Elvish Jewel (The Chronicles of Rithalion Book 1)

Vivien clutched the worn book to her chest and blinked at the healer with uncomprehending eyes. "Awake?"

"Awake, yes," he said serenely, "and in chains."

She almost dropped the book as her voice rose. "In chains?"

Like herself, the healer was a half blood, and had she been anything less, he would have had the right to scold her. Even so, he visibly restrained himself, "Of course! He is a human, after all, and a wild one at that. If he were an animal, I would say rabid. He tried to escape when barely able to walk and he broke two arms and a jaw before he could be stopped. We put him in chains for his own safety as much as anyone else's."

Vivien shook her head, wondering at this capacity for violence and strength from a man ridden with a dozen arrow wounds, let alone sword lacerations and crushing hammer blows, to wreak so much havoc. Then she remembered his shoulder, the one shattered near the end of the battle. "Did you save his arm? The one struck by the hammer?"

The healer's eyebrows flew up, "I did nothing of the sort!"

Vivien recoiled at the acerbic reply, for so much effort had gone into saving the man's life. She and the one of the guards had wrapped the Wolf's wounds as best they could in the field because the only one skilled in healing had been killed in the fray. It had taken three days to reach Rithalion, traveling day and night, swapping tir-reath on the carriage to make certain they did not expire from the strain. During that time, the Wolf had never awakened.

She frowned, hazel eyes sparking, "But the Lady–"

The man before her set his jaw and licked his lips in annoyance. Both of them were hooded, as befitted their station in Elvish society, but now the healer lowered his red cowl to step away from his duty and speak to her more informally.

"Listen to me carefully. We did nothing for the human."

"But–"

The healer's eyes flashed as he cut the air with his palm. "I said listen! We tried. We summoned the fae to heal his wounds. They would not heal him."

Vivien felt gooseflesh prickle over her body. Elvin magic tapped into the fae of the seleighe, the very building blocks of the world. The very idea that the fae would not, or could not, touch the human… Vivien's mind spun, unable to conceive of the meaning, "The Lady–"

"The Lady, who you are not, left clear instructions. If you have other questions, please address them to the Grand Magister." He turned, raised his hood, and left her standing in the causeway, walking away with an air of purpose, red healer's robes flapping behind.

Vivien clenched her teeth as he left. The great arch, one of many, spanned from one side of the gorge to the other, flying high above the forest below. It was a bright place, covered from rain or direct sunlight, where birds rested and sung. Yet its beauty was lost upon her and she stared out the open sides upon the Elvish city.

Fall had come to Rithalion. The western stronghold was a riot of blazing colors that were at odds with the cool air. The city spread across the gorge, carved out of the broken gray rocks that lined each side. A rushing river leapt from the crest in the west and flowed like sparkling ivory and sapphire through the center, reflecting the tracery of bridges, bulwarks, and buildings carved into the native stone. The whole of the city was serene, safe, but somehow she could not find any tranquility within.

She slammed the book down on the carved stone rail and cursed. Her hands traced the strange markings, stubby and ugly, that marked the human script beneath the far more beautiful Elvish. She had known this language of the Lairdlands in her youth, but it had been forgotten beneath decades of magic lessons and memories…

She closed her eyes and concentrated, purging the chaos from her as she had been taught by her masters through time. She finally found her center, snatched up the book, and walked down the causeway to the south face of the gorge. From there she passed the sculptured rock, the many carvings, the beautifully appointed doors and sparkling crystal windows of the healer's passages of the Western Hospice, past the more spartan barracks, to the dark jails in the roots of the rock face. Once she was close, she could hear him. Without realizing it, she had started to run.

The jail was a massive chamber carved on a ramp that went far into the rock. Here, there were no beautiful carvings, no signs that there ever had been a sun, or wind, or stars. It was a place for those doomed. The cells were carved into the walls, with iron bars to gate a prisoner from all comforting things. With only one way in or out of the prison, and no place to hide, it inspired a chill in all elves.

Green and brown clad guards laughed and joked outside of one such hole. It was there she ran. From inside there came a rhythmic crashing of metal that rang through the empty chambers like a fierce, fast, metallic heartbeat.

