The next morning, Rai met Israfil as she emerged from the Grime's tent. He had been just about to lift the flap. "Oh! You're awake." He smiled. Israfil jumped back in surprise. She hadn't been expecting to emerge right in someone's face. "I was just about to get you. I sent someone to draw the sketches this morning, just in case you're willing to go." He paused and glanced at the ground. "And she found something I'd like you to look at." He started walking off toward the pyre. Israfil hurried to keep pace. "We've burned some of the herbs to try to ward off the smell," he said as they skirted a tent that must have been erected after Israfil went to bed. "But we'll need to set the pyre alight as soon as possible." He sighed. "Emir's parents already confirmed they don't recognize it."
"Don't recognize what?" Israfil asked as they approached the pyre. Seeing the body again gave Israfil another start. It seemed even more gruesome than she remembered it. The rotten smell of death hit her nose. Israfil pitied the sketcher, who probably had to sit here for a few hours to get an accurate sketch. The faint scent of herbs provided some relief but didn't do nearly enough. Rai gestured to Emir's barely recognizable right hand and Israfil bent closer for a better look. His two remaining fingers were clenched tightly. A flash of silver glinted from his grip. It looked like a pendant of some sort. A metal emblem gleamed at her, and an undamaged leather strap hung from a loop. "A Necklace?" She asked Rai. He nodded.
"But look at the design. Have you seen it before? Is it from the elves?"
Israfil tugged on the leather strap. Emir's whole body rolled stiffly when she pulled. Swallowing her nausea, she opted to gently wiggle the pendant out of his grasp. "It's not a design I've ever seen." She commented, looking over the necklace. Three claw-like spines twisted together to form a knot. "I'm surprised it wasn't damaged in the attack."
"I know" Rai said. "It must belong to the attacker."
Israfil squinted. Surely the necklace would have been damaged if Emir had simply found it on the forest floor before he was attacked. And the strap would probably have been ripped if he had torn it from his attacker's neck in a struggle. "You think the attacker left it here intentionally?"
"I don't know." Rai admitted. "But I think it's worth taking to the elf king." Israfil sighed and slid the necklace into the pocket of her trousers. "Can I assume you'll be going?" He asked hopefully.
Israfil shook her head at the body and looked at Rai in exasperation. "I can try. But the trip may be shorter than you think. I don't even know that they'll let me through the kingdom gates."
"And if that is the case, then so be it." Rai nodded solemnly. "But it puts my mind at ease to know you'll try. Let me show you the sketches before breakfast time." He started to put his arm around Israfil's shoulders but paused. "Or, maybe we should hold off on breakfast." He added when Israfil turned a faint shade of green. She nodded gratefully. They headed back to the Rai's tent and stepped inside. His pack had been emptied and its contents spread about the tent. A soft fur now lined the floor, a change of clothes was neatly folded and set aside, a stack of papers sat atop the pile of clothes, and a smooth wooden bowl had been placed in the center of the tent and filled with mushrooms. "My contribution for this morning." He said as Israfil lifted the bowl and moved it out of the center of the floor. "I'll bring it out in a few minutes." "Israfil nodded. Drow ate communal meals and each member was expected to contribute food items. She had collected some wild potatoes and tiger garlic as they traveled the previous day. Both of these delicacies were highly favored by Israfil. Once the morning fire had been built, she would need to add her contribution to the fire, but she had been considering holding on to a few cloves of tiger garlic to flavor meals in the future. Such a thought seemed so trivial now. The Rai picked up the stack of papers and handed them to Israfil. "I thought they were very well done. What do you think?" She took the sketches and examined them. They were indeed excellent. The drow Rai asked to make the sketches had always been a talented artist. But Israfil knew they would mean nothing to the elf king. No amount of gruesome imagery could get him to care about the loss of Emir's life. Emir was a drow, and the drow were not valuable to the elves.
"They are very well done." Israfil agreed as she tucked the images inside her tunic. "I'll take them with me, but I don't think it will do any good." She looked up at Rai pleadingly, willing him to understand.
