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It was cold in his quarters. Partsel opened his eyes slowly and realized, as he did each and every morning before, that open eyes saw little more than closed ones did. Only a single flickering candle provided any light in his room, and that was already more than what could be found in the other chambers.
Another day, if you can call it that at all, he thought. He sat up on his bed, reached for the torch that lay beside him on a small table, and then held it into the candle’s flames. The torch caught fire immediately and painted the walls orange and red.
The young priest placed the torch in an iron holder while he put on his boots and changed his sleeping robes for a new one. “Damn cold,” he muttered to himself, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to sleeping in my robes.” Even the short time he spent naked between taking off the sleeping robe and putting on the new one sent a chill all through his body.
He could still remember the day he arrived in Thabby. “Those gates are terrifyingly humongous,” said Troce, the leader of his escort. It was true indeed, for Thabby’s enormous black outer walls sprouted from the sands like a menacing black wave about to engulf the desert in darkness. An apt comparison, indeed, he thought to himself that day.
The War of the Third Coming had been over for a little more than a year when Partsel was appointed Holy Ambassador of Narton. He was merely a boy when the Demon led its armies across the desert in an attempt to conquer Narton, and he hardly grew to be a man when it was over. Even though the Demon’s dark elven hosts never got past Steelhorn, Narton’s westernmost fortress, the war still took its toll on the people.
When the Demon’s armies were finally beaten, the two warring nations signed a treaty of peace and agreed that both sides would send ambassadors to the major cities of the other to conduct communications and guarantee that neither side may restart the war without the other’s knowing.
Of course, maintaining a flow of communication between the two nations is not all the ambassadors did. While each ambassador would forward messages between his seat and his home, they were also responsible for spreading their own culture in the other nation's territory. It was nothing hostile, merely an attempt to make the two factions understand each other more.
However, the case was often the opposite of what the original idea was because the people of the Kingdom of Narton and the Sankhoan Empire did not like the idea of learning their former enemy's culture from one of their former enemies. So, the ambassadors were spreading the culture of their seats in their own homes, with a little, but not much more success.
Partsel applied for the position himself, a choice he had been questioning ever since. At the age of barely eighteen he was still zealous to spread his faith in the enemy capital and to ensure his own kingdom would not fall victim to the Demon’s hordes again.
“It is a glorious and respectful task to be the Holy Ambassador in Thabby,” he was told. Glorious and respectful indeed, I’m a glorified and respected raven. He had never been as happy as when he was told that his application had been approved. “What else could be nobler than to represent our Goddess Gaya in the heart of the Demon’s nest?” A question he would ask everyone who would not share his enthusiasm.
But all Partsel’s task was to conduct communications between the two capital cities of the two kingdoms through portals. He received messages from his own capital and forwarded it to the Demon’s councilors. Then he would have to wait until an answer came and he delivered it back to Khyselia. Of course, he also had to inform his capital of anything suspicious that he noticed.
As if I had any way of knowing what these dark elves are up to, he would think anytime he was asked if there was anything suspicious going on in the caverns of Thabby. Thanks to the darkness they could be hiding monstrous siege machines right in front of my face for all I know, yet another truth.
Thabby was not built nor meant for humans. Although it had a small portion on the surface right at the bottom of Mount Hellspine, most of it was inside and below the mountains. Dark elves were creatures of the dark and avoided sunlight as much as they could.
Some said their dark greyish skin was too sensitive and got easily burned. Others claimed that the dark elves were cursed millennia ago by Gaya, the Goddess of Light to be weakened or even burned by sunlight due to their heresy.
These theories were mostly proven wrong when the entire dark elf army marched across the desert and knocked on Narton’s gates. “What a way to prove them fools wrong,” laughed Troce when they discussed the theories of why an entire race of dark elves would dig deep into the mountain while the whole desert was free for the taking.
These were only few of the questions that occupied Partsel’s mind as he made his way through the rocky tunnels of Thabby. A decade had passed since he moved to the dark elven capital, and yet he still wasn’t used to walking the narrow tunnels and the piercing eyes of the dark elves. They hated his presence in the mountains as much as he hated being there.
The torchlight would irritate them as well. They needed no light to see, their eyes were accustomed to the dark. Sometimes they would even murmur curses under their lips in their tongue as he passed them. He would count the ones he walked past each morning on his way to his working chambers.
Eight, he concluded, that’s few enough. He opened the heavy door to the chamber, which was no easy task for a man of his physique. The other chambers have no doors, only curtains hanging in front of the entrance, but Partsel insisted that he needed the privacy.
“My work, my communications, my prayers are not to be disturbed by everyone that happens to walk past the entrance,” he told Orthan, the councilor he usually spoke with. At first, it was only Orthan he could talk to because no one else spoke Nartonean.
No one else had cared to learn his tongue since his arrival, but he picked up the Sankhoan fairly quickly and had become fluent during his stay. The dark elves found it appealing that a human would care to learn their tongue. One little thing not to dislike me for, at least, he comforted himself.
After he had made his request and argued for it quite relentlessly, the dark elves bolted two great hinges into the stone wall and Partsel got his door. It was almost completely made of solid stone bricks due to the lack of wood, which made it hard for the priest to move it, but it was better than a hanging curtain.
Partsel left the torch outside, still aflame so he would have light should his duties call him away from the chamber. It’s not like he needed it inside, anyway. Inside the chamber a dozen white crystals were embedded into the stone walls and filled the room with white light.
It wasn’t too bright, but it was enough to make Partsel’s eyes uncomfortable as he entered from the darkness. When he got used to the light of the crystals, he was happy to finally see farther than a few steps and thanked his Goddess for a light that wasn’t flickering and threatening to die out or to suffocate him in his sleep.
“Here, too much light can be just as dangerous as helpful, priest,” Orthan told him when he first asked for a brazier in his chamber. Fire needs air to burn, but men need air to breathe, and air was not always guaranteed below the mountains.
Of course, there were the trimbold crystals that could be infused with mana in order to glow, but those were rare enough that the dark elves didn’t give him too many. He received twelve to do with them as he pleased, and Partsel decided this chamber needed all the light it can get. Not like I need light to sleep in, he kept saying to himself.
After he had locked the door with the great steel latch from the inside, he walked to his desk and looked at yesterday’s letters he had been too tired to finish and send. Just as he sat down onto his stone block they dared call a chair and began writing, another crystal lit up in the room.
It was not like the white ones on the walls. It glowed with a bright blue light and it wasn’t embedded, unlike the others. It was placed on the top of the frame of an oval, mirror-like object. The object stood five feet tall and looked just like a mirror from a lady’s chamber, except that there was nothing inside the frame but a gaping hole.
The frame was exquisite in its own way. It was made of a special stone that was known to be a good conductor for mana. It was dark of color, probably a dark shade of blue, but it was impossible to tell in such circumstances.
It was bordered by a green edge and had plenty of green symbols etched into it. The blue crystal aglow was sitting on top of it, but along the edges there were ten more, smaller crystals, five on each side and none at the bottom.
“By the Goddess, a summoning? Already?” he said it aloud as he stood up and made his way to the portal. He usually received no orders or messages from Khyselia until after he had broken his fast.
Partsel usually woke up when the sun had already risen up outside, though he could never be sure. When it was morning in Thabby, Khyselia was still fast asleep. It’s either that I woke up later than I usually do, or there is something wrong… and he would not bet a single copper serpent on the former.
When he had reached the object, he stopped for a moment, then reached out a hand and touched the glowing crystal at the top. Mana surged from his fingertips and into the crystal, further brightening its blue glow. The green crystals slowly lit up in pairs as well, activating two by two, from the top to the bottom.
When all the crystals had lit up, a greenish-blue surface formed within the frame, expanding from the middle until it reached the stone. When the portal was finally ready, a hooded figure could be seen inside it.
The portal danced just like a lake’s surface, which made the distant figure look like a reflection upon water. “Only a sickly lake would have that color, though” he said when he first saw the portal activate. “And a sickly lake this is, my friend,” Troce answered. “Straight from the sickly people of a sickly mountain’s sickly belly.”
