Chapter Seven: Rage and Despair

Tranith Argan: Book 5

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Alessa and the elves have been captured by the autarch’s men, and her mood is dark.

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For six days and for six nights the captured elves waited for the autarch to arrive. They sat bound and gagged in a manner so extreme it would seem to an observer unfamiliar with elves to be wildly unnecessary, but to anyone who knew what elves were capable of it was an obvious course of action to take. The Hírikk Jakkír were very aware of the ability of elves, and the Hírikk Jakkír took no chances. Ever since Jamoku’s death had been relayed by news from birds of the western lands, the Hírikk Jakkír had become quite aware of the threat of elves.

As they bound each elf, the Hírikk Jakkír knew that too much rope was better than too little. The elves were bound and they would remain bound. Just to be sure, the group of bound elves was watched day and night by armed guards. At night a great bonfire was lit to give the Hírikk Jakkír a chance to see as well as elves at night. For six days and for six nights the elves were bound, gagged, and waiting for Namoníkkar.

The naval battle had been fierce. The trapped elven ships fought with desperation and with great skill. Outnumbered in the bay of High Point by five to one, they nonetheless fought as only elves can and made the fight’s outcome uncertain until the very end.

At the very end it was Alessa’s presence that once again altered the strategy. The ships were in close combat and soldiers on either side were leaping from vessel to vessel as the opportunity and advantage arose. Toward the end of the fighting, after eleven of the western ships had been sunk or burned beyond use by means of elven arrows carrying flames, and after two of the four elven ships had been sunk, soldiers from one western ship came close enough to Alessa’s ship to leap aboard, fight their way through the lines of defense, with great loss, and finally get to the captain’s quarters where they found Alessa with Aren defending her with his sword raised.

Realizing this was no ordinary prisoner, though not being certain what her status was, the attackers adjusted course and while four of them pressed Aren back, the others took Alessa, not before she herself had slain three of the soldiers advancing upon her. Once they had Alessa, Aren was forced to surrender, and shortly thereafter so did the captain when Alessa was dragged up on deck. Shortly after that the captain of the other elven ship surrendered as well. The battle that would have been won on the skill of the elves was instead lost over fear for Alessa’s life.

For six days and for six nights this thought surged through Alessa’s despairing mind. She regretted wholeheartedly her involvement in this matter. Her thirst for adventure had led her to make a grievous mistake and now she was merely one of many who would pay for it.

She heard the Hírikk Jakkír discuss their captives with the ship’s captains. Only nine of the original twenty western ships remained, but they had two elven ships now. Many of their soldiers were dead, including not a few Hírikk Jakkír who had been on board the ships ready to invade . . . what, exactly, wondered Alessa. They had shown up just as the western fleet was sailing to attack . . . whom? No word of this had reached the ears of the elves. No movement had been detected from Vélakk. Was this fleet headed to reinforce the island of Shanaar? Had Namoníkkar learned of Felanar’s plan to attack Vélakk or was this simply a coincidence? Had the autarch just reasoned out Felanar’s likely plans?

The thought of the autarch was ever on Alessa’s mind as they waited, for that is for whom they waited. She heard the Hírikk Jakkír send word via crow back to the Tri-Cities asking what they should do, and she heard the next day word coming back that Namoníkkar himself was on his way to High Point to examine the fruits of his victory. Maybe he thought Felanar was among the elves, Alessa wondered. Whatever his motive, he was coming here, and for six days and for six nights they waited for the arrival of the autarch.

Alessa felt even worse about what had happened shortly after their capture. Word had come from Namoníkkar with specific instructions: send a false message of victory back to Elaria. No one was to know of their capture.

They dragged their captain forward, still bound. His face remained proud even as they pressed a scimitar against his throat. A bird circled overhead, drawn by the guards' calls.

"Tell it we succeeded," the guard ordered. "Tell it we destroyed the fleet with minimal losses."

The captain's eyes swept across his bound crew before he spoke rapidly to the bird in elvish. The words flew from his mouth like music, but carried a different message entirely.

Another guard seized Alessa, cold steel pressing against her neck. “I may not speak the language of birds as well as an elf,” he said to another elf sitting bound on the ground, “but I speak it enough to make myself clear. If I ask this bird if your captain gave the message I asked to be given, and the bird says otherwise, this elf lady dies immediately! So tell me true, did the captain express my message accurately? Or should I ask the bird?”

The captain met his companion's eyes and gave a slight nod. The bound elf swallowed hard.

"No," he said quietly. "He did not give your message."

The guard moved with terrifying speed. One moment the captain was kneeling, defiant, and the next, his head fell to the ground. Alessa couldn't stop the cry that escaped her throat.

The guard turned back, his blade still wet. "Now. Shall we try again?"

When the next elf spoke to the bird, his voice trembled. This time, the message was exactly what the guards demanded. They dragged the captain's body away, leaving a crimson trail. Alessa despaired.

On that sixth day word was received that Namoníkkar and his escorting army were just a few hours away. It was late afternoon and that meant by nightfall the autarch would arrive. One of the Hírikk Jakkír approached Alessa with the news. She was not only bound but blindfolded, yet she knew of his approach by the sound of his footsteps and then the sound of his breathing. And he stank.

"Lady elf." The Hírikk Jakkír's voice was gruff. Even blindfolded, Alessa could sense his approach—the heavy footsteps, the stench of sweat and leather. "I think I know who you are. Jamoku was sent to capture a man who traveled with an elf lady. You travel with no men here, but a warrior elf lady . . . that's rare enough."

Cold steel traced across her throat, lightly enough not to cut, heavy enough to promise. Alessa forced herself not to flinch, but her body betrayed her with a slight tremor.

"Yes, feel that steel. You're going to pay for what happened to Jamoku. That pretty neck of yours—"

"Leave the prisoners!" His commander's bark cut through the threat.

The guard straightened, but leaned close one last time. His whisper carried the heat of promised violence: "You're going to die, and I'm going to enjoy watching you die."

He stalked away, but his words remained, settling into Alessa's bones like winter frost. She had known death awaited her—had known it since the moment of their capture. But this was different. This wasn't just execution. This was vengeance.

In her mind, she had been a prisoner who had successfully escaped the autarch's grasp. But to him, she was the reason his beloved captain lay dead. Her existence was an offense that could only be answered with blood. She could feel the same hatred radiating from the other guards, a cycle of violence that would only end when more blood soaked into the ground.

This, she realized, was how wars truly began. Not with grand proclamations or noble causes, but with small acts of violence, each demanding repayment in kind. Each death created new hatred, each act of vengeance demanded another in return, until the original cause was lost in an ocean of blood and grief. In the growing darkness, bound and waiting for Namoníkkar's arrival, Alessa finally understood the true pointlessness of it all.