THE CHAINED GIFT XVI: Sometimes, wounds won't heal up

Sül opened his eyes. In the light of the lamp he saw Caradhar, watching him from above; his face, normally so inexpressive, showed a soft smile. The Shadow wondered if that was the appearance of the blessed spirits who served the gods.

'Am I dead? I must be, right?

'No; I poured my blood directly inside of you, and it worked. If it doesn't hurt, it must have healed the corrosion. I'm afraid we'll have to repeat it every time you have a crisis, until the toxin is no longer active, but...'

'I can't believe it. Did you know it'd work?'

'No. I had never done anything like that before.'

'Right; so, you risked my last moments with you in the world of the living to use me as a lab animal and test if your theory worked...'

Caradhar looked at him, without understanding; Sül sighed, held the redhead by his temples and kissed him deeply and intensely.

'Though in the end this is just a truce before they start to hunt me down, I thank you for granting me this extra time...' He looked at his hands and realised they were cured as well. 'I say... You worked really hard... I don't know what to say, except... The little bit that's left of me belongs to you, Adhar... Even if you already know it's been like that, for a long time...'

Sül rested his forehead against his partner's; the latter stared at him slightly confused, not knowing what to say. The Shadow smiled, with melancholy; getting out of the bed, he found something for Caradhar to wear, tidied his own clothes and said:

'Do you remember I promised you the best available room in the city? As I don't know if I'll have the chance to keep my promise later, I'll show you know. Let's go; who knows when my neidokesh will be back.'

Both elves left the refuge; outside, the sky, painted with twilight, announced that the night was close. Sül guided his companion outside the Ditch, to the Merchant District, that surrounded the Noble one. He chose an accessible and discreet spot and helped the gifted to climb up, higher and higher, until the top of the tower of the old Temple of the Moon, that ended in a platform with a little roof, resting on four columns with stone rails. The wind was biting, but the view over Argailias was breathtaking; however, the really impressive picture displayed in front of their eyes was the Palace of the Forty-nine Moons.

The palace owed its name to the forty-nine towers rising in the centre, each of them crowned by a small dome made of pieces of glass. The central dome, the highest, was surrounded by all the rest, set out forming a downward spiral. During the day they shone like burnished silver; at night, they were lit in some special occasions, but the central dome was always illuminated like a lighthouse, like the moon, thanks to the fires burning inside.

It was a beautiful show, that Caradhar had never contemplated in all its grandeur; and they were, no doubt, in the best place of the city to do it. Leaning on the rail, he observed the light of the central dome, becoming brighter and brighter as the sky turned violet.

The wind got stronger. A storm broke up, and the rain formed a thin layer, as a glass sheet, upon falling from the four slopes of the roof; the palace became a blurred image, with a soft luminous halo. Caradhar wondered how he had overlooked such a beauty so far.

For his part, Sül wasn't paying attention to the landscape, which he had already admired in many occasions; he was observing, fascinated, his partner's image, his messy red hair covering his face and floating around, like a crimson silk curtain, carried by the wind; he admired his focused features, giving a glimpse of an unusual display of bliss that his half-open lips confirmed... The spy removed a red lock that had slipped between them; in doing so, his cold fingers brushed the pink, soft skin. Caradhar faced him and grabbed the hand that had just stroked him before Sül could move it away; he held it in front of his mouth and breathed on it, reaching for the other hand and repeating the operation. Staring at those dark eyes, he guided the icy hands down and placed them inside his clothes, right over the warm skin of his abdomen. Sül felt the contraction of Caradhar's muscles by the cold, although his face showed no reaction; he noticed his own cheeks burning, and the frisson going up from his belly to the pit of his stomach, like an electrical current...

He pulled the younger elf towards himself and slipped the hand along his back, sinking his fingers into the flesh as they traced the line of his spine; his other hand dived into the waist of his breeches, between his hip and his crotch, avoiding his sex on purpose because he wanted to check how much he could arouse him with his caresses only; because he was well aware that he would always lose to him, always would be wrapped around his finger, and that was the only way he knew to make Caradhar desire and need him.

