Wrath of Lions

CHAPTER 26

Ceredon watched at his father’s side as Clovis Crestwell paced the courtyard of Palace Thyne. The odd human’s hands were clenched behind his back, and his red-tinged eyes tightened as he stared at each corpse he passed. He ran a hand over his smooth, bald head, fingers undulating as they passed over the lumps on his cranium. The man looked angry beyond words, and with good reason.

Six of the corpses were his soldiers, and the other two were members of the Ekreissar. Each victim’s throat had been slit, a parting gift from the rebels who were making life difficult for the seizing force. Crestwell turned his attention to the gathered Dezren. There were fifty of them, the strongest males the elven city had to offer. Members of the human army and the Ekreissar had forced them to their knees, and there they remained, their noses inches from the ground. A throng of women and children looked on, kept in place by the remainder of Clovis’s soldiers.

Ceredon suppressed a shudder. The city had been rife with conflict since the humans’ arrival, the Dezren rebels intensifying their efforts, striking from the shadows seemingly every night. Though they were rarely more than an annoyance to Clovis and Aeson, the latter of whom had taken the reins of the Ekreissar in Aerland Shen’s absence, the previous evening they had landed a crucial blow by killing the eight who were now on display in the grass. One of the humans had been Clovis’s second in command, and the two Ekreissar were among the oldest and most talented archers in the order. Argo Stillen, the captain of the Archer’s Guild, was one of them. Ceredon knew such actions could not go unpunished, and he wished he had been more adamant in his attempts to convince Tantric, the rebel leader, to forego the ambush.

“I once thought all elves were the same, and that our arrival would signal a time of peace between our people,” Clovis told those who were crouched on their knees. His voice had become loud and strong-united-much different from when he’d first arrived in Dezerea. The man continued: “However, I seem to have been mistaken. All elves are not the same. While the Quellan have accepted us with open arms, as brothers, you have done…this.” He gestured to the corpses. “Six of my men and two of the Neyvar’s. This is to say nothing of the other deaths, including the murder of one of the Quellan Triad. Why has it come to this? Because we’ve dared to ask for your hospitality in a time of strife?” The human turned and continued to pace. “This rebellion can go on no longer. This secrecy, these craven assassinations under the cover of night…are these the acts of a proud and dignified race? I think not. I understand that you have all been questioned about the location of the insurgents and that you have all pled ignorance.” His mouth twisted in a sadistic smile. “I do not believe you. Some among you do know where these rebels are hiding, and I will reap that information from you even if I have to flay the very flesh from your bones.”

Neyvar Ruven gasped and stepped forward.

“The rebels act of their own accord,” the Neyvar insisted. “We have imprisoned those who would speak out or act against you. You’ve seen our crowded dungeons, Clovis. The rest that remain are simple folk, not warriors. They know nothing.”

“That is quite ignorant of you,” said Clovis, scowling. “But you’re an elf, and such delusions are only natural. Your kind has an overly idealistic view of your own race. We humans hold no such illusions. We are barely beyond animals, and we know it. We understand that we will lie, cheat, and steal, if not out of desperation, then out of joy. We know we are rats, and we cling to our god because of it. Your race might live longer, but a five-hundred-year-old rat is still just a rat.”

The Neyvar went to protest again, but Iolas grabbed his elbow and pulled him back in line. Ruven shrugged off his cousin’s grip, a look of disdain on his face.

Ceredon hated it, but he knew his father had no choice but to endure. Karak’s Army was rumored to be but a few short miles from Dezerea’s borders. Although the humans in the elven city could easily be dispatched, an entire legion of them was marching with their god-nearly twenty thousand, if the rumors were correct. Should they betray the God of Order before Ceredon eliminated them, bringing the Neyvar back into a position of power, the Quellan could very well become footnotes in the history of Dezrel.

Clovis turned to the kneelers. “Eight have died, so eight will be questioned,” he said. “These men were our strongest, so we will take the strongest of you as well.” His soldiers stalked behind the kneeling Dezren and jerked the eight most strapping to their feet, leading them to the center of the assembly, twenty feet in front of the dais on which Ceredon stood with the Quellan ruling class.

