Elven Legacy

Chapter 50

Dharkan

When he woke up, he wished he hadn't.

His right eye was shut and crusted with blood, and his left saw nothing but dim grayness. Dharkan tried to move, but everything in his body throbbed like hell's worst hangover; not just the eye, but his left arm, leg, ribs, even his feet, and especially his head.

He seemed to be fully clothed, but his black outfit was in a terrible state – dirty, torn up, dusty, matted in blood. His belt and knives had been taken away.

Moans, whines, shouts, and various forms of laments emanated from the surroundings, as well as distant booted steps, the rattle of keys, and the raking of a baton against bars. The damp, musty air carried urine and shit, blood, mold and vomit.

He'd been thrown in some Azurian prison. Lower levels, from the look – and smell – of it.

Awful sounds of retching came from his left, complete with the throwing up, the spitting, and the heaving of a stomach trying to empty itself even after there wasn't anything left.

Dharkan wasn't alone in his cell. Angling his head to the left, he waited for the spikes and needles of pain and black spots in his one-eyed vision to subside.

He saw Kitera spitting one last time, before she flung herself backward against the gray stone wall with a rasped sigh.

Seeing that he was awake, she warned, "Don't eat the food."

Dharkan looked beside her – some three feet away from the barred door was laid a wooden platter of what looked like moldy rice and . . . maybe a fruit puree. Or something.

"Don't eat the food that already looks like puke," Dharkan croaked out, leaning up on his right elbow. "Got it."

Still panting, wiping her mouth with the back of her blouse's sleeve, she asked, "How're you feeling?"

"About how you'd expect," he answered, his voice rasped and faint.

He realized his throat was on fire from thirst, and the knowledge assaulted him with longing for water so powerful that, for a few moments, he couldn't think about anything else. Just water.

Kitera nodded, her eyes shadowed in the dimness, her face partly veiled by lanky hair.

Dharkan cursed as he managed the arduous task of sitting up fully. Cursed again, as he dragged himself to the side until he could lean against the wall – same as her, opposite side. Though the cell was so narrow that their legs met halfway.

"What happened?" Dharkan asked, his mind swimming through foggy, frazzled memories.

Kitera tiredly asked, "What do you remember?"

He slammed some focus into himself, rode the waves of throbbing pain like they were some minor detail, and honed in on scattered fragments of recall. Tried to piece them together like some ugly, shitty puzzle.

"Thebrenna," he muttered. "The Fighting Pit . . . Some sort of drug . . ."

"So they did drug you?" Kitera didn't sound surprised.

"Yeah," Dharkan breathed hoarsely.

He closed his good eye against the pallid light spilling from down the corridor and in bar-shaped strips into the cell.

"Not sure what," he groaned. "Something that fucked with my balance and perceptions." He sniffed, then winced at the stale reek. Opened his eye again. "The world kept tilting under me. Couldn't shake it off."

"It showed," Kitera said simply, like she was too tired to be angry.

A fresh burst of pain rippled through Dharkan, this one emotional more than physical.

"Why'd you come?" he asked.

Now anger filtered into her voice, "Isn't that fucking obvious?"

Something dark and ravenous coiled inside him, worse than all the other aches, and it took some moments for Dharkan to recognize it for what it was.

Self-loathing.

Yeah, well, this is rock-bottom if I ever saw it. No really, congratulations.

Thing is, you went and fucking dragged her down there with you.

When he replied, it came out more sincere than he'd anticipated, and closer to tears than he'd been in a long, long while.

Drunken crying didn't count.

"I didn't think you'd come, all right? I . . . I didn't want you to." A sigh shuddered out of him. Then, finally, he said, "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, about everything."

Silence.

Then, Kitera's boot kicked his own in the center of the cell, sending a jab of pain spearing up his calf and thigh. He clenched his teeth against it, ignored it. Looked up at her.

She'd worked up a smirk, somehow, and it danced in the corner of her lips.

"Are you done with your pity-party?" She cleared her voice, as if to give it strength. It sounded like she was thirsty as hell too, but she spoke distinctly through it anyway, "Just because we're not bed buddies anymore, doesn't mean I don't care about you. Doesn't mean I don't love you. So get that through your thick dumb skull already."

He leaned his throbbing head back against the stone, a grumbly moan escaping his lips. A lump rose in his throat, and his good eye filled with wetness. He reeled it back in with some effort – don't go wasting even more water now.

"Love declarations, really? Does this mean we're gonna die here?" he asked, half-joking.

She shrugged. "Apparently, the punishment for randomly jumping in the pit and killing the local champion is pretty severe. Heard a guard snickering about it earlier."

"How severe?" Dharkan asked.

"Death," she said, tonelessly. "By hanging or stoning, he wasn't sure. Had to go check."

"Huh," Dharkan uttered, raking the dusty stone with his boot as he brought his right leg up and closer. "What do we do about that?"

"How about," Kitera said, "we find a way to get the fuck out of here?"

Dharkan gave her a crooked smile. "Any ideas?"