Dreketh stood alone at the far end of the stone bridge, her face downcast. In her limp hand rested her father’s sword, the bloodstained blade similarly downcast to lie against the dirt path at her feet as if the shadow knight lacked the strength to raise it to its scabbard.

The road to Nektulos had not been kind. The dark elf’s face shown cut and bruised by the harrowing days of her journey, hidden as it was behind a curtain of matted hair. The once polished armor on her shoulders now shown beaten and lackluster—evidence of the trials she had endured.

Dreketh’s azure eyes peered sharply at the two guards standing watch across the bridge extending before her—the very same bridge she had been forced to run across in her banishment months ago. Though downtrodden and battered, the shadow knight’s weary vigil held a grim pride all its own as she waited for the one she knew must inevitably come to meet her.

There was every possibility she was about to die. By all rights she should be killed for ignoring the mandate of exile imposed by her people. Nevertheless, Dreketh decided to put Kella N’Threk and his so-called mandate to the test. It was a gamble. Even though she guessed that the Pact of Zeranon placed her survival above that of Neriak law, nothing said that another advocate of Innoruuk couldn’t be selected in the event she was killed. Such an event would be a profound setback, however, and Dreketh was betting such a setback would not be afforded unless absolutely necessary.

And even if it was to be afforded, the thought of her life ending was not entirely unwelcome. These days of solitary travel had given the dark elf plenty of time to think things through. She realized how everything she had and everything she was is now gone. Broken or not, the Pact of Zeranon had left her bereft of everything she held dear. The actions of one insignificant wood elf made it all meaningless, and such ignominy made Dreketh rail against her situation. Whatever the cause and no matter the future, one way or another she had been cheated out of her life, never to recapture it.

No, death was not at all unwelcome, she thought to herself as she watched the hand of death approach from across the bridge. It came in the form of one familiar captain dressed in the trappings of the temple guard. His measured steps rang in the shadow knight’s ears as he made his unhurried approach.

“Well, well… what have we here?” he said, coming to a halt before her. “I knew I smelled the stench of an elf lover from the moment I entered the forest.”

Dreketh remained motionless and silent, her eyes staring clear through Captain N’Farre as if he didn’t exist.

“Curious,” the man pressed on. “I don’t see your pet wood elf anywhere. Is she hiding, perhaps? Or has her entertainment value worn thin, and you’ve come seeking a substitute among your former brethren?”

“I demand to see Kella N’Threk,” Dreketh said in a monotone.

“I’m afraid that is not possible.” N’Farre folded his arms, taking several strolling steps around the shadow knight as he spoke. “The old priest is practically on his deathbed, you see. It would be improper for him to expose himself to the cold night air just to speak to you. I would hate to think of the consequences if he died from catering to a fool’s request.”

Dreketh’s jaw muscles clenched. The scathing captain had meandered out of her field of vision, but she could feel the tingling sensation of his presence at the back of her neck as he spoke softly into her ear.

“But I will oblige you in taking you to the temple,” he said in a soothing voice that mocked her with subtle threat. “You will see it most clearly as we pass straight by on your way to the Lodge of the Dead. I told you if you returned that it would be my pleasure to show you how we deal with elf lovers.”

Dreketh tossed her head irritably to one side, the captains hot breath annoying her.

“If you wish to kill me, do it and be done. I grow tired of your worthless banter,” she said sharply.

“Nothing would please me more,” the captain replied, continuing his leisurely pace around the disgraced shadow knight. “But as long as Priest N’Threk lives, so does his sanction of your life. No, I’m afraid I cannot offer you your just desserts at the moment, palatable as the thought may be.”

The captain drew his sword. In one quick motion, his blade clashed with Dreketh’s, knocking it from her unresisting hand to fall on the dusty path. The tired and battle-worn dark elf remained motionless.

“Instead, I am forced to offer you our hospitality,” the captain continued, bringing the flat of his blade up below Dreketh’s chin, raising it. “The very same hospitality we offer other esteemed visitors we receive here in Nektulos from time to time. You, my dear, will be the honored guest of one Noxhil V’Sek. As you are yourself a denizen of the Dead, I’m sure you are familiar with his work.”