The redhead narrowed his eyes and raised his right hand to his partner's mouth, plunging index and middle finger into the moist cavity and pushing Sül into licking them; he shoved them after that into the Shadow's lower entrance, who moaned softly when they reached what they were looking for.

'Nnn... Ah... Not fair...' complained Sül, without much conviction. 'I wasn't... getting to the point yet...'

The dark-haired elf had to rest both hands on his companion's hips to keep balance; in the end, he pushed him towards a column, trapping his body against the stone. His panting mouth was almost stuck to Caradhar's, who brushed it with the tip of his tongue.

'Adhar... If you keep doing that... I'll come... Ah... Put it in...'

The gifted slipped down the stone surface to the floor, dragging his partner with him. Sül shifted his hands to the younger elf's groin and rubbed his member, stiff like a rod made of polished wood, as he discovered with pleasure. Unfastening his clothes he exposed it; his own black attire was undone, his legs placed astride, his hips guided while, inch by inch, Caradhar's ram opened its way into the breach.

Sül clasped his lover tightly in his arms, lacing his own hands together on his nape, among his entangled red hair, and kissed him with delight, like one would taste something that has been hungrily craved for; soon his body started to move at its own pace on Caradhar's lap.

Later on, they were still there, their bodies interlaced: Sül, leaning on Caradhar's chest, whose legs were surrounding his waist while his hands were busy under his shirt, caressing his scarifications.

'I can't see a way out, Adhar; you saved my life, but even if my neidokesh granted me a grace period, maybe so that I could snuff it in peace, he'll have to show my corpse soon or they will report it to the Inner Circle. Before that happens and you become their target too, I rather give myself up.'

'We could leave.'

'Darshi'nai'd find me; they never leave the chase, and their clutches reach every city. Bad moment, anyway, to travel North: they'd probably take us for spies and execute us...'

'We could go to the forests.'

'Adhar, you're so charming,' mocked Sül, with a smile, fondling the legs around him, 'but you haven't slept out in the open in your whole damn life. Weird stories are told about the forests...'

'Maybe your master is planning to let you escape; for what he told me, he'd have preferred to keep you if he had had the choice.'

'No... He'd never do that: he blindly obeys his patroness. I've been Maede Larsires' Darshi'nai, at House Llia'res, 'cause my neidokesh decided so; but he's been Dame Corail's Darshi'nai for ages, and would never dare to go against her. He's totally got the hots for her... You know? Once he told me, completely plastered, that they had been lovers in their youths. Can you believe it? A female like her, maybe a beauty, but with a stick up her arse... Later he warned me, when he became sober again, not to tell anyone about it, 'cause if she ever found out, she'd order him to kill me and then force him to hang himself with his own guts or something like that...'

'And why was that so important to remain secret? She must have had more lovers, no doubt...'

'Ah, but Dame Corail was a Maid of the Moon in her youth, didn't you know? One of the reasons why Lord Killien married her was, apart from her beauty, the prestige of having a virginal wife with a honourable position. Virgin!' Sül chuckled. 'I wonder how she managed to cheat the poor arsehole... My neidokesh swore blind, full of pride, that before her wedding he'd been the only elf that ever touched her...'

Caradhar froze, his fingers tense on his companion's back. Sül noticed, even through his clothes, the young elf's heart racing; he turned around and observed how his face had become blank and his empty gaze was lost in nowhere.

'Adhar, what's wrong? Adhar...' The Shadow faced him and slightly shook his shoulders. 'Caradhar... Caradhar!'

The elf seemed to come to his senses; he tilted his head, very slowly, and focused his red eyes on Sül.

'Nothing; I believe I finally came to know who my father is.'

House Elore'il. The young gifted hadn't set foot inside its walls for almost nine years. He wasn't back for pleasure, but because he couldn't think of any other way to solve things. Sül had become nervous, almost to the point of shaking, when he had heard about their next destination; Caradhar had assured him that it was their only option, if he didn't accept to leave Argailias.

