Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A Chapter by Isemay

The sun was rising as Vezar arrived in the clearing with the cart and box. He watched Syreilla climb from her place in the tree and look at him in bafflement. “Syreilla, you look surprised. I told you I would return.”


The pleased surprise on her face was gratifying. “Vezar?”


Before she could begin to ask him how he managed it, he offered her her broken knife. “I hope you will forgive me.” He’d broken it deliberately without having used it to be certain it could not be used against him.


Her bright smile faded but she didn’t seem angry. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you were able to defend yourself, even if my knife broke in the process.” Her words were genuine and he almost regretted breaking it.


He remembered his gifts for her, climbing into the back of the flatbed wagon he mentioned his spoils. “I brought a box for your friend and food for our travels. I hope I’ve brought enough.”


“If you haven’t we can make stops along the way, you look a lot better now. Not like walking kindling at all.” Instead of the gratitude, he expected he received mockery.


He gave her a disapproving frown. “You sound like an elf when you mock me.”


Syreilla’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open incredulously, the gesture she made was almost certainly dwarvish and unmistakably rude. “That’s a low blow, Vezar!”


Impudent little thing! “What was that gesture?”


He watched as she did it again with a grin and he imitated it. “Can you guess the meaning or do you need me to get explicit?” Her tone was gleefully mischievous.


Narrowing his eyes he made the gesture back at her with annoyance. “I think I understand it clearly.”


Laughing, she nodded encouragingly, “I don’t know if it’s because you’ve been tucked away for so long or if it’s something else, but you carry yourself,” she paused looking at him pensively, “strangely. A little coarsening up wouldn’t hurt you.”


Coarsening up? He began to laugh enjoying the thought that she thought him too refined. “Coarseness was never something I was told I lacked.” If coarseness was what she wanted he could give it to her without difficulty. The thought of putting her on her knees and commanding that mischievous tongue was a delightful one.


The look on his face was one she seemed to recognize easily. “Don’t be giving me the glad eye, Vezar. I’m not the type.”


A challenge was something he hadn’t had in some time, seducing her would be most enjoyable. “Come help me with the box, Syreilla.”


She focused on the task at hand, and he focused on her as they moved the box into place. He almost laughed aloud as she bent to pick up a piece of dwarf and then ran to retch into the trees. Shaking his head he began loading the pieces into the box.


Vezar knew better than to expect gratitude from her at this point but it might get him further with her if he placed the pieces in some approximation of order. She had been respectful of him when she believed him to be a corpse. As he nailed the box shut he looked up to see her standing and watching sheepishly. She enjoyed mocking and her squeamishness was certainly something he could mock her for.


Syreilla spoke before he did, “Thank you. The smell,” he watched as she shuddered, “it was worse when I tried to pick up…” She looked as though she would be ill even thinking about it.


“Elves and half-elves have keen senses.” The smell was probably unbearable at that distance. Her nose would be sensitive.


“I’d trade my sense of smell for the ability to do what you just did.” Her head inclined in a gesture of respect that looked almost unnatural coming from the impish half-elf. “I really appreciate it, Vezar. Thank you.” Her sweetly earnest gratitude was moving.


Schooling his face to conceal his surprise as best he could, he tried to reply graciously. “I’ve rarely been thanked. And never so earnestly.”


Watching the wry smile twist her lovely lips, he knew the mischief-maker had returned. “Don’t get used to it, Batran says I’m an ungrateful child.”


He smiled to see it and teased her, “Elves usually are.”


It got him what he hoped for, a look of mock offense and her amusement. “Keep it up, see what it gets you.”


She helped him carry the box with her friend in it back to the cart and load it in, and he watched with pleasure as she approvingly looked over what he’d brought for her.


“They just gave you all this or…” She gave him a curious look.


“The dead seldom argue when you raid their stores.” Vezar hadn’t expected her to inquire. She was a thief after all.


“True enough.” He watched as Syreilla took a bite of sausage, the prospect of having killed to get her food, true or not, didn’t seem to disturb her.


“Says the grave robber.” The elvish voice that sneered at her response made him turn with a mix of dread and excitement. Elves were a pleasure to consume, but Syreilla was not yet bound. If she hated them enough … perhaps she would not loathe him for it. But she would undoubtedly fear him afterward.


Her displeasure at their presence was clear in her tone, “Didn't expect the two of you back. Is the lich lurking nearby as well?”


“We don't associate with such filth.” The nearer elf drew a faintly glowing elvish blade. It would glow as long as it was near him, Vezar knew that. He had made the mistake of consuming a lich once and elvish blades had glowed around him ever since.


“You seemed almost cozy with him when I was going into the Nameless.” Syreilla was keeping them distracted. It was almost charming, but in a fight, it would get her killed.


“Getting close enough to kill him only. Unlike you.” The look the elf gave her was disdainful and Vezar intended to harm him for it. “To serve one of them, and now two.” His eyes shifted to Vezar.


He almost laughed, they thought he was some sort of lich?


“Vezar doesn’t have that” Syreilla made a gesture as if she were feeling something in her hand, “mucky, nasty feeling about him the lich did. And his voice doesn’t make my ears feel like they’ve had a snake’s tongue in them. I’m pretty certain he’s not a lich.” Vezar’s face split into a grin at her words.


The foolish elves were still both looking at her. “Vezar?” One spoke breathlessly, and the other followed suit. “Vezar Edra? The Undying King?”


“That would explain the crown.” Her impudence even as she faced enemies unarmed… he wondered if she might be mad. “Are you sure you killed the lich? Business and what not you understand. I’d hate to sell the amulet he sent me in for and have him turn up looking for it.”


“How? It shouldn’t have been possible for anyone much less a-a,” the elf looked at her aghast searching for the words.


