Tarica’s host asked if her quarters were to her liking. “If I have any complaint it is that you offered it to me at all,” Tarica replied to Malendar. She omitted some comment regarding how the king should not reward someone like her when she attempted take his life.

Her words were not entirely a lie but her accommodations provided little comfort. The Light Elves blemished their stone with gold. That the Light Elves used similar stone to that her own people carved Raven’s Hold from made it all more revolting. Her people at least possessed the decency to choose precious silver.

Her hosts followed standard elven architecture. A majority of their buildings used smooth, curving surfaces rather than any sharp angles. The atmosphere it inspired reminded her of winding rivers and gentle breezes, flowing, with spiraling staircases, arched bridges, and almost circular walls though actually more akin to pentagonal or octagonal structures with rounded corners and faintly raised roofs. The roof and walls were as one from where the upper aspects of the walls above the doors started to slant outwards. The stonework of the martial structures were many faceted like unearthed garnets. They avoided pillars, the outer walls and internal workings supported their own weight through patterns formulated over many millennia.

A noticeable habit among Light Elves was that they had their doors facing the east if they could and wide oval windows on the west side of the structure or vice versa. They left a lot of open space even in their most populated of districts. They also often built either clear or retractable roofs.

Light Elves followed the opposite extreme of her people. Their monotheistic outlook viewed light as a gift from above and the sun being the ultimate physical embodiment of that in how it provides life giving energies. Her people’s gods were in direct opposition of the creative force of the world, as no deity that created life could be called benevolent.

Her people preferred straight lines and circles. They employed columns in the interior for added support but never placed such key structures on the outside, though a majority were redundant enough that destroying one would not lead to compromise in integrity. If there were curves in their works, it would likely follow an apparent arch that if continued would form a ring. The clear exception was when they were trying to recapture reality, in that case whether it be on canvas or stone, it would be an accurate recreation. A state of herself carved by a true craftself of her people would only be distinguishable from her by its difference in size if there was any variation in scale at all and its lack of color.

Her home, Raven’s Hold, being a city that had been prepared to be besieged made heavy use of circular or rectangular surfaces for defensive purposes. The stone homes were tightly packed together as to form walls enemies could not easily circumvent and the straight streets could be closed and barricaded to either protect the occupants or funnel the enemy into a killing ground.

Even the animals she might see outside her window were different. Light Elves found more apparent use for horses than her own people. The beasts were imported from Occidtir and welcomed by Malendar’s kind. She was reluctant to admit that on land, their calvary was superior to those of Dark Elves. Tarica’s people had their own plans for the creatures but she was not ready to wantonly disclose such secrets.

Dark Elves preferred predatory creatures. Unfortunately such beasts were rarely born to be gathered into vast groups. Prey inevitably outnumbered predators. While it was possible to use a dire wolf and griffin as a steed, it was difficult to organize them into cohesive units or even for the rider to safely direct them.

“Do you know why you were sent to kill me?” The king sat across the round table from her, garbed in regel white robes with gold lining. The white comforted her but the other color hurt her eyes. She herself wore something similar but hers was pure white.

Courteous as Malendar was, an interrogation was in order. It was a more formality than anything, a comfort to be found in simply trying. The Light Elf did not expect to accomplish anything grand with just words. Words were weightless in comparison to the gesture of him granting her a haven, temporary though it was.

Everything was much too bright. The rays of the noon sun pouring through the transparent roof made her skin itch. She learned how to conceal her aversion to daylight from her missions away from home but it still soured her mood. They offered her a hood but she already convinced herself that she deserved to be uncomfortable.

A feast laid out before her, hardly touched, by her at least. There were others. The captain of the guard, the only one fully armored and prepared for her, sat beside his charge while a general took a place on the right side. An administrator and diplomat sat on the far sides of their group.

The king’s pet joined them as well. His yellow-scaled drake perched on the ear of the lord’s chair. Drakes seemed akin to what Tarica heard dragons to be like as lesser apes resembled humans. Most of such creatures were strictly quadrupedal and sometimes wingless but this one resembled a diminutive dragon.

It was a rare breed, a petite drake, given to the Light Elf by the same orcs that gave her lord such a gift. It was during that peaceful assembly that the two kings dueled after her king made overt use of his sorcery.

The drakes were meant to imprint on the first creature they saw from what she understood and before seeing Malendar’s she thought the claims that they only grew to be half the height of a hen from the tip of its nose to the base of its tail and to be only a third or a quarter as wide as such a hen to to be inaccurate. Last she saw, Ordelas’s pet could likely be fed a chicken if they kept such livestock.