Equipped with cloaks that hid their features, they had directed their steps to the noble House; once there, the youngest had managed to be received by the Maeda. His face was still known by part of Elore'il retinue and strangely, they didn't appear to be surprised by his long absence, nor impressed by his return. In a certain way, it was disturbing.

After a long wait, they were allowed inside the Maeda's most private chambers. They were both tense, but their reasons were different. Caradhar took off his cloak and entered without hesitation. Sül followed him; as if he were his shadow.

'It's been so long, Caradhar. You have changed.' said the female, admiringly, approaching her son. She hadn't changed at all: still as beautiful and majestic as ever. 'You've grown up... I'm so happy you are back...'

'I am here because I have no choice,' replied the young elf with impassive voice. 'I've got something to ask, and I can't take no for an answer.'

'Oh, my... That's unexpected...'

The lady rested her hand on the gifted's forearm; he felt tempted to move it away, but it had always been hard for him to resist his mother's smooth ways, and he wasn't planning to start a discussion. The hand went up and stroked his pale cheek with the fingertips; Corail, who had always been tall, now had to tilt her head upwards to look at his eyes; those were cold, but he didn't divert them.

The Maeda would have wished a more intimate moment with her son, absent for such a long time, but she was aware that they were not alone. Acting as if she had just noticed Sül's presence, whose face was still covered by his hood, she asked, looking in his direction:

'Is he who I think? Uncover yourself when you are in my presence, boy.' The Shadow obeyed automatically, raising his head very slowly. 'How comes you are not dead? I think your master was very clear about your orders, and your patron cancelled your contract...'

'Sül belongs to me. He has a blood contract with me. And you won't do anything to stop it, Corail: either now, or in the future. I never possessed anything, but you won't take this away from me.'

The lady raised her eyebrows. She walked away a few steps and had a seat, watching the young elf's determined figure.

'Why did you leave, Caradhar? Here's everything that really counts for you; I respected your decision; I deprived myself of your company, since I thought you needed some time, despite how important it is for me to have you at my side. Am I unfair, maybe, because I don't allow strangers to become too close to us? You know what's at stake; I never trusted those who quickly put themselves in position to know too many secrets.'

'Sül risked his life for me more than once; I never knew anyone more trustworthy, and he'd never betray me. If you still can't consent to him remaining in Argailias, then allow us to leave in peace and forever; because I'm not giving him up, Corail. Not this time.'

The female meditated on her son's words for a moment; her face betrayed the inner conflict that haunted her.

'What would you do, then,' she asked, finally, 'if I ordered him to take his own life? Right in this very moment.'

'I wouldn't let him do it; I'd bleed dry on him, if necessary; but you have my word about this: if you hurt him, you'll never see me or use me again.'

'Will you stay at Elore'il, with us, if I compromise? If I completely hand over his life to you, you won't leave me again?'

Caradhar took a deep breath; then he calmly answered:

'As long as he's safe.'

Dame Corail couldn't believe her luck: against all odds, the young Shadow had turned, from being the possible manipulator of his son's affections, to become the chain that would keep him tied to her. Caradhar seemed to be unaware of it, but Sül wasn't; his inquisitive eyes pierced his companion, whose attention was completely focussed on his mother's answer.

'It will be as you wish, then,' she said. 'Although he'll have to sing a new blood contract with you, before the Darshi'nai...'

'I have no intention of making him swallow poison again.'

'That isn't something for you to choose; a Shadow will never stop being a Shadow, and without a contract, they won't let him live. You must know that, even as his patron, you won't be the only owner of his fate.'

Sül placed his hand on Caradhar's arm and nodded gravely. He approached him even more and whispered to his ear: 'We aren't alone'. The gifted looked carelessly over his shoulder and said:

'I thought our private conversations were truly private. If there must be someone else listening, I'd rather that he came forward.'

Dame Corail frowned and looked around. It wasn't long before a figure became visible in a corner of the room, as if it had materialised out of the shadows. A furious grimace crossed the female elf's usually composed face.

'Neharall! How dare you? I told you we had to be left alone!'