The eight Dezren puffed out their chests, held their arms straight by their sides, and jutted their chins to the sky. They were images of pure defiance, even as the soldiers stripped them of their shirts with knives, spitting on them and hurling insults as they did so. When all were naked from the waist up, Clovis held out his hand, and his squire handed him his sword. The human drew the thick blade from its scabbard and held it above his head. His muscles bulged and rippled beneath his black leather tunic, and Ceredon couldn’t help but wonder how the man had become so hefty and muscular so quickly. He’d appeared slender just two days ago, scrawny about the neck and waist. Now his flesh seemed to have taken on a different sheen-instead of being waxen and translucent, it looked pink and healthy, and the odd bulging spots that had covered him had all but disappeared beneath his heft. It was a shocking change, and Ceredon wondered how it could have come about given that the man had spent the majority of his time in Dezrea in the now restricted dungeons below Palace Thyne. Clovis seemed to gain and lose weight by the hour. Something was certainly amiss.…

Clovis approached the first in the line.

“What is your name?” he asked.

The elf remained silent.

“How old are you?”

Nothing.

“Have you ever consorted with the insurgent Tantric Thane?”

No response.

“Do you know where the rebels hide?”

The elf licked his lips but said nary a word.

“Your silence screams of guilt,” Clovis said. He signaled to one of the Ekreissar, who rushed forward and kneed the Dezren in the groin, doubling him over. He fell to the grass on all fours. A soldier pinned the elf’s knees down while two more held his shoulders. The ranger who had kneed him took a wooden block and shoved it beneath his head, then ground his foot into the elf’s cheek, pinning him to the block. None of the Dezren made a move to save their doomed comrade.

Clovis stood to the side of the restrained elf and raised his sword up high.

“You are hereby sentenced to death for the crime of treason,” he said.

“Celestia, open your arms for me!” the Dezren shouted in the elven tongue, though he did not struggle against his captors.

The sword came down, slicing easily through flesh and bone. The body fell, the stump of neck gushing blood, and the ranger picked up the head by its long, golden-brown hair, holding it up for the rest to see. When he garnered no reaction, he tossed the head aside.

Clovis moved on to the second in line, asking, “What is your name?”

When silence was his only answer, the questions stopped, and the ranger drove the man down to receive Clovis’s sword.

Ceredon forced himself to watch as one by one the defiant elves were cut down. He was glad Lord and Lady Thyne were not present for the display, having been locked in their room in the palace. The couple had experienced far too many beatings as of late.

Soon, only one Dezren was left. The lone survivor’s eyes twitched, and his jaw and neck were tense. As with the others, he remained silent as the questions were asked. The ranger stepped toward him holding the blood-soaked block, then bent to place it on the ground. Before he could knee the elf, the Dezren dropped to the ground, placing his head on the block. The other elf paused, seemingly confused.

Clovis chuckled. “Before you die, can we have the honor of your name?” he asked.

“Pomerri,” was the answer.

“How old are you?”

Pomerri opened his mouth to reply, but then lunged to his feet, ramming his forehead into the crotch of the ranger in front of him. Reaching up, he grabbed the elf around the back of the neck, then slammed his nose against the block with all his might, shattering it, the Ekreissar’s blood mixing with that of the seven slain elves before he rolled to the side, howling and clutching his face.

“No!” shouted Clovis. He hoisted the executioner’s sword and stepped over a headless corpse, his powerful arms rippling as he swung the blade down with all his might.

Ceredon held his breath, thinking this to be the end of the brave elf, but Pomerri danced to the side, narrowly avoiding the violent chop. He ducked into a roll, and his feet collided with the head of the still bleeding ranger. The ranger’s head snapped to the side, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. That was all the opening the renegade needed. Pomerri snatched the handle of the khandar fastened to the ranger’s belt and yanked it free with one mighty tug. Then, whirling around on one knee, he led with the sword’s curved point.

All of the witnesses froze in shock, even the other Ekreissar who should have been trying to subdue the prisoner. Clovis howled at the top of his lungs, his massive executioner’s sword lifted high above his head for another chop. His entire body lunged forward to give the hit power, but Pomerri’s strike came faster than he’d anticipated. Clovis’s eyes widened, his entire body freezing in place as all those gathered, from the soldiers to the Ekreissar to the Quellan royal family to the distant mob of terrified Dezren, gasped as one. The giant sword fell from his limp fingers, burying into the soft soil.

Pomerri released his khandar, buried to the hilt in Clovis’s chest, and then lifted his hands, his fingers hooked in a symbol of peace and perseverance. A smile was on his face. Still none moved to subdue him.

Clovis fell to his knees, blood dribbling from his lips as he coughed.