The portals were created by the dark elves, and it was them who proposed to use them as the means of communication. Not only was it the dark elves’ doing, these portals were also magical, which the people of Narton frowned upon. “Magic was power granted without control.” The teachings said. “You are born with it, not acquire it. And power gained for free is prone to be used for destruction and ill deeds.”
A highly ambiguous and biased opinion at best, for the healing and soothing powers of the Gayan priests was also magic in the eyes of the common people. Used for good, but still magic. The Church was ready to answer these suspicions and skepticisms, of course.
“We acquire our powers by devoting ourselves to and serving the Goddess of Life and Light. The stronger our faith and devotion, the stronger the power we receive from her.” An interesting notion, Partsel always thought. Use one and despise the other…
However, the suspicion and hostility towards magic in Narton was well founded. A few millennia back the lands were torn apart by magical wars not once, but at least a hundred times. These devastating wars continued even after King Olmer conquered the capital and declared Narton his kingdom.
So a millennium ago the Order of Gylford was established and magic was put under close supervision and control. Everything magical was highly prohibited and those born with the gift of magic had been locked away in towers to be trained and watched ever since.
Magic had a different role to play in the life of these people, Partsel observed during his stay. They used it every day, their sorcerers and necromancers and witches and dark mages were revered and respected. He even dug into the history of the dark elves and Mount Hellspine to find dark events where magic had turned the people on each other.
But not a single one of them was written in the scrolls, and not even Orthan with his five hundred and twenty three years could remember such an occasion. The dark elves, however power-hungry they were, never went as far as to wage wars upon their own kin for power. And yet they wielded magic to a greater extent than Narton’s people ever did.
Slightly lost in his thoughts, Partsel was brought back to reality by the deep voice oozing out of the portal. “Can you hear me, Partsel?” He dismissed the thoughts and nodded quickly. “Yes, I can, Your Holiness.”
“Good. Are you alone and away from unwanted ears?”
“Yes, Your Holiness.” Of course I was. He suddenly was scared of what he was going to hear.
“Is there something wrong that you summon me so early? I might have lost my sense of time, but isn’t it still night in the kingdom?”
“Your sense of time is as good as always, Partsel. It is indeed a queer hour to summon you. I have even attempted summoning you before, but it seems it was you who was fast asleep while we were wide awake.”
These words did nothing to soothe his growing fears.
“It is a grave matter we need to discuss.”
“What happened?”
“The khort of Khyselia is dead. Slain only a few hours ago.”
Partsel’s eyes opened twice or maybe three times as wide as normal. He felt a sudden pulse of fear wash over him, his knees grew week, and his hands started shaking… for khort was the dark elven word for ambassador.
“But… how? Who could do such a thing? How did you find out?” Partsel’s questions came quick and plenty. If the dark elves find out that someone has slain their ambassador in our capital… my counterpart…
“Unfortunately, we do not know who committed this crime or why he did so.” The archbishop’s face was worried and stern. “But he slipped past the guards of the palace and placed the severed head on the throne room’s steps.”
The room seemed to get colder with each word the archbishop spoke on the far side of the portal. The murderer had to be brave enough to commit such a crime, powerful enough to kill a couple of hundreds year old dark elven mage, and stealthy and skillful enough to plant the head at the second most guarded place in the royal palace. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, as if a cold blade was slowly slicing his skin open.
“So, what do we do now? If they learn about it-”
“They must learn about it, Partsel.” The archbishop interrupted him. “There is no way we can keep such a thing secret, and we would risk another war if we did.” That was no mere statement, that was a command, and Partsel knew it.
“And I will be the one to tell them, I suppose.” He could barely force the words out of his dry throat. Speaking them made him feel like he was spitting out rocks.
“Indeed.” The answer came down on him like the hammer on an anvil, only it was his life upon the steel with a greater chance of splintering than a blade.
“You will inform them and apologize in our king’s name. You will tell them a royal apology has been sent this very night and shall arrive in a couple of days. You will offer them your condolences and ask them to send a new khort as soon as they can.”
“What if they… kill me?” He had waited with the question long enough and he was past his limit of patience already. “What if they claim blood for blood? What if they put my head on their throne’s stairs? What will protect me from their wrath, if they receive the news with fury?”
The archbishop could not hide his worry on his face, adding to Partsel’s fear.
“You don’t even know how they’ll react!” He burst out. “You… you’re not even sure I would live to contact you like this again!”
“Calm down, Partsel, and watch your tongue. You should know who you’re talking to.” The archbishop’s face was strict and troubled, even behind his hood. “Our Lady Gaya would never let any of Her devout followers be harmed by such heretics.” That’s not what I remember from the war, he thought.
But he managed to calm himself. It was a signature ability of the Gayan priests to soothe any soul full of anger, sorrow, desperation, or anything ill. Used for good, but still magic. He remembered. The archbishop continued.
“They will certainly not be happy, but they will not kill nor punish you. It was written in the treaty that the ambassadors shall not come to harm while doing their duty.”
“That didn’t save the one in Khyselia, did it?” He took a deep breath, Gaya’s magic flowing through him from head to toe, warming his soul and cleansing the anger. “Forgive me, Your Holiness. I shall do as you bid.”
The old priest was certainly not happy either, but nodded with approval, and as he withdrew the mana from his own apparatus, the watery surface of the portal tore in the middle and faded away like a cloth of silk when it catches fire.
Partsel stood still for a minute or two, before he turned on his heels and left the chamber. He was hesitant at first, but his own soothing powers calmed him enough, so he took the torch off the wall and headed to Orthan. Every single stare felt like icy spears piercing through him, even more than before. Could they know? No, that’s impossible.
He felt guilty, and he also felt their judging gaze on him. The piercing eyes burdened him with anxiety and he was afraid he could burst like a bubble any second. The soothing waves kept washing over him, but the use of his magic only attracted more eyes. It was the first time he felt uncomfortable being the bright torch of Gaya down in the belly of darkness.
He made his way through the caves and tunnels until he arrived at the chamber of the councilor. He pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the dark room, carefully guarding the torch’s light with his hand so the sudden burst of flames wouldn’t blind the dark elf. There was no need, however, because there already was a fire burning inside the chamber.
Orthan turned away from the cauldron that was hung over the flames to face the priest. Partsel could see that he wasn’t surprised. The burning torch in his hand gave away his identity way before the dark elf turned around, he knew.
“Greetings, priest.” Orthan was the first to speak. “What brings you here this early? I’ve heard you only woke up a while ago.”
He spoke in his own people’s language, and Partsel answered accordingly.
“Greetings, Orthan. Yes, you’ve been told the truth.” Partsel walked closer and placed the torch in a holder on the table. “What are you brewing?”
He was not at all interested in the boiling liquid that filled the chamber with a sour yet sweet smell, but he was biding his time and gathering his courage.
“It is medicine,” came the answer.
The dark elf reached into one of the many sacks hanging on his belt, took out a pinch of some kind of powder and tossed it into the cauldron.
“Spiders have ambushed two guards on patrol duty deeper into the mountain.” The tranquility Orthan spoke with troubled Partsel. I hope this is not the calm before the storm. “One of them was injured and the poison is working inside him. He will live, though.”
The dark elf turned his eyes to Partsel. The flames danced in the black pools of wisdom, but they gave away no secrets.
“That is not why you have come, though. I have felt your soothing spells ever since you first used them in your chamber. Down here your white magic blazes like a beacon in the dark.” Orthan smiled. “Why have you come to me, priest?”
Partsel stood still for a moment, his fears returning to him as he was about to say the words. He took a deep breath and dismissed the thought of using his spells in the presence of the dark elf. Then he spoke.
“Your khort in Khyselia has been murdered.” The words came rushing, his voice almost cracked. Orthan showed no emotion, he only narrowed his eyebrows and contemplated the young priest for a moment.
“Grave news, indeed, I understand why you needed soothing.” The councilor turned back towards the cauldron, grabbed the steel ladle that hung upon the chains and dipped it into the liquid. The ladle emerged again full of the boiling elixir, steaming in the cold air of the chamber. Orthan took a sip, tasted it, and looked at Partsel. "A taste?"