Neharall, who was none other than Sül's master, removed his hood and walked towards Dame Corail.

'I humbly beg your pardon, My Lady,' he apologised, bowing his head; 'you know I always obey your every command, but under the present circumstances, I couldn't be sure about their intentions, or if they would venture to attack you.'

'You know very well they can't attack me.'

'Maybe not my lad but, the gifted? We both know what he's capable of...'

'No, I don't think we do.' The lady smiled without a hint of humour, and faced her Shadow. 'Your lack of efficiency in this whole affair gave me plenty to think about.'

'Darshi'nai tradition establishes that those whose blood contracts are broken should perish by effect of what's in their blood. I locked the boy and chained him; I locked the gifted as well...'

'Then obviously it wasn't enough,' she stated softly.

'I told you what I thought about using an agent whose abilities are so unpredictable, My Lady. You must have your own reasons to trust him; my duty, on the other hand, is warning you about the danger.'

Sül was a witness of all the dialogue with a mixture of fascination and fear. His attention turned now to Caradhar, now to the ones that, as he had just known, were his parents. He realised where the young elf had got his beauty and his bright red hair from. But it was when his master spoke, with that cold voice, that he really felt goosebumps; he understood from whom Caradhar had inherited part of his character, his ways, and that morbid fascination about his scars. And yet... the one who scared him the most was himself: could it be that he had decided to belong to the gifted because he had seen in him a certain reflection of his master's figure? Revered, respected, dreaded... Hopelessly loved...

'That's of little importance now,' settled Dame Corail. 'As you've listened to the conversation, you know where to stand. You'll see to sign the new blood contract. You'll take care of keeping Sül safe as well; if that's Caradhar's wish, I can only please him... And now, as it's been such a long time since our last meeting, I'd like to be left alone with...'

'With all due respect, My Lady,' spoke Neharall, trying hard to keep under his contained rage under control. 'All my life... all my life has been devoted to you, and I never questioned your orders, nor asked for anything that opposed your interests. And this... this disrespectful brat, who dares to call you by your name, who speaks to you with arrogance, obtains, with one word, what I never could with all my years of fidelity... Why?'

'Keep talking, Neharall, and you'll exhaust my patience. Don't you dare to question my decisions. Ever.' Corail approached the Shadow and looked him in the eye. 'I never used my commanding voice on you. Will you force me to do it today, for the first time?'

Neharall clenched his jaw. He walked to the door, and as he passed besides Sül, he took him by the arm; but something made him stop. He turned his head to Caradhar, with a weird look, and told him, in a quiet voice, so that only he could hear him:

'So my lad is your condition to return to the House. Darn... I miscalculated. Had I known about it... But no worries: I'm still in time to rectify my mistake...'

Again he headed to the door, dragging Sül behind. Caradhar watched them leaving, thoughtful; then he confronted his mother, a cold gaze on his face.

'So I take it, Corail, you never told Neharall that I am his son?'

The female elf turned pale; the unexpected words had taken her by surprise. The young one needed no further confirmation.

'Who told you that? She asked faintly.

'He was your Shadow; he was in the best position to know who got close to you, and it satisfied him that he was the only one. Although if you were able to hide me from him, who knows what other things you could have hidden...'

'I was a Maid in the Temple of the Moon... I spent two years in a spiritual retreat, practically without seeing anyone. I did it so that I could have you in secret...'

'Why didn't you simply hand me over? The Shadow's children belong to the Shadow; you would have got rid of an annoying problem.'

The Maeda sighed deeply, disheartened.

'For several reasons,' she said finally: 'First, because I didn't want to share my secret with anyone; not even him. Second, because you were born with the Gift, and even with an uncertain past, you'd have been very valuable for the House. And third...' She pursed her lips and raised her head, defiant. 'Third, because no son of mine was going to become the slave of an organisation of assassins.'

Caradhar stood right in front of Corail and looked at her with disdain.

'True: it was better for the House to keep the exclusive property of the slave, instead of sharing it.'

'You should thank me! Would you have preferred to be part of a sect that would have used you as a hired killer, risked your life constantly, transferred ownership over you to the best bidder and held power over your life and your death forever?'