The soldiers were low elves; children of children of elves and humans. They came to attention as she ran up to them, everyone suddenly about their duty. The Captain stepped forward, steel armor clacking as he planted the butt of his spear on the ground and snapped a salute.

In command of the mostly-empty prison and thus of her presence, his tone was brusque. "Business?"

Vivien narrowed her eyes and made sure her hood was up, clutching the book in her arms. The clanging rhythm continued and necessitated a shout to be heard over the clamor, "I am in service to the Lady and was there when this human was apprehended. I am here to check on him."

The Captain recoiled slightly. "Check on him? I would think it more likely you should check on us. I don't know how you captured this monster but–"

Her words came out in an explosion, "He is not a monster!"

In the silence that followed, the clanging continued, once every few seconds. Meanwhile, the other guards stood in mute shock at the depth of her passion. Finally the Captain bowed slightly in submission and stood aside, allowing her to move forward and look into the cell.

It was the Wolf. His kilt, boots and belt were gone, but he'd been given rough spun pants held in place by braided twine. Bandages covered his body and were so saturated that rivulets of blood crept from beneath. They had cleansed him of the filth that had covered him in the wilds, and trimmed the beard peppered with strands of silver. The naked parts of him portrayed a violent life through multitudes of blemishes long healed, and through the light smattering of reddish hair over his chest was a massive, ropy scar that crisscrossed over his heart like a dread curse. His hair had been shorn at the ends and braided during his care, but wild curling tendrils had come out of the plaits to create a mass that made him appear almost just as untamed as before. She marveled at the silver that frosted his mane, made more obvious due to cleaning and collection into ropes. It told that he was old for a human, at least in his forties, but his face was unlined with age. Every sinew was taut, and his body glistened with sweat as he blocked out the world and bent to his task.

He was held not on a bed of straw or sitting on the floor, but in a kneeling position, with arms cast wide to the sides. Each scarred limb was chained at the wrist to the opposing wall, one of the few uses of dreaded iron inside the Elvish kingdom. But he was human, and it did not burn him, did not weaken him. All it could do was keep his arms from hanging side, keep him from sleeping comfortably if at all, and keep him from bringing his hands together.

Then he flexed.

It was like watching a predator leap. Muscles bunched in perfect sequence, building in a wave that culminated in a dual fist punch, taking up all slack in the chains and slamming the links taut in a metallic crash. She jumped and dust emerged from the mounting brackets set into the walls. Slowly, the arms lowered, then rested, tensed, and leapt again. Another crash and she jumped once more. The power there was frightening.

The Captain flourished an arm, "Here is your not-a-monster." She felt the men smirking behind her and anger simmered deep within. A few plates of food sat, untouched, in front of him, along with pots of drink that had been set on the floor though the bars. Vivien clenched her jaws. Uncouth barbarian he might be, but the cause for his rage was evident.

She turned back to the Captain, "Are you responsible for providing his meals?"

The man nodded, "I am."

Her reply hissed between clenched teeth, "There is no way for him to reach the food!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I am also responsible for the safety of my men."

Her temper burned brightly and the words leapt from her lips, "Open the door!"

The guards, as one, recoiled. "You can't be–"

"Never mind!" The words were like a slap, and shifting the tome to rest in one arm, Vivien caressed the steel lock and murmured strange, cryptic words. Tiny, dark fae flittered about her fingers, leaping into the mechanism and spinning latches until the lock fell open.

The door moved effortlessly ajar.

The guardsmen scrambled for spears and shields as she stepped defiantly through the gate and into the room. The Wolf, head hanging low, caught sight of the hem of her blue robes. His head snapped up. His face was at first the epitome of bestial rage, but when he recognized her, it abruptly transformed to a peaceful gaze of embarrassed wonder. Thoughtlessly, he went to stand. She startled as the harsh sound of the unforgiving chains yanked him back down to one knee. Oh gods, what have they done to you?

A rumble began to sound from deep within his chest. His body crouched into a coiled bunch and the chains slackened. It was like the calm before a great battle is fought, or the peace before a child is born. Then he lunged. The Wolf put every muscle into pulling the chains with such force, Vivien heard his joints pop in agony.

