Eliseo and Sinker wanted to spend time with Tarica the following day, but she declined and kept her promise to Orbash. Since there was less to explore than in Florena’s Forest, the three tended to spend their time visiting with each other. Sinker, knowing the place well, served as their guide, even though the sights did not interest him as much as they did Tarica and Eliseo.

Eliseo had switched to a dull red, almost black traveling tunic in response to the constant dust. Tarica found it to be a tasteful choice, simple yet dignified. Eliseo was more focused on how dirt was more difficult to notice against the darker color.

He was a representative of humanity, Occidtir, and his homeland of Descontio. He had to look his best at all times.

In spite of her attempts to discourage Sinker and Eliseo, they followed her to the training ground. Tarica carried herbs along in case there were any injuries—a high probability, if she wanted to call this creditable experience. In general, elves’ wounds healed without medical intervention, so Tarica’s newer knowledge of medicine gained from her time with Florena was yet to be practiced. For that reason, it was best if none of the trainees broke a bone during the exercises.

She nodded at Orbash and the group before Orbash announced they were to spar.

It took a short bit to compromise as Tarica's understanding of sparring meshed with theirs. Dark Elves were quicker to recover so were more intense in their requirement of victory while the orcs were hardier and used to taking more blows than an elf would normally allow. Orcs apparently kept a tally of confirmed hits regardless of whether or not it would be lethal.

They eventually agreed she would lose if she lost by their rules or her own rules, taking more hits or receiving a "killing blow." She would be an invader and they would be the defenders.

She could not win against an adult orc in a fair trade of punches, there were few that could. Of course, Tarica rarely relied on her own strength to defeat her opponents in combat.

Tarica felt sorry for them, for it seemed unfair for trainees to face someone with centuries of experience, although she was restraining herself. “Try to learn from your mistakes,” she encouraged as the first volunteer was a very willing but hyperactive goblin. He jumped around, kicking and flailing like a wild animal. He landed a few punches when he sailed toward Tarica, but that ended when she grabbed his leg and pitched him into the crowd. The rest of the class fared no better.

The exercise gave her an opportunity to perform in front of a group. Since some of the patterns she executed were intricate and graceful, she looked like a flying acrobat, ready to strike. Though the moves were not efficient or direct, the crowd clamored when she stood on her hands, spun like a top, and knocked a dummy’s head off with her outstretched legs. She could think of no other situation in which she could afford to take the artistic approach to combat. Odlig had never approved of showy methods, but her audience sure did appreciate the show. It made the experience fun rather than fearsome and disheartening.

When it was Orbash’s turn, he threw his branch aside, held his fist in front of his face, and stood there. “No weapons this time. We will fight like our ancestors of old.”

Tarica kept her stance. “A warrior would not oblige you a bare handed duel.”

Orbash hopped on his feet to get his hearts pounding. “From what I have seen of you, I imagine if I can defeat you in a bare knuckle brawl, I can beat anyone with a weapon.”

That earned a smile from her as she remembered yesterday. “That would suggest you could defeat me.”

“I can try,” he challenged. There was a confidence to his words but he was not boasting.

Without a second thought, Tarica cast her weapons aside. What is he doing? she wondered as she studied his stance. His body moved slightly while he bounced on his toes and took deep, steady breaths. She considered telling the orc that she had specialized in unarmed combat. Tarica tried to dart behind Orbash, but he never lost sight of her. Typically, she attacked so fast that the combination of her movements became a blur. Now she was forced to slow down so much that the mortal eye could detect every move. Overconfident and not thinking things through, Tarica punched toward Orbash’s stomach, but he avoided the blow by blocking her fist with one hand and striking her shoulder with the other.

Stunned by his countermove, Tarica backed away and checked her shoulder. “Good,” she remarked. He was holding back like she was. A giant like Orbash could have easily broken her bones with a single punch, yet he had been gentle enough not to leave a mark on Tarica. Appreciating the change in Orbash’s approach, Tarica nodded. He saw everyone fight aggressively and lose, so he chose the defensive route. He would let her take all the risks that came with initiative. Most of her techniques involved counteracting the attacks of her opponents. Now he would make things a bit difficult for her.

