Mazgrim stood twenty feet from the front of the pavilion, his eyes fixed on the front flap. He was unaccustomed to the brightness of the surface world, and the well-lit sky hurt his eyes. Having been above ground many times over the years the dark elf no longer suffered Kresh’tavyor – blindness from the sky – the sunlight simply blurred his vision and caused significant discomfort.

  While his jet-black skin could not actually be burned by sunlight, it nonetheless became uncomfortably hot with direct exposure. Mazgrim was thankful it was fall and not summer; the worst effect would likely be the damned itching that occurred after a period without shade.

  The sounds of the marketplace on the other side of the flap spilled noisily out onto the lonely plain. Twenty minutes had passed since they’d seen the blue elf enter the market; they slipped outside to await his exit thereafter.

  He shouldn’t be long now, likely just checking for messages from his bar’hnan. As the leader of the group, Mazgrim had made the call to simply wait for the blue elf bounty to emerge from the tent and kill him; just assault him from three sides, cut him down and take the body back with them. He watched the flap and waited, poised with his fighting axe held low behind his waist with both hands.

  Tgorsivik lurked close to the right wall of the tent, where he would see anyone exiting the front flap without himself being seen. The assassin kept his Bzif Sh’ka pressed against his right thigh—a wickedly curved knife characteristic of his culture, equipped with a metal fingerguard that in turn sported a short forward-pointing thrusting spike.

  He kept his eyes to the ground, away from the damned burning sun. He would see the blue elf’s first step and he would strike before the second foot fell.

  Mazgrim you hasty fool; we three are nearly blind out here! We should have ambushed him inside, perhaps in a dark alley or under the ceiling of a shop tent! Tgorsivik thought bitterly.

  SuKailiuz crouched on the left side of the tent, her mini-bow in hand with a venomous arrow nocked. Her vision suffered the least of the three, for many times had she followed a bounty or target to the surface. Still, the blurriness would be a problem for a shot over twenty-five yards.

  The flap shifted slightly. Mazgrim brought his axe about into a proper attack posture, the other two dark elves adjusted their footing and choked up their grip on the weapon they held.

  The front of the tent burst outward just as a long, steel spike shot out through the canvas on the left wall. The spike pierced SuKailiuz in the abdomen before vanishing back through the canvas, doubling her over as her mini-bow clattered to the ground.

  Mazgrim barely registered his comrade grunt and fold forward as the flap flew open and a red elf vaulted from the tent. Mouth agape in a silent shout and scimitar high overhead the red-skinned savage’s feet never touched the ground; he sailed nearly all the twenty feet to the dark elf.

  As if stitched to the first red elf’s ass, a second Kari Dearg streaked from the tent. Tgorsivik sprang, arcing his knife so he would catch the red elf’s neck as his second stride hit the ground.

  Mazgrim expertly side-stepped the flying scimitar wielder. As the curved blade wooshed past where the dark elf had just been, the latter whipped the cutting edge of his axe into his attacker’s gut with a crushing thump.

  Tgorsivik came to the end of his arc, certain his blade would bite deeply into the unsuspecting target’s neck. The red elf continued forward like a bolt; somehow the Bzif Sh’ka fell short.

  The dark elf assassin saw but did not understand; confusion clouded his mind. He wasn’t moving; something had stopped him! In the space of a second he progressed from the taste of victory to the shock of unexpected failure and then to the startling realization he had stopped moving.

  The gladius sword impaling his belly registered like a lightning strike. The end of the blade extended far behind the small of his back and most of the sword was buried in his midsection. T’gorsivik saw the brilliant shine of the steel even through the blood covering it; he noticed a strange blueish tint to the metal as he began to slip out of consciousness.

  Scarecely had this reality set in when Hōz yanked his gladius straight back, out of the dark elf. The ranger turned his attention to the female on the other side of the tent, allowing the assassin he had just impaled to fall away and thump onto the ground.

  Mazgrim barely freed his axe from his enemy’s midsection before the second red elf lunged with the spike atop his own axe. Fluidly, almost casually the Nokturum danced backwards in little circles avoiding the thrusting attack and the subsequent swing of the cutting edge.

  The dark elf spun the shaft of his axe forward over his wrist for a downward stroke, which the red elf only just managed to avoid, stutter-stepping out of a near fall as the axe narrowly missed his face and chest.

