Page 1 of Rogue Elves of Ardani

Chapter 1

The elf was lying motionless on a stone table, his wrists and ankles bound to its surface with iron cuffs. What Crow had first mistaken for dark clothing in the low light was actually deep blue skin.

She wasn’t certain he was alive until he moved—a slight tilt of his head as if to hear them better. He’d been alone in this cold, windowless cell until she and Callias had entered, and he was blindfolded.

She stepped closer, watching the elf warily. None of the other prisoners had been presented to her like this, and she would have preferred to keep it that way. The less she was expected to do here, the less chance there was of them realizing her true purposes and slitting her throat.

“What’s this?” she asked her guide, Callias. He was a boy of thirteen or so, with sleepy eyes and a nervous demeanor. He’d been tasked with giving her a tour of the prison and explaining her new duties.

“It’s a night elf,” the boy said, blinking slowly.

“I can see that. What is he here for?”

The boy shifted, raising his blue-tinged mage torch a little higher. “Sorry, Lady Mage. I thought the people at the Mages’ Conclave would have told you.”

“No.”

“Lord Felion—the prison’s mage before you, who we lost last week—”

Crow sighed. “I’m aware of who my predecessor is, Callias. But I have not been kept abreast of every detail of what he worked on here.”

“Yes, well, Lord Felion was doing some experiments.”

“Experiments?”

“Uh. I don’t know the details,” Callias said.

“Of course you don’t.” She felt a twinge of guilt when her terse tone made him withdraw. But she had to convincingly play the role she’d been assigned. She hadn’t met many Conclave mages, but they had a reputation for being aloof, to put it politely.

Magical experimentation on non-animal subjects was very much illegal. Not that she had much room to talk when it came to staying on the right side of the law. On the other hand, if you had to choose a person to use as a lab rat, a night elf would be the practical choice. On the rare occasions when they made appearances in Ardani, they tended to be killed on sight. They’d be unlikely to have friends or family come looking for them, and the law certainly wouldn’t protect them.

Whatever the elf was here for, he didn’t have anything to do with her mission. But she was curious. It wasn’t every day that you had the opportunity to see a night elf up close—or to read one’s mind.

They called themselves the Varai. She’d never seen one in person before, only heard tales. If you believed the stories of people who had survived raids, they were a savage, merciless people. Creatures of the night. Deadly with blades. Rarely seen outside their forest homeland. To see a night elf was to see death.

This one seemed fairly tame, though.

Crow stepped up beside the table. The elf wore a ragged pair of pants, cheap moccasins, and nothing else. She felt cold just looking at him. He had a typically elven shape, willowy and fine boned, but in a way that made him look agile and dangerous rather than delicate. Like all elves, he had no hint of a beard, but the shape of his face was not quite like any other elves she’d seen. Unkempt black hair a few shades darker than his skin fell to his shoulders.

He made no movements and said nothing. Just waited.

She’d have expected him to fight, even tied down. They hadn’t covered his mouth, after all. He could speak and he could spit. She’d seen both before from people in similar positions.

She slowly lifted a hand and rested her fingertips lightly on his wrist. She saw him stop breathing. It was his only reaction to the contact. As her skin touched his, she felt the buzz of his mind meeting hers.

His emotions soaked into her, slowly but steadily, like a tide washing ashore. Tension. Wariness. Anticipation. Curiosity. Hatred, anger, resentment. Fear. She felt them each in turn, but did not linger on any of them too long. One had to be cautious not to feel someone else’s emotions too fully.

And she was careful not to go too deep, lest she start seeing the flashes of images and words that formed concrete thoughts and memories. Some things were not for others to see. Even criminals and night elves deserved that much respect.

There was a line of neat scars all the way up his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder. Her eyes darted to his other arm, and there was a matching line of scars there. Bloodletting? For samples to run tests on? Or some kind of dark blood magic? Gods only knew. Mages got up to all sorts of strange activities.

Other scars dotted his chest and ribs. She recognized the marks of whips and knives. Many more than she would have expected. A hollow, dark feeling carved out her stomach.

Still touching his wrist, she reached for his blindfold.

“Be careful, lady. He bites. Well, once,” Callias said.

Her fingers hovered near his face. “Once?” She reached forward anyway and gently pushed the blindfold up.

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