“But do not hold back,” she added. “I can recover. You will not be able to kill me with one hit so keep going without fear.”

“You sure?” Orbash asked hesitantly as he continued to move.

“I am sure,” she declared as she tried to trip him like before, but he jumped out of the way and cuffed her in the stomach. She decided it was time to take things more seriously. She would quicken her pace and stop toying with him.

“I saw it earlier,” Tarica spoke as she struck. “You have spirit and talent but you lack experience. You know the drills by heart but you have not used them enough to tailor them to yourself.”

“That is what I get for being the youngest child,” Orbash replied as he backed away. He was too tall to duck from her. Tarica slowed however slightly not to strike him as he spoke. “My brothers and sisters, they have had their adventures and found their place afar but my father would not have me leave his side not since…”

Tarica halted as she stilled a punch meant for his lungs. “Since what?” She did not want to interrupt.

“You have stopped,” Orbash observed, “Are we fighting or conversing?”

“I can do both,” boasted Tarica as she readied herself again.

“Against you, I can only do one at a time or none at all.”

"Then let us finish finish this match,” declared Tarica.

She should have dodged what came next but she thought of this as a game. She was too busy thinking of ways to take him down nonlethally that she let his fist connect as he returned one of her jabs with a cross. Orcs with their larger bodies had better reach than elves and his knuckles met her face before hers could reach his neck.

Cartilage in the nose was more delicate than bone, even if he was holding back, it would have broken. There was a distinct cracking sound as it was crushed into her face. She told him he could not kill her with one hit but she may have miscalculated. In that moment she recalled killing someone with a single punch by slamming their nose through their skull. It was not actually the nose that did it though, cartilage was soft, what truly happened was she pushed the frontal bone around the nose into the skull cavity. Thankfully that did not happen to her. That would have been a shameful way to die after saying he could not do otherwise.

Pain ran along her face. All she smelled was blood and she could hear it dripping on the ground. The scent taunted her and she listened to her heart beat faster as her head warmed as if overtaken by a fever.

Blood was the signal she learned to acknowledge as when a fight became “real.” Her training usually ended at first blood, the sterile environment of a training hall was nothing like the places she found herself performing her duty as they varied. The only consistency across all environments she was deployed to was the inevitable bloodshed. No one should still be breathing in front of her once that scent reached her nostrils.

They were still fighting even though blood had been drawn. She needed to kill. A murderous impulse pounded at her head in time with her heartbeat.

No, she needed to finish the fight before she hurt anyone further. Her own condition be damned. They were the ones in danger, not her.

As fast as she could, she jabbed at him again, but he blocked her with his arm. When he shifted his weight, she kicked him in the stomach, causing him to stagger. Tarica used her window of opportunity to release a flurry of aerial kicks and a string of well-grounded punches. She put her weight into every blow, increasing the impact. The moment Orbash lost his balance, he became easy prey. He closed his eyes when he fell forward and tumbled to the ground.

She blinked as she regarded him. As frenzied as her movements were, she was sure she did not kill. The fact he still breathed reassured her as she gritted her teeth as the tantalizing blood scent claimed it was not over.

Tarica struggled when she tried to help him up and instead turned him over. Some drops of crimson dotted his chest as she bled on him. “Are you alright?” she asked.

He gave a short laugh, thinking it was still a game. “Yeah. Are you? I got a good hit in.”

“I am fine,” she lied with a false smile. After she was sure of his own health, she snapped her nose back into place with her hand. Warmth seeped from her fingers and into her palm as crimson flowed onto her hand. The smell was inescapable.

The orc sat up, brushed himself off and stretched his neck, shoulders, and arms. Orbash looked at the forming bruises she caused unintentionally, and complimented, “You must have been a great warrior.”

She did not hear anymore, She looked at her hand and she was no longer there with them. She was in many places at once, she had seen this sight before. She saw bodies and she saw the wounded Malendar.

