As I helped Lais tend to Kaloms wound, she kept darting her gaze between me, the door and her brother. She was unsure what to make of my sudden reappearance. Despite the curiosity though, we said nothing as we cleaned the blood and replaced the bandage work using a few torn cloth pieces from my shirt, and the rope which Lais had been bound with. As I tightened the rope to hopefully stem the bleeding, she finally turned to me in earnest.

  “How did you get away?”

  I looked up at her from my task, and with a coy smile, said ; “I’ll tell you another time. Just know that we need to get moving, and soon.”

  “The guards will be coming back?”

  “Eventually. But I more or less meant your brother. He’s lost a lot of blood, we have to get him back to your house without getting spotted. Do you know any shortcuts?”

  Lais was silent, deep in thought. After a few moments, she nodded and got up. picking up Kalom's right arm and throwing it over her shoulder, she motioned me to do the same, which I did. His weight was almost unmanageable for my frame, but with one foot in front of the other, me and Lais managed to carry him out of the cell and up the stairs. His feet dragged along the way, leaving behind a trail of spotted blood.

  “What does he eat? Iron?” My joke didn’t land.

  “Not now, this is serious.”

  Sighing, I apologized. “Sorry, I'm just nervous is all.”

  “And you think I'm not?” Lais said, gritting her teeth.

  As we continued out into the night, out of the building, Lais saw my handiwork. A few men lay face down in the dirt and mud, guards positioned by Gregori to keep us locked up.

  “I hope they died slowly.” Her words were scornful, venomous.

  I was taken aback. I had not heard her say anything that violent before, nor had she been so disgusted.

  “They aren't all dead, Lais.”

  She stopped and looked straight at me, with an expression that bordered on fury, but still held firm control. Her green eyes blazed almost with silent rage at my response. I could tell right away what was going through her mind, I wanted to just tell her it wasn’t worth it, but we couldn’t stop yet. We needed to focus on saving Kalom.

  “I have my reasons, just save your judgement till we get Kalom to safety, alright?”

  She looked away, and we continued walking until we entered the nearby tree line in which we came onto a narrow foot path. It was overgrown with ferns, many were bent and cracked, someone had clearly been using that path not too long before we did. But I said nothing as we trudged along, trying our best to keep Kalom aloft as we painfully made our way down the winding trail and up unto the hilltop, where their home lay still.

  —-------------------------------------------GREGORI------------------------------------------------

  Gregori was lurking in the shadows of a nearby Café alley, looking for his companion. He cursed Berma under his breath as he peered into the distance, watching for any movement. The fool had probably gone off and gotten himself into trouble, he thought. Berma was always scrounging for strong drink wherever he could find it, even if he had to stoop to stealing it. As he crouched there in the shadows, he scanned the area for his lost, and probably newly intoxicated friend. As he waited in the dead silence, he finally saw a flash of color moving across the street further away, the familiar color of the mans cloak. It was noticeable even at that distance, and so he silently followed. Creeping ever closer to Berma, Gergori could start to smell the drink he had acquired, hard cider.

  “Great,” he bemoaned to himself, “the fool is plastered already”.

  As he got up to the edge of a building, he paused. Around the corner was Berma, sitting on a crate and not at all cheerful. He looked somber, downtrodden, unlike his usual self even when drunk.

  “Is that you skulking there, Gregori?” Berma spoke up, much to Gregori’s surprise.

  His voice sounded strained, it had an unusual quality about it. Like it was being forced or choked out rather than being a voluntary act on his part. How could he have known that he was there, Berma was never the best with vigilance, and that was when he was sober. Gregori felt that something was wrong, very wrong.

  “What’s the matter, elfhen? Cease hiding, come, and join your friend for a midnight throng.”

  Gregori rushed over, not caring for stealth any longer, he was worried. Berma sounded different, his tone deeper, his words were not his own. And as he closed the distance, he looked into the man's eyes and saw a pale green glow, barely noticeable. Then, standing before Berma, he saw a smile creep onto the face of his former friend. Gregori realized what was going on, his panic and fright grew with each step towards the creature who now possessed his friend.

  “Release him.” Gregori spoke flatly, trying to show no emotion, to not let the lich know he was afraid.

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  “Sorry, little one.” Came the reply, “the corpse will be yours to take, but while he’s alive-” the thing that was once Berma, held aloft a half empty bottle of cider, “-come have a toast with an old rival. Three hundred years of our feuding.”

  The creature chuckled as he saw beads of sweat roll from the elf's brow. Gregori stood still, but inside his rage was building, the heat in his chest burned more, welling up in his throat.

  “I said,” he choked out, straining to not break his composure, “let him go. Now.”

  “What’s the matter cith m’astekta? Sad that your friend shall perish? Don't be. His time was short anyhow, a few months left at best. All in all, my treatment of him should be considered humane, instead of what I usually do to my mortal playthings.”

  “Y-you are a monster. Just leave us alone, go bother someone else.”

  “Oh my, such hateful words,” the lich said, clumsily forcing Berma’s body to stand. He started to stroll over to Gregori, hand outstretched. “Monsters are mindless creatures, dear elfhen.”

  He was close enough then that Gregori could smell the alcohol on Bermas breath. Which made him nearly gag. Bermas newly green eyes pierced Gregoris' very soul it seemed, as they bore into his own.

  “I am no monster, elfhen, I am a lich.We have brains, emotions, plans and schemes like any other.” He pushed Gregori, pinning him against the wall of the building they were behind. “But you, chu’s’t’ach inshi, continue to make my plans difficult. You, and that arrogant king of yours. My master grows impatient, and your souls grow tastier by the moment.”

  Gregori finally started to lose control, his emotions began to seep through his facade. Fear, pain, anguish and hate all twisted his mind and much to the delight of the lich.

