The Chronicles of Phoenix Bloodheart I: Turning Red

Chapter VI: End of the road

"Well well well, what do we have here?" The Quel'Dorei in black asks aloud.

He is flanked by four or five other elves dressed in similar black leather clothes. They tower over her. One - a female with straight, sharp white hair - smiles blankly.

Phoenix's heart races. Is it really him? From years ago? Does he recognise her?

"I'm... I'm... just on my way back to Silvermoon," she manages to stutter between breaths, lying. "I'm late."

"Well, you're going the wrong way for one," he smirks, and the others laugh. "You've reached a toll bridge."

The elf in black looks at Phoenix as if judging her; she can feel his cold blue-grey eyes trying to figure her out. She is petrified at the thought of him recognising her from all those years ago. She glances back at him and his hardened, pockmarked face, his long silver hair and trim beard, and looks away again. A scar runs from his nose to his left ear. He must be a few hundred years old for an elf, who can live for many centuries.

Phoenix looks back down to the floor, terrified.

"For you..." the man in black says, after a few moments. "100 gold."

A few of his accomplices shuffle almost awkwardly, the white-haired female makes a devilish grin and Phoenix balks inside at the obscenely high price.

"Norros," one of the other elves addresses the man in black.

"I'm just joking!" Norros smiles, gesturing with his palms facing outwards like a mime. "10 gold," he adds, with certainty.

"Oh father, why not more?" the white-haired elf protests.

"I'm afraid I lost my money," Phoenix quickly interjects, nervously. "I only have a few gold to my name, it's back home."

"Aw, don't worry my dear, it's perfectly fine, we can make a deal," Norros says, grabbing the bag around Phoenix, who reluctantly allows him to take it.

"I don't have anything," she starts, her heart in her throat, but the bag has been thrown to the young white-haired female, who is already emptying its contents to the floor. A humble blanket, a few flasks of water and some plain clothes fall to the floor, followed by all of Phoenix's food: enough apples and bread to last a few days.

Norros looks disappointed. He slowly looks back up at Phoenix.

"Where exactly is home?" he asks her.

She hesitates. She doesn't know how to answer, as home is nowhere now. Inside she prays not to blackout again, for it would surely mean her death.

Norros' daughter steps forward with one of the flasks of water, holding it over Phoenix's head as she starts to say: "He said... Where..."

She pours the water over Phoenix, slowly emphasising each word: "Is...? Home...?"

The water runs down the face and hair of Phoenix, seeping slightly into her clothes.

'I don't have one,' Phoenix thinks to herself. She tenses up and her mouth wobbles with nervousness; she starts to cry without showing it, making a sound or screwing her face up, the first few tears mixing with the water.

She glances up at the white-haired elf, who smiles a slow, wicked smile back. Her stare is like poison to Phoenix, there is hatred behind her eyes.

Her face is clear like a crystal, her big grey-blue eyes a mirror image of her father's. Her nose and mouth are small like a mouse, her skin pale, contrasting with her black jacket, cloak and trousers. A narrow sword is in her holster.