“No, thank you.” Could it be a trap?
“I am terribly sorry about what happened in Khyselia, a royal apology has already been sent, and the king requests a replacement as soon as you can manage.”
He watched the face of the dark elf closely, trying to catch even glimpses of his reaction, but it was all futile. The dark features were completely concealed by the black of the room.
The dark elf poured the rest of the ladle's contents back inside the cauldron, grabbed the metal chains it hung upon and pulled it off the fire.
“We kindly accept your condolences, and no doubt the royal apology shall please the Ara’khan when he receives it.” The councilor turned around and headed for the entrance. “However, I am not the one to discuss these issues with.
“Come, priest, I will accompany you to the Grand Sorcerer, he can tell us what to do and you’ll also have a familiar face to draw strength from.”
Partsel was suddenly out of breath for a moment. For a moment I thought he would say the Demon... It is said that no man has ever seen the Demon, the Emperor of Thabby, or Ara’khan, as the dark elves called him. No man, except for King Ramar. They met privately to sign the treaty, just the two of them.
Orthan looked back at him, turning back from the entrance with one hand holding the curtain out of the way. “Come, priest, and don’t be afraid. The Ara’khan has promised not to harm any of the ambassadors your people send, and our people have kept the promise for more than a decade. We won’t break it now.”
The councilor’s words did not help calm him, not at all. King Ramar has also promised not to harm the khorts, yet one of them was dead.
He had no choice, however, so he followed Orthan with uncertain, out of rhythm steps. He felt humiliated, all his dignity was lost and all his pride was crushed, but he kept up with Orthan, who was nimble and fast in his padded black robes and sandals.
Partsel had never met anyone higher in rank thank the dark elf councilor he always consulted with. And while Orthan was quite high in terms of hierarchy as well, the Grand Sorcerer was no doubt a whole different level.
His thoughts drifted off in fear and excitement. He only snapped back into reality when they stopped in front of a great door made of stone and steel. The door was bigger than any he had seen in his life, each block of stone clearly visible within the metal frame. The stone was skillfully carved into figures and scenes and symbols, so many that Partsel could have stood there all day long and still wouldn’t be able to understand each of them.
One depicted a robed figure standing in front of a hole in the ground while grotesque hands reached out of it, grasping for air and solid ground. The Great Summoning… Could the Demon have come to earth then? Marching soldiers could be seen on another one, wearing full armor, shields in front of them and spears in hand. A third depicted a man kneeling and holding his own severed head in front of him, facing his body. On a fourth there were three women pointing daggers at each other. On a fifth, near the center was a horned figure sitting on a stone throne, faceless, but with eyes all over its naked body. Each of them sent shivers down Partsel’s spine.
And to top it off, he noticed that the borders between the carvings were not merely lines, but a snake’s incredibly long body carved out of stone, twisting and turning between the pictures.
As he was gazing upon the gate, it suddenly cracked open down the middle and opened inwards slowly on its own, the great hinges creaking under the weight. Beyond the door there was only darkness. The torchlight barely licked beyond the door when a gust of wind rushed out and extinguished it.
The blackness that surrounded them felt so thick that he felt like he could swim in it. Or worse, drown in it. He dared not say a word, but a hand grabbed his upper arm gently and lead him forward.
“Do not be afraid, there shall be light soon.”
The voice belonged to Orthan, so he walked forward more confidently. He could sense when they stepped over the doorstep because the air was colder and dryer beyond the door.
Partsel could feel the use of magic in the room, and suddenly there was a powerful presence in the dark, but too far behind the thick blackness for him to tell where or who and how powerful exactly.
Two braziers lit up suddenly in the darkness, blinding both of them with the sudden burst of light. When his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he could see that the two braziers resembled pyres more than what he was used to.
They provided more than enough light to guide him forward and they also revealed stairs carved out of stone behind them. Following the steps with his eyes, Partsel was stunned by the enormous winged and horned figure that towered over them.
It took him a few moments to realize that the demon was not alive, but carved out of stone. It grew out of a great stone seat’s backrest and stood over twenty feet tall.
There was another figure sitting below it, a figure in black and white robes and with skin dark as the depths of the mountain. His eyes shone red in the fire’s light and were fixed on Partsel, measuring him with a faint smile.
Partsel looked around warily, and saw that this was no mere chamber. This is a whole cavern. The walls reflected the orange and red of the fire so the whole place looked as if it were ablaze. The thought frightened him and he could feel the fear grow in his stomach until Orthan broke the silence.
“Myarakh, this human here is our ambassador from Narton, as you already know.” Orthan waited, but when there was no response, he continued.
“He has received grievous news from his capital and I thought it proper that he seek your council himself.”
After another few moments of silence, the figure shifted in his seat, resting his elbow on the stone and his chin in his hand.
He looked every bit like any other dark elf he had seen. He was no taller, no stronger built, nothing more frightening about him. Yet, his presence evoked a feeling of impending doom in Partsel. Orthan’s magic was dwarfed next to the sorcerer’s, and Orthan was already more powerful than many of the human mages he had met.
His power was well hidden, but Partsel could feel how powerful he truly was. He could probably destroy me effortlessly. The thought made Partsel even more uncomfortable and terrified, which was no doubt noticed by the other two in the room. He felt dizzy and the tension made his knees weak, but the silence was finally broken and he snapped back into reality.
“Greetings.” The Grand Sorcerer spoke. “Thank you, but I do not need to be explicitly told about what is going on with my people.” Orthan bowed and opened his mouth to speak, but the other dark elf continued.
“Yes, I’m aware of what happened in Khyselia, and it saddens me deeply.” There was no emotion on his face save for the faint smile and the clearly visible contempt. “I am also greatly disappointed that your king believes a piece of paper with his name on it would make things better.
“Does that mean that should any harm come to you within the Ara’khan’s halls, all we need to do is dictate a few words and send a message on its way?”
Partsel didn’t know what to say, he opened his mouth, but no words came out. He knew there was no place for arguments, and another apology would only make matters worse, so he closed his mouth and gulped loudly.
The darkness and the cold air seemed to wrap themselves around him, their tendrils crawling down his throat to choke the breath and life out of him.
“However, I cannot say I am surprised.” The dark elf shifted in his seat again. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “At least not by the attack. It was obvious to us that the ambassadors would cause tension in both nations.
“There have even been previous attempts reported before. Poisoned food, blades stuck in beds, escaped rabid hounds.” He straightened his back in the seat.
“But we never took these attempts seriously. Your common folk’s mischiefs were no threat to our khorts.” He paused. The words crashed down upon Partsel as a hammer strikes the blazing steel.
“But to actually kill one of ours, that is no feat of the common folk.” The figure sitting on the stone throne lowered his voice.
“That is a deed of someone skilled, and skilled assassins either work for someone of high regard or have a price that only someone of great wealth can afford.”
Partsel understood the hint immediately, and his look of dread changed to a look of disbelief.
“Pa-pardon my bluntness, my… lord.” He stuttered like a child as he spoke and cursed himself for it. “Are you t-trying to say that one of our nobles or lords hired the assassin?”
He entwined his fingers underneath his sleeves in front of him to keep his hands from shaking so obviously. “That is impossible. Our lords would never commit such a terrible crime. They respect the treaty and-“
He stopped suddenly when the dark elf lifted a hand to interrupt him.
“First of all, I am no lord.” That faint and mocking smile gave the words an edge no blade could match.
“Secondly, I do not need your long and tedious testament.” He said and slowly stood up in his seat.
“You need not be afraid, priest, though. Our great and generous Ara’khan has promised not to let any harm come to you and He prefers His promises kept.” The Grand Sorcerer stepped forward to the top of the stairs.
“When the word gets out, our people will no doubt be furious.”
Partsel swallowed his words with a loud gulp and watched the dark elf slowly descend the stairs, taking one step after the other.
