Light Chasers: A Novel of Lasniniar

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Captive

The elf gained consciousness slowly, the sounds around him making little sense. There were strange, echoing rustles. The air was thick and humid, reeking of rotting vegetation. The surface beneath him was cool and unyielding, pitted with small bumps and crevices.

Where was he? Who was he?

The elf opened his eyes, hoping to find answers. Wherever he was, it was dark. He blinked several times and waited for his eyes to adjust. His surroundings gradually came into focus. He was in a cave, surrounded by other sleeping forms. He sat up, hoping to get a better look. His body felt weak, his limbs heavy.

What had happened? Why couldn’t he remember?

“Ah, you’re awake.” A smooth, male voice floated to him from the darkness.

There was a swish of movement as the speaker crouched beside him. His skin was the palest the elf had ever seen. His long hair was the color of midnight and lay smoothly behind his pointed ears. His dark eyes seemed bottomless, framed by angular brows. He had a long, aquiline nose, and a narrow chin. His lips looked dark in contrast with his fair skin, sly and sensual. The elf felt as though he should recognize this stranger, but his mind still felt clouded.

“Here, drink this.” The familiar stranger held out a silver goblet. “It will make you feel better.”

The elf hesitated, disturbed by something he could not explain, but the stranger’s dark gaze calmed him. Why not drink? He was thirsty, after all.

The stranger smiled as the elf tilted the goblet against his lips. The rim of the vessel was cool, but the liquid inside was strangely warm. It was thick and had a metallic tang that filled the elf’s mouth. At first he was repulsed by it, but as the liquid traveled down his throat to settle in his stomach, he felt a change go through him. His entire body tingled and his nerves sang. He felt himself growing strong, stronger than he had ever felt before. He gulped the contents of the goblet down to the last drop.

As the strange power surged through the elf’s body, he also felt his mind becoming clearer. His memories began to bubble to the surface.

Yes, he had seen this stranger before. There had been children. The elf could remember trying to help the children. As his memories came into focus, he saw another male elf with long, white hair. His golden eyes were filled with anguish. He cried out a single word in a broken voice.

“Numril!”

The elf’s mind reeled as that one word opened a floodgate inside him. A lifetime of memories rushed through him, culminating in the moment when the foul creature, whose blood he had just drank, had bitten him. Horrified, he probed his neck with his fingers, pushing aside his long, white hair to do so. His skin was cold to the touch. He felt for punctures and blood. It could not be true. It couldn’t!

His mounting horror was briefly held at bay when he did not find the wounds he was expecting. Although it was cool, his skin was dry and smooth. His hair was still white. Only elves had white hair. He comforted himself with this thought.

Then he felt it. His fingertips brushed against a small circle of slightly raised skin. His stomach dropped. After finding the first, it didn’t take long to locate its twin. The bite mark had already transformed into scars, healed by the blood of his drakhal maker. The creature gave him a cruel smile.

A tide of despair washed over him, starting in his toes and rising all the way to his temples. All his muscles clenched in rejection until the pressure became unbearable. His lips burst open, filling the cave with echoes of his tortured scream.

Numril opened his eyes sometime later to the darkness of the cave. It had been too much to hope his capture and transformation were simply a nightmare. He sat up slowly, wincing as he did so. There was a lump on the back of his head where one of his captors had hit him. Numril had gone slightly mad after his realization, lashing out at everyone around him. Despite his ferocity, Vlaz had ordered the others to be careful with him.

Vlaz… How did he know the name of the drakhal who had turned him? Numril could not remember him ever identifying himself. The knowledge must have come from the blood he had drank.

The creature’s name was irrelevant. Numril had to escape. How far were they from Vila Eadros? He tried to get a sense from his connection with the Quenya.

A surge of panic rose within him as he reached for the connection only to find it gone. Closing his eyes, he fumbled within himself for the inner lodestone that guided every Light Elf’s steps. After several long moments of probing, he realized it wasn’t missing. Something was blocking him from it. Or more likely, someone: Vlaz.