She lowered her arm, trying to look at her surroundings. For a moment she saw the living figures of the nearby orcs and goblins. Then she was home, the six-fingered hands of the nearby goblins turned into icons of wings. She saw her final target, Ordelas.

She raised her hand to shield her face when the apparition flashed in front of her. “You are my assassin. You will serve me now and forever,” he said. Ordelas’s black eyes looked like two boiling pools of rage.

Then there was Orbash, standing with his hands outstretched to reach her but afraid to touch her. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked. Everyone showed concern, Eliseo and Sinker were no longer content to watch and were approaching.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Eliseo covered for her. He pointed to his own head. “I have seen what elves can withstand. She is probably just dazed. I would be punch drunk as well after that if I was not dead.”

“He speaks the truth of elven constitution, Orbash,” Sinker confirmed. “Elven constitution is remarkable for their frames. If they survive, they will recover.”

Orbash backed away and watched Tarica from a distance. She shook her head, wanting to forget what she saw. She caught her breath before she gave a final scan. They were all alive. Tarica was pleased there was nothing critical for what she put them through; other than a few scrapes and scratches, everyone was all right.

Eliseo did not touch her but offered a hand. He whispered so that only hopefully only she with her elven ears could hear. “What do you want us to do?”

Tarica took his hand and leaned on him, relieved that he was real, meaning what she saw was fantasy. “Just let me sit down… alone…” she whispered into his ear.

Sinker gained a waterskin from somewhere, maybe he had it, maybe someone passed it to him. She doubted he heard her. “Let’s get you washed up,” as he readied to pour it.

She offered her clean hand and splashed some water in her face. She then scrubbed her bloodied hand. The smell did not go away.

“We imagined you were a skilled fighter, but we did not know you were so accomplished,” Eliseo commented as he walked her to a more secluded location.

"I am a Dark Elf. Did you expect less?"

"...Yes… I did," Eliseo admitted.

She felt her back meet something solid as she sat down. She leaned her weight against the wall of a building. She did not eat a dream fruit.

***

Tarica opened her eyes. The scent of cherry blossoms tickled her senses, calling her home. She wheezed and tried to raise herself up.

“Had a nice dream, did you?” asked an all-too-familiar voice.

“Ordelas!”

The Darklord raised a silver goblet and smiled at her. Tarica’s eyes grew wider when she realized that Ordelas was wearing a smile on his face. He sat on a polished stone bench surrounded by lush vegetation on all sides.

“Why do you look so surprised?” The amusement in his eyes told her that he already knew the answer. “You know that you will never be alone.” Tarica shivered. Those words used to bring her comfort, but now they brought fear and sadness.

She scanned the area, attempting to make sense of the confusion in her mind. A dark halo eclipsed the sun, confirming that she was at home beneath the veil. The smell of royal cherry blossoms made her heart sick with yearning.

Ordelas sipped from his goblet, lowered his head, and looked down at her. “I need you, Tarica,” he somberly admitted. “I need you by my side. There are so few who can be trusted.” His black hair turned blond, and bone-white protrusions that looked like ribs erupted from his back. Blood dripped from the tips of the six growths and dried into black wings covered with feathers.

The flawless face that looked back at Tarica did not belong to Ordelas. The being had a prideful heart, and its wrath even exceeded Ordelas’s. The spirit leered at Tarica, and everything was burned away, leaving nothing behind but a dark abyss, devoid of light and life.

She heard chanting then came imagery. She envisioned Ordelas climbing to the top of Raven’s Hold. “To war!” he called. “The Flaming Heart beats again.” Something roared beneath her, and a giant red eye filled with flames as hot as the sun formed beneath her feet.

The murderous eye turned and narrowed its crimson gaze on Tarica. She heard something whisper, “Its very heart rages like a furnace.”

The nightmare had only begun.

