THE CHAINED GIFT XXII: A shadow is revealed

Five days of journey had affected Sül, not as much physically as mentally. The uncertainty about the mysterious Darshi'nai (because he thought it had to be a Shadow, what else?) had kept him in suspense and had taken over his thoughts as he speculated. He had been experiencing the feeling of being observed for months. Was he somebody under Dame Corail's orders? Keeping her son under surveillance was so much like her. But that guy was too good... Sül was aware of his own limitations, but prided himself of possessing a sixth sense that didn't use to fail. That Darshi'nai's concealment abilities had to be incredible.

But once he exhausted the topic he couldn't get out of his head the picture of Caradhar in Darial's clutches. Gloomy images of his companion came to his mind: tied up, beaten up, at the mercy of that extremely dangerous spy... And more than anything he kept watching the alchemist, his dirty hands running over the gifted's skin... It wasn't hard: it was something he had already witnessed in the past and tried to forget, unsuccessfully. And now... He knew Caradhar's safety eclipsed everything else, yet couldn't help but feeling that horrible jealousy, and hated himself for that. He didn't know how, but for the gods that he would have that slithering yellow-haired snake dying in his hands... Something he should have done before, and to hell with Elore'il laboratory, the damn potions and all the rest. The only thing in the world that mattered to him might be right then under...

Clenching his teeth, he would spur the horse one more time and concentrate on the pursuit. At that pace it wouldn't be long before he wore the animal out, although it really didn't matter, since he'd have to walk soon. He was reaching the end of the relatively safe area and the roads would be crawling with patrols he had to avoid at any cost. His only consolation was thinking that those vermin would be slowed down too. He prayed for it.

Before the dawn of the sixth day, after walking in the dark for hours guiding the horse and barely three hours of sleep, Sül was woken up by the sound of steps approaching among the trees. He frightened the horse away and climbed up the nearest tree; then crouched on a branch and waited.

Four humans appeared in his field of vision. They wrapped themselves in brown cloaks that didn't reveal their allegiance and were holding his weapons. They looked like rangers; it wasn't the first of those patrols that he had found but he had managed to avoid them all. He never left traces that betrayed the places where he stopped to rest.

He cursed quietly because they had chosen that place to come to a halt. Maybe they had listened some noise he should have spared. Yet the mystery of their affiliation was revealed soon as they started to talk using a northern dialect; luckily he was familiar with it and could understand their words.

'... And I tell you I heard a horse.'

'Then look for your damn horse yourself, I am tired.' The one that had spoken secondly flopped down on a fallen trunk.

'Ah-ha! Hoof prints. A rider just passed by.'

'Just? Since when did you become an expert tracker?'

'A tracker my balls. The only thing he knows how to track are the lasses' cleavages... At that at the cost of getting slapped all the time.'

That brought out the laughter of the rest, who followed the example of the one who had taken a seat. The one that had spoken first kept scrutinising the ground around them for a while, unsatisfied.

'Hah! I wouldn't mind to track a good cleavage, with or without slaps,' said another of the humans. How many days have we spent in this damned outpost in the middle of nowhere? If this continues, I warn you I won't turn my nose up to anything. In war time every hole is a trench...'

'You weren't there when the two elves with the cutie passed by, right?' asked the one that hadn't spoken yet when the laughters ceased.

'Cutie? What are you talking about?'

'Yesterday at the base two elves appeared. They knew our exact position. We halted them, but they carried a safe-conduct from Misselas.' Sül opened his eyes wide and pricked up his ears. 'They were carrying a bundle on the back of the horse that happened to be a red-haired beauty. Well, I just caught a glimpse of her and she was gagged and tied up like a stuffed sausage, but if they had left the horse unguarded for some minutes I swear I would have stuffed her with something else...'

'Your red-haired beauty' said the one that had been absent, rejoining the group, 'was a male, not a female, you idiot.'

More laughters. The one telling the anecdote frowned, annoyed. Then he mumbled:

'How the blazes should I know how to tell them apart? I tell you, male or female, I wouldn't have cared less: he'd still have a place to stick it in, and I bet it was much better than any of your hairy bottoms.'