"Just try." He said. "That's all we can ask." Israfil nodded and Rai picked up the bowl of mushrooms. "Let's get ready for the morning." He lifted the tent flap and Israfil headed outside. Lukia, the matron of the Grimes was building the morning fire in the center of camp. Rai greeted her and added his bowl to the small cluster of bowls that sat beside her. Israfil stepped inside the Grime's tent and retrieved her pack. Her own bowl, carved and painted when she reached adulthood, was filled with elderberries and wrapped with a cloth to keep them from spilling out. She lifted the bowl from her pack and gathered the handful of wild potatoes she had dug up as well. When added to everyone else's contributions, it would be an excellent meal.
By the time Israfil set her bowl with the others, Lukia had already speared Rai's mushrooms and was roasting them over the fire. A few other drow had gathered around her and were conversing in subdued tones. Emir's parents hadn't emerged from their tent yet, and they probably wouldn't for some time. Israfil's heart ached for the sadness they must feel. Such a sudden, unexpected loss would take a long time to process. She knew her community would support the family any way they could, but there's only so much you can do. Israfil lowered herself onto the grass to listen in on the hushed conversations. They were discussing the boy's wounds. Winow, the seamstress was sitting nearest to Lukia. She was a small drow with a thin face, and this morning, she appeared even more gaunt than usual. She shook her head when any questions were directed her way. Normally one to jump at gossip, even she knew there were things that were better off private. Her husband rested his hand on her shoulder and she sighed deeply, leaning into his arm. She had done her best to make Emir presentable to the gods of the afterlife, Israfil knew. But stitching body parts together is not something any seamstress should have to do. Tyrn, a gruff middle-aged drow that knotted his silver hair in locks suggested that parents keep a close eye on their children for the day's journey. Lukia and a few other matrons nodded solemnly. Tyrn had kept watch during the night with a few of the older drow in case whatever attacked Emir decided to come back. Rai sat down next to Israfil and the conversing drow nodded respectfully at him.
"You know what I think?" Tyrn continued after the chieftain sat. "I bet this has something to do with the orcs. We're pretty close to their territory right about now."
"Tyrn, you've seen orc weapons." Rai said. "You know how they fight. And it certainly isn't like that."
Tyrn shrugged halfheartedly. But Lukia turned to Rai. "But what if they do know something about it?" She set down her skewer of roasted mushrooms. "They may have lost someone too! Maybe they know something?" Several drow nodded at her words. Rai looked thoughtful. "You may be right, Lukia. We've visited the orcs before, maybe we should stop by again to ask their advice. At the very least, we should warn them about whatever this is." The listening drow seemed to agree. Lukia began dividing up the mushrooms and a few other food items that had been brought for roasting. She speared Israfil's potatoes and held them over the fire. "It looks like Lukia is almost finished with the meal. Let's pack up our things."
The small crowd dispersed to pack up their belongings for the day's journey. By the time they finished, Lukia had divided up all the food into the waiting bowls. The drow sat together to eat their morning meal, then rinsed their bowls and began their trek. Normally, the children would run alongside the group, often disappearing into the woods for a time before rejoining their parents. Today, the youngest children rode in their family's carts while the older children walked alongside. None of the usual talking and laughing filled the air. The group walked silently as they mourned with Emir's parents. Israfil rode in the Grime's cart, her walking stick across her lap. After a time, when the bumping and jostling of the cart would make her joints ache, she would get out and walk alongside the group. Then, when her hips ached and she fell too far behind, she would get back onto the cart. Traveling had its difficulties, but it was the life of a drow. The caravan marched on until nightfall, stopping briefly for a small midday meal. When it grew too dark to continue, the drow arranged their carts in a circle and all the families gathered around a fire that had been lit at the center. The nightime meal was eaten, and everyone retreated to their carts to sleep. This was how the drow usually spent their nights, when they weren't planning for a funeral. Sometimes, they would play music and dance, or other nights they would tell stories and play games, but they always ended their days as a large family. Israfil snuggled into her furs on the Grime's cart. Llowen, their son, was snuggling into his own furs on her left, and Lukia, the matron, was on her right with her husband beside her. Packed in tight, they drifted off to sleep.
