A Dragon's Retribution [Book 3 in Rising Dragons]

Chapter 19: Seeryath VII

Caiside, one of the many warrior elves, led us to a smithery on the second level. I waited alongside Azrael and Thirak as the elf entered the forge. Nothing could be heard, and then the elf exited. "Aoife will make armour for you," he told us, "as ordered. She will complete measurements now and when our forces are ready, they will go over to the mainland with the armour. She will be out shortly."

"Thank you, Caiside," Thirak replied, acting as our mouthpiece as no one was willing to connect their minds to mine and therefore Azrael's; aside from Fáelán and Aldrys of course. The elf nodded, then left.

We didn't have to wait long, as soon after two elves came out. One was clearly the blacksmith, muscled with dark skin and darker eyes, whilst the other was thinner, slightly lighter skin, with one leg made of metal and wood. I bet magic had something to do with how it all worked.

The blacksmith's hands moved rapidly, gestures sharp, short; her face a picture of anger and disgust combined. Thirak frowned, eyes focussed on the hand signs. Do you know what she is saying? I asked, reaching out to him.

No. This is not the sign language I learnt, he replied.

"My partner Aoife wants to know if she is being forced to make armour for all of you," the paler elf asked, apparently repeating after the blacksmith. "I take it you do not know our silent language?"

Thirak shook his head. "No, and I apologise for that," he said, glancing at both elves. "I know the dominant sign language on the mainland, but not this one." The elf, the interpreter I guessed, turned to Aoife, hands moving quickly as she conveyed Thirak's answer.

"Doesn't matter," Aoife responded, movements still sharp. "Answer my question."

"Seeryath and Azrael need armour," Thirak answered at my prompt. "However, I don't."

Aoife pursed her lips and turned to the unnamed elf. They exchanged a series of hand signs, a conversation only they understood. Eventually, Aoife left, heading back into the smithery, and the other elf turned to us. "I am Emer, and I will take the measurements whilst Aoife continues to work," she explained. "It is... easier this way, for all of us." This, I knew, was nothing that we could fix. Aoife disliked us, it was obvious, perhaps even hated us. We could not make everyone love us nor make people not hate us. Besides, their opinions didn't matter when there were bigger matters at hand.

"What do you mean?" Thirak asked.

"Aoife hates war, hates fighting," Emer said. "She hates the death that accompanies it, but she will create armour as she has been ordered too. She dislikes that she is forced to create tools that will only harm others, and much rather prefers creating other objects that will help, such as my leg. We created it together."

Opening a chest by the doorframe, she pulled out a tape measure as well as writing objects. "I've known Aoife for just over fifty years now, and I have never known her to like war in any form. Her hate of it only got worse when I lost my leg in a fight. Now, Seeryath, please lower your head, I need to measure your neck."

***

Earlier that morning, Thirak had left with Aldrys, sword in hand, leaving Azrael and myself to figure out what we wanted to do. Tomorrow we would leave the elves behind, to their armies and marching and boats. We had been given the day as a day of rest, even though we hadn't done anything during our stay. Azrael had chosen to head deeper into the forest, and find somewhere secluded to rest away from everybody for the day. Meanwhile, I had turned my attention east to where an island lay. No one had ever visited it apparently, and it had caught my interest. If I moved quickly, it was only a short flight there meaning I could probably explore it and return by nightfall.