The rest of the humans kept mocking him. Sül had to fight the impulse to jump on that guy and beat the crap out of him. And why not? After all they were only four damn humans... Four enemies less and it wouldn't take him a minute. He unsheathed his swords.

The quartet chose that moment to finish their rest and resume their road. Sül stifled a curse, sheathed again and prepared to follow them. After a reasonable length of time he went down the tree and walked behind them, silent as a feline. His weapons were burning in his hands; he was dying to plunge them into those disgusting Northerner's necks... Just one more minute...

He was ready to spring at the one at the back when something landed on him and immobilised him: someone, to be more precise. Except that he was as unable to see his attacker as he had been to hear him coming... He tried to escape the grip but it was completely impossible. What the hell...?, he thought. And he couldn't think further because a new rustle of steps was heard, and the small group of four met another five humans that had come up from the trees. Sül held his breath.

Once the humans had disappeared, the Shadow still had to wait some time to be able to move. The burden that had held him so far disappeared suddenly, and the young elf rolled over onto his back and drew his daggers: there was no-one there.

He was wondering what kind of prodigy that was, or if they had managed to expose him to some drug, when something even more unexpected happened: a voice whispered besides him. It had a strange accent, and he was sure it was the first time he ever heard it. He held out his arm to make sure the empty space around him was really empty...

'Keep up the foolishness and I will leave you behind, Darshi'nai,' said the voice. 'I told you to avoid the patrols. Do you want to be killed? At best the route is swarming with spies and your only achievement will be letting that Misselan know that he's being followed. Just for once, think with your head and not with something else.'

Sül swallowed and pursed his lips. He asked in a low, tense voice:

'Who are you? How the fuck do you do that? If you're a friend, why won't you let me see you?'

'I'm a friend, Sül.' The voice became kinder, almost warm. 'I've guided you through the right track and I assure you we will help the boy. But you know those two are too dangerous and have allies. We'll do it my way because it's the only way, do you understand? Now make haste, you have to walk. Follow the path I indicated and don't go off course.'

***

Darial rode behind the Misselan elf, who carried on the back of his horse a very special red-haired package. He thanked Therendas as he had brought with him some potions to fight the fatigue, because they still had days of journey ahead of them and he wasn't used to that intense exercise.

Overloading the animal was delaying them. The elf had made himself clear: it was hard enough for both of them alone to reach their destination, and the extra burden made the task more dangerous. The alchemist had suggested they could force the prisoner to ride besides them, but his guide had other plans: he was well aware of the nature of the relationship between those two and wasn't going to take the risk of having to deal with an elf whose attention would be focused on satisfying his desires. The gifted would be treated like a bundle until they got to a safe place.

The alchemist had accepted reluctantly. He was trying to control himself, but couldn't resist the urge to peek at his bundle, and the occasional contact despite the thick fabric and the ropes that immobilised him. When he had finally got what he wanted, he couldn't even touch it... It was maddening.

More than once he had wondered if he hadn't rushed into trusting that elf. After all, his only security were his potions. What if they had managed to become generally immune to them in his homeland? The Misselan had told him his abilities weren't common and he had needed a long training. He had also assured him his skills and alchemical formulas were too valuable and would guarantee his safety, and he would have his own laboratory at his disposal to run it his own way.

It was too late to back out. Besides, every time he laid his eyes on his precious load, every time he sneakily brushed some escaped ruby lock and thought of what awaited inside there... he felt it was worth it.

For the time being he would simply try to follow his guide's instructions and keep himself safe. The commanding voice was a formidable defence but it wouldn't shield him from a long range arrow. Moreover the Misselan knew perfectly the best routes and the locations of the northern outposts. With the help of allies they would arrive to Varemethe soon.

***

Sül had the feeling he advanced at a snail's pace. He had light feet, but the distance to cover was too long and he had to slow down every time a patrol had to be avoided. There were Northerners everywhere.

His own mysterious guide wasn't felt anywhere. Sometimes he believed he ran through long distances in complete solitude, and other days he felt a pair of eyes fixed on him. It was the same sensation he had experienced in Argailias, although now he knew the reason.