“I do not fear you, any of you,” Pomerri cried, turning to face his Quellan conquerors. “Kill me where I stand, but know that you will soon join me in the afterlife. And when Celestia judges you, may her judgment be harsh and brutal!”

In that silence came wet, vile laughter.

“No judgment is as harsh and brutal as that of Karak.”

Spoken in elvish from the grinning mouth of Clovis Crestwell, the voice was deep and layered. Pomerri spun around, a look of disbelief washing over his face as he watched the kneeling Clovis grasp the khandar with both hands and slowly pull it from his midsection. With one final tug it came free, torrents of red flowing from it. He tossed the blade aside. Ceredon looked on in horror as the gash gradually knotted itself back together, blood slowing to a trickle, then stopping completely, flesh weaving over flesh until no damage was left. Clovis’s eyes glowed an unnatural red as he grabbed the bottom of his leather tunic and lifted it, staring with grim satisfaction at the bare yet knobby flesh of his stomach. Not even a scar remained.

What sort of dark magic is this? Ceredon’s mind screamed as the crowd gasped all around him.

The human stood up, appearing somehow thinner now than he had before. The sick sound of his laughter reached Ceredon’s ears, making his stomach queasy. Pomerri stood frozen, and when he glanced at the khandar, Clovis lunged like an animal descending on its prey. His meaty hands wrapped around the elf’s throat, lifting him off the ground. The renegade’s face turned purple, then a ghostly shade of white as Clovis’s hands squeezed all the tighter. Ceredon heard a wet pop as the elf’s neck snapped. Bile leaked from the corners of his mouth, and his head lolled to the side. Clovis unclenched his hands and dropped the broken body to the ground. The gathered women and children, who were prevented from leaving by the human soldiers, wailed and protested. The humans looked just as horrified as everyone else.

“All of you, on your feet!” Clovis shouted to the remaining Dezren males, who were still on their knees. They did as they were told without help from the Ekreissar, gazing on Karak’s representative with terror in their eyes. “My life for order, my life for Karak!” Clovis shouted as he stalked before their ranks. “Behold the power of Karak! My faith has made me pure, strong! Even death holds no sway over me!”

“Karak is mighty! Praise his name!” shouted Aeson from the dais, his hands clasped before him, as he looked on the human with reverence. Ceredon scowled but held his tongue. Thankfully, so did his father.

At Clovis’s signal, one of his young soldiers approached.

“Bring them to the dungeons with the others,” he told the soldier, pointing at the dead elves. “And get the onlookers out of my sight.”

The soldier nodded and hurried away, and both the Quellan and the humans went about ushering the Dezren back to their forest dwellings, while a few soldiers dragged away the bodies. Ceredon wondered why Clovis wanted the bodies in the dungeon, but feared it related to whatever dark magic had kept the strange man alive.

Clovis turned his attention to the dais, looking to each of those standing there in turn.

“As for you,” he said, pointing at Aeson, “your idiocy brought about the deaths of my men. You gleefully took the reins of your precious Ekreissar, yet you command them from afar, not wanting to dirty your own hands. You sent a patrol straight into an ambush, costing us valuable lives.” The man shook his head, the glow in his eyes receding to a barely perceivable pinkish hue, before bending over and lifting the khandar that had impaled him off the ground. “I should offer you the same fate as the others. Or perhaps I should give you over to the Dezren to do with as they wish? I’m sure they would find ways to entertain themselves.…”

“Please, Lord Clovis, have mercy,” Aeson stammered, falling to his knees on the dais. Ceredon flinched at his use of that title.

“I should kill you right now, but I will not. However, your life does come at a price.”

“Name it, Lord Clovis. Anything you wish.”

Clovis dipped his head low, staring from beneath his wide brow. “Tonight, you will lead the rangers yourself, heading due northeast, toward the rocky hills by the edge of the river. It is where the rebels are hiding, and you will wipe them out.”

“You know this?” asked Ceredon, unable to stop himself from speaking.

“Yes.”

“Then why the spectacle? Why not tell us sooner?”

“A show of strength, a test of knowledge, a test of obedience. A test you all failed.”

Aeson stepped forward. “You should have told us your information, Lord Clovis. The deaths of your men could have been avoided.…”

“Enough!” the human shouted as he lifted the bloody khandar. Spittle flew from his lips. “You will do as I say, and do it now. None of your people will try to stop me if I choose to end you. Considering the way you betrayed our trust before, you are lucky I don’t devour each and every one of you where you stand.”

