Chapter 605: An Elf’s Tale, Part 1
Something... happened.
It was as if... the state of reality had disconnected from her perception of it all.
One moment she was spinning, swinging, igniting blinding sparks as she clashed blades, feeling within a surging torrent of strength that crumbled any obstacle that dared stand before her.
And then the next... the silver-elf was gaining, dominating – she felt her might deflected, her thundering blows forced back. She couldn’t even recall when precisely she had been disarmed of her sword, or when she was sent crashing headfirst into the snow.
But it happened, and it happened fast... too fast too even tell.
Confused blinking found her suddenly immobile, plunged in a void of darkness, wracked with a sensation, an agony that even stole her of her voice.
She could feel the pain pervading every inch of her body, like a pouring stream, a crashing tide – forcing her, feeling it almost as if stifling her very will to fight. Like a voice within commanding her... and she could do nothing but obey.
.....
But this sensation... was not entirely unfamiliar. She remembered that human, that woman, how effortlessly she wrenched free a branch from one of the unbreakable trees – and there a very similar sensation emanated from the skin of her palms back then.
No, it was the same.
This was the same.
“Elf successfully subjugated,” cried a gruff voice under a heavy strain... before another person groaned from elsewhere, sounding just as encumbered. “The spell will hold, she won’t resist. It’d be wise to call for your Master now, Knight.”
Eshwlyn somehow managed to lift her eyes free from the earth, peering over a bloodied mound of snow to see the silver-elf walk the corpse-riddled field, her red locks casting a shadow of disquiet upon her face.
“There was a younger one that ran, a younger one that this one here attempted to stall time for... a sibling, most likely...” then, for the first time, the two Elves locked eyes with one another, a pair of deep yellow eyes void of any empathy staring down at her kind. Eshwlyn stared, trying to plead, trying to beg, letting her thoughts echo, hoping maybe she’ll hear, maybe she’ll help, before, with a blink, she answered back. “Never mind the young one. It is not worth the effort. You – take more men, prepare a carriage and load the bodies. And you – force the Elf to her feet. We will bring her out to my Master. He shall be the one to decide her fate.”
Like invisible rope coiled around her muscles, Eshwlyn felt her body forced into motion – an ethereal force snapping her bones into its place, pulling her back up unsteadily, painfully... then, the pressure unrelenting, her legs began to wobble forward.
To her left, one of the red-hooded figures maintained a fair distance from, his eyes gazing in a loud, loathing silent, an open palm outstretched towards her, quivering slightly with his hatred.
“Where did you even attain a weapon like this, I wonder?” on the right, gleamed a familiar silver shimmer – her blade firmly in the hands of the red-haired Elf, her yellow eyes roused with suspicion. “Such skills, finesse... amateurish, but... curious nonetheless... curious, indeed.”
Eventually, her strength began to leave her body once more, the wound in her abdomen adding only to the pain she couldn’t even express – as if she was nothing more but a shambling corpse, already dead.
And for all Eshwlyn knew, she might already be.
But it was alright to her, she did not mind dying... so long as Lenora escaped... as long as she was still free... if her dying was the price to pay for that reality to take shape... she would not hesitate to exchange the rest of her years for it to happen...
Blood began to dribble down her sealed lips, intermixing with the many cuts and gashes that covered her crimson-soaked body... yet she was refused to collapse, unpermitted to simply drop dead... at least not yet...
Before long, Eshwlyn found herself commanded to kneel in the center of an open field of snow. The sky was still tinged with the harsh red of smoke and fire offering a harrowing visage of giant winged-corpses littering the plains gradually being buried under the pouring storm of snow.
Then, a familiar trudging of hooves began to steadily approach from somewhere nearby.
A whinny of a house, the clinking of metal – and the silver-Elf immediately dropped into a welcoming bow, for once, the tone of her somber voice fracturing, with emotion, admiration, as she loudly declared, “I have returned, Master.”
Eshwlyn raised her eyes... and there, before her, swathed in the wild flutter of a magnificent red cape, loomed a man of such pale features.
His face was a smooth porcelain white, a deception of youth masking his more rugged features, and like the dirty gray mane of the steed he rode upon, his curled locks blew with a white that blended too well with the colors of winter, and gleaming in stark contrast, his gaze shonen a deep, startling red – Like beads of blood given life, sentience... manifesting in the form of the man’s cold, hard stare.
“My Master,” the Elf raised her head. “Here, I have brought you the –
“No, don’t you ‘My Master’ me, now,” the Man quietly interrupted, landing his feet into the snow thump, his disgruntled expression unflinching in the blistering breeze. “As I recall, you were hunting for but only a mere Elf. Instead, I sense five more good men with their lives tragically, and most likely, brutally cut short. How? Why? This bears heavy on my mind, truly it does... as I’m sure you’re all too aware.”
“Yes, I – I apologize for this unsatisfactory outcome,” Another shred of emotion showed, the Elf’s hands curling into fists. “I regret to inform you that we were caught completely by surprise.
“By surprise?” He repeated, a scoff echoing his utter bemusement. “Please tell me you do not mean to say that the red hoods plus you had been totally bested by a single Elf, one in critical condition no less.”