As he had suspected they were on the road to Varemethe. The southern ally troops were stationed within a couple of hours marching distance, awaiting to launch the attack that would allow them to retake the city. It wasn't a big deal for a Shadow to evade the defences of one or two armies, but he didn't know how he would work it out once he finally had to face the alchemist. His guide hadn't been kind enough to enlighten him on that matter... or to tell him his name.

From the branches of a tree he watched the scene of those thousands of elves and humans waiting for the moment to engage in combat. Somewhere in the middle of that tide the Prince himself and his generals coordinated their forces with their allies from Therendanar. That vision would have impressed him in the past, but now it seemed empty and senseless: they'd fight for the possession of a waste land full with abominations; thousands would die for the sake of producing substances like the potion that was currently eating away his entrails. He had no words to express his disdain. Now that army and the one inside the city walls were nothing but a nuisance standing between him and Caradhar.

'Greetings, Sül.'

'I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten me and planning to clear off on my own,' calmly remarked the Shadow, not even bothering to turn around and check where the voice came from. 'Tell me you know where they are.'

'I know where they are. We are only two days late. Sadly the boy didn't have the chance he wanted to neutralise the Grand Alchemist. They kept him tied up all this time.'

'And how... how can you know that, whoever-you-are?' And why do you call him 'the boy', you bastard?, thought Sül. 'Look, truth's I don't care shit how: I just want you to tell me where they are.'

'They are in a house in the city. It won't be hard for me to find the right one. But tell me, Sül, what do you intend to do, once you're there?' asked the voice, softly.

'I'll go in, find Caradhar and take him away. Once he's safe I'll search for Darial and kill him. And I'll make sure he suffers.'

'You know the only one among us who has a chance against him is the boy, don't you? You can't leave him out. If you take him out of there, you must forget the alchemist.'

'That isn't happening.'

Silence. After a moment the voice sounded again.

'Let's go. We'll study the situation on-the-spot. But you can't make any move. A false one and someone will end up dead. You must keep your cool. You know it.'

Sül didn't answer.

***

Caradhar woke up in the same room he had been locked in before he closed his eyes. There were no windows yet some light came from under the door. He had no idea how much time had passed, but after spending days lying on the back of a horse, unable to move, he had been exhausted.

Apparently luck wasn't shining upon him. That spy hadn't loosened his ropes a single minute and he hadn't had the chance to take care of Darial. He doubted he could have done it anyway, since that elf didn't lose sight of him. Trying to cut his former guardian's throat was useless with that Misselan going around them all day: he would have to wait for a better chance.

A chance that didn't seem forthcoming, since he was still tied up, only that this time... The gifted glanced at the thick ropes that bound his wrists to a bar of the wall on top of the bed where he was lying. He swallowed, because that position was too familiar... Taking advantage of his free legs he sat up and pulled as hard as he could, but the bar was too solid and the ropes too sturdy. He got a firm foothold on the wall, clenched his jaw and tried again. He pulled and pulled, so hard that the skin of his neck and cheeks reddened; the fibres painfully bit on his wrists and his arms almost became dislocated, without success. Panting, he looked around, but there was nothing he could use as a pulley. He tried to bite the ropes and verified that cutting them would take forever...

Caradhar relaxed and studied the place. From what he had heard that had to be a room in a house in Varemethe. That spy really had convinced Darial to leave one of the most prestigious positions in the Argailian society and pass over to the enemy. He had also noticed his looks of mistrust towards him; strange, keeping in mind there were no reasons to think he could resist the alchemist's orders. Like Sül, the gifted guessed he was a northern Darshi'nai: a very mighty one, in the circumstances.

The room door was opened and the one occupying his thoughts came in, carrying a plate. Without a word he approached his prisoner and left the plate besides him, sitting on the other end of the bed. They both stared at each other.

'You should eat,' finally said the Misselan. 'I know you must be already recovered from the trip, but I can't say we fed you properly these days. My sincere apologies.'