Israfil woke early and rolled up her furs. The rest of the Grimes also woke and began tightly bundling their supplies in preparation for the day. Lukia passed out a few dried strips of fish, and soon, Rai gave the call to head out. Israfil started the trip by walking alongside the cart, with her walking stick by her side. Llowen walked next to her with his own stick, though his was more for entertainment. As they walked, he tapped it along the road, or the cart, or sometimes the horse's legs, though Erib, his father, quickly put a stop to the latter. He returned to Israfil's side, sticking out his lower lip after his father's beratement. Israfil smiled and tapped his ankle with her own stick. He kicked it away, but grinned devilishly.
"Dad said he's been to see the orcs before." He said, kicking a pebble underneath the cart so it made the wheels bump.
"I think he has." Israfil told him, "Several years ago, the orcs got really sick and Healer Rosea had to use her medicine to heal them. It was a lot more work than she was used to, so she needed everyone's help."
"Did you go too?" Llowen asked, looking up at her and cocking his head.
"No, I didn't." Israfil admitted. "I still lived with the elves back then."
"Oh." Said Llowen. "Tell me again about the Elin battles."
Israfil smiled as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder and cleared her throat. The Elin battles were a form of water jousting popular with the elves. It was Llowen's favorite story, especially when she told him about Iliphar Qileth, a young elf who always seemed to win.
"Long ago, the great god Muta stole the power of the great god Heka and used it to create the river Elin, which now flows through the elf kingdom. Every year, the Elin swells and grows, bringing life and health to the elves before it returns to its banks. To celebrate Muta's strength and bravery, we have a festival every year."
"And you make boats!" Llowen announced. Israfil nodded.
"And we make boats. Canoes, really. The best ship builders, we called them shipwrights, would start on their boat for next year the same night the festival ended! And one shipwright, he was the very best, could only participate in the festival every other year because his boats took two whole years to finish!"
"Wow!" Said Llowen. Israfil knew she had told him this many times before, but he always wanted to hear it again. One day, she planned to carve a small boat for him. "Tell me about Iliphar!"
"Well, after everyone displays their boats at the festival, they have to be tested to see which one is really the best. And naturally, a joust is the best way to do that. Iliphar was about the age I am now, and he was the best jouster around. And all the shipwrights wanted him to ride in their boat. He knew how to brace his knees against each side of the boat so no one could knock him off. One time, another jouster managed to flip Iliphar's boat upside down, but he just rolled with the boat and came up on the other side still perched in his seat!"
"And then what?" Llowen asked, dragging his stick behind him so it left a thin line in the dirt.
"Then, he spit a mouthful of water right into the other jouster's face! That made the other jouster let go of his boat, and Iliphar pushed him out."
"And Iliphar won." Said Llowen smugly. "I asked Dad to make me a boat, but he said we couldn't fit it in the cart."
"Yeah." Said Israfil. "They're pretty big. I mean, they had to be big enough to fit Iliphar and he was taller than me!" Llowen tapped his stick thoughtfully. An odd expression came across his face. His brows knit and his lips crinkled. Israfil tilted her head at him.
"What do you think happened to Emir?" He didn't look at her. Israfil put her arm around his shoulder. She was waiting for this. Llowen's parents had talked to him the night Emir was killed, but one conversation is never enough for these kinds of topics.
"I don't know, Llowen. But I hope it never happens again." She looked down at him. Her heart ached at the worried look on his face. They had played together, him and Emir. He was grieving for the loss of his friend. And he was scared. Just like everyone else. "I hope the orcs will have some answers for us."
Deep down, Israfil knew the orcs would not have any answers. The boy's death was too dark, and too sudden. It had to be magic. And the orcs were not skilled in magic. But she still held onto the hope that they would find some answers. If nothing else, it delayed her trip to the elvish kingdom. She fingered the pendant in the pocket of her trousers. What could it mean? Emir had never owned anything like it. His parent's confirmed it. She ruffled Llowen's hair and fell a few paces back to allow herself to think. She imagined returning to the elf kingdom. It would be dangerous for more reasons than one. But if Emir was killed by magic, the elves were the best people to talk to. She groaned. If they would even let her back in. Shaking her head slightly, Israfil glanced up at the sky. It was a soft blue, streaked by wispy clouds and spotted with a flock of birds. One day at a time. She would see if the orcs had anything to say.