'Can you explain, mother, what's the difference between that and what you have done to me through my whole life?'

The lady turned even more pale, if that was possible. She lowered her eyes, ashamed; stretching her hand, she brushed her son's one, that remained still at his side, and gently interlaced their fingers.

'I've committed many mistakes; but Caradhar, it hurts when you compare me with... I just wish you to be by my side... I love you and I need you with me...'

'I've been thinking I'm still in time to find out what would have happened then,' stated the gifted, moving his hand away. 'I'd like to know what will happen if I tell that Shadow that I am his son.'

'Are you out of your mind?' asked Corail, sceptical. 'Why would you do something like that?'

'Well; Neharall hates me; he thinks you and me are lovers and I want to take you away from him. Maybe if I tell him who I am, we can live together pacifically, don't you think? Without having him trying to kill any of us.'

Corail was dumbstruck, trying to assimilate the information. She managed to say:

'Neharall won't ever act against my orders...'

'Very true, right what you said before; which didn't prevent him from threatening Sül one minute ago. No; I'm not putting my Shadow in danger. Let's tell yours who I am; let's allow him to join our little family...'

'You can't do that!' She tensed up her hands on the arms of the chair. 'It'd be live delivering you to the Darshi'nai. I won't do that. And I can't believe that you think, ever for a moment...'

'And why don't you use your persuasiveness to convince him to keep his mouth closed? Such an alluring female like you...'

'Caradhar... I can't; that's the only question a Darshi'nai would never compromise on; and he the least of all...'

'Then, there's only one option left.'

Dame Corail closed her eyes.

'You want me to eliminate the best Shadow I could ever have, only because you think that young elf you took a liking to might be threatened by him...'

'You pretended to do the same to my Shadow; equilibrium is restored.' The red-haired elf bent over his mother, placing his hands on the arms of the chair, their faces barely apart. 'At the beginning I thought you despised a bastard son like me, Corail; it took me time to realise how valuable I am for you, how much you want to possess me. Well, to keep me the way you want you'll have to give up something, for the first time in your life...'

She slapped him as strong as she could, wounding his face with her signet ring; the cut closed right away, and he didn't even blink. Then she held him by his cheeks and violently kissed his lips; once they separated, she told him quietly:

'You are going to make me kill the one that gave me my only child... Your own father, Caradhar... I don't think you can figure out the meaning of that; I just hope you understand that, someday, you'll look back and wish you could change things...'

Later, the gifted put forward the situation to his Shadow; he hadn't expected him to receive the news with enthusiasm, by any means, but he wasn't prepared to find opposition either.

'I can't accept my neidokesh to be... neutralised like a rabbit in a trap. What's the plan?' he asked with irony. 'Will the Maeda order him to rip his guts with his own sword? Or maybe just to stand still while someone else jumps to do the job? No, I can't accept that... A Darshi'nai must die like a Darshi'nai...'

'And who do you suggest to take care of it?' asked Caradhar, coldly. 'You could never defeat him.'

Sül clenched his jaw: maybe his words were true, but that didn't mean they weren't hurtful.

'I can't understand why you have qualms whatsoever,' the younger elf added. 'Through all your life, the only thing he did was bashing you around.'

'He's the most similar to a father I ever had... Fuck, Caradhar, he's your father! Doesn't it turn your stomach?'

'He's someone that, since can't have me killed, rather finish you and trust that will help him to get rid of me. I just found out I come from his seed; I can't see why that should be relevant.'

Sül looked at him with tortured expression. He remained silent for some instants and then said:

'Right, I won't discuss. But, please, let me try to cross swords with him; let me, at least, to try to give him a honourable death...'

'You won't be able...'

'You'll be there to cover me.' The Shadow held the gifted by his shoulders and stared intensely at him. 'Please. Or I don't think I'll be able to live with it.'

Caradhar frowned, but didn't reply.

By nightfall, three elves still remained in a training room at House Elore'il, when the legitimate users of the guard had already left it.

