John shook his head, trying to clear it. It felt like there was a fog in his own mind, and he found he couldn’t think straight. He was bound to a chair and sitting across from him was Phyra, the female elf who had captured him. She looked at him with an amused smirk as she leaned back in her chair, and John knew he had made a grave mistake.

They had been given food and drink a few minutes earlier and knew something was amiss as soon as he had swallowed his first mouthful of water. Elves stormed in moments later and forcibly separated them. John had been brought to a room on the lower level where this elf had been waiting.

“So, what is your name, human?” she asked. Her voice was soothing and melodic to his ears now, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to hear more of it.

His mind was cloudy, and he struggled to focus on anything besides the elf’s voice. “Johnathan Stadley,” he heard himself reply without hesitation.

“Excellent,” she grinned.

She began questioning him rigorously and John was powerless to resist. Before he knew it, he had divulged everything he knew to her, including Sarah being Agni’s Chosen, their relationship, and the terms of their parting.

Phyra tossed her long, pale hair over her shoulder and grinned broadly at John. “So, here you are, in the prime of your life, drifting aimlessly, letting the currents take you where you will.”

John pursed his lips as he glared at the elf, furious at her for uncovering his most closely held secrets. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, further deepening his anger.

“Look at you,” she goaded, “You fancy yourself a thief, slinking about in the shadows, striking nefariously and shying away from a fair fight.”

She paused and licked her lips in anticipation of the coup de grace. “No wonder she left you.”

John tried to leap from his chair, but his bonds held fast, and he thrashed around impotently as the elf laughed and clapped her hands with delight as a child who had just played a prank on an adult would. There was a sharp knock on the door and her mirth was gone. The door opened moments later and Ruvaen entered.

He and Phyra spoke, and John felt like he was being completely ignored. They were speaking in Elvish, which he didn’t understand, Phyra was doing most of the talking, which suggested that she was telling her captain about what she’d learned from him. John glared at Phyra, hating her, but he knew that she had a point. Even when Sarah was with him, he had been content to be pulled along by her or Grimald. He had never really been one to take charge or demonstrate his reliability. Even leaving Golton had been her decision. He had just been along for the ride. He then thought about Sarah Chosen of Agni who had fought and defeated Ratri’s Chosen while all he could do was watch helplessly. For the first time in his life, he felt unworthy of her.

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At length, Ruvaen looked at John and switched to Mithian, “Your stories align. We are going to reinforce Findendor, and you will come with us.”

“Why?” he demanded.

Ruvaen said something to Phyra before leaving the room. John looked at Phyra, who smirked. “Come on, little piggy,” she said as she undid his bonds.

Once he was freed from the chair, John deftly swiped the dagger from Phyra’s belt. Before she could cry out, he jumped up, striking her in the chest with his shoulder. In the same motion, he cut the ropes tying his hands together and darted around the stunned elf and held the dagger to her throat.

To his surprise, Phyra started to applaud. “Look at you,” she laughed, “So desperate to prove me wrong. How easily you are to manipulate, human.”

“Be quiet, or I’ll slit your throat,” he growled.

“You sound convincing enough,” she allowed. John couldn’t see her face but knew from her voice that she was still smiling, and he held the blade closer to her throat. “However, we both know you won’t harm me.”

“Try me,” John warned.

He gasped and almost lost his grip on the dagger when his nether regions suddenly exploded in agony. Moments later, his world turned upside down and there was a loud crash as he fell through the table. John lay amongst the ruined remains of the table in agony. A sharp kick sent the blade skittering out of his hand. The door to the room flew open half a second later and elves charged in with their blades drawn.

Phyra’s voice sounded jovial as she spoke to the newcomers in Elvish. Ruvaen came in and spoke sharply to her. John saw her face colour. She glared at him before rushing out of the room. Ruvaen looked down at John who was still lying flat on his back and shook his head. “I suppose she did something to antagonize you.”

John shook his head, furious at his impulsiveness. He had just risked the lives of Udoriol and Grimald with his actions that had served absolutely no purpose. “She did provoke me, but that doesn’t excuse my actions. They were my own, and do not reflect on my companions.”

Ruvaen grunted. “You’re right, being provoked doesn’t excuse your actions. On your feet.”

His entire body was sore. The table was solid, and Phyra hadn’t held back when she threw him. He tried not to let the pain show as he got to his feet and stood as straight as he could before Ruvaen and held out his hands to be bound. The elf raised an eyebrow. “I think your display back there adequately demonstrated that you’re not a threat.”

John felt the blood rush to his face and lowered his hands. Ruvaen turned on his heel and barked, “Follow me.”

“Is the mist thinning?” John blurted as he emerged from the windowless room.

Ruvaen did not reply. Instead, he gestured at Udoriol and Grimald who were sitting with their hands bound on a bench. “How come their hands are bound?” John demanded. The elf captain stared balefully at John until he meekly sat next to his companions.

“What’s going on?” John whispered once Ruvaen disappeared up the ladder.

“They’re getting ready to leave,” Grimald replied flatly as he cocked his head at the elves who were hurriedly packing things into large grey backpacks. The dwarf bit his lip in frustration. “We need to get word back to Mithia and warn them about the Darnosian’s betrayal.”

“And what happened to the mists?” John asked Udoriol.

“It appears that the battle at Findendor is not going well.”