Darksiders: The Seed of Knowledge

Chapter Three

Strife appeared from the swirl of black mist in the courtyard of the castle, frightening the unwary elves present.  Though he hadn't the time to truly admire the architecture, the castle was a magnificent structure of wood and stone, stained-glass windows and spires.  The geometric patterns mimicked the forest beyond the castle and outlying town, everything as elegant and proud as the indigenous race.

The elves were tall and graceful creatures with perfect posture, slender builds and those famous pointed ears that protruded from their long, flowing manes of well-groomed hair.  Their clothing was fine cloth, the color ranging from white to green to blue to lilac, the hems just brushing the floor but not impeding movement.  Their skin was fair alabaster, their eyes as various as their garments, and their coronets served to mark their rank.

"Where can I find your healers?" Strife asked immediately after materializing, projecting his voice so that everyone in the courtyard heard him.

A female with a gold circlet that marked her as a courtier or higher approached the Horseman tentatively as he dismounted.  She was clad in a light green, sleeveless dress tied at her middle with a thin gold chain, her dark brown hair framing her thin, elegant face as she looked up at the Horseman with a wary emerald gaze.

"Why do you need our healers?" she asked.

"It's not for me," said Strife, turning to the elf and revealing the trembling, half-conscious, sickly pale girl in his arms.

"I take it she's the human."  The woman reached out and placed a hand on the girl's burning brow.  "What happened to her?"

"She was cut out of a Demon's Egg."

All elven eyes turned and stared in horror.  The elven woman pulled her hand away and used it to cover her mouth, only now noticing the fleshy cord that started under the girl's folded arms and coiled around the Rider's wrist.

"She thinks your healers might know how to remove the parasite," he said.

"They do," said the elf, "but how would she know that?"

"Can you help her or not?"

The woman nodded and turned.  "This way, quickly!"

Strife turned to his horse.  "You stay put."

The snort he received sounded almost insulted.

Ignoring it, Strife followed the sprinting elf into the castle and through the elaborate stone corridors.  Her movements were fast and fluid, as was natural to her race, but the Horseman was just as swift and had no problem keeping pace.  As they ran, the girl in his hold moaned and spewed more blood on him, still holding that knife close to her heart.

Keeping his stride, the Rider took a moment to ponder the knife.  It was clearly Manmade, about six to eight inches in length from hilt to curved tip, one edge smooth and sharp, the other dull and jagged.  While he preferred bullets to blades, he recognized the design as tactical, crafted for hunting and basic survival.  Where the demons had gotten that knife, he couldn't say.  But then, given how possessive the girl seemed over it, gripping it fiercely despite her weakened state, perhaps it was hers to begin with.

The elf led the Rider into a large, elongated chamber with more stained-glass windows lining the tall walls and two rows of cots at either side.  In those cots were wounded and sick elves, and the elves who treated them wore white robes and silver coronets to hold back their braided hair.