— Chapter Thirteen —
The Perfect Victim
Unknown to the foolish elves in their pitiful village nestled in the heart of Vila Eadros, Vlazkashad watched in the deepening darkness, as a hunter observes his prey. Only his pale face hinted at his presence in the shadows. Although he shared the same angular features and delicately pointed ears with his mortal enemies, no one would ever mistake him for a shadvar—an elf. It was his eyes that gave him away. They were twin pits of utter darkness with perhaps the slightest tinge of blood spilled at midnight.
Even among his own kind, Vlaz was unique. The subservient drakhal standing in nervous attendance only confirmed it. Vlaz was Orag—the First, eldest of his kind. Adan, he supposed one would call him in the tongue they had all spoken when the world was new. It was still spoken by the pathetic elves, who had maintained the original language. Vlaz preferred Orag. The Black Tongue gave the word a more ominous quality. Even the elves could appreciate the power of the dark language. The word ‘drakhal’ was purely Black Tongue and had no other equivalent.
Vlaz reined in his errant thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Years had passed since the brash, but foolish dragon, Lystari, had tried to claim the power that lay where the elves had made their home. Now it was his for the taking. He had to act before the other dark races.
Nargaz and his dragon sycophants still mourned the loss of Lystari and feared any attempt on their part to seize the mysterious power that had destroyed her would cause them to meet a similar end. No one knew what the Fire Folk thought. The people of shadow and flame were the most insular of the races. Still, Vlaz did not put it past either group to eventually try to seize the power for themselves.
Overhead, a bank of clouds obscured the moon, casting the world below in complete darkness. It was time. Vlaz gave the order for his minions to advance. They crept through the grass in a wave of silence. He trailed in their wake. There would be good drinking tonight.
Surprisingly, they met some resistance on the outskirts of the village. Elves and drakhalu alike were slain. The village must have assumed the worst when they discovered their missing people. It mattered little. Vlaz had emptied all the nests in the dark lands for this invasion. This token defense would not stop them. Any of his minions weak enough to fall in battle could be replaced.
His army moved with silent efficiency through the shadows. Since the elves patrolling the perimeter had been slain, no warning had gone out to the rest of the village. They were easy prey. Vlaz seized the shoulder of a fleeing elf child. The boy’s eyes went wide with fear and he struggled frantically in Vlaz’s grip. The drakhal forced the child to meet his dark gaze. Within moments the boy went limp, calm and submissive in Vlaz’s arms. Vlaz’s fangs pierced the soft skin of his victim’s throat. The salty, metallic tang of blood flooded his mouth. His tongue tingled with its youthful essence.
So sweet! The boy’s youth, combined with the connection his people carried in their very blood to whatever power they harbored was irresistible. Even if he had wanted to, Vlaz could not have stopped feeding. In moments, he had drunk the boy dry. It was too soon. As the heady rush faded to a bearable level, he berated himself for his lack of restraint.
He was Orag! If any drakhal could pace themselves with this new breed of elf, it should be he. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Vlaz tossed the limp body aside like the dried husk of useless trash it had become. He had more important matters to attend to.
Vlaz waded through the carnage. The ground was littered with elven corpses. He followed their trail to the heart of the village. That was where the power lay. He could feel it now. It beckoned him, crawling all over his skin. Absently, he noticed the remaining elves were fleeing in the same direction, rather than away from the village.
The trail of power led him to a ring of hills that surrounded a glade. The grass and flowers were even more vibrant here. Their sickly odor assaulted his nostrils. Once Vlaz managed to get past the stench, he noticed a shimmering in the air. He crept forward in the shadow of the nearest hill to investigate.
It appeared the surviving elves were in the glade. A few of his minions had followed them there. Some already lay slain on the ground, their heads severed or wooden stakes buried in their chests. The elves were focused on dealing with the rest. An eerie glow came from a hole dug into the side of one of the hills. Vlaz took an involuntary step forward.
This was the power he craved. But the shimmering air gave him pause. On closer inspection, he could see the strange phenomenon formed a dome over the entire glade and those within it. Curious, he walked forward and placed his hand out toward the glimmering substance. It met solid resistance as though he were touching an invisible wall. Vlaz pushed, to no avail. It was a magical shield, most likely generated by whatever power was housed within. But how?
Vlaz took a closer look at the elves huddled under the protection of the dome. None seemed aware of his presence in the shadows beyond their sanctuary. Most were gathered in a protective mass around their children, away from the fighting drakhalu trapped in their midst. A knot of warriors fought off the intruders who were trying to reach the glowing hole, led by a female with hair that glimmered bronze in the flickering light. A male fought in her shadow, watching her back. A golden female stood closest to the strange force with eyes closed. A second male with white hair hovered close to her, his knife ready to deal with anyone who got near enough to harm her. She was the one directing the power and holding the shield.
Vlaz wanted to howl in frustration. If only his drakhalu would focus on the golden woman instead of the source of power, they could enable the rest of their brethren to enter the glade to annihilate the remaining elves. Instead, they fell one by one at the elves’ feet.
In the midst of the chaos, one drakhal managed to slip through. Cursing his helplessness, Vlaz watched as the creature avoided the elven warriors and came within reach of the glowing hollow. Realizing their error too late, the elves’ expressions became horrified. The only exception was the golden woman standing nearby. She appeared completely composed. Vlaz supposed she was unaware of the impending doom of her people, but her calm unnerved him.