***

Eliseo and Sinker were the ones who saved her. The human noticed Tarica shaking in her sleep, so he tapped her on the shoulder. Her darting eyes opened, and she grabbed Eliseo’s neck, putting him in a chokehold the next instant. Tarica screamed incoherently and glared at the human, whose eyes were rolling back, ready to pass out.

Sinker came to his friend’s rescue and tried to pry her fingers off Eliseo’s throat. “Tarica, it’s us!” he shouted.

When the sound of his voice dragged her mind back into reality, she turned, facing the orc. “Sinker?” she asked before she realized what she was doing. She saw Eliseo choking in her arms and set him free.

The human fell to his knees and gulped for air, trying to breathe. He lifted his head and watched Tarica shrink away with shoulders forward in guilt and shame. “What the hell was that about?” he croaked in Puertoian, rubbing his aching throat. Too shocked to understand, Eliseo was not angry, only confused.

Tarica said nothing. She barely heard what he asked. The chaos in the dream followed her, making it difficult to grasp what Eliseo was saying. Her mind sorted through the images. She could not decide if they were memories of her past or false projections of the future.

Sinker stooped down, looking at Eliseo’s neck. “Are you all right?”

“I’m alive,” coughed Eliseo in Elvish. “But I’m pretty sure I saw the other side for a moment.” In that moment, Tarica could not tell if the human was joking or if he was being serious.

Tarica eased close to Eliseo and reached out a hand towards the injuries on his throat, wishing she could erase them as easily as she caused them. They served as a reminder of her true nature. She was a fool to think that she could be a friend to anyone. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” assured Sinker as he helped Eliseo stand up. “You weren’t in your right mind. He shouldn’t have woken you up like that.” He patted Eliseo on the back. “Right?”

“I guess,” the human hoarsely replied, not entirely convinced and rightfully so.

“You can not just forgive me like that,” Tarica fretted. She had grown tired and wondered why they readily excused her for what she had done. It made her feel as if she was at Malendar’s mercy all over again.

“I kind of already did,” answered Sinker. “It was not like you meant it.”

“Or did you?” rasped Eliseo.

“Just leave me alone,” warned Tarica as she got up to run. The orc placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Let go of me, Sinker!” She had the impulse to hurl him down to the ground, but she held back.

“You told me that I cannot just forgive you.” Sinker held on to Tarica’s arm despite her attempts to yank free. If she truly wanted to break free, she would but the orc might find himself with broken bones. “Tell us what is happening, so we can really forgive you.”

Eliseo and Sinker stared and waited. She was immortal and in no hurry to talk. If not for the pressure of their gazes, she could have ignored them indefinitely. Eliseo had not been as angry as she expected, but now he was becoming agitated and deserved an explanation.

She gave in and confided. “Things I had hoped to put behind me...” Her eyes misted over with tears. “They still haunt me.”

They did not understand, but Sinker let go of her anyway. In the forest she had confessed she was not a Forest Elf, but she had never shared the rest of her story. She cleared her throat. “There is something I need to tell you two, just you two.”

Sinker took them back to his residence. Sinker’s family gave Tarica and Eliseo a greeting as they passed into the extension that served as Tarica and Eliseo’s room and Little Noble’s lair.

Sinker’s wife was named Yazara, her skin a dark orange while his daughter was named Naui. Naui had a green complexion similar to her father but was a little noticeably darker.

Some people called a female orc an orcress. Though orcs did not even call themselves orcs in their language, the term was a shortening of their word for “child” as orcs truly called themselves Children of Deassala. It was humans or dwarves that popularized the word orc. Her people lacked friendly enough relations with them to ever call them Children of Deassala.

Tarica would be quick to state Naui was cute by almost anyone’s standards. She would hope that even her kind, as heartless many of they may be to outsiders would hesitate when seeing such an innocent face. She was at just the right size to be comparable in size to elven children, the resemblance enough to stir the protective instincts almost every decent creature felt when faced with their young.

As large as orcs were when adults, they were born as small as a human thumb. They grew fast at first but the older they were, the slower they grew.

