Thick limestone walls surrounded the wooden framed hospital bed. The clean white bedsheets were offset by the respirator – a large tubed one meter tall chrome cased pump – rising and falling with each breath, steadily pumping oxygen into the patient as sure as the Twins would rise and fall each day.
The human nurse, in her white dress, khaki trousers, and a brown apron with a red cross stitched to the centre of the breasts, removed the copper oxygen mask and took the temperature of Akaras, who lay on the bed unmoving, body wrapped in bandage from head to toe, right arm and leg in a cast. After doing a quick check of his injuries, she pulled the thermometer from his lips, shaking her head disappointedly. She pocketed the tool in her apron and turned to leave.
“Don't be alarmed,” Nadier warned from his dark corner next to the door.
The nurse jumped, her eyes wide in shock, but she did not scream or show signs of fear. “Wanderer,” she greeted. “I didn't hear you come in.”
“Sorry to startle you,” he politely apologized. “I would like to spend some time alone with my brother, if you will allow it.”
The nurse gave a slight bow in respect. “I'm sorry, but I've been given strict instructions not to allow anyone else near Lord–um...former Lord, Akaras.”
“I understand. But could you make an exception on this? We are family.”
He could see her eyes shifting in thought before finally settling with, “Okay. But do close the door on your way out.” She smiled softly and gave another bow before leaving the room.
Nadier stepped out of the shadows and he scanned the room for any hidden traps or assassins in hiding, doing so in part of habit, but also due to the situation he found himself in. Dark elf assassins were not out of the realm of possibility when the strongest Spellblade in Eltar was at his weakest. When he was sure there were no other souls in the room with him, he went to his brother's side.
With his right index finger, he reached down to his thigh and hooked onto the finger ring of his dagger. With a gentle pull, the dagger popped out of its sheathe without resistance and he flipped the weapon into the grip of his palm. With his left, he reached for one of the many metallic vials hidden behind his belt, hooking onto its finger ring with his other index, pulled, flipped the vial to grip, and loaded it into the empty chamber within the handle of the dagger, like a magazine into a gun.
He moved the blade over his brother's chest, an inch above his heart. He aimed the point just between the ribs and slowly pushed the dagger in. Through the skin, the muscles, and scrapping past the bone. Nadier navigated solely with the sense of touch against the rhythmic breathing and the steady rise and fall of the chest. Then, he felt the gentle walls of the heart. He placed free hand on his brother's chest and sunk just the tip of the blade into the beating muscle.
Akaras eyes shot opened and his body jerked back as the adrenaline rushed through him, but his chest was held in place by Nadier to prevent any damage from the sudden movement. In one swift motion, he removed the dagger with surgical precision, pulled his scarf off, and pushed the cloth against the new wound and staunched the blood.
He watched as Akaras's eyes flitted frantically around the room, taking in his surroundings as quickly as his suddenly awoken brain could. His eyes then landed on Nadier and realization dawned in them as the wounded dark elf slowly sank back into the bed. His breathing slowed but his heart continued to pump fast through the makeshift dressing.
With a coarse, tired voice, the former Lord greeted, “Nads.” He split his brother a gentle smile.
“Hey 'Karas.” Nadier nodded stoically in acknowledgement.
Akaras let out a pained laugh. “Always so serious.” Though his neck could not move, his eyes scanned the room again. He came to the conclusion, “I lost, didn't I? That man. The Watcher. Where is he?”
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“Probably escaping the prison in a few minutes.”
“Good, good.” He closed his eyes in peace at the thought, not questioning the hows or whys of the situation. “A man as powerful as him should not fall into the hands of The Forum.”
“Why did you do it?” Nadier asked without hesitation, skipping all other formalities and chit-chat. “Was that why you sent me to the Grassplains? So I wouldn't be caught in the eye of the storm when you destroy Everwind?”
Akaras tried to breathe in deep, only to wince from the pain of his collapsed lung. “If you knew all that, why are you asking me 'why'?”
Nadier got to his knees so that he was at face level with Akaras and could look him in the eye. “I want to know why you want to destroy Everwind.” His gaze was steady, unfaltering, a slightly bent brow that hid a blaze of anger. “You and I, we are mercenaries. We go where the prize is most worthwhile. Who paid you? And just what could they have paid you with that would make you go on a suicide mission?”