Ceredon glanced at the faces of all who still lingered on the dais. He was confused by the latter part of the man’s statement, but he completely understood the desire to rip Aeson’s and Iolas’s heads from their shoulders.

“I…but I…Lord-” said Aeson.

“Do not call me ‘lord’ again. Karak is the only lord of this land. I am but a servant.”

“I apologize. But please, I tell you, I am three hundred years old, and my best days are behind me. The Ekreissar are more than capable of defeating the rebels without my involvement. It would be a death sentence for me to be at the front of the vanguard.”

“Fight with your men and die by the sword, or refuse me and die by the sword,” said Clovis, taking a menacing step forward. “Those are your only choices.”

“I…”

Ceredon stepped forward. “I will join Aeson in the field,” he said before Aeson could dig himself a deeper hole. His father reached for his sleeve in protest, but Ceredon gracefully moved beyond his grasp. “I am young and capable, and I will keep him safe, if that is what he fears. I am confident that with my assistance, the rebellion will be snuffed out before this night is over, and our casualties will be few.”

Clovis gazed at him with mild curiosity. “The son of the Neyvar, offering his services to the realm? Who is it you do this for? Whose name will you shout when every last one of the insurgents is dead?”

“Karak’s,” Ceredon answered. The name felt dirty on his tongue, and he almost gagged on it.

The human laughed.

“Is that so? You turn your prayers to my god now?”

“Karak has proven mighty, while Celestia has abandoned us. Tell me, Clovis, what reason would I have not to fall before him beyond tradition and stubborn pride?”

Clovis seemed to mull this over for a moment.

“Very well,” he said finally. “At dusk you will depart. I want none to return until the deed is done.”

With that, Clovis pivoted on his heels and stormed away, following the trail of blood that led toward the rear of the palace, where the dungeon entrance was located. He seemed to be limping, and his shoulders appeared narrower. It almost looked like he was deflating before their eyes, as if whatever magics had healed the wound in his chest were now sapping the rest of his body. Ceredon had to fight the urge to follow him, for he desperately wished to know what went on in that dungeon, but a regiment of humans guarded it day and night, and he knew he would never get close. Unfortunately-or fortunately, depending on what he might find-the dungeons were the one part of the palace that could not be reached through Lord Orden’s tunnels.

When he turned around, his father was shaking his head at him. The Neyvar pursed his lips and stormed back into the palace, followed closely by Iolas. To the undiscerning eye, Neyvar Ruven might appear disappointed, but Ceredon had seen enough of his father over the past few months to know better. It was thinly veiled fear that the man was feeling.

Aeson grabbed his elbow, squeezing tightly. Ceredon slowly craned his neck to look at his father’s cousin, member of the Triad, the mastermind of the torture of the Stonewood Dezren, and violently jerked his arm away.

“You insult me with your actions,” Aeson said, brimming with false confidence now that Clovis was out of earshot. “Clovis is only human, and I do not require protection, especially not yours.”

“You were the one who bowed before him,” he said.

Aeson sneered. “It is part of the game. You are but a child. Your father should have paid more attention to you when you were younger. Perhaps then you would not be so useless.”

Ceredon breathed deeply, shook his head, and marched away from the belligerent elf. His anger boiled over. If only Aeson knew how Ceredon had manipulated him, using whispers and carefully placed evidence to point the way toward the previous night’s trap, he would not think him useless any longer. But he let the elf enjoy his false sense of superiority, for it was Aeson who would surely prove himself useful in the coming hours. Just like the Dezren who had been executed, he would prove how well he could bleed.

The moon was full, but a thick layer of clouds had rolled in, making the darkness nearly complete as a hundred Ekreissar rangers crept through the forest. The skilled rangers made nary a sound as they glided over the leaf-covered ground. The same could not be said for Aeson, who lacked the proper training. He had donned a green and brown outfit in place of his usual imperial robes and was forging a path at the head of the group, hacking away at the vines and branches that blocked his way instead of ducking beneath them or moving aside. Every so often he would grunt and swear, which Ceredon could tell drew the ire of the other rangers. Backward glances revealed a few rangers rolling their eyes, and some made gestures implying that they’d murder Aeson if he made another sound. It was a pleasing sight. The Quellan had long regarded the Triad as Celestia’s voice, the few beyond reproach who held the Neyvar’s ear. It was good to see that trend reverse itself.