Caradhar didn't move a muscle, although he found curious that his own jailer would apologise for the way he was treating him. He sat facing him, his tied arms resting in the most comfortable position he could afford.

'I tried to keep Darial away from you all this time because we couldn't allow ourselves to be distracted until we arrived to a safer place,' continued the elf, 'but I'm afraid I ran out of arguments. Tomorrow you will surely receive his visit and I suppose you know what is going to happen.' The gifted didn't say a word. 'Of course you do. I'm sorry; this situation doesn't please me at all but you were his condition to start this trip, and I have to keep him satisfied.'

Caradhar remained silent. Had Darial gone so far and he was one of his reasons? How flattering.

'Why aren't you afraid, young elf?' asked the spy, his eyes riveted on him. 'Are you so indifferent to all this?'

'How do you know I am not afraid?'

'Not even a single time since we left Argailias. It's... as if you knew something we don't. Our Grand Alchemist won't listen to reason but I won't stop watching, and if I have to use violence...'

The Misselan left, closing the door. In the semi-darkness Caradhar awaited, not knowing what. Then he tried the food on the plate, because his body needed to be fed for whatever was lying ahead.

***

'This is the house.'

'Did you see them?'

'No, but the boy is there. Him and half a dozen of elves; Misselans, from how they talk. And the ex-prisoner. And the alchemist.'

Sül grimaced. From his position on top of a near roof he was watching a rather normal looking house, flanked by other two in a narrow street. He had to fight the impulse to run towards the house and break into it until he found Caradhar. It was fairly absurd, because he wasn't even sure to find him there: he only had his mysterious ally's word.

'Remind me why I simply don't go in and take him out.'

'Because Darial would command you to jump on your own sword and you would obey,' said the voice, softly. 'If it's any comfort to you, he didn't lay his hands on the boy. Yet.'

Sül couldn't help but feeling one of the knots in his stomach coming undone. He closed his eyes and slightly leant against the stone wall he was using as a parapet.

'How... how can you know those things?' he whispered, confused.

'I'll tell you soon. But now we have to concentrate on this.'

***

The door was opened, shaking off Caradhar's sleepiness. In the last hours he had just received another visit from the Misselan with more food. But it wasn't him this time; it was...

'Finally.'

Darial stood still for a second and observed the gifted from the entrance, with a look of triumph in his yellow eyes. The light of the lamp cast sinister shadows on his sharp features. He placed it on the first available table and turned around to lock the door. Then he walked towards the tied up young elf, who was following his movements with his red, restrained look, and watched him from above with a sickly sweet smile, taking anticipated delight in the situation. He dropped his cloak and slapped his prisoner hard; the redhead tilted his head but showed no further reaction. The alchemist harshly grabbed his neck and pushed his tongue between his lips, and a slight hum of satisfaction resounded inside the younger elf's mouth. His kisses are as disgusting as ever, Caradhar thought, forcing himself to let him do. When Darial reluctantly parted his lips he stroked the cheek right where he had hit it.

'I'm rough,' said the alchemist, sliding his tongue along the skin he was stroking, 'but you have to understand that some punishment is deserved for everything you made me go through. Do you see what I'm capable of doing for you? What I already did?' He whispered at his ear. 'For you I was able to kill the former Grand Alchemist. Believe me when I tell you that you will never leave my side.'

He took a knife out of his clothes and brandished it, smiling again.

***

'Darial entered his room; alone.'

The voice itself seemed to be surprised of sounding aloud. Sül became tense. No, that was too much: did he pretend him to wait doing nothing, while...?

(Vira, why did you tell him?, projected Dainhaya inside Vira's mind. Now there's no way you can stop Sül.)

(My bad, I'm sorry. But Dainhaya, I have to go in. We aren't allowing him to do it, right?, answered Vira, using his thoughts only, to the female elf who was communicating mentally with him. Not if we have the chance to stop him, and we have.)

(If the alchemist seized your will he could force you to kill anyone, you included. It's too dangerous.)

(Dainhaya, he's going to rape him.)

(He knew that could happen and still left with them. It's horrible, but I don't want to risk the life of none of you three.)

(I'm going in.)

(Vira...)

