A Dead God's Tear(64)

Well, he was a prisoner. Now what? Marcius bit into the roll, deciding to follow his captor's advice. He was pleasantly surprised, for the inside was filled with a mixture of unidentifiable fruits held together by a delicious paste. He was torn between eating it quickly, or savoring each and every bite. All too soon it was gone. Licking his fingertips, he felt remarkably better.

Good enough to risk his weakness and swing himself out of bed. His muscles ached and there was a weak bout of dizziness, but nothing that he deemed too severe to deter him from exploring his ‘cage.' He gingerly touched the bandage around his head, a dull stab of pain reminding him of that particular injury.

As he climbed out bed, the first thing he noticed was his clothes. He was wearing an outfit that followed the same general gist of Selene's, except it was a deep blue. There was just one problem. Who had changed him? At the thought, the mental picture of Selene with her knowing eyes came to the forefront of his mind. Blushing, he shook it away and continued his examination of the room.

Like the ceiling, the room walls were smooth with no visible boards to indicate construction. It was as if he was trapped in a wooden cave hollowed out of a wooden mountain. Running his hand along the wall he found that it was just as smooth to the touch as it appeared and a quick rap of his knuckles revealed to him that it was of solid construction. Truly he had never seen anything like it before.

He also noticed that the inside was well lit, though it had no discernible light source. How did they do it? Some magic spell? Mentally filing that mystery away, he continued with his exploration.

Curiosity got the better of him as he neared the desk nearby the foot of his bed. Long scroll tubes littered the desk, and after a brief moment of hesitancy, Marcius decided to open them. Surprise filled him as he saw a comprehensive listing of Elvish traditions and customs, all written in Common. Had Selene left this here for him? It seemed at odds with her rather callous words earlier.

He sat down, unfurling the scrolls completely, and began to read. It was enlightening for him, since Antaigne's information on elves was lacking to say the least. Not that it surprised Marcius. It was well known that there was bad blood between the two races, and though Antaigne was an oddity for most dwarves, some habits were just too ingrained.

Time passed quickly for the apprentice as he studied the scrolls. They were obviously old and a good deal of time was wasted to ensure that he didn't risk any damage to them. The detail was astonishing and Marcius found himself struggling to retain and interpret the myriad of rules and exceptions to those rules. For the first time in a long time Marcius was enjoying himself.

He didn't hear the lock being turned and barely managed to roll the scrolls up, stuff them in their respective cases (wincing a bit as he did so), and put on a mask of innocence before two elves walked in.

One was Selene and she pointedly looked from him to the scrolls and the faintest hint of a grin lit on her face. The knowing smile was quickly replaced by the impassive wall as she indicated the elf that came in with her, "This is Ganiele, a mage of the court that will be questioning you."

The elf in question was typical for his kind, long haired and with piercing eyes, but he eschewed the leather and practical clothing of his companion in favor of longer robes of a deep crimson with intricate designs done in rich black. The staff he carried was, on the other hand, plain, simple and wooden, with only the gleaming red stone at the tip to indicate it was anything of importance. It sparkled fiercely in the unnatural light of the room.

"Greetings human. I am Ganiele," he said, flourishing his hand into a small gesture that left him looking up at Marcius expectantly.

Marcius held a smile. So that was the purpose of the scrolls. This was a test. When two different races met formally, one was required to greet the other in their native tongue. He returned the gesture, "Tiarle, Ganiele. Ai'le de Marcius." The pronunciation was difficult and he knew he fumbled a bit, but the look of surprise on the elf's face told him that he was close enough.

"I see you have been busy, Marcius. It is good to have a human who learns our culture for once, though I fear what I am about to do will take away any sympathy you might have for our race."

The look the elf gave Marcius was so severe, such a harsh shift in body language, that Marcius was momentarily taken aback. "Sit, human," Selene said, gesturing to the chair.

Marcius obeyed reflexively, sitting down before he even had time to question what it was they were going to do.

The elven mage grabbed Marcius by the head, pressing his thumbs sharply into his temples. The mage started to mutter arcane phrases, the thumbs moving in time with each sentence and Marcius's magic senses went crazy. He felt so vulnerable without his nether sight! There was real magic, real strong magic, at work here!