Numril returned his focus to his surroundings. No one moved in the darkness of the cave. They must all be sleeping. Now was his chance. Raising the hood of his cloak to conceal his pale hair, Numril rose silently to his feet and crept toward a dim light, which he assumed would lead to the entrance of the cave. He stepped over sleeping drakhal forms with care. None stirred. They were fewer and more spaced out as he drew closer to the light.

He rounded a corner and came to a halt. The cave entrance lay ahead, flooded by the light of the setting sun. The shadows cast along the walls of the cave were pitch dark by contrast. Numril took a moment for his eyes to adjust, probing the patches of darkness. A lone sentry sat in the shadows, watching the entrance. Numril reached for his knife, only to find it gone.

Of course. He should have expected that. His bow was also missing. He wasn’t about to go back for them now.

Keeping an eye on the sentry, Numril crouched and cast his hands about until he found what he needed. It was a fist-sized rock. He scooped it from the cave floor and began moving through the shadows toward his target.

The sentry seemed to be watching for intruders finding their way in, rather than anyone inside finding their way out. The sentry’s back faced the interior of the cave, making it easier for Numril to sneak up on him unnoticed. Numril held his breath and raised the rock, preparing for the blow.

The sentry must have sensed his movement. His head began to turn. Startled into action, Numril brought the rock down hard. The drakhal’s orange eyes widened in surprise before rolling up into his head as the blow landed on his skull. Numril caught the collapsing body by the shoulders and lowered it to the ground.

Now nothing stood between Numril and the way out. Once he was outside, he would have to travel as quickly as possible to take advantage of the remaining daylight. Any drakhal who pursued him would perish under the slanted rays of the setting sun.

A sudden revelation hit him. He had been bitten. Would sunlight destroy him as well? Numril knew a moment of utter despair. He looked back at the dark cave behind him, filled with drakhalu and Vlazkashad, who was now his master. He couldn’t bear the thought of turning back.

Perhaps the sun wouldn’t do much damage since he had only just been turned… Even if he were incinerated, at least he would be free. Death would be preferable to being Vlaz’s puppet for all eternity and taking part in his monstrous plans. Numril wished he could see Valanandir and the rest of his friends one last time though.

Numril squared his shoulders. He took a deep breath and started walking toward the cave entrance. No matter what happened next, he would be free. Even though his connection with the Quenya was blocked, he knew this was the right thing to do.

Some heightened sense tugged at him, alerting him to movement from behind. Numril turned to see four blurred forms moving toward him. Drakhalu were unnaturally fast when they needed to be. Numril pumped his legs as fast as he could, but he seemed pathetically slow by comparison. As his pursuers surged forward, he made a leap toward the sun-drenched entrance. One of the drakhalu tackled him in midair. Numril landed on the solid floor of the cave with the creature’s full weight on top of him, the impact driving the air from his lungs.

Numril realized they had fallen right on the cusp of where the shadow ended and the light began. He was so close! His desperate panic gave him renewed strength. He kneed the drakhal in the groin. The painful surprise threw his opponent off balance. Numril used the opening to push his attacker off him, launching him toward the sunlight. He absently noticed its gentle warmth on his palm for one brief moment as his wrist crossed the shadow’s threshold.

The drakhal screamed, writhing on the ground in the full light of the sun. The other three hung back, cautious of Numril’s proximity to the light. One of them was Vlaz. He gave an order to his two remaining henchmen.

Numril knew he was out of time. He scrambled toward the light and the black dust that remained of the creature who had tackled him. He tucked his knees against his chest and pushed his toes into the ground, preparing to launch himself forward to freedom.

Just as he was pushing off, a pair of hands gripped his ankles, pulling him backward into the shadows. Numril cast his hands about for anything to hold on to. The uneven stone floor tore at the bare flesh of his palms and ripped at his scrabbling fingernails to no avail. A flood of panic washed over him. He couldn’t go back!

Numril thrashed his legs, trying to throw off the hands that held him. He heard a muttered curse as his foot connected with something hard. First one ankle slipped free, then the other. But before he could take advantage of the situation, another pair of hands grabbed his hips.