(You forget the boy. I have faith in him.)

(Vira!)

Vira decided not to pay attention to the consciousness that was projected in his mind and prepared to sneak into the house. It didn't take him long to realise something was wrong: he had been distracted for some seconds and Sül wasn't there anymore.

-Shit.

The elf almost flew to his destination.

***

'I'm sorry I have to do this with your clothes, but I rather leave the bonds. It's been so long... Don't worry, we'll get you new ones. I don't want anybody else to take pleasure in watching what belongs to me...'

Darial finished slipping the knife along the last shreds of the gifted's shirt and stripped his chest and arms. Almost smacking his lips he moved his hand over the exposed soft skin and took his time with exploring every corner, as if his fingers were trying to recall the map of his anatomy. Nervous, he threw the knife away, unfastened the upper part of his robe and lay on the elf, lasciviously rubbing himself against him, his tongue licking the furrow in the middle of his pectorals and the line of his collarbone. The bulge between his legs touched his young partner's crotch and the alchemist felt he couldn't take more time, as he had intended: he had to take him right then. His feverish fingers ran towards the redhead's breeches; he stuck his mouth to his lips again while they made their way to release the young elf's groin, and when they were in contact with the soft flesh of his member they took their time to feel it roughly. The breeches bothered him: he wanted every inch of that body that had been denied to him for such a long time completely exposed, so he pulled them down until nothing was coming between his eyes and Caradhar's white skin. Fixing them on that spot between his thighs, he reached for his own breeches and started to untie them.

A dark silhouette appeared, swords unsheathed, outlined against the light of the entrance. Darial turned around and looked there with incredulous eyes, and his face flushed with anger when he recognised Sül. For a moment he was speechless...

When he finally reacted, ready to shout an order that finished that despicable bodyguard once for all, he felt Caradhar's legs trapping his neck and covering his mouth. He opened his eyes wide in astonishment. How the blazes...? He squirmed nervously, trying to release himself of the hold, using his arms as well and cruelly sinking his nails into the young elf's thighs to make him ease off the pressure. To pronounce an order, that was all that he wanted... He tried to find the knife, madly asking to himself if there was someone left who could be affected by the commanding voice, but he had thrown it too far away.

Caradhar, teeth clenched, kept putting pressure and held the pain the best he could. He knew that if he allowed Darial to talk, Sül would be as good as dead.

As for the Shadow, he felt suddenly struck by his own stupidity. What he had just done was the basic of the things his neidokesh had taught him to avoid, but that wasn't the time to think about it. He couldn't attack that yellow-haired dog, but could take advantage of the break provided by his companion to cut the ropes. He walked towards the bed...

A blade grazed his right side, causing him a flesh wound. He had dodged it by pure instinct, as he hadn't even noticed anybody else coming into the room. Upon turning around with his two swords ready for combat he faced the Misselan spy.

Fast as lightning the spy thrust his sword, going for his chest. Sül bent, letting the blade pass besides him; then the elf used his left hand to hit the other side, and the Shadow parried with his long sword. The Misselan stared at him with a strangely calmed expression and simply stood on guard, as if he had allowed his opponent to take the initiative.

Sül strengthened his grip on his weapons and thrust his right one against his enemy's forearm, who deflected without effort. The Shadow chained an attack with his left that was practically blocked half way by the other elf's long sword. New attack with his main weapon and new block; Sül tried a double blow, both weapons flying from both sides, and they were intercepted; almost instantly he kicked his legs with the intention of knocking him down, but the spy simply jumped and evaded it. The dark-haired elf panted slightly, knitting his eyebrow. He felt as if he was being toyed with...

(I have to intervene, Dainhaya, thought Vira, from his hidden position besides the entrance. Not only is that elf able to shield his mind against mine but also can anticipate Sül's movements without any problem.

He faced the door; I think somehow he knows I am here.)

(That is because you don't shield your thoughts as I taught you. Stay where you are: if the alchemist manages to free himself, even if just for one second, it will be your ruin and his.)

