Two of the three wights who approached from the rear were snarling like wild dogs, foaming at the mouth and clawing at the chains that held them by their necks. The wight who held the two wights in chains had blue markings along his face and a loin cloth to cover his groin. Leather covered his upper torso and metal cuffs protected his forearms and calves.

He spoke in elvish with a crude voice, “Golomoth sends his greetings. He has been awaiting your arrival.” One of the wight’s arms was a stump from some deformity and so a jagged blade was attached to the stump by a stirrup. The snarling wights were struggling against their master’s grip on their chains with pikes in hand. They leaned forward, nearly choking themselves in the process. The Headless Horsemen watched from above without a word. Their black capes swirled around them in the restless winds.

“What do you want,” demanded Arokas.

“Death is what I want. And death it is that shall befall you!” bellowed the wight. His head was hairless, but his face was strong and scarred beneath his blue markings. The wight let go of chains that held back the two ravenous wights and they charged towards Arokas, nearly tripping each other.

Arokas swatted Alaric and Galiria away with a hand, “Go! Before it is too late. Ride down the wights ahead of you and make for the Caves of Jakkara. There you will find the path to the great escape of these lands. Go now, before it is too late!” shouted Arokas, baring his steel and preparing to face the wights. There was hardly room to swing his sword for the alley was so narrow. The hawk perched upon the cliff overhead cawed again and then took to the sky, following Galiria’s horse as it charged towards the end of the alley.

Alaric had taken the reins, desperate to be gone from the entrapment but Galiria only had eyes for Arokas now, who was left to fend off the wights. “Galiria,” shouted Alaric, “prepare to hold tight, we are going to run them down. Galiria!”

Her lips quivered and her fingers gripped tight to the reins of Elfwin’s horse which followed behind them with the near-frozen elf strewn across its back.

“Hold tight!”

Alaric shouted as the three wights shied at the approach their great charging horse. He unsheathed flamesword and the red-hot flames of his blade cut two heads clean off as they rode, the third wight trampled by the hooves of their horse. Elfwin’s horse made a great leap to avoid tripping on the wights. Miraculously, they were past the clumsy wights and beyond the narrow alleyway. Galiria was shouting Arokas’ name as he faded into the distance as just another black dot amongst three wights and a horse. The two Headless Horsemen simply stood at the end of the cliff, watching them as they rode off into the distance. The hawk circled overhead. The endless gray sky now began to form into dark clouds with a heavy roar of thunder to be heard from afar.

“We’re safe, Galiria. We’ve made it, look.” Up ahead was an array of cavernous rock and great canyons of black stone. It was a magnificent view that made Alaric feel small. “Perhaps Golomoth has gone to join the great army after all and he’s only left those horsemen and those wights to guard his home. I think we’ve made it,” said Alaric. He garnered no response from a mourning Galiria who rubbed her stomach with a tender hand and the reins of Elfwin’s horse with the other.

Alaric guided the horse to the mouth of a cave that appeared to be an entrance of some sort. Fantastical carvings were sculpted into the sides of the rock that depicted rearing horses and old kings of the elves with swords in hand. Dismounting from the horse, Alaric tied the reins to a totem outside the cave and then helped Galiria down, who seemed to be in shock and at a loss for words. Elfwin’s horse was tied as well, but Alaric was having trouble keeping him on his feet.

“Elfwin, you must move. You will feel warmer,” said Alaric, turning to Galiria. “Galiria, speak to him in elven tongue and let him know we must keep moving. We’re nearly there if we can just get to the port. I assume it’s in there.” He pointed vaguely to the inside of the cave mouth. Galiria just nudged Elfwin but he stood unresponsive and so she gave up, sitting up against a rock and closing her eyes.

“No! No, no, no. We mustn’t give up now. Arokas would not have wanted this for us. This is not the reason why he sacrificed himself back there. Do you hear me? Do you?” Alaric was shouting now. “Fine,” he said. He strapped his scabbard to his hip and left the rest of his sack and supplies with the horse, giving it a firm pat. “You take care of yourself,” he whispered to the horses. He untied their reins and rushed them away to their freedom. They neighed wildly and one after the other, they cantered off.

“Well, if Arokas had been slain then it won’t be long before those horsemen arrive,” muttered Alaric to himself. He hoisted Elfwin’s limp body over his shoulder, groaning under his weight. He grabbed Galiria by the hand, interwining his fingers between her own and pulling her to her feet. She stifled a tear and leaned her head on Alaric’s shoulder.

“I know,” whispered Alaric. “We’re gonna make it, I promise.”

