CHAPTER VI: A Strange Meeting with the Dark Elves

With care not to disturb the lolling guard at the entrance to the slave pen, I torturously inched my way towards the fence of the former horse corral, gritting my teeth from the pain in my still-throbbing forehead. Leaning at last against a fencepost for cover, I stared long into the blackness while following the cadence of the nightbirds' song beyond the scope of the sentry fires. There were eight sentry posts set roughly like compass points around the outer edges of the camp, as well as other posts set near the horse enclosures and the guard at the prisoner's compound close-by to where I sat. Each post had a small campfire and a single mercenary-guard, most of whom were lazily drowsing by this time of night. There was a changing of the guard at regular intervals throughout the night, and those mercenaries not on duty lay asleep in their tents.

At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I was certain I caught a glimpse of a shadow within the shadows, creeping ominously towards the southwest sentry post; yet no benighted vision was this, for the spectral shape loomed large over the dozing guard and overcame him in complete silence. My line of vision trailed to the southern and southeastern posts, and the same deadly apparitions fell upon the sentries there. The camp was under attack! But I had no intention of crying out; what did I care if these traitorous mercenaries found their deaths at the hands of other thieves? I would most likely be trading the yoke of one slavemaster for another in any case; so I merely watched, marveling at the stealthiness and precision of the invaders.

The shadow-hunters then stalked inside the camp, and overpowered the witless guards by the horse corrals. I found it strange that the horses -- whose flightiness at night is well known to anyone acquainted with the beasts -- barely stirred, neither snorting in fear nor nervously bolting to the far side of the corral. I then perceived two crouching forms heading sinuously through the gloom to the pen where I lay. Illumined now by the sentry fire, I saw they were cloaked in black, but their footfalls were soundless and their attack so quick and lethal, the nodding sentry did not even lift his head when they fell upon him. Standing over the slumped form of the guard, the two shrouded figures stopped and looked in my direction. I was laying behind a fencepost in pitch-blackness, far beyond the light of the small fire, but I somehow knew they were aware of me. I raised my hands to show that I was bound and nodded to them, and, to my surprise, one of them bowed in acknowledgement before they both slipped back into the darkness.

Before dawn, the invaders had taken the entire camp. Those mercenaries who had not been killed had been roused from their tents and taken prisoner. Two of the invaders, perhaps the pair I had watched earlier that night, came among we slaves and quietly freed us. As one of our liberators cut my bonds, I saw plainly that this was no man, for by his sea-gray eyes, tall stature and leaf-shaped ears, there was no doubt he was off the Elvish race! I bowed in approximation to what I had seen previously, and the Dark Elf smiled and bowed in return. In trying to thank the Elf, I attempted to speak to him in the Rus language, thinking he was perhaps familiar with the speech of his neighbors. In return, I received a frown of contempt.

"We speakest not the vulgar tongue of that beggarly tribe!" the Dark Elf said with disdain. "Know thee not the common speech once spoken widely in mortal lands, or has it fallen from favor with Men of the Southrons?"

I bowed again in embarrassment, cursing myself for a simpleton. Certainly, the Dark Elves would know Common Speech, a language used in diplomacy and trade for centuries. The Dark Elf's wording was antiquated and heavily accented perhaps, as if he rarely had use of such speech over the years, but his delivery was flawless nonetheless. "Pray forgive this, thy humble servant," I answered, using the same archaic dialect, "I merely wished to offer thanks and praise in manner perhaps familiar to thee of such noble race."

The Dark Elf nodded and replied, "I see now where thy intentions lie, and I thank thee for making the effort. But pray continue in a tongue more suitable for converse, and let not my gruffness cause any ill will between us. Long has it been since I have had speech with one of the mortal race."

Falling to one knee, I said, "Thou hast redeemed me from bondage most cruel. Naught have I to offer in just payment for this deed, save to surrender my life unto thee in servitude; until death take me, or thou judgest fit to release me. Prithee, take then this vow of service in token of a life's debt! And may a thousand blessings be upon thee and thy kin!"

The Dark Elf smiled warmly, and then chuckled at my overly grand gesture. "An offer most gracious well deserves a reply in like manner!" he said with delight and helped me to my feet. "Therefore, I release thee from thy vow, and gladly; though I tell thee now it is not the wont of my kindred to take one of mortal race into servitude, or slavery, which we deplore." He smirked, and then said, "In any case, thou wouldst serve for but a brief, fleeting season in the long lives of the Sidhe!"

The Dark Elf, named Findegal, and I became friends, and we talked for quite awhile, he seemingly as interested in my story as I was his. It seems Findegal was a member of an Elvish raiding party that had struck south from the woodland realm of the Sidhe in search of horses, and had come upon our camp a few days earlier. Having watched our movements for some time, the Dark Elves deemed we had purchased our herd fairly, and so they would not interfere with our passage back down the Trade Route. That all drastically changed, however, when they beheld the traitorous coup of Marfach-Suil and his mercenaries, and the murder or enslavement of the rest of the caravan. The Dark Elves, despising treachery in all its forms, felt honor-bound to right this injustice; therefore, the Sidhe were merciless in their attack, killing all the sentries without pity when they took the camp, and then imprisoning the rest. Findegal went on to tell me that Marfach-Suil and the surviving mercenaries were to soon to be judged by the Sidhe Lord himself, and they would all most likely be executed.