"Wait!" She rushed forward without thought, dropping the precious book on the floor. "Please, wait!"

Instantly he stopped. He knelt there before her, massive chest heaving, breath stirring frayed, chestnut braids hanging in front of his face. For a moment longer the air rang with his attempt to destroy the irons. The guards shouted something from where they remained behind her, but she ignored them and crouched before the man they called "monster".

The chamber was suddenly silent, the atmosphere filled with tense anticipation. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm as she looked into his eyes, eyes that were like none she'd ever seen before, colored red as freshly spilled blood. The Wolf's large hand slowly rose towards her face and a chill raced down her spine. Her breaths stilled as his fingertips touched her cheek ever so gently. The caress was reminiscent of the one from that day on the battlefield, like she was the most precious thing in the world.

However, the sensation that she was in the presence of something wild persevered. Beyond any shadow of doubt, she was at the mercy of a being with great power.

And she was afraid.

Vivien instinctively jerked back. The hand followed and the iron clinked, the man's arm at the end of its range. He knelt there, hand extended, like a man falling from a cliff to his doom, reaching for the last hope that would save him from gravity's cruel embrace. She remained just out of reach; the light in his eyes dimmed and the hand finally fell, chains clanging against the stone floor. All life seemed to leave him as his back bowed and his shoulders slumped. At that moment, she was certain of her judgment prior to entering the chamber.

This is no monster. She sat there for a moment, regarding the broken man before her. Who is he? Where is he from? Why did he save us?

Tentatively, she reached out, little by little. It wasn't just fear that made her so hesitant; she'd learned to overcome many fears during her apprenticeship. It was something more, something she couldn't define. It made her belly clench and her heartbeat increase in tempo. It made her breathe a little faster and made her palms sweat.

Finally her hand touched the top of his head. Despite the runaway strands, his hair was smooth, soft even. He slowly looked up and her fingertips slid over the thick, wavy strands. His eyes were mesmerizing, darker than they had been a few moments ago. The red was still there, but less intense, like the color of her favorite dress, the one she liked to wear in court. Trembling, her fingers continued down his temple to his cheek, where she felt the stubbled, silver flecked beard. She placed her hand beneath his chin, and with the other, picked up the large mug lying nearby. She brought it over and carefully placed it to his dried, cracked lips.

He drank deeply of the watered wine, his throat rising and falling with each swallow. Unlike many men, he didn't grab the mug away from her to drink faster, but seemed to bask in the care she offered and took only what she gave. She saw the deep abrasions on his wrists and the trails of blood that crept down his arms to his elbows. A surge of anger swept through her like a wild river and she pitched her voice back to the guardsmen, "Give me the keys to his manacles."

The guards began to argue the seriousness of her request. Her temper flared again and the torches flickered. "Give them now!"

A heavy bronze ring with a single key bounced over the uneven floor to her side just as the door clanged shut. She lowered the empty mug and picked it up. Without further thought, she gently unlocked his left arm, making sure not to touch his wounds or the dire metal of his bond. Then, at the guard's protest, she tossed the ring back towards the closed door. She grabbed one of the trays of uneaten food, the one that looked freshest, and brought it to her side. Turning back, she found the Wolf's face a mere two inches from hers.

She blinked. The skin around his eyes was crinkled, and he had silvering hairs scattered about in his eyebrows to match those in his hair and beard. Her eyes traced the lines around his mouth… would they disappear when he smiled? His posture displayed vulnerability without losing power powerful, very dangerous indeed. Her heart pounded against her ribs as he reached out his freed hand and placed it at the back of her head, scandalously pushing off her hood. He then gently pulled her forward and placed his forehead against hers.

She let out the breath she'd been holding at the same time he released a gusty sigh. He whispered something, muttered in words she couldn't understand. His hand was warm and she allowed herself to relax. His scent tickled her olfactory nerve; he'd been washed but still smelled like an animal, his musk spicy and woody. Tendrils of his long hair hung alongside their faces, thick and smooth like the fur of his namesake. The guards shrieked in the distance behind her, but she easily ignored them. The passion of the moment was couched with power, pillowed by gentleness that touched her soul. For that brief time, she allowed herself to live in the moment, something she rarely did anymore.