“But the Ara’khan is just, so He will not let them cause you trouble or harm you in any way. He has halted their hands when you first arrived and He shall do so again, for you are under His protection.”
Partsel could not hide his surprise, and suddenly a warm feeling washed over him. “His protection? He… He’s too kind.” This is the only thing he could blurt out as the sorcerer reached the bottom of the stairs and stood barely a few feet from him. Is he serious? Could this be true?
Orthan smiled kindly and turned towards him. “See? I told you the Ara’khan would be kind to you.” Partsel’s shaking slowed down and he was no longer ready to faint, in fact, his nerves were calming down even without his soothing spells.
“Yes, I am incredibly grateful. I thought…” He stopped, hesitating to say the words.
“That we would kill you.” The mocking smile on the dark elf’s face still troubled him, but he could no longer care about that.
He felt his life return to him, he was no longer choked by the utter darkness beyond the pyres. On the contrary, he felt the light of the flames fill him with hope and faith again. Even his blood felt warmer and the coldness seemed to vanish from the caverns.
At times like these I wonder who the real monsters are. He contemplated whether King Ramar would have shown such kindness towards the dark elf ambassador if it had happened the other way around. I doubt it. He would probably kill the khort himself, swinging his greatsword Justice. His thoughts were interrupted when the sorcerer spoke again.
“The Ara’khan has even had a new chamber prepared for you because your current one is amongst too many of our people’s. We don’t want any undesired incidents, so you’ll be moving closer to the surface, where there are less bedchambers.” He then turned to Orthan.
“You are dismissed, Orthan. Return to the salve, we don’t want any unnecessary casualties from those spiders. While you’re at it, send word to the barracks that I want the nest found and annihilated, their venom leeched and any eggs they find brought back and hatched.”
Partsel watched them and listened to the words, but his mind was somewhere else. He was still astonished that the Demon, the one everyone feared and despised in his kingdom would not only spare his life, but even go as far as to protect him from his own people. He felt guilty again for judging the book by its cover and he felt something he never thought he could possibly feel towards the leader of his “sworn enemies”. Gratitude.
“Come priest, I’ll take you to your new chamber.” The sorcerer stretched out his hand. The sorcerer’s hand was smooth and black, the flames danced upon the skin like tiny waves. He didn’t even think, just took the hand, fearless again.
As soon as their hands touched, the darkness swallowed them whole. He was suddenly afraid again, but before he could even think of what had happened, he found himself in a room with trimbold crystals in the walls. Everything he used to have in his old chamber could be found here as well. He looked around and his fear dissolved in the dim white light.
“I have decided to give you a few more crystals to show you that we are not ungrateful for the service you have been doing here.”
The dark elf let go of his hand and looked him straight in the eye. Partsel looked at those eyes for a moment, but looked away embarrassed for misjudging his host.
“I am grateful, and I am certain my masters will be as well.” He took a deep breath and looked around again. “And I am sorry for thinking ill of your people.”
“Our prejudices blind us all, it can’t be helped.” The dark elf said with that mocking smile on his dark face.
“Our people should get to know each other bett-“ he stopped when his eyes met the bed, the blanket of which was obviously hiding something beneath. The sorcerer followed his eyes and fixed his own on the bed as well.
“Is there something there?” Partsel asked, with a sudden surge of anxiety rushing through him.
The blanket moved as the figure underneath it climbed out of the bed. The sheets fell away to reveal a man. Not a dark elf, but a human, with messy brown hair and almost pale white skin. Partsel froze with fear as the realization came upon him.
“That… that’s me!” He could not take his eyes off his doppelganger. It was him, a perfect match, save for the scars at his neck, waist, wrists and ankles.
“What is the meaning of this?” He turned to the sorcerer and was terrified by what he saw. The dark elf wore the same smile. The same smile that accepted news of his dead kin and made a promise not harm him. And that smile chased away all the courage, warmth, and hope that was left inside Partsel.
“We have been contemplating the role of the khorts for months, even years.” The dark elf walked to the man that looked like Partsel and smiled with that menacing smile of his.
“You see, you gather information from our capital, spill them to your own. There is little control over what you learn from us, as we cannot lock you up or hide every little detail from your eyes.
“So it would only be fair if you gave us the same amount of information in return. Right?” He looked at Partsel, but continued before the priest could answer.
“Yes, I also have a khort in your capital, but your people are different. They walk and talk in broad daylight, which is highly uncomfortable for my people. They also have locked rooms and halls where only your kin are allowed to enter.
“You are free to roam the Ara’khan’s caverns, yet our khorts are restricted by their nature and your people’s suspicions and disdain.
“Yet you, the one who could inform us about events in Narton, you are a double sieve yourself in a sense. Your masters do not tell you everything, only what you need to know. And you don’t tell us everything, only what you think we need to know. Do you understand my dilemma, priest?”
Partsel did not speak. He only stared at the doppelganger. The shock got a hold of him and wouldn’t let go. He felt as if hours had passed until he could gather the strength to answer the dark elf.
“I’m... I’m sorry.” He was stuttering again. “I’ll t-tell you everything from n-now on. I-I promise.” The crystals seemed to go dimmer and dimmer as the darkness got a hold of him again. He felt his bowels toss and turn, he wanted to throw up.
“Oh, I know you will. Or at least the new Partsel will.” The sorcerer looked at the man again, and the man smiled. Partsel gathered his remaining strength and spoke.
“It took our necromancers months to build your image.” The dark elf turned the naked man around to reveal the huge stitches and scars down his spine. “It took quite a few of your people to put him together, but time and… material we had enough.”
That is a pile of dead flesh sewn together! Partsel’s bowels turned and only willpower held back their content. He could not look as weak as to vomit.
“That is impossible! The portal only answers to my mana, and I would never allow you to use me in such a way!” He felt his courage come back.
They couldn’t possibly force him to let a creature use the portal and thus learn god knows what from his capital. There was simply no way they could make him betray his people.
As his confidence began to rise, the sorcerer started to laugh. Partsel paused, the adrenalin rush was over, but he felt more confused than scared.
“Do you really think I would need your consent?” The dark elf stepped forward.
“Do you think I have forgotten how our portals work? We designed them, have you forgotten?” The dark elf laughed again, his voice filled the chamber with a mocking tone.
“Of course we need your mana to activate them. But you have been providing us with your mana for more than ten years, and willingly.”
The realization came suddenly upon Partsel. He looked at the walls, his eyes filled with terror.
“Yes, priest, you are right. We gave you the crystals so that you would fill them. And then we drained them every once in a while.” The dark elf’s smile widened into a devilish grin.
“You have become redundant, to put it simply.”
Partsel’s fear has turned into anger as the sorcerer spoke and he was ready to unleash everything that had been building up inside him.
“You cannot do this! You promised!” His magical aura burst out of him, shielding him with light. “I will not stay put in a chamber, locked away, while you exploit my people! Narton will hear about this!”
Partsel raised his hand and two wings of light folded out above him. “This abomination will not live long enough to get near the portal!”
He dropped his hand and the wings flew from above, soaring towards the Grant Sorcerer and his pet creature.
The wings of light crashed down loudly with a burst of light that momentarily filled the whole chamber, blinding Partsel as well.
When the light had faded, Partsel was breathing heavily, exhausted by the use of such immense magic. It had been a long time since he last had to use anything but soothing and healing spells.
The two others were nowhere to be seen. Only two piles of ash told of where they stood moments before. Did I do it? Has the Lady Gaya given me the power to defeat such a powerful mage? His breathing turned into sighs of relief as he straightened up. He wiped his brows with his sleeve and started laughing.
“I have slain the Grand Sorcerer…” His laugh was hearty and relieved. He took deep breaths to regain his strength and shook his head in disbelief.
He felt a sudden burst of warmth in his chest and his laugh suddenly turned into a gargling sound. He looked down on his chest and found a clawed hand black as coal reaching out of it, drenched in blood. The hand was pulsing as a still beating heart was struggling in its grasp.
Then he heard the whisper, that awful, awful whisper.
