Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

A Bargain

"Bu-"

"Thrilo, please. You're the only one I trust. Derik is a good man, but he's prone to act on a whim. I'd rather return these men back alive and whole."

"A'righ'," Thrilo said mournfully.

"Thank you."

The dwarf moped until Illeandir gave him a playful shove, grinning. Thrilo batted him away and smiled toothily.

"Yer hard to stay mad at, elf."

"I try. Take care of the prisoners," Illeandir said and slipped out the door.

He breathed in the fresh air, thick with tension. He pulled up his hood and mask and made his way silently toward the group of bandits. The closer he got the more anger built inside him.

A ring of men surrounded Ithilwen, shoving her from one man to the next. She fought them with all her strength but it was not enough. She was tossed around like a rag in the wind. The men were rocks, beating, torturing, and harassing her to no end. Tears streamed down her faced, mixed with blood. She cried as she screamed for them to stop and for help.

Illeandir nocked an arrow and pulled back. His shoulder screamed in pain as he pulled on the limbs. He tried to steady his arm, but it trembled. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. Little by little the shaking lessened until he could aim his arrow firmly on the shoulder of a black-bearded man. Just as he released his arm gave out, throwing his shot wide. The arrow slammed into the leg of a man three people to the right.

Chaos ensued as the men frantically searched for the archer. They looked to where the arrow had come from, but Illeandir had dropped behind a barrel cursing his lame arm. The unfortunate man, having taken an arrow to the thigh, lay sprawled on the ground screaming.

"Show yourself, archer!" their leader shouted. The men calmed down at the sound of their leader's voice. Illeandir didn't move.

Ilthilwen lay on the ground just a few paces away from the man who had been shot. A grey shafted arrow with a hand-forged iron tip and silvery fletching protruded from both sides of the man's leg. She instantly recognized it as Illeandir's and very nearly shouted his name in relief. She scanned the area, looking desperately for Illeandir, but did not see him anywhere. The men were growing agitated again.

"Show yourself, coward!"

"Tell your men to stand down. Then I shall come forth," Illeandir called from behind the barrel.

"Stand down," the leader ordered. The men lowered their swords and daggers. "Come out."

Illeandir came out with his hands empty at his side. His bow was strapped to his back again next to a quiver bristling with arrows. An empty scabbard hung at his hip.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," Illeandir said loudly, "There seems to be a misunderstanding. This village is not for you."

"What are you doing?" Ithilwen whispered. Illeandir didn't so much as glance at her. He kept his eyes on the leader.

"I don't think so. What is your name, archer?"

"Most know me by Elstan," Illeandir said as he continued forward.

"Tell me, Elstan, why are you here?"

"I've come to bargain."

Laughter met his statement and Ithilwen suddenly felt ill.

"What have you to bargain, Elstan? I see nothing but your own pelt."

"A pity that's not for sale. No, five of your men are missing. One, unfortunately, took his own life in an alley. But the other four are quite alive. I can give them back to you."