaves brought through here these last months."
"Ah, but I have not been here these last months. I have recently come from the Kingdom of Sands and there were rumours of a slave, a special slave, kept by the king in his secret chambers, one taken from the border lands."
"Only one?" questioned the other elf.
"It could be two..." said the thief.
0
The thief stumbled as he was pushed roughly into the room the elves had rented. There was someone in the sole bed. A young man with long dark hair, he was coughing wetly as they entered. There was an elf at his side who looked up as they entered.
"He has caught the chill of the Empty lands. I've seen many die of it." commented the thief.
"That is not your concern." said the one directly behind him. "Your concern is to tell us what we need to know, for you will not leave this room, save by my leave."
If the words and the chilling tone in which which they were said frightened the thief, he did not show it. Instead he produced his most beatific smile and proceeded to speak.
The thief though dishonest was no liar, and before he finished his tale Veren knew they might already be too late to save the twins. The Kingdom of Sands lay many leagues across the wastelands and already four cycles of the moon had passed and another was in its first quarter. If the tales of the barbaric and ruthless ruler of that land were true, then the twins could be dead or worse.
"You will take us there." Veren said to the thief in a voice that brooked no argument.
"I would be delighted." said the thief, for clearly he had no choice.
000
Obey, it was a word that Ah'med had pressed upon him with such urgency that Elladan had been shaken by it.
"Please," the old man has begged, "please do everything that is asked of you. I know that it is hard, but he will hurt you."
At that Elladan had given a sad smile.
"I know child, I know, he has hurt you badly already. But you must listen to me, there is much more that he could do, so much more."
Elladan had looked into the old man's eyes then. The knowledge of horror that lay in their depths frightened him.
0
Having satisfied his lust at last, Ak'tun needed to satisfy his curiosity about the elf. He questioned him ceaselessly about his life and his people. He wanted to know about his mother and father. He wanted to know of wars and legends. He demanded knowledge of their customs and rites. And though the elf spoke unhesitatingly, Ak'tun felt, no, he knew that the elf was not telling all.
"How old are you?" Ak'tun whispered one late afternoon. He sat close to Elladan, so close that Elladan could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. So close that Elladan could smell the slightly sweet, scent of his body. Ak'tun fingered the chain that ran from the collar around the elf's neck to the iron stake in the ground. It was so thin this chain. So thin, yet unbreakable, woven from a silver metal that he had stolen from the southern lands, the lands from whence came this creature.
Elladan hesitated a little before answering.
"I am five hundred years old." he whispered.
"HUNDRED," Ak'tun exclaimed. His fingers slipped from the chain to cup the elf's chin. Brusquely he tipped the elf's face upward.
So close were they that Ak'tun's breath stirred Elladan's hair. The brilliant green eyes of the desert man were wide in awe. His finger traced a path over Elladan's lower lip, then skimmed his jaw.
"Five hundred years." breathed Ak'tun.
And there was no sign of aging, no blemish, no flaw. Ak'tun let his fingers trail through the length of the elf's hair. Thick and rich, there was no silver to mark the count of years, no corruption anywhere on his form. And so he would be for all time with the blush of youth upon him, while Ak'tun would wither, pale and rot.
Elladan saw the desert man's eyes grow dark as some forceful emotion took him. Abruptly Ak'tun stood, causing Elladan to fall back with the force of the movement. Elladan stayed very still as Ak'tun loomed over him. What dark thoughts chased through his head Elladan could not guess, but a certain dread caught hold of him. Swiftly Ak'tun turned and left the room, but just as quickly returned. In one hand dangled the heavy manacles that Elladan had been forced to wear for so many long days and nights. But it had been weeks since Ak'tun had removed them. It could mean only one thing. But Elladan could not go back to being that vulnerable. He grew tense as Ak'tun drew closer.
"Give me your hands," said the desert man.
Obey, obey, obey, the word beat at him like a fluttering bird but Elladan could not. "No," he whispered shaking his head and his heart began to race. But Ak'tun only smiled.
The encounter was swift and brutal. Not only was Elladan hampered by the fetters around his neck but by months of abuse and hardship. Legs that could once run swiftly over mountains and plains were weakened by months of inactivity. Arms that could once wield a sword tirelessly, trembled as Elladan fought for his life.
A blow to the side of his head stunned the elf and Ak'tun took the opportunity to deal him two swift lashes to the face.
Entangled in silks and rugs Elladan could not hope to win.
0
Breathing heavily Ak'tun stumbled back from the downed elf.
'Such fire, such spirit, such passion.' he thought, proud of his possession. Still, he should teach him a lesson, he would not accept defiance
0
Screams filled the secret corridors that were kept from common eyes, but Ah'med hurried forward almost faster than his old legs could manage. He knew better than any other servant in the palace, what those screams meant.
Ah'med stopped just inside the doorway, gasping for breath, one old hand pressed to his heaving chest. The elf was stretched out full length on the ground, his ankles secured to stakes in the ground. But his hands, oh his hands. Ak'tun had imprisoned them in a solid iron device from which there was no escaping. And while the elf screamed and writhed Ak'tun was unhurriedly sawing through the flesh of his wrists. Blood was pooling rapidly on the ground as the knife went back and forth.
"My Lord," stuttered Ah'med frightened at his own boldness, yet unable to stop. Ak'tun stopped in mid stroke and looked up at him. There was a pitiful gurgle of pain from the elf that ended in hiccuping sobs. Ak'tun's hands were covered in blood and there was a strange light in his eyes. He tilted his head questioningly at his servant.
"I heard noises my lord." Ah'med said nervously.
Ak'tun continued staring at him silently.
Ah'med licked his lips, his eyes darting from his master's bloody hands to the elf and back again. This was a dangerous path upon which he had embarked, but it was too late now.
"I... I thought you might require assistance my lord." Ah'med said softly.
For a brief moment Ak'tun remained still, but then he smiled at his terrified servant. He stood, the blood soaked knife still in his hand.
"Yes Ah'med, you are correct. The elf is filthy, clean him ."
"Yes, my lord." said Ah'med bowing low.
Without another word or even a backward glance Ak'tun left. Blood dripped from the knife he carried. He seemed not to hear the keening sobs behind him, or else not to care.