Retribution

CHAPTER I – FIRE OF THE HEARTH
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         A short, stout man draped in a weathered brown hooded cloak clanked noisily across the silent forest floor.  Trying desperately to ward off the stagnant chill hanging in the air, he clenched his cloak even tighter around his stocky frame.  Noticing a glint of silver, the man halted in his tracks, raising his head slowly and revealing features as deep-set as if they had been sculpted out of the stone of Mount Miena itself.  His eyes were as brown as the earth that the beloved trees of the elves took root in.  He was not only a dwarf, he was the first dwarf to venture to Vayllin since the War of Darkness.  After a slight wait, bark of an oak tree not far from the dwarf flung open just as a door would.  Two elven sentries, marked by their long, golden hair and long, pointed ears and even more unmistakably by their finely crafted bows, came out to greet the dwarf as a humble, welcome guest.
         High above them, on some nameless branch of the great elfin tree-city called Vayllin, a small elfin tavern known by its patrons as “Fire of the Hearth” had just opened its doors for the evening.  Inside, the owner of “Fire of the Hearth,” a silver-haired, older elf wearing a green robe, scrubbed the strong, oaken bar vigorously.  He knew that all of his regulars had most likely already gone to the newest tavern in Vayllin, in favor of the lady elfin bard, Kriss, and her reported “unearthly beauty.”  Taking brief comfort in the assumption that they would be back once they tired of Kriss for his own serving girl, Shariwyn Greenmeadow, he began to let his mind wander back to when he had first met Shariwyn's mother, Elenyana.  He remembered it vividly.
         One night, torrents of rain pouring from the sky, as he had been closing “Fire,” a knock came upon the door.  Curiously, he went to the door and opened it, ushering in the beautiful woman behind it.
         “Please make yourself at home, Lady Elenyana,” he said, recognizing her immediately from her place aside one of the high lords of The High Council of Vayllin. 
         She seemed quite taken aback, as she had never directly met this man, and was surprised at his forwardness.  Nevertheless, she drew her cloak back to reveal her light, almost blue-tinted, flowing blonde hair and her unique silver-flecked icy blue eyes.  He saw her desperation through her weak mask of control.
         Drawing her cloak back to reveal her arms cradling an elfin infant, she attempted to explain: “I am forced to leave.  There are many after my life this very night.”  She nearly broke into tears.  “My husband, Aravar, a high lord of the Council, was murdered tonight.  The same assassins, sent by the Council itself, to the best of my knowledge, have turned their eyes towards me.  I just narrowly escaped a few with dear Shariwyn.  Please...” she began to plead, forgetting her rank, “I know of your past.  You must make sure Shariwyn is safe.  Please...”  She broke into deep sobs.
         “Do not worry and do not tarry, Lady Elenyana.  I will make sure your daughter is safe, and you will be transported a safe distance away.  Seek out the dwarves.  They owe me a favor and will take you under their wing.”
         With that, he conjured up some dust from deep within the folds of his robe and sprinkled it over the woman, saying a few words and looking into her eyes once more.  With that she disappeared.  That was the last anyone ever heard from Lady Elenyana.
         A girl drifted sprightly into the tavern from the back room with all the grace befitting one of the short, slender race of elves.  Her youth evidenced only by her ineffable joy, her long straight hair, locks of flowing blonde, danced behind her as she entered the room, glowing with exuberance and fiery passion that was evidenced not only her hair, but also shown both in every stride of her long  pale legs and in her ever-present smile.  Her silver-flecked, icy blue eyes, an unknown mark of her mother, offset by her smooth, pale face and high-set cheekbones, were filled constantly with all the ignorant ecstasy of youth.  An exquisitely woven dress, the cloth seeming as vibrant and alive as any tree in her wooded homeland, draped itself over her, enhancing every single exotic, almost mystical, feature of this elfin girl.  She looked every bit as well-groomed, well-dressed, and well-bred as any elfin princess had ever dreamed to be.  With an impish giggle at seeing the old man so entrenched in his own thoughts, the young girl treaded silently up to him and lept at him with a shriek.  The silver-haired man jumped from his contemplation and burst into laughter when he turned to see his Shariwyn acting as playful as ever.
