Blood Memories [Last of Elves book 1] (NaNoWriMo 2014)

Ten: Panthera

Panthera

He was kept in the cell for a while, with nothing to tell the time. Only the instinct honed through living outdoors for years let him know.

Three days. He was kept there for three days.

Every day, he felt himself growing weaker. The lack of contact with the earth hurt him, and the stone pressing in on him was claustrophobic. He hated it.

When the warrior finally came for him, he was already standing. His wrists had been rubbed raw from the rope, and his eyes looked even darker than normal, almost haunted. The warrior visibly shivered at the sight of him.

He did nothing, only waited and watched. Wanting to know what was to become of him. The warrior, recovering quickly, pushed him out of the room, guiding him roughly to where he had always met the swordsman. He heaved a silent sigh. Now wasn’t the best time to duel. He was weak from lack of food, lack of contact with the earth, and the dimly lit passageways weren’t helping. His lip curled slightly into a sneer. Only humans could believe that the dark underground was nice.

His wrists were released, and he was given a sword, as normal. He took it wearily, closing his eyes. He knew that the captain would try to catch him unawares, try to tire him out while he was still weak, but he had no intention of that happening.

He had to end this as quickly as he could.

He felt the rush of air even as he heard it, and his eyes flew open, his sword coming up lightning fast to block the blow. The captain’s eyes widened slightly, but the elf took no notice. For the first time, he took the offensive, attacking the human with all of his skill and strength. Despite his weakened state, the duel lasted only a matter of minutes. With a strange twist of his wrist, Panthera disarmed the captain, flicking the point of the thin sword to the man’s throat.

The captain froze, breathing heavily. Panthera was barely sweating.

It had been so easy to defeat the human. He’d had years to practice his craft, his only way of survival, and he’d picked up many a sly trick from the masters he’d learned from. Even now, he was memorising the way the captain had moved, remembering the moves so that he could practise, and make them his own.

“I believe,” he said quietly. “That I win?” He posed it as a question, even though the answer was clear and undebatable. It was just who he was. Suddenly bored, he dropped the sword, turning his back on the captain to lean against the wall.

He didn’t particularly care what happened next, as long as he wasn’t killed.

It almost happened.

A sword slanted against his throat, the hilt held by the captain. Panthera merely sighed, shifting his weight to rest evenly on both feet.

He waited.

After a long moment, the captain jerked his chin. Obeying, Panthera walked to the entrance, allowing his wrists to be bound once more behind his back. As he’d expected, he was taken to the priestess’ room, where he was forced to his knees. The captain didn’t stay, and Panthera watched as the man left the room. Deciding that there was no point in fighting for the moment, the elf bowed his head, closing his eyes. He would wait.

It wasn’t long before the captain returned, with the priestess in tow. Even through the adjoining walls, only a curtain covering the doorway, her raised voice was easily audible.

“What do you mean, he isn’t dead? There is only ever one outcome of a challenge. It’s a fight to the death! You know that, Captain.”

She ripped the flimsy fabric aside and strode in.

“Get him up,” she ordered fiercely. The warrior behind him hurried to obey, dragging him to his feet. “Now leave.”

The young man didn’t hesitate, almost running from the room. Keeping his opinions to himself, Panthera met the woman’s dark eyes, the fury clear as day in them.

“You don’t seem to care about the answers you are given,” she hissed.

He merely lifted his chin slightly. “I do not kill.”

There was a snort from the captain, but it was the priestess who whirled around, pinning her furious glare on the human.

“You find that hard to believe?” she demanded. “Go, then. Leave us.”

The man glanced between them both, considering the options. At last, he spoke, firmly. “No, priestess. He is dangerous. You don’t know what he can, or will do.”

“Then hold your tongue,” she snapped, and turned back to Panthera. “The elves have always killed.”

Anger rose hot and thick in his mouth, and he wrenched at the ropes binding him. They were again redvine, though, and nothing happened. He glared at the woman, all the while reaching for his dagger, hidden at his back. “Watch your own tongue,” he snarled. “The actions of one do not represent the actions of us all.”

She jerked her chin up. “There are countless reports of elves killing,” she retorted.

“And many more of my people slaughtered,” he snapped back. “Whole villages. Women and children. You wonder why we fled.”

“You caused the Great Famine!” the captain accused, and Panthera stared at him.

“You really think that?” he asked scornfully. Finally, he gripped the dagger, the hilt fitting in his hand like it had been made for it. Which it had. He sliced through the ropes, keeping the blade ready.

“You really think that?” he repeated, softer this time. There was a small potted plant near the doorway. Small, with the characteristic heart shaped leaves of the homeflower. Not stopping to consider what he was doing, Panthera pointed to it. “When we could do this?”

Nothing happened for a tiny moment, and then the plant trembled. The plant shook out its leaves, the movement making them grow bigger even as the trunk swelled. When it was finished, it was nearly twice the size, with small purple buds all over it.

“Why would we cause the famine when it hurts us more than it hurts you?” Panthera sneered. “You slaughtered us. Not because of what you said. But because you’ve always hated us.”

Hate flared in the captain’s eyes and he stepped forward, but the priestess threw out her hand, stopping him.

“No,” she said quietly. Her eyes were still on the plant. “Leave us.”

“But, priestess!” Even though it was a futile protest, the captain continued. “He has a blade!”

“As do I,” she countered. “Go.”

The man still hesitated, but he finally left, the door closing with a bang behind him.