They entered through the mouth of the cave where darkness awaited them. The cave meandered left and then right and all sorts of directions. It had clearly been created for a purpose and dimly light braziers lined either side of the cave walls every couple foot. Images of battle scenes and heroic fights lined the walls in all different colors. Much of the drawings had been faded from time but Alaric could still gather an understanding from most of them.

One particular image showed an elf kneeling in homage to an elven king, having a sword placed along his shoulder with his head bowed. Following that image was the same elf who had been knighted wearing shining golden armor and leading a massive army against a swarm of ugly creatures that looked something like the wights, but Alaric could not be sure in the lighting. Dozens of these battles led by an elf in shining armor ran along the walls for miles, and the knight reminded Alaric of Prince Eyowen all those years ago in the tournament he had watched as a boy. Sadness replaced memories of childhood when he remembered of King Eyowen’s uncertain fate, and then that of the fate of Osknia.

Those thoughts were pushed aside when a corner of the cave turned sharply, and now more recent art lined those walls. The knight in golden armor was shown shepherding a younger along—an elf that seemed downcast and skimpy, but as the walls displayed his growth into a man, his expression became that of a happy elf who accompanied the knight in golden armor. Eventually the younger elf bore his own black armor beside his mentor in golden armor and the two fought side by side in a great war that took up half a mile of wall. Alaric furrowed his brow when, after the war had finished, the knight in golden armor was shown in combat with the knight clad in black. Bright colors demonstrated a clashing of power, and then the artwork was too smeared for Alaric to make out. When the artwork was once again visible, the knight in black was seen with his sword raised along a battlefield of charred, burnt fields with an entire army of monsters behind him. He shuddered at some of the monsters, who were truly terrifyingly drawn. A pile of dead elves was the next drawing he saw, and then the braziers for the next mile were not lit and so he could not see what happened next.

Elfwin had become burdensome and Alaric groaned under his weight. Galiria took a turn, wrapping his torso around her shoulders like a neck scarf and bearing his weight that way. The hall seemed to continue endlessly, wrapping this way and that, and all the while tremendous artwork filled its halls. Eventually the cave path came to a split. On the left was more passage of open walkway and to the right were a set of winding stone steps that twisting ever onward towards the sky.

Looking to the walls, Alaric saw a chalky mess of a drawing that looked like a sea monster consuming the entirety of a great ship. That was beside the steps, and so Galiria had agreed that it was the way to go. The other wall showed four horsemen with black, wavy swords raised to the air with the tips meeting at the top. The spiraling steps were thin and steep and the cavernous roof above was so short that Elfwin’s head scraped along the top even as Galiria hunched as low as she could. Alaric moved behind her to ensure Elfwin would not fall.

They arrived at the top of the stairs where a narrow passageway seemed to lead to a large clearing at its end where bright light shown through. Galiria gave a weakened smile to Alaric and he returned a reassuring glance. They passed along the hall which would have been wide enough for five mounted horses to ride side by side. Galiria’s attention was drawn to something and Alaric stopped walking to double back.

“What is it?” he asked.

Galiria said nothing but pointed at a long line of crypts which lined the walls. Alaric had not even noticed due to the dim lighting but as his eyes adjusted, he could see it was a long line of crypts, but for whom he did not know.

Elfwin was set down to rest his back against an empty stretch of wall to give the two a break from carrying him. Squinting in the darkness, Galiria ran a hand along a crypt belonging to an elven king with a great crown upon his head—a stag rearing on its haunches on either side of the crown. He possessed a great staff and large, curly beard carved from stone.

“King of Elves. The greatest of all elf, Gillas the Great,” said Galiria, mesmerized.

“He was the king?” asked Alaric.

“The greatest among elves,” replied Galiria. “Before death by killer.”

“Who killed him?”

“Golomoth. His son.”

Alaric was awed, moving to study the rest of the crypts which were labelled with various titles of ‘lord’ and ‘king’. He came to the final crypt halfway down the hall and frowned at its title. “Nhed? King Nhed?”

Galiria was just as confused, wandering over to where he stood. “Odd,” she said.

“Who made this place?” Alaric wondered aloud. Galiria shrugged.

“Open?” Galiria cautiously slid her fingers towards the edge of the cold stone.

“I don’t know,” said Alaric, taking a sharp breath of air. “I don’t like this place, Galiria. Let’s get Elfwin and make for the light.”

They were stopped in their tracks by a chilling sound.

The sound of steel scraping coldly against stone turned Alaric’s blood cold. Boots clicked along the stone. A figure held a blade in each hand. All but his two blades were concealed by shadows. Elfwin still lay motionless at the newcomer’s feet. Alaric sheathed flamesword. Galiria loosened the hilt of her own sword.

