Warwielder - Book 1 of The Evernoth Odyssey

Chapter 25 - Savage

Marschal and the elf stared at each other from across the width of the corridor. The Paravellan gulped as he held the old warrior's hard gaze. If they fought, Marschal was certain he would die. So he resolved not to provide the angry elf anymore reason to crush his head. The young Paravellan reluctantly stepped forward and raised his palms up to surrender.

"I think there's been a misundersta-"

Suddenly, the elf stepped up to Marschal in a few long strides, forcing the Paravellan to back up against the metal wall. He feebly shook his hands at the elf warrior as he cowered and averted his gaze from the elf's furious eyes.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait....Wait."

Marschal peered back up at the warrior to see the same hard eyes and flaring nostrils glaring at him. He was going to die if he didn't try to reason with him. The young Paravellan shut his eyes tightly as he struggled to remember his common elf tongue.

"Em-...Em...boga...bogaotetos...Emboga-u..."

"Speak own tongue," the elf growled. "Naiye, horrible."

"I was trying to say misunderstanding. This is all a misunderstanding."

"Your friends try kill me."

"Your friend stole from my friends. They were angry. Things got out of hand. They should never have attacked you."

Marschal's words weren't enough to placate the burning rage in the elf's emerald eyes. The old warrior took in a deep breath through flaring nostrils. His rage then gave way to a look of exhaustion as he shook his head like a disappointed parent.

"You're all same."

The young Paravellan would have found the judgmental tone insulting were it not for the elf's hand still painfully gripping his collar.

"A-are you going to kill me?"

The old elf reacted with a sneer. "Maybe."

"You don't have to. You don't need to. I bet you don't even want to."

The elf snarled and gripped the Paravellan's throat. "You not know me."

"I know-," Marschal struggled to breathe under the elf's clutches, "I know that...if you wanted to kill me...you would've done it...alrea-..."

His words fizzled out as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his vision slowly gave way to darkness. Marschal's eardrums then erupted when he heard the elf roar, seemingly out of frustration. The elf then suddenly released his victim from his warrior's grip.

As the young Paravellan keeled over and took advantage of his newly opened airways, the elf stood over him with his shadow encompassing the space around Marschal.

"You're all same."

Before the Paravellan could gaze up and catch the elf's eyes, the old warrior had already turned his back and started walking down the hallway.

When he finally recovered, Marschal stood back up and watched the cloaked elf stroll away from him. The Paravellan then turned to the iron wall separating him from his fellow companions.

He counted himself lucky when he met them. The innate kinship he had with his Paravellan allies was useful. Now, he was alone and defenseless.

Marschal gazed back at the elf shrinking in the distance. He was strong yet clearly misanthropic. Dangerous enough to kill him with a single blow. Yet, Marschal was still alive. So he wasn't a mindless killer. He had standards. A code. If this elf was to become something resembling an ally, Marschal needed to understand the criterion for this code, his personal ethics, and make sure to fulfill enough of those standards to convince the elf to view Marschal in a favourable light. Or at least convince the elf to continue not killing him.