He let out a pained breath and closed his eyes. “When I found you in your first cycle at the gates of Ta'Kalenyilgah, not a memory to your soul, not even a name, I never expected the page would turn to here.” He opened his eyes and sized up his sworn brother. “Akaras 'The Bolted Arm' Spaedruiner and Nadier 'The Wanderer'. Banished from Ta'Galadul, storming the world of the humans. Gun and blade for hire. Even you, with all your meticulous planning could not have seen this coming.”
“I'm not a seer. I can't see the future.”
“Be a little poetic, my little brother.” His eyes rest on the two daggers Nadier carried and the vials of chemicals he hid. “Take a step out of your shadow and your toys and chemicals for once. Join the world.”
“We're dark elves, 'Karas. All our time we've lived in the shadows.”
Akaras replied, “If after two hundred years of banishment and that is still your thinking, then I have failed as a brother.” Nadier stayed quietly in contemplation, having always respected his brother's view. Akaras sighed. The quiet pulled on and, growing impatient, he continued, “The Ta'Galadul has passed judgement on your actions. You are to be executed.”
Nadier's fingers twitched towards his weapons. An execution by the dark elves meant an assassination, and dark elf assassins were known to be the best in the world. Biologically, they were a lighter, swifter race. Their natural abilities, from night-vision to being capable of holding their breaths for long period, made them adapt at the art of stealth. Even with his earlier precaution, it was still entirely possible there was an assassin with them, right then and there, and he would not have noticed it. In corners he had not checked. Maybe hiding under the bed, like a nightmare ready to strike.
Likely sensing his brother's uneasiness, Akaras reassured, “Don't worry. Even dark elf assassins needs time to travel.” Once Nadier had calmed down, Akaras continued, “They offered to spare you of your execution, so long as I did as they asked.”
“And you agreed to destroy Everwind? For my sake?” Nadier wore a rare look of shock.
“Like you said, we are mercenaries. We go where the prize is most worthwhile.”
With a heavy heart, Nadier got to his feet. He could think of no other questions to ask, knowing that there was nothing left for his brother to give him. If the Dark Citadel had indeed sent the order to Akaras with such a prize, they would not have told him more.
He went straight to the point. “Any request?” The adrenaline he gave his brother would dissipate soon. But with his belt of drugs, Nadier could easily find one to put Akaras back to sleep. “I could ease the pain. Maybe numb the body.”
Without hesitation, Akaras replied, “You could kill me.”
“What?” He thought his brother must have gone mad. Even if he was bedridden, an elf's enhanced rate of healing meant he would be back on his feet before the next season. “I can't do such a thing. You are my brother.” Though good at hiding his emotions, even Nadier could not sound casual at the request.
Akaras began explaining, “I'm not making out of this alive. I either get executed by Everwind, or assassinated by the Ta'Galadul assassins. Look at me. I'm in no position to move, let alone fight back.” He looked down at his bandaged body and grunted as the aches started to seep in, a sign that the drug was wearing off. In just a few minutes, the pain would be unbearable. Akaras looked to Nadier with a conviction he usually reserved for battles. “I would rather my killer be someone I know, than a masked executioner or a dagger from the shadows.”
Indecisiveness was not a familiar feeling to Nadier. He was a mercenary. A man of the blade. Hesitation in his way of life was often fatal. He had assassinated Lords and Ladies, brought down monstrous beasts and massacred entire bandit camps. He had killed for money. He had killed for favours. Never once had he questioned taking a life on command. But now, his brother's request had brought him to a screeching halt.
Akaras sighed again. “No hesitations, my brother. You are Nadier, the lowest point. So no matter what you do, the only way left to you is up.”
To others, the words may have sounded insulting. But to Nadier, they were phrases of clarity. Removing his scarf from the original wound, he pulled out his unloaded dagger and held the blade above his brother's heart. They stared at each other without breaking gaze and Nadier plunged the blade in.
Even to his end, Akaras held his stare. Even when the blade penetrated his skin, his look did not falter. Even when Nadier pulled the dagger out of his heart, he did not blink or flinch. Blood pooled around the wound, and Nadier was unsettled by his brother's firm eyes, which held the will of the dark elf he had come to know and care for, even after life left them.
It was the way of the dark elves. Kill or be killed. Nadier wiped the blood off his dagger with his scarf and turned away. But as he reached the door, his eyes clouded and he stopped in his tracks.
His breathing increased, his fingers twitched. “Dark elves don't cry,” he said to himself like a mantra. If they could, eternity would last a painful lot longer.