  The Kari Dearg faked another thrust.

  Mazgrim pretended to take the bait, shifting as if to parry.

  His opponent stamped with his forward foot, simulating a burst forward. Mazgrim whipped a backhand stroke where he expected the red elf’s neck to be, only to find empty air instead.

  Untouched by his foe's weapon, the red elf nonetheless winced from a pain that shot through his abdomen. He quickly composed himself and snarled.

  The dark elf smirked, for he knew his dark aura was already beginning to affect the other warrior.

  Hōz knelt by the groaning, bleeding assassin. The puncture wound in her gut ran deep and bled dark.

  “There’s help on the other side of that flap.” the blue elf told his would-be murderer. “You would have gotten your cut of five-hundred gold for my head; here’s five you won’t have to share if you agree to cease hunting me.”

  He laid a small velvet pouch in the assassin’s hand. “There’s five diamond stars; worth five-hundred gold.”

  SuKailiuz snarled at Hōz. “You killed one of our sera’nah. I am not permitted to forgive you even if I were willing – which I am not.”

  Hōz huffed and rolled his eyes. “Sera’nah is little more than a viceroy, a stand-in for the real thing. Take the money and live and then uphold your commission to cease hunting me.”

  “Screw you.” the wounded female hissed through clenched teeth.

  Mazgrim quickly darted forward but angled to his left, moving closer to his opponent but staying off the center line.

  The red elf circled to his own left in unison with the black elf, ignoring the deep ache in his gut as he moved. He understood Mazgrim's footwork.

  The angular motion allowed a fighter to advance without direct exposure to an opponent's counterstrike. The aggressor would not be close enough to attack after the first advance, but within two or three such movements he could gradually cut the distance away. Properly executed, the dark elf could end up very close to the red elf but off his center line and safe from a counter while at the same time perfectly positioned to land his own strike.

  The two circled one another for half a turn.

  Mazgrim repeated his angular advance; a blur of motion rushing left then right in a zig-zag charge. Again the red elf timed the advance, circling wide to avoid the trap.

  He grimaced at the end of his circle. His abdominal muscles involuntarily tightened, nearly doubling him over.

  Hōz grabbed the female Nokturum’s face, squeezing her slender cheeks hard with his fingers and thumb. She in turn grabbed for his throat but he blocked the effort with his forearm and placed his palm on her small but toned bicep. With her free hand the assassin went for the dagger on her belt but the ranger pressed his knee into the top of her hand and settled his weight onto it.

  She lurched and groaned in pain. The blue elf playfully planted a kiss on her soft lips; she tried to bite his face but he squeezed her cheeks even harder, digging his thumb into the hinge of her jaw and causing her to gasp and flail.

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  Mazgrim saw the red elf’s pained expression and shifted his axe into his left hand. With a flick of his right wrist he released a slender throwing blade in a straight line towards his enemy’s chest.

  The Kari Dearg shifted his axe handle and caught the projectile tip-first with a woody thump. He casually flipped the stuck shank with his finger, knocking it loose from the shaft of his weapon and letting it fall.

  He felt his balance shift against his will. The negative effects of being this close to a dark elf were starting to mount.

  Mazgrim launched his blitz the second he saw the other warrior flip the throwing shank to dislodge it. He closed the distance in a flash.

  The red elf reacted instinctively, stepping back but bringing his axe high to parry the incoming blow. Pain rolled through his body and he struggled to contain a rising nausea. The two axes met with a clang.

  The Nokturum spun and brought his axe low in a wide arc with his left hand. The red elf side stepped, narrowly avoiding the loss of a leg; but he underestimated his opponent’s agility. At the end of his axe’s arc Mazgrim whipped his right hand out and sliced the Kari Dearg’s thigh with a small dagger he’d discreetly drawn as he spun.

  The red elf faltered, then staggered back to avoid another slice of the axe. The fresh pain from his wound disrupted his concentration, which he needed to resist the effects of the dark elf’s aura.

  "Get off me you big, blue bastard!" the female assassin growled.

  “Don’t be that way SuKailiuz.” Hōz said in a stern voice, though he spoke her name in a considerably softer tone.

