Search for the Extinct [Last of Elves book 2]

Twenty-Four: Ailill

Ailill

They were ambushed moments after Kuraĝon had released the horses, sending them on their way. Something in the air was making her uneasy. They jumped on her as she’d returned, and he could hear her imaginative curses.

He too was being held, his arms pulled uncomfortably behind his back. His sister was forced to her knees beside him, still spitting curses. She was furious.

They were human hunters, their faces alight with triumph. The elves’ wrists were bound behind their backs, and then tied to a pair of trees. He watched calmly as one mounted a horse and rode away. He knew that it would be a messenger to Highstone, to the priestess. They would want to collect the bounty offered for the capture of them.

They were ignored by the other men, but Ailill preferred it. The more they were left alone, the greater the chance that he could work a way out of the situation.

He could hear the soft growls of the beastkins as they hid in the trees behind them. He hissed between his teeth quietly, and they stopped. They would follow, he knew, but stay out of sight.

When dawn broke after a cold and uncomfortable night, the humans forced them to their feet. They were made to walk all day, and again tied to a tree when the sun set. Their wrists were rubbed raw, but both of them were slowly working their wrists free. They weren’t redvine ropes, and weren’t going to restrain them for long.

However, as the sun passed the top of the sky and began to fall to meet the earth again, riders approaching them could be seen in the distance. Kuraĝon swore under her breath and ripped her wrists free, refusing to be held captive. Before she could go very far, the riders surrounded them, clad in the uniform of the temple warriors.

The leader of them dismounted, catching her by the arm as she went to slip past them. She was forced to her knees just as the beastkins burst out.

The warriors were ready for them, though, and loops of rope tightened around the creatures’ necks, bringing them to the ground. Kuraĝon fought fiercely enough to make two warriors hold her, while Ailill kept his own counsel, watching with pain in his eyes.

Their wrists were retied with redvine ropes, and his hood was pulled over his head to hide his features. When they moved to do the same to Kuraĝon, she snarled and cursed them, but it made no difference. The two beastkins were restrained, and her curses grew even fiercer.

He stayed silent, watching the proceedings closely. They would be taken back to Highstone, to the temple. The High Priestess would be interested.

They weren’t allowed to ride, but Vakt and Hunaja were slung roughly onto the packhorse, tied down tightly. The walk was hard, and the ropes around their wrists tightened as the journey went on. Kuraĝon made frequent attempts to break free, causing the warriors to tighten her bonds much more than Ailill’s.

By the time they got to the gates of Highstone, their wrists had been rubbed raw, every movement sending shooting pains up their arms. They were taken to the cell he remembered, pushed in roughly, and heavy chains were locked around their wrists, over the redvine ropes. The beastkins were taken elsewhere, and he sat against the wall, watching his sister pace, and listening as she regaled his ears with her vast store of very imaginative curses and insults.

“Kura,” he finally said wearily, resting his head back and closing his eyes. “Wishing them to drown in fire, however satisfactory it may be, won’t do anything. Save your breath.”

She rounded in him. “So you’re just going to sit there and wait to die?” she hissed.

He sighed. “Last time they killed me was ten years ago, Kura. And they failed.”

She growled, and resumed her pacing, muttering darkly to herself. Her chains clinked with every step.

“They have the beastkins!” she finally snapped. He sighed again.

“I know.”

“So you’re just going to sit there!”

“There’s nothing I can do, Kura. The ropes are redvine. You’re not going to be able to slip out of them.” Her wrists were worse than his on account of her trying to escape.

She growled again, continuing to pace. He shut her out, keeping his eyes closed. His own wrists were throbbing, but he sought to block that out as well. Until they were released, they could do nothing.

“Ali?”

She sounded calmer now, and he opened his eyes to see her kneeling in front of him.

“What are we going to do?”

Sometimes he forgot how young she really was. She’d grown up so much over the past ten years, but she was still young for their race.

“We have to wait, Kura,” he replied gently. “There’s nothing we can do until we know what they’re going to do.”

“Will she kill us?” Her fear was evident, a rare sight. She usually kept her fear hidden, preferring to be furious instead.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It’s been ten years. Her view might have changed.”

“I hope so.”

Footsteps echoed in the passageway outside, and both of them stiffened. He bowed his head, the hood of his cloak completely covering his face, and saw Kuraĝon do the same. Shifting in place a little, he made sure that Kú was still safely hidden in his pocket, out of sight. The nightbird would know to keep deadly still and silent until he let her out.

Two warriors entered the room, dragging the elves to their feet.

They were pushed, stumbling, through the dark passages of the temple, and finally forced to their knees in another room that he recognised. She had always brought him here to speak with him.

Some of the furnishings had changed, a new woven rug on the floor, new drapes over the doorways and windows. She was standing at the doorway to the open terrace, not moving until she’d kept them waiting for a while.

At last, she turned around, facing them as she spoke.

“Show me the male.”

His head was pulled back almost cruelly, the hood falling away, and he met her eyes.

They were wide with shock, and her normally tanned skin was pale. She staggered, putting out a hand to steady herself. She looked like she had seen a ghost, and she possibly had. After all, she’d been the one who’d killed him, or tried to, ten years ago.