Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

In the Darkest of Places

"One last chance, elf."

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Zaharias wearily lifted his head from the cold stone floor. He was so tired. He laid back down and closed his eyes against the glare of torchlight. The darkness soothed his pounding head and eased the aching of his limbs. It would be so easy to give up now and die where he lay. But he couldn't. The message still rang clear in his mind, as clear as the day he heard it.

You are not alone, first-born, despair not. Time will reveal what you desire above all else.

He took solace in the words as much as the one for whom the message was meant for would upon their hearing. If only he could escape this accursed pit that had been his prison for many unnumbered years. As it was, he was far to weak to even think of an escape alone. Little food and water had depleted his strength until could no longer walk far without aid. Even the walk from his cell to where he lay now had sapped him of any energy or will to even move. He lay among the dirt and grime as if dead, ignoring the taunting of harsh voices all around. Something soft struck him across the shoulders, he didn't move. There was a hiss of disappointment when he gave no response.

"He ain't no fun anymore!" a goblin complained. Their king, Slurgoc, laughed.

"Oh he will be. Don't worry." A finger of fear slipped between Zaharias' shoulder blades and chilled his skin. He remained motionless. "How long since he's been watered?" Slurgoc asked. Zaharias' eyes flew open. Water!

"I reckon 'bout a day," the goblin replied. The king appeared to think for a moment, rubbing his scarred and misshapen chin, a cold light glinted in his eyes. He saw Zaharias open his eyes and laughed again.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Some nice fresh water," he taunted. Zaharias tried to move but his efforts failed him. Slurgoc must have seen this because he laughed again. "Pathetic!" he spat. His words had long ago lost their effect on the elf who simply stated at him, pleading.

"Please," he whispered too soft to hear and extended his fingers ever so slightly, reaching for the water he knew would not come. Unbidden a memory came to him. Cool water cascaded down from a high waterfall over his skin. He was laughing, throwing his head back and letting the water splash over his face and fill his mouth before swallowing. Hands pushed him into the pool of clear water below. As he fell he spun and pulled whoever pushed him in with him. They fell with a splash and he swam to the surface coming face to face with a bright-eyed elf laughing, even as Zaharias dunked him back under the water.

The memory vanished and he was left back in the cavern without water yet a faint hope filled him. Fainter than the stars but it was still there. He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the memory even as it faded. The memory of water leaving him even thirstier than before. Hunger was easier to cope with, after a while the pain went away and he felt nothing. But thirst raged, insatiable and always there. It drove him mad.

"Please," he whispered around his swollen tongue. This time he was heard. A strange light entered Slurgoc's eyes.

"The little whelp is thirsty," he spoke to the crowd. They growled. "I say we give him something to drink! Then we will see what sport he will give us!" The goblins cheered wildly. A goblin, larger than most, stepped forward holding a water skin in his paws. He grabbed Zaharias by the hair and forced his head back. The elf struggled weakly as he poured a vile liquid down his throat. The liquid burned like fire and coated his tongue and the back of his throat like oil. He gagged and spit a mouthful of the stuff out, some entered his lungs and he coughed violently. The goblin poured the rest into him and tossed him aside.