The drakhal threw himself at the base of the hill, reaching inside to claim his prize. A shout of exultation escaped Vlaz’s lips, but it was lost in the despairing cries of the elves. Still, the golden woman showed no sign of concern. Instead, she opened her eyes and looked directly at Vlaz. He was pinned beneath her piercing gaze. Tearing his eyes away, he watched his moment of triumph.
The drakhal’s body was swallowed by a shroud of light as he clutched at the swirling mass. The barrier gave way beneath Vlaz’s hands. He fell forward in surprise, taking a moment to steady himself. When Vlaz looked up, he saw the drakhal’s expression become panicked. The glow surrounding the drakhal increased in intensity until he burst into flame. Dropping the ball of light back into its hole, he ran around the glade screaming. The elves stayed back, avoiding the living torch. The flames increased in intensity, forcing Vlaz to look away. After one final shriek, he looked back to see a pile of smoking ash where his drakhal had last stood.
For several long moments, Vlaz stood motionless, stunned by what he had witnessed. He wanted this power for himself. He craved it. But he had seen with his own eyes it would destroy him if he touched it. To add insult to injury, the shield rose back into place, separating him from the elven survivors once more.
He met the steady gaze of the woman responsible for the barrier and the man standing at her side and knew hatred. They would pay for what they had done.
Vlaz was so wrapped up in his cold fury, he almost didn’t notice the sounds of others approaching. The movement of the elf witch’s eyes alerted him. It was a small group of children, led by an adult male with long, white hair. The curtain of light opened to allow them to pass. The older children ran through without hesitation, but a few of the younger ones lingered, afraid to leave their adult protector.
In the blink of an e
ye, Vlaz was in motion. He may not be able to retrieve the power he sought, but he could make the elves watch their children get sucked dry. They needed to suffer for what they had denied him.
Just as he was about to snatch the collar of his first victim, the white-haired guardian slid between him and his prey with his knife drawn. His pale blue eyes glittered in challenge. Vlaz hissed in frustration, trying to step around him, but the elf was too quick. One by one, the children went through the gap in the shield. Vlaz bit back a shriek of rage. This one would pay for denying his revenge!
Vlaz threw himself at his opponent, feeling out his defenses. The elf was good, and perhaps against another drakhal that would have been enough. But Vlaz was Orag, the most powerful of his kind. The blue-eyed fool was doomed from the start. Vlaz would slaughter him and lead his minions through the gap in the shield the golden witch was foolishly holding open for his opponent’s escape. Vlaz could see the female redhead rallying her warriors to lead them through the gap in a rescue attempt, but it would be too late. Vlaz’s opponent was already tiring.
Vlaz tried to gauge the right moment to make his final strike. The elves were about to charge. Then he noticed his opponent’s eyes widen. He shouted something in his own tongue to the others. Vlaz paused for a moment to remember the language all the first creatures once spoke.
“Close the shield!”
There was only one reason the elf would have shouted such a thing. Vlaz strained his ears. Although he heard only the wind in the grass, he sensed darkness approaching. The rest of his drakhalu had finished feasting on the villagers who hadn’t gained the safety of the glade. They sensed their master’s presence and were flocking to him. The elven warriors hesitated at the shield opening, seeing the massive shadow Vlaz knew was forming behind him. They would not reach their companion in time.
“Do it!” the doomed elf shouted.
The golden woman nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. The gap closed, sealing all the elves inside. With a grim expression, the lone elf threw himself into a desperate attack. Although he fought well, parrying Vlaz’s lunges, he did not have the heart of a warrior. His fear was palpable. Vlaz took a deep breath, drinking it in. Time slowed. All the weakling elves watched in horrified fascination, but the golden woman and her male companion seemed particularly distraught. Vlaz felt a rush of pleasure. This victim would serve him well.
Vlaz deflected a blow with one arm, while his other arm snaked out to clutch his opponent’s throat. The elf stubbornly clung to his weapon even as Vlaz pulled him close, looking deep into his blue eyes. His defiance was amusing.
Turning the elf so his face could be clearly seen by the rest of his wretched kind, Vlaz held him pinned against his body, his chest pressing against the elf’s back. The golden witch and her male watched helpless, sobbing.
Ah, their anguish was sweet!
Vlaz tilted the elf’s neck to one side and leaned in close, inhaling his vital scent. The elf trembled, but still clung to his useless knife. Savoring the moment, Vlaz caught the eyes of the two members of his intended audience within the dome before revealing his fangs. Maintaining eye contact, he leaned over and sank his teeth into the elf’s throat. His flesh was tender and parted easily.
“Numril!” the white-haired male cried out in a broken voice.
Vlaz’s victim met the eyes of his friend in complete despair. The scene filled Vlaz with a rush of perverse glee. He savored every swallow of rich lifeblood. As the drained elf’s eyes closed, his white-haired friend within the shield uttered a keen of anguish, dropping to his knees. Vlaz flashed him a bloody grin as his drakhal minions surrounded him and retrieved the limp body to take with them. He would leave the golden witch and her male with nothing but the horrible memory of what they had just witnessed.
The elves had been taught a vital lesson this night. Despite their witch’s tricks, none of them were truly safe. Vlaz may have failed to seize their source of power this time, but he had learned from his mistake. Little did they know they had foolishly given him the key that would give him what he sought. He was Vlazkashad, Orag of the drakhalu.
He would not be denied.