“I do not fear the darkest shadow nor the brightest light. Unveil yourself,” said Galiria.

Alaric grit his teeth. The ceiling of the cave trembled, and a light cascade of dust and rock crumbled from above. The mysterious figure took a step towards Elfwin, who suddenly stirred from his position. The young elf tried feebly to drag himself away, but a boot stopped him. He whimpered.

“Don’t touch him,” said Galiria. “You would be a craven to slay an elf who lies half-dead already.”

The figure stepped over Elfwin’s body and emerged into the dim lighting of the braziers, twenty feet from where Alaric and Galiria stood. On either side of him emerged two Headless Horsemen and from somewhere far off the sound hundreds of wights shrieking echoed through the cave. A hawk cawed somewhere outside.

Alaric could see two dark eyes underneath the spiked helm of figure, although his horsemen were faceless beneath theirs. They no longer sat upon their horses. Black gloves bore crudely crafted metal, which glowed a deep blue. Cold flakes drifted from their swords to rest lightly upon Elfwin’s shivering body.

The Swords of Dread thought Alaric. It is Golomoth who stands before us. Alaric felt the hilt of his own sword grow warm, noticing a light radiance stemming from his blade. The blade in Golomoth’s hand did not appear impressive as he had imagined. It looked ordinary and it did not glow like the swords that his servants possessed.

“You talk of craven, but you tremble like a rat before me,” said Golomoth. “The days of the elves are less numerous than they have ever been. The last of their kind stand before me now.” Golomoth’s eyes were drawn to Alaric’s sword. Alaric raised his sword how Galiria had taught him and his face became twisted in a deep rage. The feelings he had felt the day the wight’s had raided Brymeria were returning to him now, but it was a deeper feeling than he had ever felt. He felt his own voice grow strong and full of fury.

“You are a coward. Hiding here in these caves and sending your wights to do your work for you. You don’t deserve Corpsia—you’re not even a true elf. Extinguishing your own race, how could you? Treasonous bastard!” Alaric advanced on Golomoth now, unable to control his wanton rage and swinging with a strength as bold as an ox. His first swipe was deflected comfortably and then he came left at him and then right. Golomoth deflected well and breathed hard underneath his helm. He was a bulky elf, filling his plated armor full and strong—but Alaric had no fear and so he matched him stroke by stroke. Galiria had joined the fight now. Golomoth still wielded duel blades and he spun them round and round in his hands like propeller blades. His servants stood still as statues to either side of him. Wights screeched closer.

Alaric and Galiria backed off, catching their breath. Alaric glanced to Galiria, who gave an affirming nod back. Encroaching cautiously, Alaric came at his enemy full of hostility, the fire of his sword glinting dangerously from the pupils of his eye. He jabbed low as Galiria went high. Golomoth blocked Galiria’s blade so harshly that it fell from her hands and clattered to the floor. Golomoth had allowed Alaric to jab at his armor that covered his legs. The sword got caught in the chink of his black armor, and Alaric tried to wrench it free, but it was a mistake. Golomoth heaved his other leg back and smashed a toe-spiked boot into Alaric’s chest which was protected by mail, but it hardly protected him from the blades that protruded from his boot like small daggers. A gloved fist jeweled with sharp spikes slammed Galiria to the ground, deciding to hit her along the arm instead of the head.

Golomoth withdrew Alaric’s flaming sword from his plated leg armor, admiring it in his hands. “I had been missing this,” Golomoth hissed underneath his helm. He tossed his two dullened blades to his servants, grasping Alaric’s sword in both his gloved hands. Alaric came at him quickly, trying to catch the dark elf unaware. The elf flung the sword hilt first at Alaric. He caught it, surprised. Golomoth had grabbed another sword from seemingly nowhere. He slashed it across the blade in Alaric’s hand. It shattered. It splintered into thousands of pieces and left Alaric bare handed and confused. Alaric’s head pounded from the sight of Golomoth’s new blade. It was black as night and curvy like the rippling waves of the sea—and it had an aura about it that sent fear shivering through Alaric.

Galiria gathered herself and moved to stand before Alaric, steel bared menacingly before her. Golomoth only laughed.

“Let me have the man. Move, or I will have to strike you down.”

“Then that is how it shall be.”

Elfwin had inched his way towards Golomoth’s dull blades that had been carelessly discarded onto the ground. Golomoth saw it just then, lifting his curved blade and slicing Elfwin’s reaching hand clean off.

