As the two brothers left, another soul traveled in the dark. He made not a sound as he moved. Any attempts at tracking his passage would be utterly futile, for not a single blade of grass remained bent when his foot stepped away. He was Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves, and few souls could match his silence, speed, or skills with blade and bow.
When the village came into view of his eagle-like eyes, his gut sank. Not a single sign of life decorated the streets or moved in the fields. He prayed to Celestia he was wrong, but his heart knew he wasn’t.
He found nothing to convince him otherwise as he quickly scanned the village. He found many homes left wide open, yet none answered him when he called inside. Everywhere, staining the earth a dark crimson, there was blood.
“It is as I feared,” he whispered to the night. He stood, took his bow off his shoulder, and then thoroughly searched the town. He found no trace of life barring a few rats that fed off the now unguarded remnants of food. Several homes, those with their doors smashed open, had gore smeared on their floors. One pained Dieredon’s heart greatly; amid a great red circle on a wooden floor laid a small, bloodstained doll.
He said a silent prayer before moving on.
At the edge of the town, he found many frantic tracks fleeing west. He followed them, wincing as some ended in dried smears of red upon the grass. Others led far past the others. They ended at once in an enormous pool of blood, leaving the town a somber image in the distance. Chasing them the whole while were twin sets of tracks, one of enormous weight, the other light as a feather.
“Every one of them,” he said, his hand clutching his bow so tight his knuckles were whiter than the moon. “They slaughtered even those that fled. Yet there are no corpses.”
The corpses had been taken. Or made to walk again.
“The man with infinite faces,” Dieredon concluded. Another thought came to him. “Or was it you, Qurrah Tun?”
He raced back to Woodhaven, his mind decided. It was time he had a talk with one of the brothers Tun.
Harruq arrived at the sparring point in the forest less disheveled than the previous day, and he seemed in better spirits.
“So what is your surprise for me?” he asked.
Aurelia smiled from her seat against a tree. She patted the grass beside her.
“Have a seat. How’s your head?”
Harruq grumbled as he plopped down. “My head is fine.”
From behind her back, Aurelia pulled out a small blue object.
“Ever seen one of these before?” she asked. The half-orc stared at it, thinking. Suddenly he knew, and he looked at Aurelia in total disbelief.
“Is that a book?”
The elf nodded. “Is it a safe assumption that you don’t know how to read?”
Harruq frowned at the book. “You’re not going to teach me elvish, are you?”
Aurelia gave him a playful jab to the side.
“No, it is in the gods’ language, your gods anyway. Karak and Ashhur got something right having humans speak and write the same language.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you not know the story of Karak and Ashhur?” The half-orc shook his head. “I will tell you it, if you care to hear. Mankind, as well as orcs, wolf-men, hyena-men, and all the other odd races scattered about Dezrel, are less than five hundred years old. Many elves remember the arrival of the brother gods and the creation of man.”
“Huh,” Harruq said. “You may have to tell me the story sometime. Are you one of the elves that were there way back then?”
She gave him a wink.
“No, but my father was. I’m not that old, Harruq. In elven terms, I am but a child.”
“How old a child?” he prodded.
“Seventy.”
“Seventy?”
The elf laughed.
“Don’t be too shocked. You have elven blood in you as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lasted a couple hundred years yourself. This is assuming someone doesn’t kill you, which I find rather unlikely.”
Harruq gasped at the thought. He had always felt akin to man and orcs, whose lives burnt out so quickly. The idea of living two hundred years was…well, more than he could handle.
“Strange,” he said. “Guess I have plenty of time to learn to read, don’t I?”
Aurelia laughed. “You do, but I would prefer we not take too many years. Spending that much time around you is bound to give me bad habits.”
She handed over the book. Harruq opened it and flipped through the pages. Each one depicted various symbols, lines, and curls. Aurelia winced at the rough way he handled the paper.
“What are these?” he asked.
“The human alphabet. And you’re going to learn it.”
He protested, but it was a weak protest. They went over the alphabet several times until Harruq could repeat most without thinking too hard.
“I want you to take it home with you,” she said when they were done. To her annoyance, Harruq refused to accept the book.
“I really don’t want to take it,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Well I, just…” His face turned a mixture of gray and red. “Qurrah doesn’t know I’m doing this.”
Aurelia sighed and set the book down beside her.
“Why don’t you tell him about me? Well? Why not?”
“I’m just embarrassed, all right,” he finally muttered.
“Embarrassed? Why?”
“Qurrah’s smart, can read and everything. He’d want to know why I never asked him. That and, well, you’re a…you know…”
“What?”
Harruq grew redder. “An elf!”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Harruq viciously plucked blades of grass. “I don’t know.”
Aurelia stared at Harruq for a while, her eyes probing. The half-orc endured the gaze, concentrating fully on his grass-removing project.
“I would feel better having met your brother,” she said at last. “But you may take as long as you wish.”
“Good. Can we spar now?”
“Of course,” Aurelia said, picking up her staff.