Now two pairs of hands worked to roll him on his back. Numril caught a glimpse of Vlaz watching from the shadows, his expression calm. Numril tried desperately to twist away from those who held him, but this time their grip was secure. One straddled his waist, using his full weight to pin Numril to the ground. Numril looked up into the drakhal’s face. The creature’s nose was a bloody mess. A fat drop fell on Numril’s cheek. He recoiled in disgust. The drakhal smiled, revealing his white fangs, and licked the blood from his upper lip with slow relish. Numril gagged.

As the creature leaned over him, Numril went into a wild panic. But the other pair of hands held his arms fast. He could feel the drakhal’s hot breath on his face. He tried to turn his head away, but the wounded drakhal reached down and held it in place. Helpless, Numril squeezed his eyes shut. A small burst of breath tickled his cheek as the drakhal gave a low chuckle.

Numril’s eyes snapped open as he felt a smooth wetness stroke his cheek. The creature was licking his own blood from the elf’s face. Numril tasted bile.

Vlaz’s rich voice spoke from the shadows. “Enough games. Take care of him.”

The drakhal leaned back with a satisfied smile. Numril prayed that this time, they meant to kill him. He felt a hot surge of disappointment as the one pinning him c****d his arm. The last thing he saw was a fist hurtling toward his face.

After Numril’s first failed escape, he was kept under constant guard. This didn’t stop him from trying to get away any chance he got. Even after they had crossed into the dark lands of the Daran Stari and his captors had taken him to their home in the caves of the Hamadi Orom, Numril continued to rebel, often killing or maiming drakhalu in the process.

Still, Vlaz would not kill him. Instead, Numril’s bond with Vlaz grew stronger with each passing night, until it became impossible to even think about escaping without Vlaz being aware of his thoughts.

How much time had passed since he had been taken captive, Numril could not say. Day and night had little meaning in the cavern city of the drakhalu. It seemed like an eternity. Numril eventually decided it would be easier to become the subservient captive they wanted him to be. Perhaps he could learn what Vlaz had planned. It wasn’t as if Valanandir would be leading an army into the heart of the dark lands any time soon. Numril doubted his friend even knew he was alive. His only hope was to escape on his own.

Obeying his master’s wishes had its advantages. The more restraint Numril demonstrated, the more freedom he was granted, but the exits of the caverns were always closely guarded. As Vlaz’s favored chosen, he was also treated with fear and grudging respect within the drakhal caste system, but their fear of his master was greater.

Numril soon learned behaving the way Vlaz expected him to while harboring thoughts of murder and escape was no good. Vlaz’s mind had become almost indistinguishable from his own. Numril was forced to abandon any plans of violence and replace them with worshipful thoughts of his master. At first it was only a charade, but gradually his old self seemed to slip away and the thoughts became almost genuine.

Numril’s memories of Vila Eadros and the Quenya faded into darkness. He became accustomed to his retractable fangs and cold skin, and began to sleep during what he assumed to be the daylight hours, when the drakhalu rested. He fed on whatever bats or rodents he could find. Although he had retained his Light Elf coloring, there was little about him anymore that could be called elven.

There was only one memory Numril saved for himself. He kept it tucked away in the farthest corner of his mind like a hidden gem. When he couldn’t remember the Quenya or Valanandir’s face, it was the only thing that gave him any glimmer of hope. He didn’t dare think of it when Vlaz was awake. He would wait until he felt his master’s mind drift into slumber before daring to cast his thoughts back to the first day of his drakhal life.

He watched as he flipped the drakhal attacking him at the opening of the cave and into the sunlight. The creature screamed as it burned to death. Numril felt the gentle warmth of the sun on his left hand. He opened his eyes and looked at the smooth, unbroken flesh of his palm. Although he had been bitten, he had survived the heat of the sun and remained unscathed.

Numril was the first Light Elf to be turned by the drakhalu. The blood of his kind was irresistible to the drakhalu. Once they began drinking, they were couldn’t stop until their victim was sucked dry. Only the Orag, the First among them, had proved strong enough.

When Vlaz had bitten him, he had created something new, something different. Somehow Numril’s previous association with the Quenya, combined with being turned had created a new breed. If Vlaz ever found out…

Numril let the memory slip away to its hiding place and returned his thoughts to the worship of his master.