"What are you doing?" he bit the last part of his question off as a particularly strong jolt of magic surged through his body. "How can you do this, in this room?"

The mage gave a wry grin, but it was Selene that answered. "This room is designed especially for human wizards. It doesn't affect our spell casting. Now be quiet, let Ganiele work. This will go quicker if you cooperate with us."

Still, with every arcane pass, Marcius's sense of "wrongness" only got stronger, matching the rising crescendo that he felt in the very core of his body. He was a string strung too taut, teetering on the edge of a bottomless chasm.

Then, with a final word, the thumbs stopped moving and the string snapped.

Power came pouring forth from the elf, bashing and casting aside whatever feeble barriers Marcius had around his mind. It was a torrent of water rushing through the valley of his memory, picking up bits and pieces of whatever it chose. It roared with the fury of a summer storm.

The pain was excruciating, rattling every facet of structure that made him who he was. It felt like something was pulling the very fabric of his body apart, stitch by stitch. Marcius felt the power change, a different side of the same dangerous coin; it became subtle, but also sharp, like a knife.
     
 

     

Now, instead of crashing through his memories, it stalked them like a hunter, grabbing each one, pulling them forcibly out, and examining them in detail. The pain became worse, if that was possible. It reached a fevered pitch, a whine that chilled the very marrow in his bones.

Flashes of his memories, some long forgotten, flickered in front of his eyes, punctuating each stab with a figurative one. Glimpses of Jared talking, Antaigne's burning cottage, his father's vacant stare. . . All his insecurities, fears, failures, and everything else that made him. . . well him, that he valued, laid bare for this. . . intruder.

His inner self raged at the injustice. He wanted it gone, out of his head! Away! It did not belong! He focused on that thought, anger lending him strength against the pain. The memories that flickered before his consciousness became clouded in red as his fury gave him leverage that he never knew he had. The power recoiled, as if shocked, and Marcius surged forward, instinct taking over.

A shock wave in mind as well as body ricocheted through the room, and Marcius found himself on his knees as his head wound throbbed painfully, his vision misting over in a red haze. Several long moments passed before his sight cleared and he had the mind to glare at the elven mage. His anger was replaced with bewildered astonishment.

The room was untouched, though the light rippled like a pond disturbed. Marcius could only guess as to the havoc that played within the nether itself. The mage was on the ground, flat on his back, holding his staff in front of him, as if afraid of it. A blackened pit was all that remained of the once bright jewel, smoke trailing it in wisps. Selene seemed equally tense, frozen in place as she glanced warily back and forth between the mage and Marcius like a cat that had to choose between two mice.

"Tialere d'e Avalene. . . " the elven mage breathed, pushing himself up to his feet with a groan, though his eyes never left the staff. The mage's face was pale and a sheen of sweat glistened as he stared thoughtfully at the staff.

Slowly, as if it pained him, Gianle pulled his gaze away and their eyes met. A long string of emotions showed themselves on the elf's face. Surprise, anger, disbelief, and the most dominate one was blatant fear. Marcius wasn't sure how he felt about that, but lingering anger prompted him to match the elf's stare and it was the mage that looked away first.

"Human," the mage whispered in a voice so low that Marcius had to strain to hear it, "What exactly are you?"

"What did you see?" Selene asked in Common for Marcius's benefit.

The mage shook his head, pointedly not looking at Marcius. "He is no threat to Selenthia. Though I saw things that raise suspicions of other problems, they are not any of our business."

"And what of this magic? I thought this room was warded from such things?"

The elf gave a dry chuckle, running a hand through his hair, "You know there is only one answer. You were right."

"You mean. . . ?" Selene whispered, switching over to elvish halfway, "Dialre de yeiern. . . Akblaleth?"

The elven mage nodded, and finally Marcius had enough. "What are you two talking about? I'm innocent, right? So why do I still feel like a prisoner?"

"Such rashness, from these humans. . . " and the mage trailed off when Selene raised her hand.