“Thank you, priest. If you hadn’t attacked, I might have broken a promise…”

Description
It was cold in his quarters. Partsel opened his eyes slowly and realized, as he did each and every morning before, that open eyes saw little more than closed ones did. Only a single flickering candle provided any light in his room, and that was already more than what could be found in the other chambers.
Another day, if you can call it that at all, he thought. He sat up on his bed, reached for the torch that lay beside him on a small table, and then held it into the candle’s flames. The torch caught fire immediately and painted the walls orange and red.
The young priest placed the torch in an iron holder while he put on his boots and changed his sleeping robes for a new one. “Damn cold,” he muttered to himself, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to sleeping in my robes.” Even the short time he spent naked between taking off the sleeping robe and putting on the new one sent a chill all through his body.
He could still remember the day he arrived in Thabby. “Those gates are terrifyingly humongous,” said Troce, the leader of his escort. It was true indeed, for Thabby’s enormous black outer walls sprouted from the sands like a menacing black wave about to engulf the desert in darkness. An apt comparison, indeed, he thought to himself that day.
The War of the Third Coming had been over for a little more than a year when Partsel was appointed Holy Ambassador of Narton. He was merely a boy when the Demon led its armies across the desert in an attempt to conquer Narton, and he hardly grew to be a man when it was over. Even though the Demon’s dark elven hosts never got past Steelhorn, Narton’s westernmost fortress, the war still took its toll on the people.
When the Demon’s armies were finally beaten, the two warring nations signed a treaty of peace and agreed that both sides would send ambassadors to the major cities of the other to conduct communications and guarantee that neither side may restart the war without the other’s knowing.
Of course, maintaining a flow of communication between the two nations is not all the ambassadors did. While each ambassador would forward messages between his seat and his home, they were also responsible for spreading their own culture in the other nation's territory. It was nothing hostile, merely an attempt to make the two factions understand each other more.
However, the case was often the opposite of what the original idea was because the people of the Kingdom of Narton and the Sankhoan Empire did not like the idea of learning their former enemy's culture from one of their former enemies. So, the ambassadors were spreading the culture of their seats in their own homes, with a little, but not much more success.
Partsel applied for the position himself, a choice he had been questioning ever since. At the age of barely eighteen he was still zealous to spread his faith in the enemy capital and to ensure his own kingdom would not fall victim to the Demon’s hordes again.
“It is a glorious and respectful task to be the Holy Ambassador in Thabby,” he was told. Glorious and respectful indeed, I’m a glorified and respected raven. He had never been as happy as when he was told that his application had been approved. “What else could be nobler than to represent our Goddess Gaya in the heart of the Demon’s nest?” A question he would ask everyone who would not share his enthusiasm.
But all Partsel’s task was to conduct communications between the two capital cities of the two kingdoms through portals. He received messages from his own capital and forwarded it to the Demon’s councilors. Then he would have to wait until an answer came and he delivered it back to Khyselia. Of course, he also had to inform his capital of anything suspicious that he noticed.
As if I had any way of knowing what these dark elves are up to, he would think anytime he was asked if there was anything suspicious going on in the caverns of Thabby. Thanks to the darkness they could be hiding monstrous siege machines right in front of my face for all I know, yet another truth.
Thabby was not built nor meant for humans. Although it had a small portion on the surface right at the bottom of Mount Hellspine, most of it was inside and below the mountains. Dark elves were creatures of the dark and avoided sunlight as much as they could.
Some said their dark greyish skin was too sensitive and got easily burned. Others claimed that the dark elves were cursed millennia ago by Gaya, the Goddess of Light to be weakened or even burned by sunlight due to their heresy.
These theories were mostly proven wrong when the entire dark elf army marched across the desert and knocked on Narton’s gates. “What a way to prove them fools wrong,” laughed Troce when they discussed the theories of why an entire race of dark elves would dig deep into the mountain while the whole desert was free for the taking.
These were only few of the questions that occupied Partsel’s mind as he made his way through the rocky tunnels of Thabby. A decade had passed since he moved to the dark elven capital, and yet he still wasn’t used to walking the narrow tunnels and the piercing eyes of the dark elves. They hated his presence in the mountains as much as he hated being there.
The torchlight would irritate them as well. They needed no light to see, their eyes were accustomed to the dark. Sometimes they would even murmur curses under their lips in their tongue as he passed them. He would count the ones he walked past each morning on his way to his working chambers.
Eight, he concluded, that’s few enough. He opened the heavy door to the chamber, which was no easy task for a man of his physique. The other chambers have no doors, only curtains hanging in front of the entrance, but Partsel insisted that he needed the privacy.
“My work, my communications, my prayers are not to be disturbed by everyone that happens to walk past the entrance,” he told Orthan, the councilor he usually spoke with. At first, it was only Orthan he could talk to because no one else spoke Nartonean.
No one else had cared to learn his tongue since his arrival, but he picked up the Sankhoan fairly quickly and had become fluent during his stay. The dark elves found it appealing that a human would care to learn their tongue. One little thing not to dislike me for, at least, he comforted himself.
After he had made his request and argued for it quite relentlessly, the dark elves bolted two great hinges into the stone wall and Partsel got his door. It was almost completely made of solid stone bricks due to the lack of wood, which made it hard for the priest to move it, but it was better than a hanging curtain.
Partsel left the torch outside, still aflame so he would have light should his duties call him away from the chamber. It’s not like he needed it inside, anyway. Inside the chamber a dozen white crystals were embedded into the stone walls and filled the room with white light.
It wasn’t too bright, but it was enough to make Partsel’s eyes uncomfortable as he entered from the darkness. When he got used to the light of the crystals, he was happy to finally see farther than a few steps and thanked his Goddess for a light that wasn’t flickering and threatening to die out or to suffocate him in his sleep.
“Here, too much light can be just as dangerous as helpful, priest,” Orthan told him when he first asked for a brazier in his chamber. Fire needs air to burn, but men need air to breathe, and air was not always guaranteed below the mountains.
Of course, there were the trimbold crystals that could be infused with mana in order to glow, but those were rare enough that the dark elves didn’t give him too many. He received twelve to do with them as he pleased, and Partsel decided this chamber needed all the light it can get. Not like I need light to sleep in, he kept saying to himself.
After he had locked the door with the great steel latch from the inside, he walked to his desk and looked at yesterday’s letters he had been too tired to finish and send. Just as he sat down onto his stone block they dared call a chair and began writing, another crystal lit up in the room.
It was not like the white ones on the walls. It glowed with a bright blue light and it wasn’t embedded, unlike the others. It was placed on the top of the frame of an oval, mirror-like object. The object stood five feet tall and looked just like a mirror from a lady’s chamber, except that there was nothing inside the frame but a gaping hole.
The frame was exquisite in its own way. It was made of a special stone that was known to be a good conductor for mana. It was dark of color, probably a dark shade of blue, but it was impossible to tell in such circumstances.
It was bordered by a green edge and had plenty of green symbols etched into it. The blue crystal aglow was sitting on top of it, but along the edges there were ten more, smaller crystals, five on each side and none at the bottom.
“By the Goddess, a summoning? Already?” he said it aloud as he stood up and made his way to the portal. He usually received no orders or messages from Khyselia until after he had broken his fast.
Partsel usually woke up when the sun had already risen up outside, though he could never be sure. When it was morning in Thabby, Khyselia was still fast asleep. It’s either that I woke up later than I usually do, or there is something wrong… and he would not bet a single copper serpent on the former.
When he had reached the object, he stopped for a moment, then reached out a hand and touched the glowing crystal at the top. Mana surged from his fingertips and into the crystal, further brightening its blue glow. The green crystals slowly lit up in pairs as well, activating two by two, from the top to the bottom.
When all the crystals had lit up, a greenish-blue surface formed within the frame, expanding from the middle until it reached the stone. When the portal was finally ready, a hooded figure could be seen inside it.
The portal danced just like a lake’s surface, which made the distant figure look like a reflection upon water. “Only a sickly lake would have that color, though” he said when he first saw the portal activate. “And a sickly lake this is, my friend,” Troce answered. “Straight from the sickly people of a sickly mountain’s sickly belly.”