Those words were unfortunately prophetic. Darial pulled the leg that covered his mouth away with his last ounce of strength and articulated a strangled 'halt!'. The gifted resumed his squeezing with so much energy that he could feel his temples pulsating, but it was of no avail: the Shadow stood still.

The Misselan buried the blade of his long sword inside Sül's stomach, almost up to the hilt. The young elf looked down, very slowly, and fell on his knees.

Caradhar yelled through his tightened teeth, and put everything he had left into that endless hold. Darial fainted; the gifted didn't even wait to get his breath back before renewing the desperate yanks at the ropes that bound him.

Almost instantly the Misselan jumped aside, as dodging an invisible attack, with a spark of surprise in his normally peaceful eyes. He stood back to the wall and seemed to concentrate on his surroundings. He moved his hand to his belt, still holding the sword, and managed to throw a handful of blinding dust to an apparently empty space in front of him. Part of the dust didn't fall to the ground, as expected. It landed in mid-air, shaping a silhouette: the silhouette of someone who was invisible. The spy's surprise intensified, and even Caradhar turned his head to look upon his shoulder.

Before their amazed eyes, the vaguely defined outline turned into solid ebony, and definitely humanoid. Stripe after stripe the black was replaced with horizontal sections that gradually formed a person's body, until the last dark line disappeared.

An elf stood in front of the others. He was extremely tall and muscular: there was no doubt about that, because he seemed to wear nothing but a tight green jumpsuit, so dark that almost looked like black, which covered him completely from the neck to his hands and feet. Only his head was visible, with his handsome face and long braided hair that reached his waist. Both hair and eyes were of an intense dark wine colour...

The apparition focused his attention on the Misselan. He raised his hand, and the dark outline of a throwing blade materialised at the end of his fingers; again the black stripes adopted the colours of a real metal blade until there was none left. The tall elf used the confusion he had caused to throw the blade at the spy, who barely dodged it. A thin cut appeared along his cheek where the weapon had grazed it. The blade stuck in the wall vanished.

The Misselan regained his sangfroid because he knew his life was at stake. He had never witnessed such a prodigy, but he would make every effort, as it was proverbially said, to fight another day. He jumped on the dark elf and attacked with both hands; the latter's figure became a blur as he evaded; a long sword materialised in his left hand and a new throwing blade in his right. His arm looked like an undefined spot as he returned the attack, and the Misselan found himself blessing his ability to sense the direction of the blows, because those movements were extraordinarily difficult to follow. Apparently he was going to need some extra help...

The elf in dark threw the blade. It wasn't aimed to his opponent, but to the ropes that bound Caradhar, and hit his target. But the spy quickly jumped towards the gifted, since the distance between them was now shorter, and used him as a shield, his sword biting through his throat. Blood started to pour along the metal blade down to the hilt, bathing the elf's fingers. The elf in dark intensely stared at him.

The long sword in his left hand disappeared. A javelin materialised in its place. The spy pursed his lips and took even better cover behind his shield, and the blade sank even more inside the young elf's flesh, to a point that would had been deadly for a normal elf. His rival looked at Caradhar's chest, and then up at his red eyes... The gifted seemed to nod almost imperceptibly...

The elf in dark hurled the javelin with all the strength of his arm, through the red-haired elf's chest, at the place where the Misselan's heart should be. The spy barely had the chance to blink and look down at the end of the weapon, sticking out of his prisoner's body. His hands slipped towards the crimson stream running down the boy's neck and soaked in it... His eyes closed.

The javelin disappeared as well. The bodies of both elves slid down the wall, yet Caradhar's one never touched the ground because the one in dark took him in his arms. The wound in his neck started to close, and also his chest; but to the gifted's disgrace the javelin had also pierced his own heart and made him faint. The elf in dark mumbled a curse and dragged the inert body towards Sül, who was lying still. He cut Caradhar's wrist without ceremony, removed the Shadow's clothes and bathed the wound with the blood.

'Wake up... Wake up, boy, curse you...' he mumbled as he did with anxious voice, shaking the motionless body. 'Wake up once and for bloody all! And you damn idiot, don't you dare to die... Don't you dare to die on me... Don't you dare...'

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