Two of them, in the arena, were about to start a two-sword combat. They were wearing light clothes and boots, and their long black and brown manes, respectively, tied in ponytails. The third one, with bright red hair, watched while standing outside the circle.

That morning, upon receiving his disciple's proposal of training with swords, the veteran Shadow hadn't refused; however, he had approached Caradhar when the opportunity had arisen and had whispered: 'Are you trying to tempt me, or make my purpose easier?'. The redhead hadn't said anything: as far as the Shadow was concerned, his face was one of the hardest to read he had ever encountered. And when he had turned to Sül his luck hadn't been better: his young disciple also appeared to be impassive.

The Darshi'nai took positions and studied each other's features for some seconds. Neharall attacked first: his swords drew a downward arch over Sül's right hand; the latter covered with the short sword he was holding with his left and ventured a thrust with the main hand towards his opponent's shoulder, who blocked with both weapons as they slipped along the short sword and completed their swing. Since Sül's left side had been left unprotected when he raised the arm to defend, Neharall directed his next hit there; the young elf turned his body to dodge, dropped his left to block and thrust his long sword to his neidokesh's side; the latter rejected with his short weapon, and then his arms fanned out, strongly striking his opponent's weapons and making him move back by the impulse.

Neharall perfectly knew his adversary. Sül's two-weapon style was conservative, and he used, whenever possible, his short blade to defend and his long one to attack. He had an agile, fast and muscled body, well endowed for the two-sword dance; but given his youth he lacked of fluency to coordinate better his attacks with both weapons at the same time, or to change his pace alternating one and two-handed movements.

Yet Sül was fighting with concentration and decision; his master could judge it by the way he tightened his jaw, something he hadn't seen since the young elf was a kid who wanted to avoid punishments at any rate.

He looked at Caradhar from the corner of his eye; the gifted hadn't moved, not even shifted one inch; he was following the combat with a focused expression. But that small distraction cost Neharall dearly, because Sül took advantage of a gap he saw in his left side and dealt a blow, close enough to graze him and taste his blood.

This infuriated the veteran Shadow. In different circumstances, he would have amused himself by making his disciple dance to exhaustion; now, he decided to speed up the combat. His attacks started to rain down on Sül, who dodged them with a dexterity that surprised both his master and their only spectator. Neharall intended to put an end to all that, once and for all. He forced the young elf to walk backwards until the wooden edge of the circle; then feinted to his right, making his pupil block with both swords; and after that, as fast as a snake, the veteran dealt a blow that cut his opponent's left thigh and threw his own short sword towards Caradhar. Sül, as he expected, couldn't help turning his head around, eyes wide open; the young Shadow barely had time to see the amazed gifted looking down at the blade that was sticking out of his stomach, before being kicked by Neharall, tripping over the wooden edge and falling flat on his back. The attacker drove his long sword into the ground, at one side of his neck, so close that it opened a wound; then he stepped on the young elf's left wrist, immobilising it; finally, Neharall seized Sül's long sword and stuck it at the other side, making impossible for him to move his head; still he desperately tried to attack the leg holding his left arm, but his master kicked his wrist, and the sword he was holding flew out of reach.

'You are Darshi'nai, Sül; we don't practise fencing like nobles do: we only fight to win,' said Neharall, placing his hands around the hilts of both long swords.

Caradhar, who had gone down on his knees due to the pain, was doing right the same, trying to take the sword out of his stomach. From the floor, Sül's anxious gaze moved from his young companion back to his master, who was keeping an eye on both of them. The veteran reacted with disdain.

'You allowed him to turn you into a wimp,' continued Neharall; in the background could be heard the gifted's strangled cry of suffering, as he pulled out the weapon. 'I think it's useless, to keep taking care of you; I was wrong: I should have killed you right there, when they broke your contract. And you,' he warned, facing Caradhar, who was preparing to leap on him with the short sword in his hand, 'stay where you are or I'll cross the swords, and we'll check how nicely your blood works with a severed head.'

Sül tried to release himself, with the only result of having both blades biting deeper into his flesh. The gifted tried to decide his next movement; he knew he didn't stand a chance against the Shadow, who might well carry out his threat.

