An absurd thought, considering the circumstances.
He didn't even realize he had stopped walking until his current captor jabbed him hard in the ribs with the butt of his spear, breaking him free from his trance and causing him to stumble to the ground. A wave of sickness shuddered through him and a sudden sense of vertigo made him collapse. Before Marcius knew it, the elf woman was by his side, helping him up and yelling in elvish at the boy, who had the grace to at least look apologetic.
"Are you okay?" she said, her hands steadfast under his arm.
"I think so," Marcius mumbled, and another wave of nausea swept through him at that moment. "Why do you care?" he asked, trying to divert attention away from himself. Last thing he needed to do was puke on her.
"We elves are not like you humans. There is no point on abusing our prisoners unless they deserve it."
"Ah, I se-" his sentence was cutoff as the world chose that moment to start spinning rapidly around him. Everything became muffled. He was briefly aware that the elf woman had started shouting before he collapsed, as he was suddenly feeling so very tired. The ground was cool to the touch and he relished it.
It all went black.
Chapter 22
Consciousness came slowly, like a figure through deep fog. Flashes of images buzzed in his head, brief instances of fevering consciousness. A warm hand pressing something cool against him, a soothing voice, a figure peering down at him intently as he coughed and fretted. It was all a jumble and thinking about it just made his head hurt more.
Where was he?
His eyelids sizzled and even the act of trying to open his eyes caused pain like a thousand hot pokers lanced through his head. Bereft of ideas, he listened instead.
At first he heard nothing but the throbbing of blood in his ears and his own breathing. But slowly, like a sieve, he began to filter out the noises. The sputter of a fireplace off to his left was dominant, but more delicate was the breathing of another being in the room with him.
"You are awake," a soft and decidedly feminine accented voice said with confidence. "That is good. Your fever broke only recently. You have a nasty head wound too."
Well, that would explain the pain and headache. Well, the head injury wasn't anything new. Was the knock on the head worse than he thought? He reached up and felt the cloth; it was damp, though he wasn't sure if it was from blood or sweat. "Who are you?" Marcius was surprised at how raspy and faint his voice sounded.
"I am a healer," she said simply in Common. Her voice was familiar, but trying to place it while in his condition was like catching waves with a net. "Now drink this. It will make you feel better."
There was a subtle movement of cloth and he could feel the presence of her over him. A gentle touch of pottery to his lips and a strong but sure hand guided his head forward, coaxing him to drink. Marcius tentatively opened his cracked lips, taking in just the tiniest amount of the liquid. It was warm and a bit spicy in a good way, hitting just the right spot in his empty stomach. He drank greedily until the last of it dribbled in and the healer took it away from him. He leaned back, sated though a bit disappointed.
"Good, now you must rest. I will inform those who must know of your recovery."
"Wait," Marcius bade her, though he was already feeling groggy. "Where is she?"
"Do you mean the warrior that brought you in?"
"Yes. I wanted. . . I wanted to thank her."
There was a brief moment of silence. "And why would you want to do that, human? You are still a prisoner of Selenthia."
"She didn't kill me."
"We do not make a habit of killing those that do not deserve it. That is why you are here. If we did, we would be no greater than humans."
"Now I'm the one confused. If I didn't do anything, why am I a prisoner?"
"You were found in company of those who had committed wrongs against us. Those soldiers were criminals. But you were not in the first battle and she couldn't decide whether you were guilty of the same. So she brought you in to be questioned by our wizards. You are a prisoner, human. Do not let our kindness fool you. If you are found accountable, you will be executed."
"I see." And Marcius's head spun at the implications. He knew he was innocent, but what did it mean to be questioned by wizards? Most likely they used magic in their questioning, and only Avalene knew what type of magic the elves were capable of. He wasn't foolhardy enough to not realize how much of an amateur he was.
"Your arrival caused quite the uproar," the voice continued, "You do not have an Academy amulet, and yet you are a wizard. An unguilded human wizard is rare around these parts. You have intrigued all the wrong people for the wrong reasons. That is also rare."