  The she-elf tensed hard against him; her kind were generally stronger than other elves. Hōz couldn’t hold her still with brute force alone but his superior knowledge of grappling allowed him to divert her strength and make her efforts useless.

  With a whimper she went limp, even closing her eyes. In her mind she spoke the first dark word of a baneful spell, then forgot what came next.

  She struggled to recall the rest of the spell, then realized she was not alone in her own mind. Her eyes remained closed yet she saw the blue elf's face clearly; he spoke to her with his thoughts.

  You owe me a blood debt. I know it has been a very long time, but that changes nothing. Will you honor your debt, or shall I invoke the Sudya of Abbolyodd?

  The Kari Dearg struggled to suppress his nausea. He growled to help himself focus. Shuffling back as the Nokturum advanced, he spun his axe end over end in front of him.

  The blade whistled as the red elf turned his wrist and kept the weapon spinning in a figure eight pattern. The dark elf smiled, for he knew his opponent grew desperate; a few more seconds is all he needed to find an entry point.

  Hōz picked up the pouch of diamonds SuKailiuz had dropped to grab at his throat. He placed it into the thin line of cleavage visible above her leather vest.

  “I will honor our deal if I live.” growled the dark elf.

  “Good.” Hōz roughly lifted her from the ground, for her kind were much smaller and lighter than his race.

  She grunted and hollered from the pain of the sudden motion. Ignoring her protests, the blue elf drug her over to the door of the tent.

  “If I cease to hunt you for my current commissioner, my debt is paid,” the assassin hissed.

  “I suppose that’s right,” replied Hōz.

  He lifted SuKailiuz off her feet and hurled her forward through the flap.

  “Bastard!” she shrieked as she sailed through the tent doorway.

  The blue elf imagined she had a less-than-perfect landing on the other side.

  As he tracked his limping opponent, keeping the red elf always directly ahead of his stare, Mazgrim took his time adjusting his grip and preparing to spring for the final stroke.

  Pain shot through both of the dark elf’s eyes simultaneously as the hazy white glare of the sun struck him square in the face. The clever red elf had retreated strategically, leading his attacker directly into the sunlight.

  The dark elf cursed, flinched, then abruptly tried to shake the glare from his eyes as he circled to his right. He never saw the long, slender dagger coming; the red elven warrior drove it straight into his enemy’s heart, sinking all eight inches of steel into the assassin’s chest.

  With a sharp twist the Kari withdrew his dagger. As his enemy crumpled lifeless to the grassy plain, he stroked the blood from his blade with the thumb and forefinger of his opposite hand and slid the dagger back into its sheath.

  Hōz turned from the pavilion and saw the red elf who had killed the lead assassin kneeling over his fellow Kari Dearg, holding the latter’s hand. The elf on the ground, who had been struck midsection by the dark elf’s axe, wheezed and coughed blood, unable to speak.

  “Verld, forgive me.” the kneeling elf half-hissed, half-growled. “I should have gone through first.”

  Hōz reached out to his mount telepathically but did not feel the animal nearby. He looked at the grass where he had positioned the horse before entering the tent and saw a trail leading away from the pavilion; not towards the road but farther into the plain in the direction of the foothills of the Jagged Jaws. Pleased his travelling companion had gotten out of harm’s way and resolute he would find Allistar shortly, he turned his attention to the dying elf.

  “I can help him.” Hōz dropped to his knees beside the two red elves. “May I?”

  “Blue elf witchery?” seethed the red elf holding his fallen brother’s hand.

  “I’m afraid so.” Hōz didn’t hesitate or apologize. “Do you want him to live, or would you have him die uncorrupted by such sin?”

  The red elf stammered, genuinely unsure of what to say in the situation.

  “Look.” Hōz offered. “Nobody has to know. Your people don’t need to know he was even wounded. When he is patched up, I can fix that gash in your thigh as well. Then off you both go with one hundred newfound gold coins each. Not a bad day at the market!”

  The red elf nodded then laughed out loud. “Not a bad day at the market!”

  The ranger placed his palms above the hands of the red elf, who clutched his wound to keep his innards from spilling out. A strange but common habit, Hōz mused, for he had seen countless beings, from men and elves to goblins and orcs and more wounded gravely by a hack or slash to the gut, probably dying, but taking care to hold their organs inside the body nonetheless.