'If you kill him, you won't accomplish anything,' he said. 'The Maeda will know why you did it, and you will lose her trust anyway.'

'You have too high an opinion of yourself, haven't you, brat? Do you think she's eating right out of your hand? Maybe I should push my luck; maybe I should simply dispose of you.'

'No!' shouted Sül. 'She would destroy you!'

'Really?' asked Neharall, ironically. 'You don't know Dame Corail: she values the practical side of things, more than revenge. If she lost a gifted, why would she also deprive herself of the best Darshi'nai? Out of spite of losing a simple lover?'

He pulled out the swords. Their edges cut both sides of the young spy's neck; one of the cuts was very deep, and a trail of blood started to flow from the wound. Neharall walked towards Caradhar, menacing.

'He isn't her lover,' said Sül, weakly, moving the hand to his neck. 'He's her son... He's your own blood...'

The veteran Shadow stopped, his face portraying his scepticism. He stood half-way between them, watching them with suspicion.

'You surprise me, Sül,' he finally remarked; 'you were never prone to tell tall stories. I guess that's a consequence of desperation...'

'I'm not lying... You said so yourself... Remember Dame Corail's years in the Temple of the Moon... And right after... an orphan with the Gift appears at the gates of House Llia'res...' The elf tried to sit up. 'Shit... Look at him... Look at him and tell me if you don't see her...'

Neharall stared at the young red-haired elf, for the first time, in a different light: the flaming hair, over the pale skin; the delicate shape of his face; his nose and reddish eyebrows, finely sculpted; his full lips, with determined expression... Except his eyes: those eyes showed the same gaze as his own. Doubt seized him.

Caradhar took advantage of the moment to give aid to his fallen friend, who was growing weak due to the loss of blood; he closed his wound, but also poured through his lips the contents of a phial; a phial of golden liquid... Sül only had time to shoot an inquisitive look to the gifted before his master aimed his sword at the latter's neck and reached for the empty phial. The spy observed the container, forced Caradhar to raise his chin with the flat of the blade and asked him:

'What did you give him to drink, alchemist apprentice?'

'My own version of some notes I found in the Grand Laboratory,' answered the young elf, after some consideration. 'It took me eight years to refine it.'

'Oh, really? And what does it...?'

Neharall suddenly closed his mouth. It can't be, he thought; it can't be... but if it is... He tried to move the sword and aim it at Sül, but his arm didn't obey him; he could barely move it a couple of inches, with trembling hand, before his will wavered and had to drop the weapon and avert his eyes, because thinking was hard and his brain was unable to command his muscles to perform any offensive movement against the young Shadow. He felt nauseous; turning around, he tried to walk away, with faltering steps.

'Stop,' ordered Sül; the veteran had no choice but to do it. 'Drop your weapons.'

The new order was followed; the metallic sound was the only thing they could hear for a long time. Finally, the sound of Sül's light steps echoed in the hall. He stood firm in front of his master; his face, the image of sorrow. Neharall smiled bitterly.

'Tell me you stole the formula, and at least I'll feel proud of your cunning; because, if she willingly gave it to you, then... That would mean she herself asked for my head...'

'Caradhar isn't a liar; if he said he got it that way, then it's true.'

'It hurts your pride, doesn't it? Having to use that to eliminate your neidokesh...'

'Maybe. But I didn't ask for it, and at least that much has become clear to me: that Darshi'nai only fight to win. One way or another.'

Neharall grinned. Then he observed, hoping against all hope:

'It was a good one, the thing about that boy being my son; it struck a cord. Which proves that weaknesses always lead to perdition.'

'I didn't lie, either: she's his mother. You were in the best position to know if there was someone else; but there wasn't.'

Neharall turned his head very slowly, to look once more at Caradhar, silent witness of the scene. The young elf stared back with his usual impassive face.

'What a female...' sighed the veteran. 'To think that she was able to keep him hidden from me... She has always been, not only the most beautiful, but also the most dangerous. If I had known it... If I had know you were my own son...'

