Talek stifled a yawn as he peered out across the snow-spotted valley from the shelter of the porch. He sat with his back to the stone chimney, feeling warmth bleed through his scarred flesh and into his bones. He knew he should go inside before the sun burned too low behind the grey clouds, but he ignored the silent admonishments of his absent wife and chose to enjoy the crisp air for a little longer.

Winter had descended early on the Deadlands. The scattered pockets of snow left the elf remembering stories of his childhood. How snow was the icy spit of Grim, the Dark Lord of the North.

Old stories, he thought. Stories being quickly forgotten now that Grim was dead.

As though aware of the elf's mind turning toward the fallen god, the shadows behind him shifted and a bitter wind cut across the valley to rake at the small cabin.

It wasn't much of a cabin, he allowed. Nothing like the Hold he'd grown up in. But it was comfortable. And the smoke drifting from the chimney at his back hinted at greater warmth were he inclined to shuffle back indoors.

His wife, Nysta, had chosen the location of their cabin. It was, he thought proudly, a perfect choice.

Perfect because the nine figures which flickered into view were unable to find an angle of approach with any stealth regardless of their intentions.

His gaze drifted toward the small ginger cat hunched on the steps. A disheveled ball of mottled orange fur with a crooked tail and no name.

Where it came from was a mystery. It'd shown up in the middle of the night to mew at the door, and only Talek's amusement saved it from one of his wife's many knives.

She claimed not to like cats, but sometimes he caught her touching the creature's fur with a haunted expression on her face.

The cat's ears flicked toward a small pen of goats beside the cabin. And, as Talek eased himself into a more upright position, it glanced at him with sparkling emerald eyes.

“Reckon they're friendly?” he asked the cat.

Talking to the little animal was becoming a habit, he thought with a sardonic smile as it returned its feline gaze to the approaching black shapes. Settling into a patient crouch, the cat’s sharp ears flicked nervously while its crooked tail gave a twitch.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Me neither.”

He hauled himself painfully off the bench, his withered hand trembling as he steadied himself against the wall. Two of his fingers were reduced to smooth nubs in stark contrast to the gnarled textures of his palm.

Beneath the simple clothes, his skin was a landscape of horrific scars rippling across his body. Muscle, once tuned to perfection, had been vaporised and the bones beneath felt twisted between brittle joints.

Every movement was a battle against waves of agony.

Silently he cursed the spellslinger who'd thrown the fireball at him. Not for throwing it. But for not using enough power. For leaving him alive.

It would have been easier on Nysta if he'd died, he thought.

She shouldn't have to see him in such pain. Shouldn't have to look at the monstrosity he'd become.

He’d do anything to spare her the burden of supporting the wreckage he'd become. She was young, he told himself. She could recover. Move on.

If only he could just end it all himself…

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Not yet.

He had one final responsibility.

Talek ran his twisted hand through the remnants of his hair. Though it grew in patches over his burnt scalp, there was just enough to hide much of the damage to the back of his head.

His fingertips travelled the grooves in his skull and he no longer noticed as his arm passed through the ghost of a pointed ear melted clean off.

He kept his eyes on the nine shapes as he hobbled to the edge of the porch. He watched. Waiting. Fingered a slender sword leaning against the rail.

Wondered if he could still draw the blade.

Afraid to fail, he hadn't tried since the mage had devastated his body.

The nine strangers were elfs. He could make out the thin ears jutting from their heads like sharp spearblades. Could tell their hair hung in a military style of long plaited locks.

Also saw they were armed to their teeth.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He grunted, looking down at the cat bumping against his leg. It wasn't purring.

He wondered when Nysta would return. He knew she needed time to herself, and never pressed her to return quickly. It was one of the reasons they were so comfortable together. They were much the same in this way. But right then, he would have given anything to know where she was.

As they reached the clumsy gate, the strangers paused to peer silently up at where Talek leaned on the rail.

He gave them no sign of his own intentions, though he doubted whether any of them felt even a brief thrill of fear.

Coolly, they drifted through the gate, led by a red-haired elf. The others kept a respectful line behind him, one busying himself with stowing a cloak in his pack.

Feeling uncomfortably fragile, the elf studied their approach with a mix of jealousy and nostalgia.

Once, a long time ago, he'd strutted with the same calm confidence.

Their hands remained close to the pommels of their weapons.

So, it was he, rather than they who felt the first trickle of fear slide over his neck and around his guts like a frozen wyrm. His gaze moved over the valley, half-expecting to see Nysta rising out from behind a rock or twisted tree stump.

Was disappointed when she didn't.

He wished she were near.

Just having her at his side was enough to make him feel immortal even in his current condition.

A wave of dizziness licked through him without warning, and he cursed his damaged body. While he'd been crippled long enough to come to terms with the sudden bouts of giddiness, they were still a constant source of frustration.

The men were soon close enough for him to note the finer details. Three looked to be barely blooded. One so nervous he kept glancing at the red-haired elf for some sign as to what to do next.