“Ceredon, halt,” Aeson said, and Ceredon felt the whole group wince at the noise. Ceredon did as he’d been asked. The other Ekreissar halted too, but Aeson motioned them onward. “Continue on to the rendezvous point. We will be there shortly.”

“Why do we stay?” Ceredon asked after the last of the rangers disappeared farther into the forest. “Clovis insisted that we lead…”

“I don’t care what that idiot insisted,” Aeson said. “I told him I had information about Tantric’s whereabouts, and he ignored me. Let the rest of the Ekreissar waste their time pursuing the rebel hideout. Tantric is close, and I will defeat him, taking the glory for my own and then shoving it right in Clovis’s face. You are confident in your ability with a khandar, are you not?”

“I am. Why?”

“There are two of us and only one of him, and we are catching him unaware. He will be easy prey. Follow me.”

Perfect, thought Ceredon.

They maneuvered through the brush, Aeson taking greater care this time to remain silent as they slid down the rocky descent on the other side. The roar of a waterfall soon reached their ears, and the air grew thick with moisture as they continued their downward trek. Finally, they stepped through the threshold of trees, and a lagoon of shimmering black water greeted them on the other side. The gulley was deep, far below sea level, and a nearly solid sheet of water thirty feet wide dumped runoff from the river into it. It was an entirely isolated refuge, invisible from the rest of the forest.

“Why are we here?” Ceredon whispered as he crept alongside Aeson.

“Tantric likes to bathe beneath a particular waterfall while his little nymphs treat him,” Aeson said. “That waterfall resides right behind those trees, in the gulley.…”

Aeson drew his sword as he approached the water’s edge.

“There is a worn path over the stones,” he said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the roaring waterfall. He seemed charged with enthusiasm. “We will take that.”

“As you wish,” Ceredon replied.

They stepped carefully over the moss-covered boulders as mist assaulted their faces. The path led behind the waterfall, which careened so far outward they were able to pass underneath it while remaining mostly dry. They found a wide mouth cut into the substratum of the rock face hidden by the falls, leading to a pitch-black tunnel. Aeson didn’t so much as pause. He held his khandar out before him and stepped confidently into the mouth, scampering like a dancer in his excitement. Ceredon followed him in, keeping his own weapon sheathed.

The tunnel stretched steadily wider and taller. Sealed off from the outside world, there was no light to see, even with their capable eyes. Soon their steps began to echo, and they ran headlong into a solid wall.

“It is too dark,” Aeson said.

Ceredon pulled a bag of tindersticks from his rucksack and struck one. When the flame blazed, he curled up a sheet of parchment and lit the top, forming a makeshift torch. Holding it out before him, he turned in every direction. They had entered a rounded cave, fifty feet in either direction, ending in jagged walls. The ceiling was too high for the light of the torch to reach.

“No one is here,” Aeson said. He sounded disappointed.

“Perhaps the rumor was false,” Ceredon said.

“Not this one.”

“Are you so certain?”

Aeson gave him a glare.

“I heard of this place from the lips of Neretha, Tantric’s estranged wife. He was to be here. That whore must have lied to me.”

“Perhaps,” Ceredon said. “But what if this is just the wrong waterfall, and there is another nearby? We should search the hills. There could be other gullies about.”

Aeson shook his head, looking dejected. “No. This is the one. Neretha will feel my wrath when this is done. We must rejoin the Ekreissar before they get too far ahead.”

“Very well. At your command.”

Aeson turned to leave, but Ceredon remained still. His father’s cousin offered him a queer, impatient look.

“I said we leave,” he said.

Ceredon squinted, the light of the torch making the shadows around him dance. “I have one question I must ask,” he said.

“So ask and let us get on with it.”

“In the courtyard, Clovis mentioned something about betrayed trust. What was that about?”

Aeson shook his head and laughed.

“That is your question? Come-let us go. I have no time for this.”

“I wish to know.”

“It is none of your business.”

“Humor me, Aeson. Humor the elf who will one day be your Neyvar. I would remember it fondly.”

Aeson looked at him cockeyed. “Very well. Humans approached the Triad a year past, asking for a partnership. We were told the eastern deity would soon war with his brother and that we would be handed lands west of the Rigon if we assisted them. One of their conditions was that the delegation from Stonewood remain unharmed.”

“Yet they were harmed,” Ceredon said. “Cleotis Meln was killed, as were many others who had arrived for the betrothal.”

“Yes. The Triad decided that while we would help the humans to rebuild the might of our people, we would not follow such specific demands, especially when they put the entire coup at risk. The Quellan are not slaves to a lesser race.”

