Page 5 of Kingdom of Lies

I lift myself from the water. I don't want to leave, but I know I must. I lift my dress and shirt and return to the water. I drown both until the dirt and horrible scent have left them, take them out, wring out the water, and place them on one of the rocks.

I go over to lift my cloak, letting the water drip from my naked body and the cool air dry me. Then I see it, and my heart sinks.

A small suru sits upon my cloak beside the piece of bread where I placed it.

“No, no,” I whisper as I tense up my body and try to move slowly towards it. Then, a twig cracks beneath my feet, and I freeze.

I stare at the animal, and it stares at me. We are locked in time for a second, frozen and unsure what to do next.

It decides before I do, quickly snaps the bread into its mouth, and darts off.

“Fuck,” I cry out and quickly grab my still-wet clothes and struggle into them. I can’t lose that bread. I must not lose that bread.

I scan the undergrowth and see it stopped, the bread still in its mouth. I dart towards it, but it shoots off into the wood before I reach it.

I have no choice, I must catch it. Grandma’s life depends upon it.

3

DRAKNIR

Idon’t care much for company when I eat. It’s nothing personal. It’s just the way I’ve been put together.

The dripir is tough, and I don’t quite like the stew that clings to it. Humans lack the skill to understand the finer things in life. And a good stew requires such skills.

The others don’t question that I eat alone, and I respect them for that. I try to finish the last of the dripir but end up emptying it into the ground. That’ll do.

I walk over to the ragged hut where the rest of the elves eat and toss my bowl into the sink for washing, not by us, of course. That’s what we have humans for.

“Joining us later, Draknir?” Killen asks me.

“What’s the sport tonight?” I reply.

“There’s an old one in the stocks. We’re having a bet, ten daler for the first one that throws a dagger through his eye from fifty paces,” Killen says.

“Maybe,” I reply, but I have no interest. Old men aren’t sport to me. Give me an orc, a wild beast, and now you’re talking. I’ll leave them to it.

I leave them and walk towards my lodgings. This place stinks; the sooner we leave, the better.

But it’s the life of a miou. Our caste, the second-highest, is an honor, a privilege. Many dark elves wish to be us, rich, skilled, and smiled upon by the gods. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Draknir!” a voice calls out through the fading twilight. I turn to see an elf whose name I can’t recall, but out of politeness, try.

“Ah. Trakin, what can I do for you?”

“It’s Parkerus, actually,” he tells me with a nervous smile.

I couldn’t have been further with that one, but he has taken it well.

“Accept my apologies, Parkerus,” I tell him.

“Captain wants to see you,” he says.

“Thank you. I will go now,” I say, “By the way, the boys have a good bet going this evening.”

“I heard,” he grins as he takes a dagger from his belt and proudly holds it up. “Belonged to my father. Never misses.”

Confidence rarely lacks in a dark elf. Even the lowest of our kind are held in higher regard than the humans we use for labor.

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