Page 114 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Groaning at the direction my thoughts have gone, I raise my hands and rub my face, wishing I could scrub the thoughts away with the motion.

The neighing noise catches my attention again, and I frown towards the cave entrance, about to get up and find out what’s going on when Vaeril groans. Frowning, I turn to look at him again and realise he appears pale and sweaty. I place my hand on his forehead and curse at the heat rolling off him.

“Vaeril, wake up,” I call, shaking his shoulder, but he just groans and rolls his head towards me, his eyes scrunched tightly shut. “I’m going to check your wound,” I inform him as I lift his shirt. I don’t know how well he can hear what I’m saying, but I don’t want him to pull away while I’m looking at his injury.

Seeing the state of his chest, I close my eyes tightly as despair fills me.

“It’s bad?”

My eyes fly open and I see Vaeril watching me with a frown. I take a deep breath and plaster on a fake smile, shaking my head. “We just need to move a bit faster, get you to your people,” I sayquickly, racking my brain for ways to make this better. “I’ll get more nos weed, that helped before.”

“Clarissa—Alina,” he calls when I don’t look at him the first time, and his expression makes my face drop.

“No, we don’t give up, we’re so close. I’ll go speak with the kelpies—”

As soon as I say it, I hear another loud neigh, and something connects in my mind—it’s not a horse making that noise, it’s the kelpies. Why would they—

A shadow falls over us as someone enters the cave entrance, and when I glance up, thinking it’s the kelpie again, I see two elves wearing some kind of armour as they point spears at us.

The one on the left is saying something in elvish, gesturing with his spear. My heart is racing, and I put up my hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. Please, help my friend.” I gesture towards Vaeril, who has chosen this moment to pass out again. The elf on the right slowly moves over to Vaeril as the one closest to me raises his eyebrows.

“Show me your ears,” he orders, in thickly accented Arhavien, and with a nervous swallow, I do so with shaky hands. “Human!” he shouts with disgust, his spear jabbing towards me as I scramble away, my back hitting the cave wall behind me.

“Please, just help my friend. He’s an elf, and he’s sick,” I plead, hoping they listen to me. At this point, I don’t care what happens to me, I just want him to be safe.

“Martok!” the other elf shouts, pulling our attention to him, his eyes wide with shock. He says something quickly in elvish, and the guard pointing a spear at me looks down quickly at Vaeril. They exchange a glance before the one at Vaeril’s side calls out, and I hear the sound of more approaching feet.

“Why are you here?” the guard pointing his spear at me demands.

“My friend needs help, we escaped together,” I answer, but his expression doesn’t change so I don’t know if he understood me or not.

An older-looking elf enters the cave and looks around with an air of disgust, frowning when he sees me. The elf at Vaeril’s side speaks to the older elf in elvish, and his repulsed mien turns to one of surprise, then joy, and then concern. Turning back to the cave entrance, he announces something urgently in elvish. More elves enter the cave, hurrying to Vaeril, and one of them carries a board which I assume they will attempt to slide him onto.

“Will he be okay?” I ask, instantly wishing I hadn’t when the older elf turns to me. He doesn’t stare at me with contempt like the others do, but his anger is obvious.

“You are coming with us. You are now a prisoner of the high elves.”

Being bound to an elf on horseback might not sound all that great, but a massive sense of responsibility has been lifted from me. That constant nauseated feeling that I wasn’t good enough, that I wasn’t doing enough to help Vaeril, has eased. Plus, I’ve been in worse situations.

Looking ahead, I can see Vaeril’s unmoving body on the stretcher, strapped between four horses as we slowly make our way to Galandell. This morning, after I’d been bound, the older elf cast a spell over Vaeril, making him fall into a deep sleep.

I glance over at the older elf now. He’s riding just ahead of Vaeril’s prone form, and I don’t miss the glances he throws over his shoulder every couple of minutes at the sleeping elf, or the look of wonderment, like he can’t believe he’s here. I get the impression he’s some sort of general from the way the other elves all look to him and respond to his orders.

Looking around us, I shift on the saddle as much as my bindings allow. I’ve never ridden on a horse before, and I’m swiftly learning it’s not the most comfortable way to travel. It’s taken me a while to get used to the swaying gait and stop feelinglike I’m going to fall from the horse, but now that I have, I’m able to appreciate the beauty of this place.

The sheer size of the lake is huge, so we walk alongside it for a while, and I feel the eyes of the kelpies on me the whole time. I realise now that the neighing noises I heard this morning were the kelpies. They were trying to warn me that the elves were coming, but I had been so focused on Vaeril that I missed their warning. As we move back into the forest, I notice how it’s different here, it seems to be changing the closer we get to the elf city. The trees are larger, older, and appear to have a sentient presence. I feel like they’re watching us, and I remember Vaeril kneeling at the base of the trees we used to camp in, thanking them for their shelter.

“Will he be okay?” I ask the elf behind me. My wrists have been bound in front of me with rope, but my hands are free so I’m able to hold onto the pommel of the saddle we’re sitting on. The elf, who’s been tasked to keep an eye on me, has strapped me to his waist, and I’m actually grateful for that fact. I’ve nearly fallen off many times, and the elf behind me is the only reason I’ve managed to stay on.

The elf stiffens when I speak, and I glance back to see his face is tight with discomfort. Is he uncomfortable because of my question, or my race? Sighing, I face forward to look over at Vaeril again with a twinge of concern at his still form.

“I know you don’t like me and I’m everything you’re taught to hate, but I care for him.” I don’t even know if he understands me, or if he even speaks Arhavien, but I hope he can hear the sincerity in my voice. “We escaped together, we helped each other. I just want to know if he will be okay.” Silence meets my words, and my worry starts to build as my mind spins. What if Vaeril’s not going to be okay? What if the elf is staying silent because he knows that?

“We have very talented healers,” he finally replies, although warily, like he’s saying it against his better judgement. “The general has placed him in a... frozen state. The poison can’t spread any further until we return.” His elvish accent is thick, but I still understand what he’s saying. Letting out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, I turn in the saddle to thank him, and find him frowning as he looks straight ahead, not meeting my gaze.

“Thank you.”

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