From Iron and Ruin

Flee

Chapter Seventeen: Flee

The evening passed into night as stories melded one into another. There were stories about dwarves and strange, powdered ladies from Naredan. Mahon had even added a few of his own—warily at first, but as he got more comfortable, he settled into a rhythm and I found the low lull of his voice to be oddly comforting.

It was Gwen who really stole the evening and as the two other women drank more whiskey and wine than was wise, the louder they became.

Fyr laughed uproariously, her cheeks flushed as we listened to Gwen finish the end of a rambling story that seemed to go on for hours, but one that we were hooked on.

"Now, I have set the scene." Gwen proclaimed.

"You've given us the whole life-story of these people, Gwen," Fyr tittered. Sometime throughout the evening, she had swapped out her tea for wine.

"That is true." Gwen tipped her mug towards Fyr, sloshing the contents out. "Now, we knew this dwarf for his prowess in fighting too. And he thought perhaps that this Feldspar fellow couldn't possibly beat me in stone-masonry and a physical fight. You should have seen his cocky lil' strut into the arena. He paled like a little worm when I stepped out to fight him."

Fyr leaned forward, grinning. "Did you fight him?"

"Fire-Lady! Don't you know me? He was small but packed a tight punch. I let him work out his anger and soothe his little soul before I knocked him out."

"I would have loved to have seen that," Kohen sighed. "But the memory will do just fine."

My attention drifted to the window and the darkness of night beyond. The rain fell heavily, sounding like pellets against the glass.

Gwen pointed a finger at him. "Keep tha' stuff inside your head, Cat."

"But sometimes there is not room to put it, and I have more important things to keep inside," Kohen argued.

"Say it aloud when you are alone then, Cat." Gwen huffed. "Then no one gets embarrassed about their dirty, sordid affairs being told to an entire room. Now, Cat. It's your turn for a story."

The Zentin cocked his head. "I have thousands."

"Pick one. Or two." Gwen said.

"Can I tell you about a love-story on a battle-field?"

"Ohh," Fyr leaned forward excitedly. "Please do, Kohen."

Kohen smiled and began his tale. "The great Elven warrior Asha'da called for aid for one last battle. One that in time would be called the Battle of the Red Sunset. Among the thousands were two lovers. One, a High Elf and the second, a young human soldier. A man born to peasant farmers. Their love was honest and raw, a rare happiness and a love born of truth and not convenience."

"But Ash'da's war was brutal. And the High Elf saw the bodies of countless humans scattered on the battle-fields and began to fear. He foresaw that the upcoming battle would be one that shook the earth and sky and that his lover would not survive it. So he schemed. Sending his human away would not work. The human would not leave the High-Elf. So, the High-Elf shattered his heart to send him running. He told him their love was nothing more than physical, that the human was just a number in a countless string of liaisons. An Elf could never love a human."

"Elves can love humans," Fyr protested fierily. "How could he say that!"

"Would it be worth it then," Mahon questioned. "For an Elf to fall in love with a human?"