         “Well, my girl,” the old elf commented somberly as his laughter subsided, “It seems to me that we will not have to work so hard tonight.”
         “Oh, yes, Llandolyn?  It seems to me that your eyes are going as quickly as your mind.  Did you not even see that man enter?”  Shariwyn teased quietly as she gestured at the newly-arrived guest.  She raised her voice to the stranger, “Did he not offer you a warm drink to dull the chill of the forest, sir?”
         “Nay, lass, he dinnae e'en notice me,” the stranger muttered in a deep, earthy voice, speaking in the Human tongue, as he rose from his chair.  He was quite noticeably wider than any elf Shariwyn had ever seen, wore clothes so tattered that she almost offered to mend them at no charge, and spoke in a tongue and dialect that were all but unheard of in Vayllin.  He carried an enormous, wicked-looking axe on his back that reminded Shariwyn briefly of a shorter, stouter version of a slightly less-than-common elfin halberd.  Shariwyn looked to Llandolyn with more than a bit of shock and noticed a glimmer of recognition in the old elf's grey eyes.
         The stranger strode toward them, unthreateningly.  Somberly, almost mockingly, he continued, “I'd 'spected bit more o' greetin' from such an old friend; I shoulda' been knowin' 'at an elf like yerself wud be lazy 's ever.”
         Llandolyn seemed to come back to his senses and quipped back, speaking teasingly in the Human tongue as well, “You have to forgive me, friend, for not recognizing you.  You have doubled in girth, I see.  Again.”
         Halting in his footsteps and throwing back his hood, revealing the unmistakable face of a dwarf, the stranger had an mocking expression of hurt on his face.  Shariwyn drew a swift gasp at the sight, for she had never seen a dwarf before, but, before she could even catch her breath to speak, the dwarf charged at Llandolyn, jumping into his arms.  Llandolyn laughed and hugged back with nearly the same ferocity, but was shortly gasping for breath in the crushing hug.
         When Llandolyn finally coaxed the dwarf to unhand him, he gestured to his companion by throwing an arm over the dwarf's shoulder and declaring proudly to Shariwyn, “This is an old friend of mine, Shariwyn.  His name is Kiyluth of the Hall of Titans.”
         Shariwyn used all of her self-control not to laugh at the thought of a creature shorter than herself belonging to anything “of Titans.” With a smirk at that thought and a gleam of curiosity in her eyes, she managed to say, against her fears, in a thickly accented Human tongue, “A dwarf?  I have never met a dwarf before.”
         “Well, ye 'ave now, young lady Shari,” Kiyluth responded with a bow.  He then whispered a question to Llandolyn with a marked gesture to herself.  She found herself wondering cautiously how the dwarf could know something of her and why he used the name she normally only permitted her closest friends to address her by, but paid it no mind for the moment, concentrating instead on how odd Kiyluth looked.  With a nod, Llandolyn invited his friend to a drink in the back room.  Kiyluth gladly accepted and Shariwyn was left alone with the close of a door.
         Sighing against the thought that many exciting stories were probably being discussed at length only a room away from her, she wondered how exactly Llandolyn knew a dwarf.  'Llandolyn has quite a bit to tell me,' she decided silently.  At that thought, she began to scrub the bar, trying desperately to hear the conversation with her keen elfin ears.
         Outside, a human man, named Crall Nieren, walked around the soaring branches of the elfin city, his contemptuous green eyes taking everything and everyone in with a glance, as if measuring their worth and dismissing all their potential as a paltry sum.  His mid-length, dark curly hair draping over the shoulder plates of his shining, full-bodied platemail, he caught all attempts at courtesy with little more than a grunt and a grimace.  Having been sent to Vayllin as an emissary from his hometown of Prator, he had traveled far himself in the search of beauty.  Before coming to Vayllin, he had only met one elfin woman, a harlot whose name he never could remember.  At any rate, in his mind, he had wasted the greatest of the fruits that the elves could muster without actually savoring the moment.  Instead of meeting beautiful, easy women, he had met many snobbish elves of not-too-particularly fine beauty.
