Valadel

Chapter XXIII

The halls of Valadel were dark and gloomy, leading to doors, smaller halls and littered with dead ones, both cursed and not. Whispers seemed to bounce off the dark gray castle walls, telling the ancient story of the place. Perhaps it was the cursed ones communicating, thought Danticus, as disturbing as the idea was. Moonlight seeped in through the windows, illuminating the dormant bodies of the cursed ones. Aryanne had said they do sleep, but Danticus still felt as if they were watching him at all times, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, when his guard is lowered.

The kitchen had been overrun, the cursed ones finally summoning enough strength to burst through the barricaded double doors. Him and Aryanne ran, shooting arrow and magic. They made rest on an upper balcony outside of a noble room. Aryanne said no cursed ones could make it to the top floor, that they were safe. Danticus had wondered how many cursed ones were still out there. He’s killed quite a few since he’s been here, and Tyren has had to of killed hundred’s, being down here for so long.

They must’ve been elves. There’s nothing else they could’ve been

They genuinely terrified him. They didn’t eat. After Aryanne spoke of their unusual habit of not feasting, Danticus began to notice all the corpses, perfectly fine, untouched.  That’s what disturbed him the most about the monsters. They didn’t kill to eat, like men did. It was necessary. Sometimes, a good deer or elk could be the deciding factor between life and death, especially true in the time of winter. But these monsters here. They killed just to kill, as if the brain knew no other function. As if they’re primary goals were to sink their teeth and tear with their claws into something with a beating heart. That is what scared him the most about the monsters.

He drew Stormbolt’s string, assuring himself the bow would not fail him in combat. He felt around for an arrow in his quiver, only to be met with disappointment. He had only eleven remaining, eight with their tip. The other three he pulled from corpses, hoping to salvage them. Their tips would break off and he would curse. With his knife, he shed much wood off the sides, creating a fearsome point. They wouldn’t be as effective, but useful. He cursed himself for wasting so many in his initial assault.

Aryanne told him earlier his shots would do nothing if he kept aiming for  where he thought the heart was. In a human, a heart was found in their upper left chest but for an elf, it was in their lower stomach. Danticus had thought the idea the most bizarre about the elves. But they came first, so perhaps to them, the location of their hearts was bizarre.

He sat from his chair overlooking the balcony and lay down where his mantle had been laid out. His stomach hurt, begging him to find food. He and Aryanne hadn’t eaten in two days. He hadn’t drunk water in three. He felt tired and exhausted most times. His body begged him to relax and sleep, but his will put his guard and sense of security above all else. He glanced to where Aryanne had fallen asleep. Her hands were together, palm on palm, and tucked away under her head. Her legs had slightly curled up  to meet her elbows, appearing as a fetus. Her hair was a black puff, reaching her upper back and sprawling across where she lay. Earlier, Danticus had taught her a song, one of his favorites, A Warm Winters Day, a song his mother would sing.

*****

“What exactly is a song?” She asked.

Danticus stared at her quizzically. “A thousand years and your uncle hasn’t taught you one song?” he said, somewhat chuckling.

She smiled and shrugged. “I guess he didn’t like to sung.”

“Sing.” Said Danticus, correcting her. They laughed about it.

“Okay​, well, now you have time to learn, I suppose. So, singing is...talking with words, but doing it to a certain...melody. I don’t know, it’s difficult to explain but easy to do. Watch.”