Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

A Bargain

Illeandir slipped through the inn door. He flinched when a great stench filled his nostrils.

"What is that smell?" he exclaimed.

"Tha' would be these filthy beasts here," Thrilo said pointing to the four men lying on the ground. Two were unconscious. Illeandir considered going outside again, but Agreth touched his arm.

"Please, help my husband," she begged. Illeandir glanced over at Hagril where he lay on a table. The man was still bleeding.

"Derik, boil some water and bring me a needle and thread," Illeandir ordered. Derik disappeared behind a back door.

Hagril's leg was so swollen it would be impossible to remove his pants so Illeandir ripped the hole wider so he could see it clearly. He wiped away most of the blood and carefully inspected the gash. Hagril groaned each time Illeandir prodded it.

"Thrilo," he said.

"Wha'?"

"See if you can find some strong wine."

"Wha' do ya want tha' fer? Drinkin'?"

Illeandir glared at the dwarf.

"No. I need to clean the wound and wine works better than beer or ale."

Thrilo hustled off in search of the wine. Illeandir stepped back from Hagril.

"I can't do any more until they get back."

Agreth muffled a sob.

"He's lucky they didn't hit an artery, but he will have a limp for the rest of his life."

Agreth nodded. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes shone with tears. She stroked her husband's face lovingly.

Derik burst in bearing a heavy pot filled with steaming water. Moments later Thrilo came. Illeandir took a clean rag, dipped it in the hot water, and cleaned the blood away. Agreth spoke to her husband in low tones while Illeandir worked silently. He finished and splashed wine over the wound. Hagril yelled and arched his back but quickly fell silent again.

The wine was immensely strong. It filled whole room with the bitter smell of alcohol and sweet, fermented berries. Illeandir coughed once, his eyes stung.

He quickly stitched the wound closed, minimizing the chance of a large scar with tiny weaves. By then Hagril slept soundly. Illeandir washed the blood from his hands.

"Carry him upstairs to one of the rooms and make sure he rests. Call me up if something's not right."

Derik gingerly carried the man up a flight of stairs. Agreth followed him, clutching Hagril's hand. Thrilo stayed with Illeandir. He took a sip of the wine and spat it out with a grimace.

"It be sourer than me Gran on 'er death bed. She was a mean woman." He stoppered the bottle and set it on the table.

"So," he smacked his lips trying to rid himself of the taste, "How we ge'in' the lady back?"

"I'm going to bargain with their leader. Four of his men for Ithilwen."

"An' of they don't want to trade?"

Illeandir shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll have to kill them."

"All of 'em?"

"No. Just enough to convince them keeping her is not worth it."

Thrilo puffed out his cheeks and sighed.

"A'righ', I ain't got a be'er plan. When do we go?"

"I need you to stay behind and watch the captives."