“The Subjugation spell took longer than expected to take into effect and I only entered the battle once I determined that – ”
The man raised a hand, silencing her at once. “You can save your reasonings, I’m sure they’re all valid – because otherwise I am left with no other option but to accept the fact my own Knight can no longer be trusted to handle things on her own discretion. A most regretful prospect, don’t you think so?”
“Y-Yes...” The Knight took a step back, complying. “Regretful, indeed...”
“Now then,” there was a faint rustling, an even fainter sigh, and through vision blurred and spinning, Eshwlyn saw herself mirrored close within the man’s crimson gaze, kneeling across from her with a pondering look. “What to do with you? An Elf-hunt wasn’t part of the assignment... nor do I think there will be anyone willing to nurse you back to health... the most convenient choice would be for me to just kill you now and be done with it.”
He paused, as if heavily tempted by the thought, before, with a single blink, he began considering another.
His eyes drifted, searched... trailing the soft pale-white of her skin, almost assessing... silently observing her gaunt expression, the way her hair flailed across the air like the rapid stream of a river... like the way his did too.
“You say she slew the five men herself? This, by her mere strength alone?”
“Yes, Master,” the Knight unhesitatingly replied. “She wielded a blade – this very one, to be precise.”
The man reached an arm out forward, taking and letting rest her blade atop his gloved hands, a smoldering fascination starting to kindle.
“And already well-versed with a sword too, impressive,” He remarked, a faint smile beginning to form. “Hmm, as I recall, when I found you... it took you months to master the hilt of a blade, didn’t you?”
“And since then, I’ve only continued to improve, excelling and fulfilling all of your desires,” The Elf quickly said, an audible edge to her tone. “I sensed that you’ve reached a decision, Master.”
“That I did,” he said with a nod. “I suspect tending to her wounds would be a tiresome ordeal... nor do I expect her to adapt to her role as quickly as you did, but... no doubt, she shows promise.”
“If I may, I’d like to remind you the proper procedure upon capturing a female Elf is to immediately deliver them to a Magus’ hold, whereupon they must be sent to – ”
“Spare me the lecture, Tilina,” The Man said, a mute, yet unsettling look stirring within his gaze. “What I choose to do with what I find is my decision and mine alone, understood?”
Once again, the Knight relinquished her argument, hanging a tense expression in a conforming bow.
“Yes, Master.”
“Procedures placed aside...” The Man went on. “There is no rule, written or otherwise stating a man cannot be the Master of two talented Elf-Knights,” then trailing away briefly, he caught a lock of her hair blowing in the palm of his hand. “Besides, she has the same hair color as I do. What better match is there, I say?”
After a moment, the man rose back to his feet, the interest in his reverting back to a cold, dead stare.
“Place her in a cage, put her in a carriage,” He began to bark at a nearby group of red hoods. “Strip her, bathe her, search her for disease... bring her back to my manor, and do ensure that she is kept subjugated and subdued at all times.”
At once, his commands began to stir into action. A scurry of feet resounded, and a small, cramped metal box found its way perched nearby atop a snow.
Deep within her, she heard the booming voice compelling her to conform once more, tugging hard at the invisible strings that bound her unwillingly to this malignant force.
More and more, the pain grew, its influence took sway of her... but Eshwlyn refused to move. Somewhere close, one of the men voiced their confusion, their unease... and began to double down on his efforts.
She continued to resist. For that brief moment, a fleeting moment – she managed to resist, break free of its hold, and finally take reign of her voice.
“Kill... me...” She sputtered through gritted teeth. “Kill... me...!”
The howling wind carried her words, echoing it across the vast, barren plains, and earning the attention from everyone around her.
But none more delighted, fascinated than the pale man, slowly turning back towards her, his frosted lips frozen agape.
“I’m sorry...” He whispered, breathless. ‘Did you just will yourself through a Subjugation spell?’
While everyone else murmured and whispered worryingly beholding such an unprecedented feat, the man held only one other question bearing heavy in his mind.
“And did you just speak English too?”
Her concentration was slipping, she could feel herself fading. In desperation, she whirled over at her side, glimpsing a distinct streak of auburn red flowing gracefully with the breeze.
Those unfeeling eyes, those yellow eyes, she pleaded to them once more, “Kill... me...”
A plea that went unheard, unfulfilled... with the crimson-haired Elf’s march towards her Master’s side.
The man had his hand outstretched, that dominating sensation, stronger than ever, emanating from his fingertips – pulling her, wrenching her, forcing her to rise and walk like a rigid branch of a tree bending to submission.
“No, I won’t kill you,” He said, meeting her unwilling march halfway. “Not this easy, not this trivial. You’ve taken five of my men’s lives – lives worth a million of your own alone. As such, you now have a penance to serve, a penance to live... and a penance that you will be paying for, for the rest of your years.”
Then smiling that faint smile, the man asked. “Now, what must you say?”
Eshwlyn felt the shift of her muscles, the snap of her bones conforming, relenting... slowly feeling herself lowering into a bow, and from her lips, her voice slipped.
“Yes, Master.”
And all was then simply decided.
“Very good.”
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