When they finally parted, Vivien fetched a pitcher of water from near the door. Only with great reluctance did he let her go. When she sat back down on the floor before him, he gestured for her instead to sit at his side. He pressed gently against her, touching her without making her feel oppressed. She filled the mug with the water and handed him the best pieces of slightly staled bread, slices of dried meat, and raw vegetables from the platters that had taunted him not long before. She knew he must be starving, but he ate slowly and took only what she offered. When she'd sifted through the most edible bits, she shouted for the guards to bring a fresh platter.

As though doused by an avalanche, the thrumming rage that burned inside the Wolf flickered out. He ate the fresh food that was brought, his wrists a mass of torn skin from surging against his bonds. Vivien picked up her book and searched for the appropriate pages. She finally found what she was looking for, a translation from Elvish to the rough speech of the Lairdlands, the most likely language of a man moving through life wearing a kilt. She found the familiar phrase, "Who are you?" and spoke it aloud. She hoped it didn't sound too terrible to his ears.

The Wolf sat up straight like a predator that has a man mimic noises back at it. He reached for the book with only a moment's hesitation, flipping pages until he replied in horribly accented Elvish, "I am your servant."

Vivien's brows beetled, and she struggled with the shock of him reading the Laird's script as much as his reply. He was educated, definitely not a commoner. She shifted pages again, "No...no. What is your name? Who are you?"

He smiled sadly, shrugging. He looked to the guards with spears outside the gate, a freshly summoned junior healer staring in shock through the bars, and the tall, almost glowing presence of the newly arrived Grand Magister hovering like an elder spirit behind them. It took several seconds for her to translate the reply.

"I am no one."

The voice of the pureblood elder was like a physical thing in the echoing halls of the prison. "Vivien, I would have some words with you."

The reaction from the Wolf was immediate. She watched his whole posture shift simply by tensing muscles. Instantly he went from chained in a squatting position to being crouched for a pounce. His eyes flashed bright red for only an instant, as if a trick of the light. She caressed his arm and they returned to a dull red, so dark they might as well be black.

Vivien rose slowly, raised her hood, and crossed meekly to the side of the simmering, elder, full-blood elf.

Made by the Deep Green and the Mother of Light at the beginning of time, the elves were the purest expression of their love. The raw power of these two beings was infused into their first children– all things growing and living, withering and dying. All of this was embodied in the Grand Magister.

Timeless, ageless, he stood outside the squalor of the prison like a pillar of light, platinum hair glowing around his shoulders. His robes were a heavy cobalt of endless night, but he shone from beneath the hood nonetheless. Even as he frowned slightly, Vivien felt the mote of joy behind his eyes that he always saved for her. She walked out of the cage and the guards slammed the bars shut behind her. Vivien jumped, and opened her mouth to protest when the Grand Magister demanded her attention with soft, yet sonorous words.

"You are safe, young one. I rejoice in your wholeness through the storm of battle. I have spoken to the Lady of Moonlight and Love. She says you were unshakable."

His words flooded her with warmth and she smiled, a blush flushing her face. Yet a seed of doubt, the remembered hail of burning iron, the blade poised before her face, the screams of the dying, shook her as if she had returned to that exact moment. She trembled. Then she looked back, past the dead iron bars to the Wolf.

The human was there, but no longer a dangerous thing snapping at his chains. He sat against a wall, slowly eating from the plates on floor and watching her with forlorn eyes. "Magister… Lord," She corrected, speaking to him not as the teacher and leader of the Elvish Kingdom's mages, but as a noble full blood elf, "We would have failed had it not been for this human. He…"

The Magister only nodded, but it stopped her as she spoke. She could feel the fear and confusion her words inspired in the low elves guarding the Wolf behind her. How much more aware was the pure blood that stood before her? Her teacher smiled slightly, "Walk with me."

It was not a request, and Vivien could not fathom refusal. He walked and she fell respectfully a step behind and to the side, following him in his calm, serene gait up the spiraling stairs, out of the cold, lightless place of iron and torches and into the light of day. It was cool, but bright. They came back to the halls that lined the gorge and the common elves of lesser bloodlines moved about their business. Children playing a game of Capture the Rod, swarmed around the Magister with joyful giggles. Bareheaded and free, they scampered dexterously among doting adults who smiled at their antics. For a moment she envied them their exuberance, laughter, and innocence, feeling a measure of loss when they left.