Marcius winced internally. "I was on my way to Aralene to join the Academy," he said quickly, "But my ship wrecked and woke up on the beach. I ran into those soldiers and they helped me out. They didn't deserve a death like that."
"Oh? And who are you to decide that? Do you have any idea what they were doing to us? They burn our forest, slaughter our families, and accuse us of crimes we are innocent of. They died so others, so that we, may live. That is war, human."
Marcius was silent, not really having anything else to say. It felt like a dozen dwarves were mining for gold in his head and his exhaustion got heavier with every passing second. He still didn't agree. There is no point to slaughter somebody, anybody, like that.
There was the pitter-patter of footsteps away from his bedside and the groan of a door being opened. Marcius noticed that the door sounded heavy indeed. A prisoner he truly was. There was a pause in movement and he got the distinct impression that the healer was thinking about something.
"I'll tell the mages about your circumstances. They will investigate anyway, but maybe they will not be as rough now." There was a longer silence and Marcius thought she had left him, "Also, I will let War-Mistress Selene know of your gratitude."
There was a thud of the door closing and of a bolt being slammed into place. With nothing but silence to accompany him, it wasn't long before he lost his battle against sleep for the second time. Still, the last thought in his mind was that he had the name now of that striking elf warrior.
Selene. . .
❧ ❧ ❧
"Hello, human," the quiet voice once again invaded the slowly awakening mind of Marcius. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
"How do you know when I'm waking up?" Marcius mumbled, groaning before stifling a yawn.
"Humans sleep with much noise. When you stop, you are awake."
"I see." Marcius tentatively opened his eyes, the light in the room invasive and causing him to squint. But it wasn't painful in the malicious sort of way as to indicate something being wrong; it merely stung in a way as to suggest lack of use.
Colors began to merge, taking shape around him. There was an intangible power that hung about the air, like static electricity. It set his nerves on edge. Where was he? He glanced around the room and couldn't really hide his surprise.
The head cocked a bit to the side, the near white blond hair falling over to partially hide the face. There was the smallest trace of amusement in the vibrant emerald eyes that gave hint that she recognized the shock registered on Marcius's face. His healer, the person that had nursed him back from the throes of sickness, was none other than that same fierce elf that had captured him.
Selene.
"Marcius," he blurted out. It was the first thing that came to mind.
She didn't respond to his outburst. So Marcius felt the need to elaborate, if merely to keep the silence away and hear the sound of his own voice.
"My name. It is Marcius."
Silence greeted him and he couldn't deny that he felt a bit disappointed. But then she gave an imperceptible nod of her head, so slight that Marcius wasn't sure if maybe he just imagined it. "Are you feeling better?" she asked.
"My mouth is dry," Marcius responded truthfully. "I'm thirsty and I feel like a tribe of oggrons had their way with me. But everything seems to be in place."
She stood up and went over to the desk. It didn't escape Marcius's notice that she wore distinctly different attire than when he met her. It was still a practical green tunic with leather pants, but the make was softer, less confrontational. It indicated ease and familiarity with her surroundings. She still carried that deadly sword and her movements bespoke of lethal grace lurking beneath the surface. The elf reached down and picked up what Marcius recognized as a water skin, sitting down before handing it to Marcius.
The water was cool and soothing. Marcius drank his fill before handing it back to the elf. She traded the skin for a simple bread roll. "Eat this and gather your strength." She stood up and walked to the door, "Our wizards must be informed of your recovery. You have many questions to answer, rogue wizard. Do not think of using magic to escape. This room is enchanted by the most powerful wizards of our kind to nullify the gathering of nether. Unless you're far more accomplished than you appear, anything you do will fail."
The sturdy wooden door groaned on its hinges as the elf opened it. She gave him one last pointed look before closing it behind her, and Marcius heard the bolt again slam into place. Right before she had closed the door, Marcius caught glimpses of guards outside of his room.