  “What do you want, Kaaxel?” gregori eked out, in nearly a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

  The lich threw back Berma’s spine and bellowed a roaring laugh of amusement into the night sky.

  “What do I want?” he said returning to face the elf, “I want to teach you a lesson for meddling in the affairs of your betters, and what better way than making you have to kill your own compatriot?”

  “No, no you wouldn't.” Gregori gasped in horror, as the lich backed away and unsheathed Berma’s sword. “Please, Kaaxel don't do this.”

  “Come, elf. Slay your comrade and free him from my grasp, if you can that is.”

  “What if I just promise to stop getting in the way? What if I-” he was cut short by a swipe of Bermas blade slicing into his cheek and leaving a dark, bleeding wound.

  The lich, trying his best to control the inebriated form of Berma, had only grazed his foe, as the sword had now become embedded into the wooden wall behind Gregori. The elf, quickly realizing that it was either him or his friend, made the painful decision to put his own ally out of his misery. He drew a dagger and plunged it into Bermas back.

  The body didn't flinch, it seemed to have felt no pain at all, as finally he dislodged the sword and went swinging at the elf once more. The lich slashed at his face, but Gregori was fast, nimble even for an elf, and rushed behind to retrieve his dagger. But as he did so, a boot firmly kicked backward and up into his stomach. The lich had carefully planted his sword into the dirt after missing on purpose, knowing his foe would go for the blade he had lost. And as he did so, leaned forward, mule kicking Gregori center mass.

  The wind was knocked out of him, and the pain nearly made him vomit, but he remained standing, staggered but unbroken. Quickly, the lich displaced his sword and swiped around to try and slice the throat of the elf, only to miss as Gregori ducked, grabbed the liches sword arm, and with his opposite fist slammed upward and into the elbow. A sickening crunch was heard as the sword dropped from the lich’s hands and a guttural laugh came from the mouth of the thing.

  “That's it, very good.” he said, backing away, now wounded with a broken arm. “But every moment you hesitate to kill your poor Berma, the more he suffers.”

  Gregori realized in an instant what he meant. The lich wanted to toy with him, would he have let Berma keep his consciousness? He was appalled by this revelation, but unperturbed.

  “ Fine, corpse lord, then I shall end this quickly.” Gregori picked up the sword, and approached the wounded lich.

  “Yes, yes!” The creature yelled in amusement. “Learn your lesson well, little elfhen. Let this day never be forgotten, the day you slaughtered your own in cold blood.”

  A sickening smile curled on the face of what was once Berma, was the final straw for Gregori, as he plunged the blade deep into the heart of his former friend.

  The pale glow vanished from his eyes, and Berma came back to his senses. He collapsed, and Gregori struggled to keep him from hitting the ground. As he lay there, covered in his own blood, and the light itself fading from his eyes, he looked up at Gregori.

  “You-” he struggled to speak, his mouth filling with warm crimson, “you cannot blame yourself for this. Don't listen to that prick.” He smiled, his blood soaked teeth a grizzly sight to Gregori. “I am happy to have known you, knife ear. I have not been the best friend to you, but you have to me.”

  Gregori said nothing, his face bland and emotionless, his eyes shrouded in darkness from the moon poking barely through the clouds. A slow gust of wind blew gently across, and a glint of liquid flashed in and out of view upon his otherwise concealed face.

  “I think it's time. Vrill calls me to the Uberreich,” Bermas voice trailed, weaker. “Don't drink my stash, all … by … yours-”

  Then, he was gone.

  Gregori sat there, motionless. His companion's corpse in his lap, a sword sticking out from its now cold, dead heart. And as the moon came into view fully, a few drops of water, mixing with the blood. Each slowly dripping from the face of an elf, who was now truly alone.

  ------------------------------------Goldwater & Co---------------------------------------------

  I and Lais had finally reached the house’s front door about ten minutes later. Kaloms bandage was soaked again, the bleeding had still not subsided, and it was looking rather grim.

  “Don't worry, Kalom.” I said reassuringly. “You're almost there.”

  When Kalom did not respond, I looked up into his eyes, and saw tire. I had seen it many times, countless beyond recollection. A man on the battlefield starts bleeding out, and he becomes drowsy, but he knows if he passes out it is certain death. Kalom was almost certainly aware of this, given his military background. I peered over at Lais, who was now looking directly at me. I could still see hints of anger and frustration in her eyes, both at the scoundrels themselves and at me for not finishing them off. But I wasted no more time, grabbing the door handle, and with all the might I could muster after having dragged a man twice my size up a hill, I swung open the door which made a loud thud against the wall.

  At once I heard Malkolm cry out in panic and fury as he came strolling into the dining room.

  “How many times do I-” he paused as he entered, and saw the sight before him.

  He rushed over to the table, and wiped everything off it, every cup and kettle spilling carelessly to the floor.

  “Quick, set him down!” He shouted, sprinting down the hall. “And shut the door!”

  Lais and I laid Kalom onto the table, and looked over his wounds. I was thankfully incorrect at my previous assumption, as the wound had partially closed, though he was still bleeding. As Malkolm came rushing back into the room carrying an old brown trunk, about the size of a foot stand. Lais went to close the door, But as she began to swing it, a single boot wedged itself in between the threshold. Lais backed away, as the door began to creep back open, revealing a figure cloaked in the dark shade of the moon at his back. Everyone paused, watching the newcomer with bated breath. As we stood there, the dark intruder, motionless and menacing, slowly began to raise one hand. At once, Lais lunged forth in a vain attempt to subdue them. However, she was sidestepped and with a single sickening thud, the figure slammed one of his fists into her back. She fell to the ground, groaning in pain, as the man stepped into the light, revealing his identity.

  A dark elf, with fire in his eyes and tears long since dried.