         He had gone to see Kriss, as had nearly every other male in this horrid city, and had indeed been somewhat entertained by her beauty, but he knew enough about elves to know it was not worth the trouble of attempting to meet her afterwards, since the fact remained that he was indeed a human, and elves rarely deigned themselves to even speak to humans.  Instead, he searched for a quiet tavern in which to think about what he would do in the remainder of his ambassadorial days.
         Crall wandered nonchalantly into “Fire of the Hearth,” glancing around as if looking for any more unforgivable flaws that the damned elves could throw at him when he was taken aback by the disarming smile of an elfin lass, obviously the serving wench of this wretched bar.  In that simple smile, Crall knew he had found something worthwile with which to spend the remainder of his dreary hours in this utterly boring elfin “city” that he considered little more than a hamlet.  She looked somewhat familiar to Crall, as if he had met her before, but he paid it no mind.  Casting a glow on Shariwyn Greenmeadow, the hearth seemed to accentuate all the right places.  Crall began to believe that this wench's beauty even outshone Kriss's.
         “Hello, sir.  I take it you are the ambassador from...” she searched for the name, “Prator, was it?”
         “Very good.  My name is Crall, of the Nieren family of Prator.  And you are?” He bowed slightly and smiled as he spoke.
         “Shariwyn Greenmeadow.  It is nice to meet you, Crall.  Would you like a drink?”
         “Of course, excuse me, Lady Shariwyn.”  He had already drank much too much tonight, but he felt that the beauty of Shariwyn Greenmeadow was worth another mug of elfin wine.  “Elfin wine, if you please, m'lady.”
         She smiled absently and began to pour his drink.  “It is rather cold outside, is it not?”
         He stammered for a moment, taken aback by such a simple question. “Oh, uh... yes!  It definitely is, m'lady.”  He stared at her hard, trying to remember where he had met her before.
         “Are you well, Crall?  I did pour you the right drink, correct?”  Shariwyn asked as she waited for him to stop staring at her.
         “Of course!  I know you.  You called yourself Shariwyn?”  He said slyly as the realization hit him.
         “Well, sir.  Perhaps you should stop drinking.  Shariwyn is my name, I assure you.”
         He reached across the bar and put his hand on hers, staring into her eyes, “You had a different name the night we met, Elenyana.  Did you think I would forget you?”
         She retracted her hand and nearly slapped him before she realized he had mentioned the name of her mother, “You know something of Elenyana?  Speak.”
         “Don't play these games with me, Elenya.  You know what I want, and you know I can pay you whatever you require.  I wouldn't miss those eyes anywhere,” He reached out and grabbed her around the waist.
         “You are mistaken, sir--”
         “No, I'm not, now just be a good girl and--” He groped her softly as he spoke.
         Shariwyn lashed out, slapping him hard in the face, causing him to fall backwards.  “Llandolyn!” she cried.
         Crall jumped to his feet and attempted to tackle her over the counter, touting teasingly, “You'll be calling my name soon enough Elenya.”
         Kiyluth burst through the door, charging at Crall, and launching a fist straight into Crall's jaw before Crall could do anything to prevent it.  Crall almost fell over, but instead rushed back against the dwarf, launching them into a roll full of punches and blood.  Shariwyn had no idea what to think; she had seen bar fights before, but nothing to this extent.  The dwarf fought with such ferocity that Shariwyn almost feared for Crall's life.
         “Stop!” Llandolyn's voice reached Kiy above the fog of his rage.  He let the nearly limp Crall go, giving him one last headbutt to throw Crall into blackness for a while.
         “He touched 'er!”
         “Now is not the time, my friend.  I believe we have some explaining to do to our Shariwyn.”
         They took her into the back room, dragging Crall's prone form with them.  Llandolyn began to tell Shariwyn of the day he had first met her mother, and Kiyluth told her that to his knowledge, she was still very much alive, having left the Hall of Titans within the previous year.  Kiyluth also, when questioned, admitted to Elenyana's sexual promiscuity, although with more than a bit hesitation.  They all agreed that they needed to get Shariwyn out of Vayllin before repercussions of the night could haunt her.