The question came from nowhere and knocked the wind from her, "Have you yet thought of childbearing, Vivien?"

She gave a deep breath, struggled to get control of emotions that suddenly surged through her mind. In truth she had not, but the lie came easily to her lips, mayhap too easily. "Of course, but my duties, and the time…"

Her voice trailed off but the Magister waited. Elves were masters of waiting, knowing every day from that moment on was theirs by right of blood that did not weaken and die like that of humans, not for centuries upon centuries. They turned and walked onto one of the grand arches that linked the west and east side of the gorge. It was near the apex the Magister turned and walked onto one of the balconies. The pressure of the silence was oppressive and she finished clumsily, "There have been conversations, Grand Magister."

He did not reply, but looked over the swath of the forest that stood below, as beautiful and wild as any in creation. The blue ribbon of the rocky Fyresmee River far below reflected the sky and sunlight as a glittering seam of silver. She could feel the Grand Magister's serenity, and she wished to find it for herself. Thoughts and worries whirling within gave her no peace.

"Magister, the human... he saved the Lady of Moonlight and Love. Is this what we owe him? A cage?"

He affixed her with eyes so blue they were like the sky on a cloudless summer day. Yet, they reflected the weight of thoughts she could only conjecture about. When he was ready, the Magister spoke again. "The thing in the cage downstairs, he is not human."

Vivien recoiled. "But, Magister…"

He shook his head. "During the battle he was dealt mortal wounds, Vivien. You know this to be true. He was brought here to be healed of these, except our greatest soothers of pain and suffering found nothing but ugly scars and the shallowest of hurts."

Forgetting herself, Vivien interrupted. "But when we were on the road he was near death for days!" Shocked, she covered her mouth to stop it from further betrayal.

The Magister's eyes glittered but he chose to ignore her temerity. "Even his shoulder has somehow mended, with only bits of broken bone protruding from the skin where his body has expelling them like splinters. The healing fae would not touch him, Vivien, and even I am still searching for an explanation to that. No, he is not human. If he ever was."

Vivien blinked furiously, realizing how her act of entering the Wolf's cage was pigheaded and foolhardy. "Might he be possessed by one of the elder fae?"

The Magister's brows came together ever so slightly, not in anger, but in concerned consideration. All accepted Elvish magic revolved around the harnessing and taming of the most basic motes of creation, the faeries. Sometimes they were corrupted, but could still be controlled by a sufficiently powerful and skilled wizard. Finally he shook his head, "No. The fae recoil from him, Vivien. Whatever made him is a darker magic, and I daresay, an older kind than even we have seen."

Those words threw a chill down her spine again. In the chaos of creation, the void dispossessed by light and life held things so dark they could blast even an elf's sanity to pieces. She shook her head fiercely, childishly, "He is not evil! I would have sensed it, Magister."

Then the Magister changed. He lowered the hood on his robes and, for a brief instant, he seemed as old as he was, over a five hundred years behind him and hundreds more before him. She hurried to bring down her hood as he raised a kindly hand and laid it on her shoulder. "Young one, the Wolf is not evil, but he has sharp teeth. It seems we owe this one a debt, but so far you are the only one to get through to him. It is because we owe him we must let him loose, but in your care. It is for that reason I must ask– if needed, can you kill him?"

The question drove an ice cold spike into her heart. It fluttered in beating, and shriveled with a painful need to run and hide. Yet there, looking into the eyes of the Magister, there could be only one answer. "Yes." Though the truth of it she had no idea.

"Take some time. Learn his language. You knew it when you were young. Then let us discuss bringing him forth from imprisonment. The Lady wishes to thank him, but then we must find a safe place to release him back into the wild, my dear." He smiled warmly. "You are a good daughter. I am proud to call you my own."

He gathered her in a caring embrace that brought little comfort. All she could see in her mind was the lost and needful eyes of the Wolf who named himself Nobody.