Elfwin cried out, screaming in agony. Galiria squealed. The cries were drowned out by a chorus of mindless wights surging out from the stone steps and crowding into the cavernous hall of the crypts.

Golomoth jammed the point of his blade down into Elfwin’s skull. His eyes glazed over and his jaw hung open in disbelief, blood pooling from his mouth and flowing out like a fountain. Galiria shrieked a cry rivaling that of the wights, advancing onto Golomoth with her elven sword and dancing a song of steel then sent them spiraling busily towards Alaric, who stood frozen. The wights were sidetracked by the corpse of Elfwin which they fought over grievously. The wights at the bottom of the feeding pile were crushed to death by larger wights that tore at the others to get a part of Elfwin’s flesh.

Every sound became mute to Alaric except for the workings of his mind. As if in slow motion. The two servants of Golomoth came towards Alaric like two spirits hovering above the ground with their swords of ice glowing a surging blue. One of the servants kicked the blade that Elfwin had reached for towards Alaric. He picked it up, returning to his senses and demanding the warrior inside of him to rise to his enemy.

He could hear the sounds of a struggle behind him, and he knew it would be Galiria fighting for her life against the dark elf himself. Alaric spun in a swirling motion, clattering his blade against his foes, getting a feel for the weight of their sword as Galiria had taught him. He may not have his sword of flame, but he been taught the way of the elf and he displayed it now. He let the enemy come to him, watching their feet to see how they would attack. He blocked a blow from one, twisting and turning to avoid the other. His felt a cold rush sweep over him when he blocked their sword. He started to feel stiff and overcome by coldness. His fingers felt stiff around his hilt. The wight had finished off Elfwin and so now they continued on down the hall. It is now or never, thought Alaric. He turned his back to his pursuers, chasing down Golomoth and Galiria who dueled by the end of the passageway and near the light.

Golomoth had his back to Alaric. He fended off blows from Galiria, but he was not attacking as he would have expected. There was no time to think. Alaric leapt forward, driving his sword into the back of Golomoth’s neck. He misjudged his leap. He began to fall away to early and his blade scraped lamely against the back of his armor. Golomoth turned, and in his distraction, Galiria had jarred her blade into his breast plate. Golomoth howled angrily, swiping one spiked fist into her chest. She was flung to the ground and Golomoth kicked at her and raised her up by the throat, gritting his teeth and staring her in the eye.

Alaric had gathered himself, slashing his sword into Golomoth’s arm, cutting deep and into the bone just beside his shoulder. He dropped Galiria and the hilt of his sword which had been clutched in his palm as he held Galiria. The wights and the servants of Golomoth had caught up now. Alaric grabbed Golomoth’s sword of death, sweeping in a line blindly, and catching Golomoth’s servants across the chest. The sword’s power reeled them back, causing them to melt and disintegrate into a black mist and ascend out into the light and out of sight. Their empty armor clattered to the ground and suddenly the wights were afraid, for Alaric wielded the sword of death and they know that one touch of the blade to their skin was enough to send them to their doom.

Alaric had not forgotten about Golomoth, turning to round on the dark elf. He slashed at him. Golomoth held out a glove to block the blade but the glove only disintegrated, and his hand burned. There was fear on his face, so Alaric came at him. He slashed at his breast plate and it began to simmer and melt. Golomoth cried out, staggering away out towards the open clearing. Alaric took a few steps towards him now. The clearing was the ledge of a cliff that overlooked an even greater cavernous array of ice and rocky structures. Alaric could hear the sound of running water coming from somewhere down below.

Galiria was still lying on the ground, just inside the mouth of the cave. Alaric held the sword out defensively toward Golomoth, “Be gone from here! Go, or else I will have this sword melt you into a nothingness as I’ve just done to your slaves.” There was a wild glint in Alaric’s eyes. He swung the sword wildly towards the wights again to make sure they still saw his threat.

“Give me the elf. You walk free and I give you ship to Osknia,” begged Golomoth.

“How do you know of Osknia?”

“Give me. The elf.”

“You have no sword. You have no power,” said Alaric.

Golomoth snarled. Alaric held the sword out towards Golomoth. Black waves rippled along its curvy blade. Galiria moaned, struggling to her feet now.

“How do you know of Osknia?” demanded Alaric.

“I will have the wights eat you alive if you do not listen. Give me the elf!”

Still, Alaric did not listen.

“Vol’hallor!” Golomoth demanded of his wights, to which the wights did not budge.

Alaric looked to his sword and then to the wights, piecing it together.

Golomoth was clutching the nub of his hand that had been eaten away from the poison of Alaric’s sword—which had been Golomoth’s only moments ago.