Naui seemed to at least be interested in Tarica but Tarica felt inclined to remain distant. She did not want to touch a child with the same hands she used to kill their kin.

Then she spoke. She told them everything as she might as well. After telling them she was Ordelas’s assassin, there was no greater secret that could illicit more horror. She started to cry but swallowed her tears and explained how Malendar had helped her. At first, Eliseo and Sinker looked at each other in astonishment.

Since Tarica admitted that she had killed members of many royal families, Eliseo was stunned. Not being directly related and made strangers through the distance of time, Eliseo had never known the noble personally. The royal families often were comprised of several branches that had little to do with each other but also intermingled with others. Eliseo was from a family that actually benefited from the chaos, so he jokingly thanked her, making her feel worse than before.

“Oh, no,” he clarified, trying to speak to her as if they were just friends discussing the weather. “My family can trace its roots to the earliest Puertoian colonizers even some later nobility from after Tyran’s time, so yes, my family shared ancestors with some of the people you mentioned but it was not as if you killed my great grandfather. They at best would have been distant cousins. They might as well be strangers. Would you want vengeance for your cousins?”

“Yes,” Tarica answered sternly as she looked him in the eyes.

Eliseo scratched at the marks she left on his neck. “Ah, I hope then that my family has done nothing against yours. I guess you can get closer to distant family if you have an eternity to bond with them. Not so much with my family. I swear to you, I would hold you accountable if you killed someone important like a great aunt and uncle or grandmother or grandfather. Cousins from other family lines though are more often than not my enemies.”

“You are quite callous,” Tarica judged him to condemn herself as she lowered her gaze.

“You killed strangers to me a hundred years ago. I have not done it myself but undoubtedly someone in my family hired someone like you and dueling for honor is a trend if you are unaware. If I isolated myself from everyone that has killed another, I would not allow myself in any polite company or be allowed in myself?”

Tarica focused on that and raised her head. “You killed someone?” she inquired.

Eliseo unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a gunshot wound on the right side of his chest. “It was in my college years. I was sent abroad for my studies and one of the local houses’ sons accused my father of accepting bribes as elector.”

It did not surprise Tarica to learn such a truth as Eliseo reminded her, dueling was a trend. He did not smell like a killer, his opponent would have been dispatched from a distance years ago, and his hands did not carry the scent of gunpowder. It was not a strong enough part of his life to be expressed in his eyes and motions.

There was a difference between dueling someone and what Tarica did.

Many royal lines of old in the alliance Eliseo hailed from had survived unification. Each ruled their inherited territories and had tangled themselves together through political marriages. However, they answered to the high king or queen. The death of each high king was usually punctuated by discord. Tarica and her sisters helped fan conflict as countless royals fought for the position. She remembered Eliseo confessed in a bit of banter in Florena’s forest it was not an ideal system; even the commoners outside the political fray could see as much.

Sinker, in his almost innocent way, reasoned, “Tarica, you left that behind you, and that’s all that matters now.”

“I sometimes I hear his voice and see him, I thought it was over but it is not.” She placed her hands over her ears and groaned. She did not need to tell Eliseo and Sinker about the dream. Her friends were the ones who had seen her thrashing in her sleep and figured out that she had a nightmare. They were polite enough not to ask who she was referring to.

They tried to soothe her fears away, but everything went wrong. They had a visitor, it turned out. A goblin who was carrying a suit of leather armor arrived and Yazara called for Tarica to see. “I thought you might want to borrow this when you’re joining us again,” explained the goblin. He was blameless, having no idea how much it would upset her as his six fingers laid over the leather.

Tarica looked at the armor he was holding. It had been designed by orcs, but it reminded her of the gear that she had once used. She heard Ordelas whisper, “The end has begun. There is no escape now.” Her head throbbed.

Fortunately, it had grown late so she needed little excuse to talk no further once the visitor left. She placed the armor in the corner of the room she was to stay in.

However, she could not bring herself to sleep in the same room as Eliseo. She imagined herself strangling him again, only the next time Sinker might not wake her in time. She snuck away into the night as the others rested.