“Did my father know?”

Aeson laughed.

“You have much to learn if you are to be Neyvar one day, pup. Your father may be the face of our people, but we of the Triad pull the strings.”

“So the executions…the random selection of prisoners to hang in the galleys outside the palace…that was the Triad’s decision?”

Aeson offered him a wicked grin, raising his khandar in the process.

“No, that decision was mine. What better way to teach a lesson to dogs than by showing those dogs the price of disloyalty to their betters?”

“I can think of ways,” Ceredon said, and that was when the cave filled with the light of many torches lit from above. Ropes descended to the ground and a multitude of forms slid down them. Aeson shrieked and backed away, whipping his khandar about, eyes wide with terror. Those who’d descended the ropes formed a circle around the two Quellan. They were tall, their flesh pale, their hair golden and light brown. One of the Dezren rebels stepped away from the others, a brusque sort, missing the pointed tip of one ear and with burn scars winding from the corner of his mouth down his neck. He held a maul in his hand.

Ceredon lifted his head in pride.

“Aeson, I introduce you to Tantric Thane, leader of the insurgency.”

“You lit-” Aeson began.

Ceredon struck him across the cheek. Blood dribbled over Aeson’s lips.

“No speaking,” Ceredon said in a growl. “Did you know that Tantric’s aunt lived in Stonewood, and that one of her daughters was serving as Audrianna Meln’s handmaiden?”

Aeson stared at him, mouth agape, and said nothing.

Tantric swung downward with his maul, connecting with Aeson’s hand. Bone shattered, the elf screamed, and the khandar he was holding clanked on the ground.

“Zoe Shendara was my niece,” Tantric said, his voice dripping with hatred. “You remember her?”

“Get away from me!” screamed Aeson, gripping his pulverized hand with his good one.

“You had her murdered, you bastard. You ordered the death of a child. Celestia will never forgive you for that.”

The circle of Dezren rebels closed, pinning Aeson down. One stretched out his left arm, holding it against the ground, and Tantric came down with the maul again. The crunch that followed echoed through the cave as Aeson’s shrieks intensified in their urgency.

The rebel leader then tossed down his weapon, approached Ceredon, and threw his arm around him. He started leading him down the tunnel, away from Aeson’s screams.

“Thank you for this,” said Tantric. “We would not have survived this long without your assistance.”

“Nor I without yours,” Ceredon replied. He smiled, a bit sadly. “Neretha performed her part beautifully, but I fear what might happen to her should the humans discover her involvement.”

Tantric laughed.

“I know,” he said. “Don’t worry about my wife. She is strong, and vicious as a wolf when cornered. She will keep our secrets safe, no matter who may attempt to pry them from her lips.”

They paused in the middle of the tunnel, staring at the blue-black sheet of water that cascaded over the opening.

“Tell me, Tantric,” said Ceredon, “what will happen to the Ekreissar?”

“A few will die, but not as many as I’d like. We’ve moved inland now, to a series of grottos near Lake Cor, but we set up a few traps beforehand. Spiked vines, swinging logs, that sort of thing. Though it is bothersome that the human knew about our old hideaway.…Perhaps I should press further to learn who has betrayed us.”

Ceredon glanced into the darkness behind him. He could still hear Aeson screaming.

“And what about him?” he asked.

“The bastard will live through the night, perhaps even until tomorrow night. But the pain will be epic. He will wish he died much sooner, you can trust me on that.”

“Good. However, you must do one thing for me now.”

Tantric shrugged.

“Anything, just name it.”

“You need to beat me.”

Tantric narrowed his eyes. “Care to clarify?”

“You need to beat me. Do not hold back. Attack me mercilessly, as if I had just raped your daughter. Strike me until I lose consciousness. And then drag me out onto the path, beat me some more, and leave me there.”

“Wait…why?” The battle-hardened elf looked visibly perplexed.

“We need this ruse to be believable,” Ceredon replied. “I’ll fall under suspicion, no matter what happens, but I was the last to be seen with Aeson before his disappearance. If I survive without harm…”

Tantric sighed. “Very well. I will do this, but I won’t like it.”

“I know. Consider this my payment for all the torment my people have inflicted on yours. Just make sure you do it well.”

“I will. I happen to be an expert at this sort of thing.”

Ceredon closed his eyes, and the beating began. Tantric proved his statement true, for the pain he doled out was indeed expert, and Ceredon lost consciousness before long.