“Who are you…” Alaric’s voice trailed away as Golomoth removed his helm.

“Arokas,” whispered Galiria. She cupped her hands to her face, hardly able to look.

The fallen elf spoke in elven so that Alaric could understand as he spoke. “It was going to be you and me, Galiria. That’s all I ever wanted.” Arokas’ face was distraught, but his pride would not allow tears to flow.

“I hate you,” said Galiria, crying. “Why?” she cried, falling to her knees, “why did you do all of…this?”

“It was going to be you and me…and Elfwin,” stammered Arokas. “It was going to be a new start, a new elven race far from here. I’ve got the ships ready, Galiria. We can still go,” he motioned towards a set of steps that led down from the cliff’s ledge to the running water far below.

“I will never be with you, Arokas. You killed our family, all of them. And now I’m going to kill you.” Galiria tried to snatch the sword from the hands of a stunned Alaric.

“Wait,” cried Golomoth, “that sword is evil. Do not touch it!”

“I don’t believe you,” she went for the hilt again.

“No,” said Alaric. “Nhed has told me. No elf can possess it. You will become as Arokas has. Galiria, please.”

Galiria wandered towards Arokas, whose body was still burning and his flesh sizzling from the swipes that Alaric took to his body.

“Is it true? That no elf can touch the sword,” she almost whispered.

“Yes, of course,” said Arokas. Galiria was staring with a gentle gaze. An endless sea of blue sat within her eye and it was enough to bring tears to Arokas’ eyes.

“It was Nhed who made the sword. He is the one who brought upon all of this, I swear by it. I am not able to create such a sword. You must believe me.”

Galiria frowned suddenly, “Nhed? What did you do to him? Did you kill him too?” Her face was inches from his own.

“No. It was he who taught me these ways. He made me do it. All of it.”

“You lie. I should have Alaric remove your head even now, but I would rather do it myself,” said Galiria. She cried now, and so too did Arokas. “You killed Nhed. You killed Elfwin. You left the rest of our people to die at Termath Kvith—at the hands of those…things! And now…now I have your monster inside of me.”

Galiria walked to wear she had left her own sword at the mouth of the cave entrance. Wights only sniffed as she approached, eyes only for the sword in Alaric’s hand. She walked back to Arokas now, a soft look in his eye.

“I did not wish to kill Elfwin. He was going to kill me.”

“Yeah? Was he? Similar to how Nhed is behind all of this. You really are twisted, Arokas. A twisted, vile, treacherous, monster!” she shouted. She lifted her sword and Arokas closed his eyes, accepting his fate.

Alaric cried out, sprinting to her side. Arokas opened his eyes, confused. Galiria held the blade inside of her own stomach, her mouth hung open as she fell to her back, the blade submerged inside of her. Bellowing cries filled the air.

Throwing his hands above his head, Arokas begged for mercy. “Kill me. Kill me. Kill me!” he cried.

Gathering his courage, Alaric grew a determined look. He slung Galiria over his shoulder and made for the small stone steps at the edge of the cliff. He gave one last glance at a despairing Arokas.

“It was not my fault, Alaric. You saw the drawings in the caves. It is true,” tears welled in his eyes and ran down his face.

Alaric shook his head, “Vol’hallor!” he called, and the wights came rushing out from the inside of the cave, shrieking so loud that the cave shook, and rocks began to spill from the high ceilings of the great cave. Alaric arrived at the bottom of the steps where a skiff was tied up to a rock, awaiting escape. Alaric laid Galiria’s body in the skiff and untied the boat, taking to the oars and flowing down the brook of running water. The current took him through the cavern and through miles of darkness.

He knew not where the waters took him, but he trusted that they flowed to the great seas where lands unknown lay ahead. No elf had ever returned from those trips, but Alaric wondered if it was because there were greater lands unknown than this one—lands that no elf wanted to leave. He slumped in the skiff, lying beside Galiria whose chest still rose and fell, but for how much longer he did not know. He leaned his head against her own, feeling her long braid tickled his neck. He closed his eyes, and he dreamed of a far-off land where elves awaited their arrival and the skies were always pink and the ground was always made of white sand. He imagined Aslay waiting for him, and in his dream, she leaned over and kissed him. Her nose was long, and her lips were thin, and they fit perfectly in his own.

The skiff emerged from the darkness, flowing out into a great sea where the current dragged them out. White clouds hung overhead, and a warm sun greeted them kindly, but neither was awake to embrace the sun’s radiance, and so they drifted.

Suddenly a great shadow loomed over their skiff.