The Broken Song

Chapter Fourteen

— Northern Outskirts of the Doom, Svartalfheim —

It was another day before the dark elf woke. Despite being worse off than Lulu, his awakening was far less dramatic. There was no sharp intake of breath, no flailing arms, and no screams. He woke with a gentle fluttering of eyelids, vision focusing as he waited calmly on the mat placed beneath him. Idelle was hovered over him, a cold spell placed on the handkerchief she pressed to his forehead to lower his fever. When his eyes opened, he watched her movements, but said nothing.

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly. Lulu and Duncan still slept, only Isaac standing watch nearby in case the elf turned violent.

"Are you shira'ven?" His voice was soft when he spoke, a slight rasp giving it a gravelly tone that rumbled slightly.

Idelle shook her head, understanding his Elgeven perfectly. The language of the Dark Elves was a dying thing. Very few had dared to learn it even in the final years of the empire. Now, she imagined only those living in Svartalfheim had reason to speak it. And with humans fighting the elves for dominance, even this last refuge of dark elven language and culture was in danger of being stripped away.

"I am no shira'ven," she smiled gently as she began to scan his body for signs of pain or healing that he required. She had been diligent in her care over the last several days, but she wanted to be sure.

"You look like one."

Shira'ven were the dark elven spirits that most closely resembled the Valkyries of Asgard. Said to be beautiful, warrior she-elves that appeared to fallen soldiers, they differed from the famed Valkyries in that they didn't arrive to take the best warriors for an invincible army in the afterlife, but to heal them of their wounds, to save them from certain death so they could return to the gift the gods had given them: life.

"How are you feeling?" Idelle asked, again, eager to leave his question behind. She could never pretend to be a divine force sent by the gods to save him. It would be too cruel a lie when the truth of the matter was it was mere luck that had caused their paths to cross.

"You should have let me die, shira'ven."

She saw him wince when she probed his stomach with a little more force. Still some internal bleeding. Carefully, she began to mend the pieces she missed. "What's your name?"

"It does not matter."

"It does to me."

He closed his eyes. Undoubtedly, he could feel her working on his insides, but the gesture wasn't due to physical pain, she knew. So, she let him collect his thoughts as she worked quietly, concentrating on each repair to ensure no complications later.

"My name is D'rundri of Clan Shashrairsaga."

"Whatever you believe, it is good to meet you, D'rundri. I am Idelle Ralia."

"Ralia?" His eyes snapped open, looking at her with something akin to fascination. "Are you...a relative to the Last Queen Mother?"

Idelle nodded. "My aunt."

His silver eyes filled with inexplicable sorrow. "You must be shira'ven."

A particularly loud snore from Lulu startled them both. Idelle looked at her friend, ensuring she still slept soundly. She did, curled up on her mat, the compass tucked between both hands she rested beneath her head. Duncan, too, seemed still asleep, an even rise and fall to his chest. Quietly, she told D'rundri to stand and follow her from camp. She wanted to check his movement, ensuring he was well enough to travel before they left Svartalfheim. Idelle expected him to protest, but he followed her obediently, a slight limp to his gait as he walked along the barren plain.

She had studied his features much in the last few days, silently wondering what had brought him to the Fells, why he had chosen to fight such a monstrous thing in a place where there was no one to help him. She had imagined many different scenarios.

He was tall for an elf with pitch black hair that was choppily cut short, the strands sticking out messily. His pointed ears seemed even longer with the short hair. Most male elves liked to keep their hair long, but it looked as though he had recently cut it in haste. His features were sharp in the elven fashion, but the short hair, coupled with a jagged scar reaching up from the left side of his jaw and cutting into his cheek, and the firm scowl that set his mouth and brow in hard lines, gave him a more rugged look than typical for elves. He had a handsome nature rather than ethereally beautiful.

Silver eyes roamed across the landscape with disinterest, clearly lost in whatever thoughts claimed his mind. Her own wandered across his ashen skin that had an almost grayish-brown hue in the light of the morning. On his neck was a tattoo. She had seen it while he slept. A wolf, curled up as though sleeping, save for the emerald eyes that were open and peering out into the world. It made Idelle think it was lying in wait. She knew the dark elves liked to mark themselves with tattoos. It made them different from their light elven brethren of Alfheim. Often, their tattoos were symbolic of their clans, though some chose their tattoos for personal reasons. She wondered which category suited him.

Far enough from camp that there was no danger of waking the others, Idelle came to a stop. Isaac continued to watch them from a distance.

"Here, let me fix your leg. I still haven't found the problem..." Her voice was tinged with frustration. Slowly, her magic scanned from hip to toes, searching for the source of his discomfort. "Why were you in the Fells? I can't imagine anything making me go in there willingly."

He didn't answer at first, and she wouldn't have blamed him if he hadn't answered at all. She had suspected a dire reason to send him into the depths of the Fells, and when he finally spoke, she wished she could take the inquiry back.

"A group of Lavaira'telle attacked our clan a week before the Fells. They killed our elder and escaped out into the night like cowards. I was with the party tasked with hunting them down. We were gone only a few days. When we returned, everyone was dead, and the Fells were howling. We tracked the monster to its lair. We were in that silent hell for four days. It picked us off one by one. I should have died there with the rest of my family."

Idelle lowered her head, regret and empathy swirling within her. At last, she found the bit of sprained muscle in his lower right calf that caused him pain. She eased away the ache and stood, looking at him gently.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your clan," she said, honestly. "I can't imagine losing my whole family like that."

"I pray you never have to know the pain."

"What will you do now?" A chilly breeze began to blow. The strands of hair that had escaped her braids tickled the skin of her neck. "Will you be on your own, or do you have somewhere you can go?"

"You saved my life, shira'ven. I owe you a debt."

"You want to come with us?" She couldn't hide her surprise. Dark elves took matters of honor very seriously, she knew, but there were few willing to trust outsiders, and for good reason. He bowed his head, hand pressed over his heart. "I'll have to speak to Lulu about it, but I don't see why it would be a problem. I should warn you, though. We tend to...find a lot of trouble in our travels. Not to mention, we have several bounties on us. I mean, Lulu does, but I can't imagine they wouldn't hang me next to her."

D'rundri shook his head. "Criminals or not, I would dishonor my clan if I turned my back on those who saved me. You have my loyalty and my sword until I repay the debt, or I die in battle."

"Let's try to avoid the latter, shall we?"