Chapter 10

  Dalex landed just short of the tree line, worried that he might hit a tree or a boulder and injure the still breathing elf woman. He rushed deeper into the forest, easily carrying the two bodies on his shoulders. Only when he was a mile into the green depths did he realize he was on the opposite side of the valley from where he left the chameleon corpse, but at that point he decided it wasn’t worth the return trip. The armory shopkeeper hadn’t seemed interested in it, anyway, and nothing else important lay in that direction.

  He carried his precious cargo up a hill until he reached a clearing in the trees—a bald patch of grass and stone outcroppings. At the top of the clearing, he lowered the bodies gently so they wouldn’t roll down the hill. The still living elf hadn’t woken up yet, and he was starting to worry if there might be something medically wrong with her.

  “{Skills},” he said, and scrolled until he found a few options that might be helpful.

  Dalex stood over the elf’s unconscious body and said, “{Detect maladies}.”

  A shockingly detailed holographic model of the elf’s internal organ systems appeared in the air, penetrating clothing and skin to show all the gory details. Her internal workings didn’t look all that different from the diagrams Dalex had seen on the walls of the hospital. She had a heart, stomach, intestines, and most of the other stuff a human would have.

  There were a few organs his armor’s system didn’t recognize. Whether they were unique to this world or specifically to elves, their function was unknown. Still, the system didn’t detect any foreign bodies or clearly abnormal activity from those organs, so they were likely working as intended.

  The system came back with three major issues: [Dehydration], [exhaustion], and [exposure]. It recommended administrating the [vitality cocktail].

  “{Greater life potion},” Dalex said, and some kind of needleless plastic injector appeared in his hand. The system instructed him to press the forward end of the injector against the elf’s skin and depress a button on its side. It made a hissing sound. The elf shifted uncomfortably but she did not wake up. Dalex’s armor reported that the potion had entered her circulatory system and was working its magic. Now all that was left was to make sure she stayed hydrated.

  Dalex held out a hand, “{Create water}.” Nothing happened. “Um, Seventh?”

  “Patience, young human,” she said. “The fulfillment of a miracle is not always instant.”

  A resounding crack like a thunderclap echoed across the sky. While the weather was overcast, it wasn’t nearly cloudy enough to generate a thunderstorm. Dalex looked up to find the source of the noise. A second later, something black and small shot out of the cloud layer and slammed into the ground a few meters down the hill.

  Dalex jumped in surprise. The elf stirred again but still did not wake.

  “The water quantities in your armor are not great enough to sustain two humanoids,” Seventh explained. “This should supplement your stores for the time being.”

  Dalex trotted down the hill to inspect the object. It stuck straight up out of the ground, cylindrical with a round cap on its top. As he approached, four black metal panels fell away, revealing a small reservoir of water. It held perhaps five or six gallons. Dalex dug the canister out of the dirt and carried it back up the hill.

  He pressed a cup made from {astral mortar} against her lips and let her feel the cool water. Her mouth opened slightly, and she reflexively sucked down a sip. She coughed at first but then drank greedily. Dalex’s armor notified him that she would likely fully wake up in the next few minutes. He quickly cast, “{Manifest armor}” so the first thing she saw when her eyes opened wouldn’t be a human face. Dalex wasn’t sure exactly how he should break the news to her that she had been saved by one of her oppressors. He also changed the clothing he wore under the armor to be less beastkin fashion and more elf, though without the grime and wear.

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  While he waited for her to wake up, Dalex cast {detect maladies} on her dead companion. The system confirmed his brain was destroyed and that all life function had ceased. No {cure all} could bring him back from the other side.

  But someone had brought Dalex back.

  “Is there nothing we can do for him?” he asked Seventh. “You resurrected me.”

  “That was a special case with ideal circumstances. Even were it possible, the Expedition 7 does not carry the necessary equipment. Only a few such devices exist in this galaxy, and we cannot request one until the Expedition 7 escapes the black hole. Even in that event, it is further unlikely such a request would be granted.”

  The sleeping elf grew restless and within two minutes her eyes fluttered lazily open. It took a moment for her to get her bearings. Confusion gave way to neutrality and then despair. She sat up slowly, staring out over the distant valley and her town several miles away. Little vortices of smoke from chimneys and forges made it easy to spot. Her head did not turn left or right. She did not look for her savior or her dead companion.

  Dalex had been worried about this. She had seemed dead in the pillory, but he had not seen her eyes. Now he saw the way they stared at nothing and everything, her body swayed by a gust of wind. He knew that look.

  “I was worried you might not wake up,” Dalex prompted.

  Her head robotically turned his direction. She blinked once as if in recognition but otherwise remained emotionless. A moment later, her eyes landed on the body of the male elf lying face up below a tree a few yards away. She became unnaturally still, staring intently at the corpse. After a moment, she got shakily to her feet and hobbled toward her companion. Dalex stayed close, ready to catch her if she fell.