Her king might have been worse if not for the distractions that came with a new pet. His sour mood, in that regard, did not translate to neglect and starvation. His advisor actually voiced that the lord might be overfeeding it.

The table could have fit more. The gathering could have clustered into a half circle on the opposite side of her, making the gap between her and them quite apparent but spread out. The diplomat was the closest one to her, the elf closing the gap between when trying to begin a conversation.

She did not enjoy any of their company except the king. They all seemed to be following his example and trying to be hospitable while their own lord’s bandaged hands still struggled to hold a fork and knife.

As an assassin, she possessed knowledge of physiology better than most. Enough to break a body at least, most elves rarely had reason to learn how to mend one. Cuts and broken bones were little more than inconveniences until it led to the actual loss of a limb or bone that made them slow down. As long as the physical mass was still intact they could reattach it. When a limb was lost or something was like a kidney was torn out they would have to grow a new one, though softer tissues like eyes were fast to return while bones took time. Their wounds closed quickly on their own to slow blood loss and they could afford to lose more blood in a human could. However, the king remained afflicted with traces of the poison meant to halt such healing.

If Tarica knew the antidote, she would have provided it. Her people invented no such solution though. If she was ever exposed, she was expected to endure it until it left her system. It was not fatal in itself.

The captain of the guard earned her respect for at least keeping to his duties. Otherwise, she could not help but find all of them to feel false. They could at least voice the discomfort they felt in her presence.

She returned their farce with silence. She made it clear that she only spoke to the lord. She owed him at least words for the wounds she gave him. Soon enough the others realized that any additions they might contribute would be left unaddressed unless he repeated it.

Her discourtesy was addressed earlier. For a moment she felt a pang in her heart for her inbalance of gratitude. But they were her enemies until days ago, they could at least understand that. What seemed like only a moment ago, she was dutybound to kill them and if they were wise would respond with equal lethality.

She sometimes traced her fingers over the only weapon she still had on her person, her string saw, for reassurance. It appeared to be an accessory, a silver bracelet, but her Light Elven hosts knew what it was. She would feel naked without some tool for her craft. They used string saws to fell trees the same way Dark Elves did.

“You...” Tarica prepared to elaborate before stopping herself. “Yes, I do.”

The king frowned, he already recognized her limits and she was most likely aware of them herself. She was preserving herself but that was as far as she was willing to betray her lord. It was fear that kept her from returning rather than keeping her in her king’s thrall. If she forgot that dread, there was little doubt she might turn back.

Still, Malendar would not allow himself to foster terror of any kind within another. She needed to wrest control for herself. This was a matter she had to decide on, he could not force it.

Even then, if she took the knife and stabbed it into the lord’s throat, her king would forgive her. All she needed to do was complete her task or admit that she failed and return home. It was her sisters that were the greatest threat to her now but she could see at least one of them overlooking her lapse in judgement.

This was her enemy’s idea of an interrogation. If they did not at least try to question her motives, she would have been insulted. They invited her to a feast where the Light Elves conversed of everyday matters, the general occasionally slipping in the subject of increasing their defenses. To the lord’s credit, the king immediately obliged and they discussed before her very eyes the matter of deploying forces to the border.

They were trying to make her feel welcome. They were trying but they would either act as though there was no animosity between them or seemingly ignore her very presence. The only other options were fear, suspicion, and hostility but she would know they were being honest.

The king turned the matter towards her. “What compelled you to serve Ordelas?”

“You would not be able to understand.”

“What makes me incapable of understanding? Is it because I myself am a king? Is it a matter of class? I am also a warrior like you.”

“You are nothing like me,” she attested. That she was there at all was evidence of such. “You are not a Dark Elf.”

“There is little difference between my kind and yours. At best, we have a difference of ideologies. Your culture may be older than my nation but it was to combat your kin that I even gathered my forces. We are both warriors to some degree.”

“You spared me, I would not have spared you.” She breathed for a moment then added shamefully. “And I am no warrior.”

She was less than a warrior, always was. She was no member of the Honor Guard or Honorbound that marched openly. She did not even afford her target the luxury of knowing she was their enemy. Now, she was a traitor.

The more she told herself she was a traitor, the deeper it pulled her in. Every breath she spent was another moment she spent not pursuing her righteous cause. She remained where she was while her duty’s path would blaze further ahead, the gap between her and duty growing. Her original goal was still in sight though so she needed to retreat from it.

“If you had met me eight hundred years earlier, I might not have spared you.”