'Then she'd had had to get rid of you, as she'd never accept to deliver him to Darshi'nai; and know this, My Lord: neither would I.'

'You'll never make a good Darshi'nai, Sül: the greatest pride you can experience is that your blood belongs to Darshi'nai.'

'I'll take your word for it, My Lord.'

Sül felt wounded deep inside; his blood wasn't his master's, yet it had been likewise delivered to them. He bent down and picked up one of the swords; clenching his jaw, he aimed it at Neharall's neck, who shook his head.

'No; allow me, at least, to savour my own death, lad.'

The young elf knit his eyebrows in a gesture of grief; he dropped his sword at his master's stomach height and forced himself to raise his head to look him in the eye; with a sudden movement, he sank the blade to the hilt.

Neharall doubled up with pain, and tried to hold on to his disciple, who grabbed him and gently helped him to sit on the floor. Despite the suffering, his lips curved into a half-smile upon resting his gaze again on Sül's dark eyes, where a single tear sparkled.

In that moment, Caradhar came closer, leaned forward and whispered at the dying elf's ear something that only he could hear. Neharall's smile became wider; then he coughed, staining his lips with a mouthful of blood, and lay motionless.

To the South of Argailias there was a road that crossed straight a high-grass meadow; so high it could hide anyone going inside. However, they weren't enough to cover the great expanse of forest raising at the end of the road; a huge green sea extending, from East to West, as far as the eye could see. The elves knew it as the Forest of the Ancient Race. Nobody would take the Southern path to advance into its denseness; through leagues and leagues it spread out, to the very rim of the ocean, but the elves had always used the Eastern havens. The Forest of the Ancient Race was too dangerous, too gloomy and too full with legends, even for the most adventurous.

But right before its edges, stolen from the grass and trees, there was a valley of burial mounds, to where the elves had been bringing their dead since the founding of the city. Soft mounds, covered with flowers in spring, marked the resting places, merging with the green landscape. If anyone took the Southern path, it was surely to bid farewell to a loved one.

Someone had just interred a corpse in the valley, as showed the freshly removed soil, that had not yet had time to be covered by grass. A group of hooded figures approached the newly dug grave, under the cloak of darkness. Two of them, equipped with shovels, started to dig; another three simply observed.

'Are we certain, then?' asked one of the three watchers. It was a male voice; its language, unknown.

'Dainhaya was on call in the city, Father,' answered another male voice; 'she was holding the thread, as usual, and she went to sleep with the raising of the moon. She had a death dream; upon her awakening, in distress, the thread was broken. We watched with care everyone who took the Southern road; we believe it has to be this one.'

The one referred to as 'Father' awaited, with grave expression, for the body to be taken out of the ground; according to the Argailian tradition, it was wrapped into an undyed linen shroud, fastened with thin strings. In the dark, the figures carefully unwrapped the corpse. The two males that had spoken leaned to study it in detail; the third figure, that had remained silent and apart, finally joined them. It wasn't long before that person moved a hand to the mouth, to muffle a sigh; then, that same hand reached for the deceased's face and stroked it, with great gentleness.

'Is there any doubt, Dainhaya? inquired the one that had spoken first.

'He has his mother's features,' finally spoke the third figure, with female voice. 'I searched and searched in Argailias, feeling his presence at the other end of the thread, and yet I can swear, by the Loom, that I never set eyes on his face before. How's that possible?'

'You couldn't have, if he perpetually lived under a roof, or in the shadows.'

'The tree gained so many rings during the time we spent in his footsteps, and he is only returned to us after death. Is that fair, pray?' The so called Dainhaya's voice betrayed her despair.

'If there's a fruit, there had to be a seed. Do not be overcome by discourage, my child, because our work just started. Now we have to find out as much as possible about the life he led in the city. Who knows? Our wait may not have been in vain. Let's go.'

The two workers left the mound as they found it; later, they carried the corpse and prepared to leave the place. But before that, Dainhaya placed again, with reverence, the shroud impregnated with fragrant soil on the face of Neharall.

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