The portals were created by the dark elves, and it was them who proposed to use them as the means of communication. Not only was it the dark elves’ doing, these portals were also magical, which the people of Narton frowned upon. “Magic was power granted without control.” The teachings said. “You are born with it, not acquire it. And power gained for free is prone to be used for destruction and ill deeds.”
A highly ambiguous and biased opinion at best, for the healing and soothing powers of the Gayan priests was also magic in the eyes of the common people. Used for good, but still magic. The Church was ready to answer these suspicions and skepticisms, of course.
“We acquire our powers by devoting ourselves to and serving the Goddess of Life and Light. The stronger our faith and devotion, the stronger the power we receive from her.” An interesting notion, Partsel always thought. Use one and despise the other…
However, the suspicion and hostility towards magic in Narton was well founded. A few millennia back the lands were torn apart by magical wars not once, but at least a hundred times. These devastating wars continued even after King Olmer conquered the capital and declared Narton his kingdom.
So a millennium ago the Order of Gylford was established and magic was put under close supervision and control. Everything magical was highly prohibited and those born with the gift of magic had been locked away in towers to be trained and watched ever since.
Magic had a different role to play in the life of these people, Partsel observed during his stay. They used it every day, their sorcerers and necromancers and witches and dark mages were revered and respected. He even dug into the history of the dark elves and Mount Hellspine to find dark events where magic had turned the people on each other.
But not a single one of them was written in the scrolls, and not even Orthan with his five hundred and twenty three years could remember such an occasion. The dark elves, however power-hungry they were, never went as far as to wage wars upon their own kin for power. And yet they wielded magic to a greater extent than Narton’s people ever did.
Slightly lost in his thoughts, Partsel was brought back to reality by the deep voice oozing out of the portal. “Can you hear me, Partsel?” He dismissed the thoughts and nodded quickly. “Yes, I can, Your Holiness.”
“Good. Are you alone and away from unwanted ears?”
“Yes, Your Holiness.” Of course I was. He suddenly was scared of what he was going to hear.
“Is there something wrong that you summon me so early? I might have lost my sense of time, but isn’t it still night in the kingdom?”
“Your sense of time is as good as always, Partsel. It is indeed a queer hour to summon you. I have even attempted summoning you before, but it seems it was you who was fast asleep while we were wide awake.”
These words did nothing to soothe his growing fears.
“It is a grave matter we need to discuss.”
“What happened?”
“The khort of Khyselia is dead. Slain only a few hours ago.”
Partsel’s eyes opened twice or maybe three times as wide as normal. He felt a sudden pulse of fear wash over him, his knees grew week, and his hands started shaking… for khort was the dark elven word for ambassador.
“But… how? Who could do such a thing? How did you find out?” Partsel’s questions came quick and plenty. If the dark elves find out that someone has slain their ambassador in our capital… my counterpart…
“Unfortunately, we do not know who committed this crime or why he did so.” The archbishop’s face was worried and stern. “But he slipped past the guards of the palace and placed the severed head on the throne room’s steps.”
The room seemed to get colder with each word the archbishop spoke on the far side of the portal. The murderer had to be brave enough to commit such a crime, powerful enough to kill a couple of hundreds year old dark elven mage, and stealthy and skillful enough to plant the head at the second most guarded place in the royal palace. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, as if a cold blade was slowly slicing his skin open.
“So, what do we do now? If they learn about it-”
“They must learn about it, Partsel.” The archbishop interrupted him. “There is no way we can keep such a thing secret, and we would risk another war if we did.” That was no mere statement, that was a command, and Partsel knew it.
“And I will be the one to tell them, I suppose.” He could barely force the words out of his dry throat. Speaking them made him feel like he was spitting out rocks.
“Indeed.” The answer came down on him like the hammer on an anvil, only it was his life upon the steel with a greater chance of splintering than a blade.
“You will inform them and apologize in our king’s name. You will tell them a royal apology has been sent this very night and shall arrive in a couple of days. You will offer them your condolences and ask them to send a new khort as soon as they can.”
“What if they… kill me?” He had waited with the question long enough and he was past his limit of patience already. “What if they claim blood for blood? What if they put my head on their throne’s stairs? What will protect me from their wrath, if they receive the news with fury?”
The archbishop could not hide his worry on his face, adding to Partsel’s fear.
“You don’t even know how they’ll react!” He burst out. “You… you’re not even sure I would live to contact you like this again!”
“Calm down, Partsel, and watch your tongue. You should know who you’re talking to.” The archbishop’s face was strict and troubled, even behind his hood. “Our Lady Gaya would never let any of Her devout followers be harmed by such heretics.” That’s not what I remember from the war, he thought.
But he managed to calm himself. It was a signature ability of the Gayan priests to soothe any soul full of anger, sorrow, desperation, or anything ill. Used for good, but still magic. He remembered. The archbishop continued.
“They will certainly not be happy, but they will not kill nor punish you. It was written in the treaty that the ambassadors shall not come to harm while doing their duty.”
“That didn’t save the one in Khyselia, did it?” He took a deep breath, Gaya’s magic flowing through him from head to toe, warming his soul and cleansing the anger. “Forgive me, Your Holiness. I shall do as you bid.”
The old priest was certainly not happy either, but nodded with approval, and as he withdrew the mana from his own apparatus, the watery surface of the portal tore in the middle and faded away like a cloth of silk when it catches fire.
Partsel stood still for a minute or two, before he turned on his heels and left the chamber. He was hesitant at first, but his own soothing powers calmed him enough, so he took the torch off the wall and headed to Orthan. Every single stare felt like icy spears piercing through him, even more than before. Could they know? No, that’s impossible.
He felt guilty, and he also felt their judging gaze on him. The piercing eyes burdened him with anxiety and he was afraid he could burst like a bubble any second. The soothing waves kept washing over him, but the use of his magic only attracted more eyes. It was the first time he felt uncomfortable being the bright torch of Gaya down in the belly of darkness.
He made his way through the caves and tunnels until he arrived at the chamber of the councilor. He pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the dark room, carefully guarding the torch’s light with his hand so the sudden burst of flames wouldn’t blind the dark elf. There was no need, however, because there already was a fire burning inside the chamber.
Orthan turned away from the cauldron that was hung over the flames to face the priest. Partsel could see that he wasn’t surprised. The burning torch in his hand gave away his identity way before the dark elf turned around, he knew.
“Greetings, priest.” Orthan was the first to speak. “What brings you here this early? I’ve heard you only woke up a while ago.”
He spoke in his own people’s language, and Partsel answered accordingly.
“Greetings, Orthan. Yes, you’ve been told the truth.” Partsel walked closer and placed the torch in a holder on the table. “What are you brewing?”
He was not at all interested in the boiling liquid that filled the chamber with a sour yet sweet smell, but he was biding his time and gathering his courage.
“It is medicine,” came the answer.
The dark elf reached into one of the many sacks hanging on his belt, took out a pinch of some kind of powder and tossed it into the cauldron.
“Spiders have ambushed two guards on patrol duty deeper into the mountain.” The tranquility Orthan spoke with troubled Partsel. I hope this is not the calm before the storm. “One of them was injured and the poison is working inside him. He will live, though.”
The dark elf turned his eyes to Partsel. The flames danced in the black pools of wisdom, but they gave away no secrets.
“That is not why you have come, though. I have felt your soothing spells ever since you first used them in your chamber. Down here your white magic blazes like a beacon in the dark.” Orthan smiled. “Why have you come to me, priest?”
Partsel stood still for a moment, his fears returning to him as he was about to say the words. He took a deep breath and dismissed the thought of using his spells in the presence of the dark elf. Then he spoke.
“Your khort in Khyselia has been murdered.” The words came rushing, his voice almost cracked. Orthan showed no emotion, he only narrowed his eyebrows and contemplated the young priest for a moment.
“Grave news, indeed, I understand why you needed soothing.” The councilor turned back towards the cauldron, grabbed the steel ladle that hung upon the chains and dipped it into the liquid. The ladle emerged again full of the boiling elixir, steaming in the cold air of the chamber. Orthan took a sip, tasted it, and looked at Partsel. "A taste?"