         Shariwyn went to her room and cried herself to sleep, as Crall was just regaining consciousness.  With seething thoughts of revenge, Crall accepted no help from the elf or the damned dwarf.  He went to the nearest tavern and began to drink, his drunkeness only adding to his building rage.
         Later that night, Shariwyn awoke with a start.
         She knew something must have happened to awaken her.  Vayllin was always so quiet, but some sound... She crept toward the door of her bedroom, wiping her bleary eyes and opened it as silently as she possibly could.  She smelled something... Elfin wine?
         A bottle came crashing down on Shariwyn's head, blurring her vision even more.  She wanted to cry out in pain, but realized her mouth was covered by someone's hand.  She bit down as hard as she was able, to no avail.  The hand was quickly exchanged for some sort of gag.  Crying out in shock, she thrashed about wildly as her hands were bound tightly behind her back.
         “H-hold... shtill,” a slurred voice that reeked heavily of all sorts of liquor commanded behind her.
         It was Crall!
         She kicked and fought with all her might, to no avail.  In her last moments of consciousness, Crall lifted up her gown.
         Some time later, Shariwyn awoke.  The room was still dark, and she felt as if she were lying in an open flame.  She could feel blood running freely from several open wounds, no doubt work of the glass.  It wasn't a nightmare, it had happened.  Shariwyn had lost her most private secret to a lowlife human.
         A lone sound emanating from somewhere beyond the darkness seemed to mock her, to call her a harlot, just like her mother.  Images of Crall clear in her mind, newfound hatred and power burned more than any of her wounds.  Her soul cried for retribution.
         A light penetrated the darkness, and Shariwyn seemed to drift off the floor.  Her bonds disintegrating, she saw Crall's sleeping form snoring contentedly and knew he must have passed out drunkenly.  She vowed to kill this defiler of everything pure and innocent in her life.
         Crall opened his eyes in a daze.  He could see a light emanating from somewhere.  Where was he?  He had not the slightest clue of anything that happened last night.  All he remembered was... the girl!  He had defiled the girl!  He jumped to his feet.
         When his eyes cleared, he saw the mostly naked Shariwyn, her clothes ripped to shreds, standing before him.  Her eyes had lost any blue they once possessed and were instead filled with an intense, burning red.  A light seemed to be emanating from his own body!  He backed himself up against the wall opposite the door in an attempt to explain, but no words would come.  He watched dreadfully as Shariwyn's palm extended toward him.  As he realized it was getting unbearably hot, he fell over, coughing loudly.  Smoke seemed to be coming from inside of him.  The last thing he saw, as he burst into flames, was a glimpse of the once-innocent child's face.
         Shariwyn awoke a full day later.
         Had everything she saw actually happened?  Looking feverishly around for any clue of where she was, Shariwyn noticed Kiyluth, her supposed savior, sitting across a hastily-assembled campfire from her.  He pointed behind her somberly.  Dreading what she might see, Shariwyn sighed deeply and turned as she recognized the surrounding foliage.  She should still be in sight of the town...
         What she saw nearly caused her to faint once more.  There once stood her home, the soaring elfin city of Vayllin, but now all that remained was charred blackness, smoke billowing to the heavens.  She began sobbing and felt the dwarf's hand on her shoulder.
         “H-how many survived?” Shariwyn choked between sobs.
         “We're the on'y ones, lass... I'm sorry fer yer loss, b' yer safe, an' at's all at madders.  Der's more to this 'an ye know,” Kiyluth answered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
         Shariwyn stared down at her bright red hands, red as the flames that consumed her home, she realized, painfully.  Falling to her knees, she cursed herself and her newly found power.
         “Don't ye be frettin jus' yet, lass.  We might yet meet yer kin soon 'nuff,” Kiyluth said, as he stared out into the blackness of the forest.  He doubted that even a fully trained archmage and himself could even reach the destination he had in mind.