“Mongrel?” Syreilla offered helpfully with a vicious smile. “Why did you come back? You were planning to have a look around inside yourselves? I’m pretty sure I already liberated the good stuff, but please feel free to go in and look around.”


Vezar began to laugh at the offense showing on their faces. “My dear Syreilla, I have a better use for them.”


“You won’t find us as easy to murder as those in the village you destroyed, Vezar the Undying Evil.” Both elves advanced with weapons drawn.


Syreilla picked up the hammer from the back of the cart. The little fool was going to try to fight, she should run and hide.


“Step away, Syreilla. Leave them to me.” Vezar commanded her, looking forward to what was now an inevitability. Elvish senses. Elvish beauty. Syreilla might fear him but she would see him as more lovely without a doubt.


“Elves are quick and f*****g cunning, Vezar. I’d rather you didn’t get put back in your box yet, I’m enjoying your company.” Her coarse words of warning were sweet and made him hope she would be rendered unconscious that she would not fear him. He wanted her to enjoy his company.


The elves stupidly looked back at her. “You should have been put down at birth.” The elf attacked her and his rage settled like a mist in his vision, there would be pain.


He nearly screamed as he watched Syreilla take the blade in her arm. The elf leapt away as she swung her hammer, directly into his hands. Vezar gouged his eyes and let him feel the agony of being consumed as he sucked away all he wished from the helpless elf. The half-elf did not stop and stare, she threw the hammer stunning the other elf as he fled. She was going to kill him.


“Wait, Syreilla.” Her foot was on the elf’s neck and his blade in her hand as she looked over at Vezar. Her head tilted in confusion as he approached. He studied her face for signs of fear relieved to find only bafflement, “I had not wanted you to see yet.”


“What…”


“Step back and I will show you.” Perhaps… “I can change myself, change my face and body. My senses.” Vezar lifted his gaze with an arch smile, “For a time. All I require is,” he paused, “prey is the word most often used.”


Her gaze was riveted to his face as he changed himself. “You’re a thief, you just steal a little bit more dramatically than I do.” She remained unafraid.


Vezar couldn't hide his amusement, “I once killed a man for calling me a thief.”


“He probably didn’t mean it as a compliment.” Her impish grin was thrilling.


“No, he did not.” He grinned back at her, she was perfection. She was also injured. “Can you heal that?”


“Not without something to draw power from,” Syreilla answered him with a grimace. “I’m not looking forward to pulling this thing out either.”


“Give me your arm.” Vezar wanted to show her what he could do. Show her how much he could do for her if she would stay by his side. He eagerly reached for her arm.


“You can heal it?” Her curious tone as she gave him her hand made him want to laugh.


“My dear Syreilla, I can heal it without so much as a scar.” She trusted him. To give him a wounded limb… “Can you pull the blade out yourself?”


She seemed nervous as she closed her eyes and cautiously pulled the sharp blade free. Syreilla expected pain, he tried to numb her as much as he could, healing as she pulled the blade free.


“Vezar, that…” the awe on her face as she watched him heal was glorious, “that’s…”


He began to laugh at her speechlessness, “When you find your tongue again, perhaps you can help me choose another name. I was disappointed when you did not recognize mine, but being recognized was more troublesome than it was gratifying.”


Syreilla beamed and studied his features, “You look like you could be my brother. My mother once said she’d have named me Thesolas if I’d been a boy.”


Vezar grimaced. “I knew a Thesolas. Loathsome man.” He'd been one of the men sealing him in his prison. He would prefer not to have his Syreilla calling out that man’s name in her passions.


She was silent for a few moments, “What about Syvilas?” Vezar realized immediately she intended for him to pass as her brother. It would garner him the last piece of her name that he needed to bind her.


“Syvilas. I would need a family name.” He waited expectantly for the name to be given.


“Hammersworn isn’t one I can give you, that’s true.” Her annoyed look said she was already regretting the thought but she followed it reluctantly, “Acharnion is the surname my mother gave me, you’re welcome to it.”


“Syvilas Acharnion.” Vezar gave her a florid bow, “Brother of Syreilla Hammersworn.” Syreilla Acharnion you will be bound to me.


With a sigh, she shook her head and added, “Son of Tirnel Acharnion. You’ll have to come up with your own mother’s name.”


“Tirnel. You are of Olthon Camaenion’s line. I was told you would be.” He should have guessed. Tirnel had a fondness for human women. The seer had not been wrong.


“You’ll have to tell me about that on our way to Delver’s Deep, Syvilas.” Syvilas. He preferred the sound of Vezar on her lips but Syvilas would do.


As they prepared to leave Vezar sent her to tie the elves’ horses to prevent them from alerting anyone else. Truthfully, he needed her distracted so that he could begin binding her to him. He would use the name she had given him, Syvilas, to bind her with a familial bond since it seemed easiest. She hadn’t understood what she was offering with her ploy to pose as siblings, but she didn’t need to for him to make her feel as if he were truly her kin. He would save his true name to bind her in other ways, but he needed a place to start.


He muttered her name and wove the threads, each repetition of brother and sister, every touch would pull them tighter. Embracing the name, Syvilas, he hoped she had strong bonds already in place for her family. It would make his threads hold better.




© 2017 Isemay


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Added on December 27, 2017
Last Updated on December 27, 2017
Tags: thief, dwarf, elf, dragon, gods


Author

Isemay
Isemay

Germany



About
Bitten by a writing bug! Review my writing and I will gladly return the favor! I love reading other people's stories, and I try to review honestly and give constructive criticism. I love receivi.. more..

Writing
Chapter 1 Chapter 1

A Chapter by Isemay


Chapter 2 Chapter 2

A Chapter by Isemay


Chapter 3 Chapter 3

A Chapter by Isemay





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