But the rest were veterans. Their weapons functional and with little or no decoration on the hilts. They wore plain grey tabards draped over armor as though trying to hide their squad's origin.

Perhaps they were deserters, Talek thought with distaste.

But this was the Deadlands. There was worse living in the barren wasteland between North and South than soldiers sick of fighting for a few meaningless coins.

All the same, he couldn't keep the frown from forming as the red-haired elf halted within speaking range.

The elfs behind him stopped as one. A well-oiled team despite the few nervous cogs.

Talek locked gazes with the leader, intrigued by the nagging feeling that he should know him. “Morning, feller,” Talek said. “Help you with something?”

The grey eyes of the red-haired elf barely registered emotion as he motioned the others to take another step back. Which they did without hesitation.

The stranger draped his hand over the hilt of a long dagger at his hip. The kind of dagger Nysta would find irresistible. There was something about the stranger's manner which reminded Talek of his absent wife.

He realised it was how the way his palm rested on the hilt of the short blade echoed her. Figured it meant the red-haired elf knew how to use it well enough.

“Maybe.”

“Well's out back if you want to bring your horses in. Ain't got much food so won't offer you any,” Talek said. Licked his lips and eased them back into a rueful smile. “Reckon you ain't here for that, though.”

“Reckon not,” the red-haired elf returned wryly.

“Fucking cold, Raste,” the nervous kid muttered. “We get this over with?”

“Until I ask your opinion, Doket, I reckon it's best you keep your trap shut. Or I'll cut your tongue out. Feed it to the cat,” Raste said. As he spoke the threat, his voice was dull. Neither warm nor cold. A voice which made the pores under Talek's arms begin to squeeze droplets of sweat. The red-haired elf hadn't shifted his unblinking stare from Talek. “She around, Talek?”

He felt like Raste had hit him in the chest with a hammer and knew right then and there that he was going to die. Couldn't decide how he felt about that, but was suddenly more aware than ever of the invisible ties binding him to his wife.

He let his hand drop away from the sword, hidden from view.

Rubbed his shoulder to ease the sudden spikes of pain. Once, he might have rushed them. Even bare-handed he knew he might have killed them all. Because no matter how much he respected their training, he knew he'd been trained by much better.

When guilded, he'd been Kulsa'Jadean.

The King's Guard.

But that was a long time ago.

Nowadays he found it difficult just to get out of bed. It was a near impossible task just to dress himself.

He deliberately turned his back on them, ignoring the sound as they went for their weapons.

His body shuddered in pain as he limped to the bench. Lowered himself slowly on it, eyes drawn to the cat whose tail swished as it studied the nine strangers. He wondered if it realised the danger they carried and, not for the first time, he envied the animal.

Turning, he saw Raste was the only one who hadn't drawn a blade. The red-haired elf studied Talek's every move, his expression giving nothing away.

“You know who I am,” Talek said eventually.

It wasn't a question, but Raste shrugged in reply. “Yeah. Been hunting you for a while. Some folks said you'd headed north. Had about given up on finding you. Can you imagine how surprised I was to find you were out here all along? Right on the path we were headed down to begin with? Hadn't really believed you'd gone north anyway. Heard you don't even like Fnords.”

“Nothing against them, really,” he said. “Just don't like their food is all.”

“I'll ask again. She around? Hiding inside, maybe?”

The scarred elf shook his head, relishing the chimney's warmth as it spread into his shoulders. Saw no reason to lie. “Went to Highwall. Head back the way you came. You'll find a crossroads. Take a left. Couple hours, depending how fast you walk. She'll be at the tavern. Probably deep in her cups by now. From there, good luck to you.”

The nervous kid gave a surprised giggle. “Don't like her much?”

“Love her more than life,” Talek said simply.

“Can't love her that much if you'd tell us where she is,” the kid sneered. “Know what I'd do to her?”

Talek's smile lacked warmth. “Know what she'd do to you, is all.”

The kid, eager to impress the group with his bravado, took a half-step forward. Rubbed his crotch as he cooed; “She'd warm my cock all night.”

“Sure would,” Talek agreed mildly. “Over a small fire. Probably eat it in the morning if she were hungry.”

The little elf snarled and made to step forward but was blocked by Raste's firm arm. “Step down, Doket,” the red-haired elf growled. “Now.”

“Good kid,” Talek commented. “Got him toilet trained, yet?”

Raste's answering smile was icy and his eyes glittered. “Heard you've got a sense of humour, Talek. That's good. You're gonna need it. Reckon you should know why we're here. Here to collect something is all. And I reckon you know what it is. So. How about we skip all the bullshit where you fuck me around and I let my boys do what they do best until you tell me everything I want to know? Make it easy on yourself, Talek. Tell me. You got it on you? Tell me where the box is.”

“You're in for a disappointing day, Raste,” he said, his voice soft. “On account of I ain't that easy to open up.”