“No, thank you.” Could it be a trap?
“I am terribly sorry about what happened in Khyselia, a royal apology has already been sent, and the king requests a replacement as soon as you can manage.”
He watched the face of the dark elf closely, trying to catch even glimpses of his reaction, but it was all futile. The dark features were completely concealed by the black of the room.
The dark elf poured the rest of the ladle's contents back inside the cauldron, grabbed the metal chains it hung upon and pulled it off the fire.
“We kindly accept your condolences, and no doubt the royal apology shall please the Ara’khan when he receives it.” The councilor turned around and headed for the entrance. “However, I am not the one to discuss these issues with.
“Come, priest, I will accompany you to the Grand Sorcerer, he can tell us what to do and you’ll also have a familiar face to draw strength from.”
Partsel was suddenly out of breath for a moment. For a moment I thought he would say the Demon... It is said that no man has ever seen the Demon, the Emperor of Thabby, or Ara’khan, as the dark elves called him. No man, except for King Ramar. They met privately to sign the treaty, just the two of them.
Orthan looked back at him, turning back from the entrance with one hand holding the curtain out of the way. “Come, priest, and don’t be afraid. The Ara’khan has promised not to harm any of the ambassadors your people send, and our people have kept the promise for more than a decade. We won’t break it now.”
The councilor’s words did not help calm him, not at all. King Ramar has also promised not to harm the khorts, yet one of them was dead.
He had no choice, however, so he followed Orthan with uncertain, out of rhythm steps. He felt humiliated, all his dignity was lost and all his pride was crushed, but he kept up with Orthan, who was nimble and fast in his padded black robes and sandals.
Partsel had never met anyone higher in rank thank the dark elf councilor he always consulted with. And while Orthan was quite high in terms of hierarchy as well, the Grand Sorcerer was no doubt a whole different level.
His thoughts drifted off in fear and excitement. He only snapped back into reality when they stopped in front of a great door made of stone and steel. The door was bigger than any he had seen in his life, each block of stone clearly visible within the metal frame. The stone was skillfully carved into figures and scenes and symbols, so many that Partsel could have stood there all day long and still wouldn’t be able to understand each of them.
One depicted a robed figure standing in front of a hole in the ground while grotesque hands reached out of it, grasping for air and solid ground. The Great Summoning… Could the Demon have come to earth then? Marching soldiers could be seen on another one, wearing full armor, shields in front of them and spears in hand. A third depicted a man kneeling and holding his own severed head in front of him, facing his body. On a fourth there were three women pointing daggers at each other. On a fifth, near the center was a horned figure sitting on a stone throne, faceless, but with eyes all over its naked body. Each of them sent shivers down Partsel’s spine.
And to top it off, he noticed that the borders between the carvings were not merely lines, but a snake’s incredibly long body carved out of stone, twisting and turning between the pictures.
As he was gazing upon the gate, it suddenly cracked open down the middle and opened inwards slowly on its own, the great hinges creaking under the weight. Beyond the door there was only darkness. The torchlight barely licked beyond the door when a gust of wind rushed out and extinguished it.
The blackness that surrounded them felt so thick that he felt like he could swim in it. Or worse, drown in it. He dared not say a word, but a hand grabbed his upper arm gently and lead him forward.
“Do not be afraid, there shall be light soon.”
The voice belonged to Orthan, so he walked forward more confidently. He could sense when they stepped over the doorstep because the air was colder and dryer beyond the door.
Partsel could feel the use of magic in the room, and suddenly there was a powerful presence in the dark, but too far behind the thick blackness for him to tell where or who and how powerful exactly.
Two braziers lit up suddenly in the darkness, blinding both of them with the sudden burst of light. When his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he could see that the two braziers resembled pyres more than what he was used to.
They provided more than enough light to guide him forward and they also revealed stairs carved out of stone behind them. Following the steps with his eyes, Partsel was stunned by the enormous winged and horned figure that towered over them.
It took him a few moments to realize that the demon was not alive, but carved out of stone. It grew out of a great stone seat’s backrest and stood over twenty feet tall.
There was another figure sitting below it, a figure in black and white robes and with skin dark as the depths of the mountain. His eyes shone red in the fire’s light and were fixed on Partsel, measuring him with a faint smile.
Partsel looked around warily, and saw that this was no mere chamber. This is a whole cavern. The walls reflected the orange and red of the fire so the whole place looked as if it were ablaze. The thought frightened him and he could feel the fear grow in his stomach until Orthan broke the silence.
“Myarakh, this human here is our ambassador from Narton, as you already know.” Orthan waited, but when there was no response, he continued.
“He has received grievous news from his capital and I thought it proper that he seek your council himself.”
After another few moments of silence, the figure shifted in his seat, resting his elbow on the stone and his chin in his hand.
He looked every bit like any other dark elf he had seen. He was no taller, no stronger built, nothing more frightening about him. Yet, his presence evoked a feeling of impending doom in Partsel. Orthan’s magic was dwarfed next to the sorcerer’s, and Orthan was already more powerful than many of the human mages he had met.
His power was well hidden, but Partsel could feel how powerful he truly was. He could probably destroy me effortlessly. The thought made Partsel even more uncomfortable and terrified, which was no doubt noticed by the other two in the room. He felt dizzy and the tension made his knees weak, but the silence was finally broken and he snapped back into reality.
“Greetings.” The Grand Sorcerer spoke. “Thank you, but I do not need to be explicitly told about what is going on with my people.” Orthan bowed and opened his mouth to speak, but the other dark elf continued.
“Yes, I’m aware of what happened in Khyselia, and it saddens me deeply.” There was no emotion on his face save for the faint smile and the clearly visible contempt. “I am also greatly disappointed that your king believes a piece of paper with his name on it would make things better.
“Does that mean that should any harm come to you within the Ara’khan’s halls, all we need to do is dictate a few words and send a message on its way?”
Partsel didn’t know what to say, he opened his mouth, but no words came out. He knew there was no place for arguments, and another apology would only make matters worse, so he closed his mouth and gulped loudly.
The darkness and the cold air seemed to wrap themselves around him, their tendrils crawling down his throat to choke the breath and life out of him.
“However, I cannot say I am surprised.” The dark elf shifted in his seat again. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “At least not by the attack. It was obvious to us that the ambassadors would cause tension in both nations.
“There have even been previous attempts reported before. Poisoned food, blades stuck in beds, escaped rabid hounds.” He straightened his back in the seat.
“But we never took these attempts seriously. Your common folk’s mischiefs were no threat to our khorts.” He paused. The words crashed down upon Partsel as a hammer strikes the blazing steel.
“But to actually kill one of ours, that is no feat of the common folk.” The figure sitting on the stone throne lowered his voice.
“That is a deed of someone skilled, and skilled assassins either work for someone of high regard or have a price that only someone of great wealth can afford.”
Partsel understood the hint immediately, and his look of dread changed to a look of disbelief.
“Pa-pardon my bluntness, my… lord.” He stuttered like a child as he spoke and cursed himself for it. “Are you t-trying to say that one of our nobles or lords hired the assassin?”
He entwined his fingers underneath his sleeves in front of him to keep his hands from shaking so obviously. “That is impossible. Our lords would never commit such a terrible crime. They respect the treaty and-“
He stopped suddenly when the dark elf lifted a hand to interrupt him.
“First of all, I am no lord.” That faint and mocking smile gave the words an edge no blade could match.
“Secondly, I do not need your long and tedious testament.” He said and slowly stood up in his seat.
“You need not be afraid, priest, though. Our great and generous Ara’khan has promised not to let any harm come to you and He prefers His promises kept.” The Grand Sorcerer stepped forward to the top of the stairs.
“When the word gets out, our people will no doubt be furious.”
Partsel swallowed his words with a loud gulp and watched the dark elf slowly descend the stairs, taking one step after the other.