  When she reached the body, she fell to her knees at the male elf’s side and let out a single sharp moan. Her voice caught. She bent forward over his chest, tears dribbling on his torn shirt. Grasping hands clutched his arm. Another sharp moan, and then she began to wail. Her laments echoed across the hillside so that Dalex was sure the townspeople would hear her grief.

  This moment was also known to him. He took a few steps back and sat on the grass, giving her space and time to mourn.

  ***

  An hour passed. The elf cried for half of it, though eventually the sobs became hoarse and painful. She turned quiet but her body shook continuously. Night approached.

  Dalex passed the time whispering with Seventh and trying not to focus on the elf’s sorrow. He wanted to comfort her, to make the pain vanish, but he knew he could not. A stranger held no sway over the emotions of one so wracked with anguish.

  He wondered who the male elf had been to her. A husband? A lover? A brother? A father? A friend? A mentor?

  Just when he almost couldn’t take it anymore, before he had the chance to make a mistake and break the silence himself, he heard her move.

  “Who are you?” her voice was harsh and accusatory. It cut through the dusky quiet of the evening like a hatchet.

  Dalex turned so he could sit facing her. “My name is Dalex.”

  “I’ve never seen armor like that before,” she said. “Who are you?”

  He supposed a name meant nothing. She wanted to know what race he was, where he came from, who he might work for.

  Instead of answering, he nodded toward her companion. “What was his name?”

  Her frown deepened. “Sitoa.”

  Dalex recognized it as one of the names the elves in the plaza had chanted. “Who was he?”

  “My brother.”

  “I see.” Anger stirred in Dalex, directed inward. He should have acted sooner to save them. He had seen what was happening. What other direction could it have gone? Why had he waited? “I am sorry.”

  “Who are you?” the elf demanded again. “Show me your face.”

  While he had been waiting for her to recover, Dalex had thought of possible excuses why he wouldn’t show her his face. After some debate with Seventh, he had decided to go with a curse that prevented him from removing his armor. It wasn’t that significant of a lie. Even if Dalex was human, he didn’t owe it to her to reveal the truth. Showing her would cause too many problems.

  He opened his mouth to tell the lie but stopped. Whatever he might do to try to convince himself otherwise, he knew himself. The honest truth was better than any lie. He dismissed the {adamantine} armor hiding his features.

  Two different waves of shock rippled across her face. First, the simple disappearance of so much heavy armor made her sit up and look at him intently as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. Then she noticed his ears.

  “You’re human,” she said, her mouth twisting into a sneer. “Are you some rival of Castreier’s? Did you save us so you could deny him his prize?”

  Dalex shook his head. “No, I just wanted to help.”

  “I see.” Her voice did not soften. If anything, it grew harsher. “You’re one of their heroes. You think saving the life of one elf will earn you some kind of heavenly reward.”

  The way she used the word “hero” sent a chill down Dalex’s spine. “I wasn’t looking for a reward, either. I’m not like the humans you’re used to.”

  “Not. Like. Other. Humans.” She paused, letting the vitriol of her hatred linger in the air. “All humans are the same. Greedy. Destructive. Selfish. Stupid. Hateful.”

  Plenty of people back on Earth would say the same. Humanity had made its fair share of mistakes. In this instance, he could argue with her about his own pure, or at least neutral, character, but he decided to let the insults wash over him and stay silent, simply holding on to a slight but earnest smile.

  “What do you want from me?” the elf asked.

  “I would like to know your name,” Dalex said, “and maybe a few details of why you were almost executed, but beyond that, I just want to make sure you are safe.”

  “My name?” she said, her anger rising with each syllable.

  But then she paused, and something came over. Her eyes went glassy. She reached back and touched the wrist of her dead brother. When she spoke next, her voice was dead, all of the fire and rage gone. “Hitasa.”

  She looked like she was back in the pillory. She looked like some of the patients in the ward where Owen Little had died, those who knew they would never leave the hospital. Young and old, they had all been afflicted with different diseases or conditions than Owen, and they had all stared into the abyss and realized they could never turn their gaze away.

  Hitasa did not intend to look away.

  “I am honored to meet you, Hitasa,” Dalex said. “I wish I could have met your brother. I am sorry I did not move fast enough to save him.”

  Hitasa said nothing. She looked through him, hand still resting on her brother’s wrist.

  “What would you like to do with your brother’s body? I can help you bury him. Or I can carry him to wherever you want to lay him to rest. I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about elves. Do you cremate your dead?”

  For a split second, the rage returned to her eyes. She gave him a sharp look. “We do not burn.”

  Dalex raised a hand in surrender. “No cremation then. I apologize. I won’t suggest that again. Just tell me, and I will help you.”

  But the anger departed as quickly as it had come. Her gaze slipped away to the valley again and the lights glowing in the town.

  “Who was Castreier?” Dalex asked. He did not think this question would knock her from her sudden stupor, but he needed to know. The man had survived the impact of suit of armor designed by beings that could cross between the stars in a blink. Unarmed, he had come back unscathed to fulfill the execution. His relationship with Hitasa and Sitoa seemed particularly important.

  “He is the servant of the dragon gods,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “He is our hunter.”

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