That had to have been true. The Light Elves were once her people’s fiercest adversaries centuries ago, a people as oriented for war as her own. While her people considered all that failed to see the wisdom of their cause to be their foes, the Light Elves dedicated themselves to combatting Ordelas’s influence.

“What changed you?” she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

“Your king did,” he stated clearly.

Tarica clenched her teeth. She was not sure what she intended to say. She did not know whether she should say anything at all. She restrained herself from asking for a moment, worrying over what she might hear next yet dreading the possibility of never discovering what he meant. “Would you please explain? You say that you would have slain me yet it was my king that led you to become one that would spare me who had sought to kill you.”

“Of course. It is quite simple. I fought in the Great War convinced that the enemy I faced was utterly evil yet after the final battle was fought, it was not a darklord that I found at my ally’s feet but a trembling child crying out for his father. Before that, I had agreed with Satros that your king was a lost cause. Until then, I had disregarded the claims of your kin that there was more to him than madness but even if what I saw was only the barest fraction of his psyche than this person that I had condemned as beyond salvation was crying out for it.”

“That would be why you asked that he be spared,” Tarica concluded.

“Earthshatterer was one that did not kill out of coldblood,” Malendar specified with a hint of shame, clarifying with his tone he would not have made the same decision. “It was his choice to make and the duel was already won. I was the one that suggested that your king simply wait for five centuries, give the better part of him time to grow outside his people’s influence. News though had informed me that time has had an opposite effect on him. Is that true? The face one shows strangers is different than the one we reserve for close company.”

She raised her guard. “I will not speak of my lord before strangers,” she stated firmly.

Malendar seemed prepared to oppose her. She read his lips form “But you are not with strangers,” but held his tongue before he could let those words fly. He knew that would only garner offense from her.

“Will you speak of yourself?” Malendar moved on. “Do you have any family?””

“Yes.”

Malendar gauged her flat response. There did not seem to be any anger or grief so he assumed that they were perhaps still alive, just not an active part of her life. That was common among Dark Elves.

It was difficult for an outsider to gain an understanding of Dark Elven society due to hostility rather than any purposeful act of mystique. When communication was brokered, they did little to hide their ways. They viewed their comrades as siblings more than they did actual blood relations. They valued simplicity and function over decor, what symbolism they did use was often of spiritual significance or to designate rank or regiment in the case of their uniforms.

Their social structure was simple, allowing the individuals within it to be complex. Those in active duty were granted special treatment followed by the smiths, miners, then gatherers. Those that contributed to society in a recognizable fashion were treated well while artisans were expected to either have a secondary career or provide support like the designing and maintaining of architecture. Priests and sorcerers had no particular luxuries beyond those granted by their peers and were often considered part of the military due to the militant nature of their dogma,

They had no unified religion but instead a collective of cults. Ordelas was the focal point of most of the cults, either serving as a prophet or god. Sorcerers often played the roles of priests since Ordelas himself was considered the greatest magic user of that age.

Magic was used primarily for fell purposes amongst the Dark Elves but it provided some utilities for them. Their ships of iron were driven by spells rather than wind and their plants still grew in spite of being within a realm of darkness.

But the thought of family brought memories of her sisters.

“You can not keep me here,” Tarica warned, glancing at the door expecting some shadow to slip in.

“Because you do not wish to stay?” her host, Malendar, inferred half correctly.

“Because others will come to find me. If they detect me and believe you have me captured, then they will make all efforts to secure my escape, no matter how unsubtle it might be.”

It was better for her to leave. Her sisters would not continue the mission until they confirmed her status. They would not want to interrupt an ongoing mission or risk her life if they believed her to be endangered. The mystery would give Malendar time to heal and prepare for the next attempt on his life.

She was not certain how her sisters would react to this betrayal. She had five sisters to consider now, each different from the other. Two others were added since she herself joined. The only universal factors were that they were all dangerous and compared to herself as she was now, loyal.

Though it saddened her, she could imagine that Ruhin, Syicho, and her younger sister Elda would not hesitate to kill her if told to. The first two were consummate professionals in their craft while Elda was fanatical, being both at once the most disobedient and faithful of them all.

The two she feared most would be Syicho and Elda. If Syicho was given time to plan in advance, then there was little that could be done to stop her and Elda was someone Tarica could never hurt.

“I have already made preparations,” Malendar reassured her. “I have many allies that can offer you sanctuary abroad. I have oaths of gratitude of both dwarves and orcs and have several trade agreements with human dignitaries.”

