Page 113 of Rogue Elves of Ardani

Patros stared in Vaara’s general direction. Vaara’s footsteps whispered very softly on the floor. He intentionally made enough sound so that Patros could hear where he was—so he could hear him coming steadily closer.

“What do you really want?” Patros said. “What could a night elf want with Crow and I? What do you care about our business?”

Vaara stopped in front of him. “Her. I care abouther.”

“Night elves don’t care about anyone but their own.”

Vaara shrugged, then remembered Patros couldn’t see him. “I do.”

“She was about to slit your throat a few minutes ago.”

He took a step closer. “She is ashamed of what you’ve made her,” he said. “She hates being a tool for inflicting pain and misery. But you already know that, don’t you? You like that she hates it so much. You enjoy knowing that she can’t fight you.”

Patros took another step back, and his back hit the wall. “I didn’t make her into anything, as much as she’d like to pretend otherwise. She was born selfish, vindictive, and manipulative. That’s how she has charmed you into serving her, but I suppose you can’t see that. It’s what she does.”

Vaara grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Patros’s face twisted into an expression of disgust.

“Now what will you do?” Patros sneered. “Try to stab me again? Strike me? See if that works.”

“I have a theory,” Vaara said quietly, raising the tip of the sword to rest against his throat. Patros stiffened.

Swinging a sword at him didn’t work. Shooting arrows at him didn’t work. Neither did pushing him down a stairway. Anything that impacted him bounced off.

And yet, Vaara was able to touch him and hold on to him. Almost as if whatever enchantment that was protecting him only defended against powerful, violent blows.

Vaara angled the tip of the sword into the hollow of the man’s throat, and very gently, he pushed. He watched Patros’s pale skin slowly give, and then break. A trickle of blood leaked down his collar.

Vaara smiled. “What an ingenious defense.” He kept pressing. More blood leaked from the wound. “I should thank you for giving me the opportunity to take my time with this.”

Patros’s fists came up, but didn’t quite make contact with Vaara. He pulled Patros’s collar and threw him to the ground, then knelt atop him before he could run. He pressed the sword to his throat again and slowly, smoothly, pushed.

The sharp blade dragged through skin and muscle and fat. Blood streamed from the wound.

Patros kicked uselessly. His hands punched blindly at the air, grasping at nothing. In desperation he grabbed at the sword, bloodying his hands as he tried and failed to push it away from himself.

“Wh—” Patros gasped, then began to choke on blood as the sword pierced deeper. He looked almost offended. Uncomprehending. As if he really couldn’t understand why Vaara was there. He couldn’t understand someone doing something out of love for someone else.

The sword cut through something that sent a spurt of blood gushing onto Vaara’s hand, and then Patros stopped talking.

A short time later, he stopped moving entirely.

Vaara sat back on his heels, looking down at the man’s empty expression. Blood continued seeping languidly from his neck.

He became aware of a faint light from the kitchen growing brighter as it came closer and then descended the stairs.

Crow held up a lantern, scanning the cellar before she spotted Vaara and Patros. She stared at Patros, her face blank.

Vaara wiped the sword clean on Patros’s clothes, watching Crow closely. Her binding should have broken upon his death, but Vaara still half expected her to run to the dead man’s defense. He knew how strong the compulsion of a soulbinder could be.

“He’s dead,” Vaara said, getting to his feet.

Crow’s eyes moved from Patros to Vaara, dazed. “I know. I felt it. As soon as it happened, I felt it.”

“Then it’s…?”

She nodded slowly.

Vaara gestured to Patros. “Would you like to spit on his corpse?”

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