I walked then with Findegal, who took me to the spot where his kindred held the mercenaries prisoner. As we drew near the gathering of Dark Elves, one in particular caught my attention: tallest he was of these tall folk, and seemingly older, if one can say such a thing of immortals; his hair was as black as a raven's wing, plaited and braided and crowned with a filet of silver; but even from a distance his eyes were his most haunting feature, for they were deep gray as storm clouds -- wells of timeless wisdom softened by sadness -- yet keen and piercing as a bird of prey as he watched our approach. I asked Findegal who this striking Elf was, but I was already sure of the answer.

"Many a name hath he gone by in his long life," Findegal replied, "for he was born in starlit Cuifhiainan, which was Elvenhome of old, before the sun and moon were set in the sky: the dwarves name him Draighean, which is Blackthorn, for they have felt his heavy sting; to the Rus he is Scail an Bhais, the Shadow of Death, or worse; among the fierce drakes of the mountains, who both fear and respect him, he is called Morthoron, which is Black Eagle in the Western tongue; this title we use as well, but his name among us is MorThoiriol, the Great Eagle of the East, and Lord of the Sidhe."

MorThoiriol gazed at me intently as I was brought before him. Findegal introduced me as 'Greagoir, Scribe of the South Sea Islands', and I bowed most humbly before the Sidhe Lord. MorThoiriol nodded in return, with a slight smile on his lips, as if I amused him with my awkward manner. But he turned from me then and glared at Marfach-Suil and the other prisoners, who sat bound and sullen on the grass. "Tell me, Greagoir of the Islands," the Sidhe Lord asked, "What wouldst a mortal Man such as thee deem as a just sentence for these traitorous dogs, who hath come among thee as vile betrayers, enslaving thy folk and causing wanton murder?"

Looking over at Marfach-Suil, who glared malevolently at me with his horrid amber eyes, I was inclined to say, 'Give them all a bath and a good scrubbing, for that would surely kill them,' but I knew that would be highly inappropriate. Considering the Sidhe Lord's question for a moment, I finally answered, "My Lord, it is with certainty I would adjudge that these accursed men deserve an immediate and violent death; but such a sentence, rendered in haste and in the heat of anger, would be justice ill-served." I pondered briefly, and then concluded, "Therefore, if in truth thou hast given me the right to judge their fates, it would be my verdict that they should remain bound and taken henceforth back southward to my island home, there to answer for their crimes before the widows and children of the men they so ruthlessly slaughtered. Let those that survive the dead exact their vengeance; only then shall justice be truly served!"

MorThoiriolar gazed at me with a newfound respect, and nodded approvingly. "So be it!" he commanded to his vassals, "we shall let this verdict stand." The Sidhe Lord smiled upon me with satisfaction and said, "Greagoir of the Islands, thou hast shown wisdom far beyond thy meager count of years. Great indeed must be the mortal-folk of thine island if a mere scribe can acquit himself so shrewdly as a judge!"

Findegal leaned over to Lord Thoiriol and spoke quietly to him in the speech of the Elves, but all the while, the Sidhe Lord's sharp glance remained on me. When Findegal had finished, MorThoiriol spoke: "Scribe, thou art a wonder of the Eastern World! Not only dost thou mete out sage justice; in addition, my cousin Findegal informs me that thou hast heaped blessings on our House, and offered in fair speech service unto my kindred. Let it not be said that such courtesy, especially from one of the mortal race, should go unrewarded by the Lord of the Sidhe. Thus, a favor I shall grant thee, thou hast only to name it."

Overwhelmed by such an offer, I bowed so low that I nearly stumbled forward. Regaining my composure, I replied, "Gracious Lord, naught would I ask of thee of my own accord, but since thou hast granted me this boon, I crave only to visit the land of the Sidhe and record the history of thy noble race." I grinned sheepishly and added, "For truth to tell, my only reason for journeying north with this caravan was to seek for thy realm on my own. I see now that this course would have been folly, and I beg thy forgiveness for such impertinence."

Then MorThoiriol laughed aloud, the sound of which was so melodious and uplifting that it could melt the stony heart of a Hill-Troll. "Truth....and courtesy from the lips of Man?" the Sidhe Lord cried in mock-disbelief. "Stop, stop, Greagoir, I beg of thee! In the space of a few moments thou art threatening to topple a wall of mistrust between Elves and Men that has taken long ages to build!" Placing a hand on my shoulder, the Sidhe Lord said, "If that truly is what thou wishest, Scribe of the Islands, then we shall grant it most willingly!"