“Would you know anywhere an elf would go unnoticed?” It was difficult enough that she would be in a strange land unprotected by the grace of the Veil. The thought of being surrounded by those she knew as enemies and knew what she was in turn seemed all the worse.

“I thought you would know I am friends with all my neighbors except your lord. Satros in particular, you will likely meet no matter where you must go. I would trust you with no one else to deliver you to your destination.”

She bit the inside of her mouth at further mention of Satros. Ordelas only ever spoke ill of Satros. “Where would you suggest I go?”

She could not stay with Malendar’s people, the only option she had to stay with her fellow elves would be to perhaps slip in among the Marine Elves. As long as she did not need to be near Satros, she could imagine finding their society suitable.

“I would have you go to Florena’s Forest.”

Her heart leapt to her throat and she caught her breath before she could gasp. “So…” she collected her words slowly and solemnly as she struggled to accept what she heard. “You are executing me.”

That forest was her people’s bane. Even when scorched with dragonfire, it found a way to endure. It was an enemy they learned to fear.

“I regret that you interpreted my words that way but I fear that very reaction is evidence as to why it would be the ideal place for you,” he consoled. “If you wish for a place to hide from friend and foe, that is where one should go. No one would seek you there because no one would believe a Dark Elf to be found there.”

What he said was accurate but not entirely true. There was at least one Dark Elf that defected and fled there. It was an unwelcome topic as someone of importance or deserters would need to resort to such drastic measures. Unfortunately, she was important, at least to her lord.

“If that is your recommendation,” Tarica reasoned. “Should I still wait for Satros for a journey that can be accomplished on foot?”

“You desire discretion? I admit it would be far from discrete for Satros to visit us but it would be far from unusual. It would earn far more attention for us to send an escort to Florena’s realm or for one to journey there alone.”

It made sense for her to join the crew of a ship of a known traveler to make her retreat. She could perhaps depart on the north shore of the forest once the vessel sailed down the river north into the open ocean.

The concerns would be if she would be even allowed to set foot on such a vessel or if the sailor would even arrive in a timely manner.

“When should I expect Satros?” she inquired.

“With the time it would take for the messenger birds to find Satros then for him to sail here,” the administrator beside her calculated. “I believe you will need to wait at least a month.”

“Satros could sail around the world in such time in one of his faster vessels,” Malendar confirmed. “It is primarily a matter of him receiving the message, making preparations, and traveling against the rivers.”

A month was not long, not at all, not normally. Yet if stories were true, it was no exaggeration that the ancient sailor could complete a voyage that would normally require three years within the span of a lunar cycle.

“I might not have a month to wait,” Tarica worried.

“If the moon completes its cycle and he has not arrived, we will escort you ourselves,” Malendar promised.

She thought to volunteer to head there herself then and there but that would be suicide. “Will the forest tolerate my presence?”

“That is an excellent question and reason enough you would best have company. We are still negotiating with the queen at this time. Florena is not as… proactive as Satros. But it is her ideals I try to imitate. If you find me to be welcoming then should think similarly of the queen of the forest.”

They conversed further, settling that her fate laid in the east. Oddly, she will be safer from her people’s scrutiny by journeying closer to them. The forest bordered her people’s land as well but was not as expansive as Malendar’s realm.

Eventually the serfs collected the plates and the others departed so that Tarica, Malendar, and the drake remained. She snatched the knife from the diplomat’s tray as it passed her by. The king went to a window and opened it. The scent of autumn flowers drifted it along with spices and other exotic smells from some distant market.

“Now that it is the two of us,” Malendar addressed. “May I ask again? How fares Ordelas when behind closed doors? Has he grown better or worse over the centuries?”

Tarica scanned the room for any others. The drake was but an animal, she could ignore its presence. “It matters what you mean by worse.”

“I mean his stability as a whole.”

“I can not be certain. I did not know him from when met you met him but I heard often enough that his sentence made him worse but…” She hesitated. Did she have the right to reveal a vulnerability? Did she have the right to withhold something from someone who graciously aided her. The answer was simple, she had the right to withhold but just because she could did not mean she should. “Others say it was the loss of Vernigen that wounded him. That the two events correspond with each other leaves the situation ambiguous as to what was the cause. He is better now than he was when he was first released. I can testify to that.”

Malendar lowered his head. His eyes were half closed. focused in the ground. “Vernigen must have been important to him.”

Tarica lowered her own gaze. “He was important to us all,” she amended. The the great champion was still mourned. Though she knew him not in his prime, she felt his loss through others.

“But you acknowledge your lord was unstable then?”

“He was... unpredictable. He would...” She stilled her tongue.