Dreketh’s breathing grew heavy. Of course she knew V’Sek’s work. The man’s prowess at inflicting pain and keeping his victims alive during the process was legendary among the Teir’Dal—and among the practitioners of necromancy in particular. Nights in the Lodge of the Dead were often filled with the strangled cries of his victims. Some were shouts of agony while others were simpering pleas for it to end. No light dweller withstood the torturer’s skilled talents. Even hardened warriors were known to literally cry out in tears for their mothers while under his charge. Devout followers of gods had renounced their beliefs in exchange for the promised release of death.

Torture alone was not the only motivation for Noxhil V’Sek’s work, however. The talented dark elf was an accomplished scientist as well, fully knowledgeable in the ways of magic and how it related to living creatures. The results of his grotesque experiments were well known.

One experiment in particular had always stood out in Dreketh’s mind. It involved a human male. She remembered seeing the man’s tortured throes as he lay naked on the stone slab in V’Sek’s gruesome laboratory, his arms and legs bound securely to each of the four corners. At the time, V’Sek harbored an idle curiosity to see if the Teir’Dal’s already superior night vision could be further enhanced in some way. To those ends, he made use of a precise technique of magical surgery he had developed for this experiment. Carefully, he removed the man’s eyes and replaced them with those of a captured fire beetle. The use of any form of anesthetic or sedation was deemed unnecessary—as this was merely a human, after all, caught wandering Nektulos forest in his foolishness.

Ignoring the man’s shrieks of pain and anguish, Dreketh had watched fascinated as V’Sek completed the delicate procedure. As fate would have it, the torturer’s efforts were in vain. Even though it had been obvious the man could still see to some degree, what he saw through the eyes of an insect had driven him completely mad. He became uncontrollably frenzied as he glanced around the room with glowing red eyes that were not his own. In the end, the human’s life was mercifully terminated—the incomprehensible ramblings of a man gone insane hardly being useful to the experiment. All the same, V’Sek made a thorough record of events for future reference to use in his next attempt when another suitable victim was captured.

Dreketh could hear the frantic beating of her own heart as she fought to retain her composure.

“You would do no such thing,” she said, her voice quivering only once.

The captain’s sword remained poised against the underside of her chin, its tip biting into the soft, fleshy part of her jaw.

“I am delighted to show you just how serious I am,” N’Farre replied, his tone ominously cheerful. “Not only that, but I have been invited to attend the proceedings and report on the outcome to my superiors personally.” The captain’s smile broadened into a leer. “I shall relish the sight of you stripped and bleeding on our esteemed Noxhil V’Sek’s prize table. It will be the first time in years that the blood of a traitor has mingled with the blood of light dwellers staining the laboratory floor.”

The shadow knight’s labored breathing became visibly stronger. She swallowed, her jaw muscles clenching in a fraught effort to remain calm. Seeing this inner struggle, the captain leaned in closer, his blade unwavering.

“Perhaps V’Sek will be so kind as to give me the opportunity of participating in his work,” he muttered. “It would be an honor to serve him by personally sanctifying the Third Gate of Neriak with the open screams of a traitor such as yourself.”

Dreketh’s resolve broke as fear overcame her. A panicked sob escaped her control as she quickly withdrew her chin from off the captain’s blade. Fully expecting this reaction, the captain reached out to take the shadow knight’s arm in his hand.

In a dazed attempt to flee the forest, Dreketh thrashed her arm about, trying desperately to dislodge the man’s firm grip. The wild notion crossed her mind that perhaps if she gave him enough trouble, he would resort to killing her anyway. Her hopes were dashed, however, as she felt his other arm wrap itself around her abdomen, holding her firmly from behind. Too weak from her journey to put up any respectable struggle, Dreketh squirmed helplessly in the captain’s stalwart clutches as she heard him call out to the guards on the other side of the bridge.

“Detachment approach!” he yelled sharply. “Take this traitorous wench to the Lodge. As you can see, she is anxious to see her ancient home again!”

All hope lost, the shadow knight screamed in a panicked frenzy as she felt the guards’ hands brutally grab hold of her limbs. Without pause, Dreketh was held aloft by the robust guards and carried like so much baggage across the bridge to her fate amidst the shrouding darkness of Nektulos Forest.

Chapter 16 - Reunion