“But the Ara’khan is just, so He will not let them cause you trouble or harm you in any way. He has halted their hands when you first arrived and He shall do so again, for you are under His protection.”
Partsel could not hide his surprise, and suddenly a warm feeling washed over him. “His protection? He… He’s too kind.” This is the only thing he could blurt out as the sorcerer reached the bottom of the stairs and stood barely a few feet from him. Is he serious? Could this be true?
Orthan smiled kindly and turned towards him. “See? I told you the Ara’khan would be kind to you.” Partsel’s shaking slowed down and he was no longer ready to faint, in fact, his nerves were calming down even without his soothing spells.
“Yes, I am incredibly grateful. I thought…” He stopped, hesitating to say the words.
“That we would kill you.” The mocking smile on the dark elf’s face still troubled him, but he could no longer care about that.
He felt his life return to him, he was no longer choked by the utter darkness beyond the pyres. On the contrary, he felt the light of the flames fill him with hope and faith again. Even his blood felt warmer and the coldness seemed to vanish from the caverns.
At times like these I wonder who the real monsters are. He contemplated whether King Ramar would have shown such kindness towards the dark elf ambassador if it had happened the other way around. I doubt it. He would probably kill the khort himself, swinging his greatsword Justice. His thoughts were interrupted when the sorcerer spoke again.
“The Ara’khan has even had a new chamber prepared for you because your current one is amongst too many of our people’s. We don’t want any undesired incidents, so you’ll be moving closer to the surface, where there are less bedchambers.” He then turned to Orthan.
“You are dismissed, Orthan. Return to the salve, we don’t want any unnecessary casualties from those spiders. While you’re at it, send word to the barracks that I want the nest found and annihilated, their venom leeched and any eggs they find brought back and hatched.”
Partsel watched them and listened to the words, but his mind was somewhere else. He was still astonished that the Demon, the one everyone feared and despised in his kingdom would not only spare his life, but even go as far as to protect him from his own people. He felt guilty again for judging the book by its cover and he felt something he never thought he could possibly feel towards the leader of his “sworn enemies”. Gratitude.
“Come priest, I’ll take you to your new chamber.” The sorcerer stretched out his hand. The sorcerer’s hand was smooth and black, the flames danced upon the skin like tiny waves. He didn’t even think, just took the hand, fearless again.
As soon as their hands touched, the darkness swallowed them whole. He was suddenly afraid again, but before he could even think of what had happened, he found himself in a room with trimbold crystals in the walls. Everything he used to have in his old chamber could be found here as well. He looked around and his fear dissolved in the dim white light.
“I have decided to give you a few more crystals to show you that we are not ungrateful for the service you have been doing here.”
The dark elf let go of his hand and looked him straight in the eye. Partsel looked at those eyes for a moment, but looked away embarrassed for misjudging his host.
“I am grateful, and I am certain my masters will be as well.” He took a deep breath and looked around again. “And I am sorry for thinking ill of your people.”
“Our prejudices blind us all, it can’t be helped.” The dark elf said with that mocking smile on his dark face.
“Our people should get to know each other bett-“ he stopped when his eyes met the bed, the blanket of which was obviously hiding something beneath. The sorcerer followed his eyes and fixed his own on the bed as well.
“Is there something there?” Partsel asked, with a sudden surge of anxiety rushing through him.
The blanket moved as the figure underneath it climbed out of the bed. The sheets fell away to reveal a man. Not a dark elf, but a human, with messy brown hair and almost pale white skin. Partsel froze with fear as the realization came upon him.
“That… that’s me!” He could not take his eyes off his doppelganger. It was him, a perfect match, save for the scars at his neck, waist, wrists and ankles.
“What is the meaning of this?” He turned to the sorcerer and was terrified by what he saw. The dark elf wore the same smile. The same smile that accepted news of his dead kin and made a promise not harm him. And that smile chased away all the courage, warmth, and hope that was left inside Partsel.
“We have been contemplating the role of the khorts for months, even years.” The dark elf walked to the man that looked like Partsel and smiled with that menacing smile of his.
“You see, you gather information from our capital, spill them to your own. There is little control over what you learn from us, as we cannot lock you up or hide every little detail from your eyes.
“So it would only be fair if you gave us the same amount of information in return. Right?” He looked at Partsel, but continued before the priest could answer.
“Yes, I also have a khort in your capital, but your people are different. They walk and talk in broad daylight, which is highly uncomfortable for my people. They also have locked rooms and halls where only your kin are allowed to enter.
“You are free to roam the Ara’khan’s caverns, yet our khorts are restricted by their nature and your people’s suspicions and disdain.
“Yet you, the one who could inform us about events in Narton, you are a double sieve yourself in a sense. Your masters do not tell you everything, only what you need to know. And you don’t tell us everything, only what you think we need to know. Do you understand my dilemma, priest?”
Partsel did not speak. He only stared at the doppelganger. The shock got a hold of him and wouldn’t let go. He felt as if hours had passed until he could gather the strength to answer the dark elf.
“I’m... I’m sorry.” He was stuttering again. “I’ll t-tell you everything from n-now on. I-I promise.” The crystals seemed to go dimmer and dimmer as the darkness got a hold of him again. He felt his bowels toss and turn, he wanted to throw up.
“Oh, I know you will. Or at least the new Partsel will.” The sorcerer looked at the man again, and the man smiled. Partsel gathered his remaining strength and spoke.
“It took our necromancers months to build your image.” The dark elf turned the naked man around to reveal the huge stitches and scars down his spine. “It took quite a few of your people to put him together, but time and… material we had enough.”
That is a pile of dead flesh sewn together! Partsel’s bowels turned and only willpower held back their content. He could not look as weak as to vomit.
“That is impossible! The portal only answers to my mana, and I would never allow you to use me in such a way!” He felt his courage come back.
They couldn’t possibly force him to let a creature use the portal and thus learn god knows what from his capital. There was simply no way they could make him betray his people.
As his confidence began to rise, the sorcerer started to laugh. Partsel paused, the adrenalin rush was over, but he felt more confused than scared.
“Do you really think I would need your consent?” The dark elf stepped forward.
“Do you think I have forgotten how our portals work? We designed them, have you forgotten?” The dark elf laughed again, his voice filled the chamber with a mocking tone.
“Of course we need your mana to activate them. But you have been providing us with your mana for more than ten years, and willingly.”
The realization came suddenly upon Partsel. He looked at the walls, his eyes filled with terror.
“Yes, priest, you are right. We gave you the crystals so that you would fill them. And then we drained them every once in a while.” The dark elf’s smile widened into a devilish grin.
“You have become redundant, to put it simply.”
Partsel’s fear has turned into anger as the sorcerer spoke and he was ready to unleash everything that had been building up inside him.
“You cannot do this! You promised!” His magical aura burst out of him, shielding him with light. “I will not stay put in a chamber, locked away, while you exploit my people! Narton will hear about this!”
Partsel raised his hand and two wings of light folded out above him. “This abomination will not live long enough to get near the portal!”
He dropped his hand and the wings flew from above, soaring towards the Grant Sorcerer and his pet creature.
The wings of light crashed down loudly with a burst of light that momentarily filled the whole chamber, blinding Partsel as well.
When the light had faded, Partsel was breathing heavily, exhausted by the use of such immense magic. It had been a long time since he last had to use anything but soothing and healing spells.
The two others were nowhere to be seen. Only two piles of ash told of where they stood moments before. Did I do it? Has the Lady Gaya given me the power to defeat such a powerful mage? His breathing turned into sighs of relief as he straightened up. He wiped his brows with his sleeve and started laughing.
“I have slain the Grand Sorcerer…” His laugh was hearty and relieved. He took deep breaths to regain his strength and shook his head in disbelief.
He felt a sudden burst of warmth in his chest and his laugh suddenly turned into a gargling sound. He looked down on his chest and found a clawed hand black as coal reaching out of it, drenched in blood. The hand was pulsing as a still beating heart was struggling in its grasp.
Then he heard the whisper, that awful, awful whisper.
“Thank you, priest. If you hadn’t attacked, I might have broken a promise…”