“You do not have to divulge any particular details.”

She smiled sadly. “He would do his best to be his best self when around us.”

Elves could afford to be forgiving. Ordelas could overlook a failure in the memory of centuries of loyalty. The opportunity to return still existed.

But she had seen his worst self as well, person who despised life and saw destruction as a gift. “Yet when I first met him, he was be like a gathering storm, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Sometimes he still is,” she admitted. “It was terrifying, each time he stopped himself just a hair’s breadth from murder. It seemed each miraculous display of self control would be his last, it was almost certain the next soul to gain his attention would perish.”

Malendar sighed. “What calmed him?”

“Not “what,”” Elda corrected. ““Who.” Elda calmed him.”

Malendar brought his hand to his chin to ponder and remember. “I met her. Ordelas’s daughter. How long would you say it took for his rage to be tamed?”

“By our own measures, his recovery was remarkably quick but not swift enough for those that spent every moment in dread that he might still lose himself. His rage was merely redirected to himself once more and was weighed by guilt.

“May I ask what guilt weighed upon him?”

She could only provide a single word. “Elda.”

“Why?”

She would not tell him of that day, her first mission. Her people knew of it but no one else in the world should.

“I remember him once musing that he repeated the tradition that created him,” she recalled. “That was reason enough for him to be angry.”

Malendar had to have known of her lord’s history. He would know of Ordelas’s origin.

“That is enough of Ordelas. Thank you. Let me ask of you,” Malendar moved on. “It has only be a few days since we met. For us, it has only been a moment. Before you away you journey further from your home, I must ask how strong your temptation is to return home. You can take shelter abroad but is returning home truly not an option? Would it be dangerous for you to come back a failure?”

“You should understand. You have been his enemy for more than a thousand years,” Tarica reasoned. “Ordelas will not harm me if I return to him. All these years, there have been threats, there have been times where violence seemed close at hand but he has never…” She remembered a row of bodies. “directly hurt anyone who served him faithfully.”

He stared at her as if he could see into her heart. “Then why are you scared?”

“Because the one he will harm will be himself and that is worse,” she answered. “I would have to dwell on how I was responsible for whatever pain he inflicts on himself. At this moment, his rage is at a fever pitch. He demanded no mercy of me, no relief of a swift death. He will blame himself for my failure. If I return and you still draw breath, he will lash out at himself to spare me.”

Tarica was allowed to kill Ordelas. He had offered her his life. That was the reward for her service. She along with her sisters had the right to kill him if they pleased. She had the power over life and death for him but that seemed so insignificant to mere pain.

One could heal from one’s own wounds. One had power over that. The pain of another lingered. One had no control how another felt.

“What he does is not a purposeful cruelty but it is a cruelty nonetheless,” Malendar observed. “I have heard of those that do such things to inspire guilt but there is more to his self destructive habits are there not?”

“You have met him. You should know. Deep down, no matter how calm he seems, he is always angry. He only has enough control over his wrath to practice restraint against those he cares about.”

“Unfortunately, he does not care about himself,” Malendar said somberly.

Tarica frowned. “I fear you are right.”

“Wrath must be directed. If not expressed in spontaneous displays or plotting machinations, then it turns towards oneself. I could appreciate one who values others over oneself but that virtue has been twisted into something abhorrent.”

Tarica felt her blood run hot. “Must we speak of this?” she asked, concealing whatever it was she felt. “I thought you said we spoke enough of Ordelas.”

“I did not mean to lie. Forgive me,” Malendar apologized. “I asked much of you. We can end this for today if you wish.”

“I wish that,” she thanked. “But you do not require my forgiveness.”

Tarica pulled down on her collar with one hand and bared her heart. She offered him the knife with the other.

“May I ask what it is you are performing.”

It was a ritual among her people. “If one breaks a promise or commits a great grievance. The wronged party may carve words onto the heart of the perpetrator.” The words would heal quickly but they would be remembered.

“That is a tradition your kind remembers from us,” Malendar noticed. “I did something similar once in my youth when I damaged Satros’s ship.”

Emotional harm was longer lasting than physical harm to an elf. It took only a year to restore a severed limb, cuts and burns were inconsequential. The closing of a wound symbolized the healing of a grudge.

“Let us say there were no grievances to avenge. We were enemies but if you are to accept my help, you could call me an ally. You have not wronged me as an ally.”

Tarica could not say she was surprised but she was disappointed for the lack of anything to mark true absolution. Unconditional forgiveness was unfair but life was unfair. All that she needed to do was wait.