  Closing his eyes, relaxing fully, and letting go of everything aside from the white light at the core of his being, the blue elf lowered his hands further to rest them directly on the dying elf’s hands. A field of white brilliance, perhaps with a tinge of luminous, light blue around the edges, expanded in all directions. At the same time the light became like a fluid and poured into and through any open channels that would receive it. The blue elf filled the light with a current from his own spirit and with the intention to heal what it touched, then sent the light into the red elf.

  For some amount of time the two elves, one mortally wounded the other a healer, drifted in a white space with no past nor future, without sounds or sights – other than the light.

  The bliss of the place felt like a well-earned lazy afternoon when one is free to sleep upright in a chair undisturbed, periodically waking to recognize this freedom before drifting back to sleep. The light faded gradually and the grassy plain beneath the clear fall sky returned.

  The red elf, now alert and not hurting, moved his hands away from the wound. Though covered in dried blood his flesh was not opened; a faint scar remained where the gash had been and even it faded before the elf’s eyes.

  “Witchcraft!” the prostrate warrior gasped.

  Hōz had already turned his attention to the cut in the other red elf’s thigh. In less than a minute the deep wound mended; the nausea and dizziness caused by the dark elf’s aura had also left him. To the second Kari’s astonishment his leg felt as strong as it had before sustaining the cut.

  He looked closely at the blue elf who, now standing again, towered over him.

  “T’Kar’Lo’I”. the red elf said to Hōz as he extended his hand. “My name is Hasiksus.”

  “T’Kar’Lo’I Hasiksus.” replied the blue elf as he took his hand. “I am Hōz’b’nahzioh.”

  “The kuasha sickness, caused by the black elves,” he began. “It does not harm you?”

  Hōz shrugged. “It did, long ago. No longer does that seem to be the case.”

  The ranger paid each elf the promised one-hundred gold pieces and thanked them both. Once they had departed he laid the two dead Nokturim side-by-side offset from the pavilion’s door, assuming their kind would return for the bodies.

  Such strange little creatures.

  He thought as he looked down at the dark elven bodies. Surely he had noticed this before at some point over the past five-thousand years; perhaps he’d grown accustomed to their oddities and forgotten, until now. Hard to believe they can be so dangerous and so much trouble.

  Dark elves were the shortest elven race, typically standing less than six feet tall. Males and females had the same range of five-feet and six to ten inches, normally.

  Hair color was nearly always stark white, like many of their red-elven cousins, though elders could have gray hair. In rare cases – like the female Hōz had bribed, spared, and thrown through the tent flap, a dark elf might have jet black hair.

  Their eyes were either solid white or solid black, and in rare cases glowing red, without visible pupils or distinct iris. The solid-color was a lens, peculiar to the race, that helped their eyes adjust to lighting conditions on the surface despite a lifetime spent below ground.

  Hōz sensed the presence of Allistar approaching. Relief washed over him.

  He turned to face the approaching steed. “There you are.”

  He saw nothing, then realized the horse was still invisible, of course.

  The elf started to speak the word to undo the invisibility charm, but paused. He sensed another presence… or did he?

  A strange familiarity washed over the ancient being, like the presence he had always known when he was alone on the road or sitting in silence; yet something more, something new or different also came with the comfortable presence.

  “Ok, so don’t panic.” Hōz heard himself say.

  Unmistakably the voice was his own and it came from about fifteen feet ahead of him. Then for the briefest instant Hōz saw himself, where he was standing, from about fifteen feet away.

  A chill ran down the elf’s spine. Goosebumps raised on his forearms.

  Can’t recall the last time that happened.

  Genuinely puzzled and unsure of what to do – a rare state for one as old as he – Hōz said simply: “What is this?”

  Allistar became visible again fifteen feet directly in front of the ranger, and mounted on his back sat Hōz’b’nahzioh Hzul T’kah.

  “Good.” said the second Hōz. “You didn’t panic. I knew you could handle it.”

  The Hōz standing by the dead dark elves became, for a second, fixated on the queasy feeling in his stomach from the adrenaline his body just dumped; how long had it been since that had happened?

  “Or perhaps I should say I knew I could handle it.” The Hōz atop Allistar smiled broadly.

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