6 Meeting the Elves

Edmon wondered about his companions, shortly after their meeting with the Templar. It was clear that Gareth was still suffering from his injuries, and wasn't in much of a moon to talk. And Gaebril seemed rather pleased, rather than depressed, at having received Melior Twohammer's ultimatum.

To Edmon, it seemed as though Gaebril had been expecting the Templar to pull such a trick, and that it had amused Gaebril immensely, from the way that he chuckled after Melior left. Although there was a certain cunning light in the bearded man's eyes, as he returned to his cot.

In any case, it was rather obvious from what the Grey Cat said and did, that he didn't really care for the Templar and his machinations. Which was more than sufficient to frustrate Melior Twohammer immensely. Which was probably why he didn't remain, to bandy words with Gaebril, the moment that he had laid out what he wanted the trio to do.

And why he had stomped off so angrily.

Edmon, however, was still a little perturbed, at having to do his bidding. And said so, as soon as Gaebril had seated himself down, and was inspecting his weapons once again:

"We are just going to do what he said? Just like that?"

Gaebril smiled as he looked up at him, and shrugged deliberately. "I don't see us having much of a choice in the matter. Besides, we still have to clear these trials for the Arena, for the Hundred. Who knows? We might end up dying first."

Gareth snorted then, which was enough to tell Edmon that he was still awake, and had not fallen unconscious like the latter had thought he did. "I doubt we will face too many problems, if Melior Twohammer wants us to do something for him. He won't try to fix our fights, but he wouldn't bother to throw powerful opponents at us. So we have more than a fair chance of making it to the Hundred."

Edmon scowled as soon as he heard that. It seemed to match with his observations. But he was soon distracted by a groan that was emanating from Gareth's lips. It appeared that his speaking up had pulled something in his side. So he left his own cot, and started for the mercenary's. Perhaps another bit of Healing was in order? Or should he wait til later, when he was asleep? It would be less likely to be detected then.

But Gaebril cut in, even as he started to reach for his new long sword, and a whetstone.

"Now, I'm here because I'm the Grey Cat. And Gareth's stuck because he offended the Templars. But what about you, Edmon? We still haven't heard your story yet," Gaebril said, as he looked up from his inspection of his weapons, "I can only guess that it's a good one, since you didn't seem to like our jailer one bit."

Edmon sighed. And put aside the blade and the whetstone when he saw the look of interest on Gareth's face as well. "I was part of the Ashen Tower. You should have heard of that. I was accompanying one of the itinerant priests of the Lord of Light. The Highest, as some call him. Well, he decided that he should pay a visit to Yraengard, and spread our faith here. Unfortunately, we chose a bad time to visit, and the Red Priests slaughtered all of the faithful," he explained.

"But you survived," Gareth pointed out.

"Luck, I suppose. I was ... practicing my sword technique with the Tower Guards when the attack came. All of us were overcome before we could even mount a proper defense. Melior Twohammer was one of those who led the attackers in. And he had laughed when he watched the Tower burn. With all of the priests inside it."

The man's face was twisted with rage and pain, and Gaebril wondered if he had pushed a little too hard. But Edmon recovered bare moments later, shaking his head, as if to rid himself of the tears that had appeared in his eyes.

"They checked the records then, but couldn't find an Edmon among the listed guards. The captain told them that I was one of those who had applied for a place, and was being tested before they decided whether to accept me or not. The Red Guards merely laughed and tossed me in here. Grateful, no doubt, for the chance to gain a handful of silver, instead of sending another one of us to the mines."

"That's where they sent the others then? The sulfur mines?" Gaebril whistled, "That's a harsh place. Most do not survive for long. Three moons, or a season, seems to be the record."

"That was what I heard too."

Edmon nodded in agreement, although his face looked bleak as he did so. "Well, I am hoping for a chance to get free of the Arena, and see if I can break them free. That is, if any of them are still alive by then. It has already been two moons since that night," he sighed at last.

Gaebril merely nodded in return, although he seemed to scoffed at Edmon's optimism. How long had it been since they were sent there? There were merely a handful that would survive, every time that new prisoners were sent to the sulfur mines. And he doubted that those guards of the other Holy Orders would be treated with any kindness once they arrived there.

If anything, the Red Priests would have already taken steps. After all, it would be to their disadvantage, if any of those sworn to the other Powers survived!

Regardless of what it was that Melior Twohammer intended on having the three of them do!

*

But things seemed to take a different turn, when the trio arrived at the Arena in the following day:

Apparently, there were more teams, and more gladiators, trying out for the Hundred. And so the Grey Ghosts were not called to the Arena until well past midday. In fact, the sun was already beginning to descend when they finally arrived there. Something that annoyed Gareth somewhat.

He didn't like fighting amidst all that glare. His eyes had always been sensitive to bright light, and there was always a chance that there were some bastards who would try to use their shield-bosses and their blades to reflect the sun's light into his eyes. He was sensitive about that, and would avoid that if he could.

But it seemed he wasn't going to be given that chance that afternoon.

It was clear from the corpses that littered the Arena that the fighting there had been bitter during the day. And there were at least two bands on the sand that had been badly mauled before the Grey Ghosts were summoned. One of them was just a short distance away from their Gate as well. Something that they could not miss, when they finally stepped onto the blistering hot sand.

"Elves!"

Gaebril was the one who blurted out the obvious, the moment that they saw the band in front of them. There was no way that they could miss the fact that they had hair that shone like bright gold and platinum in the late afternoon sun. Or eyes that seemed a bright green, like new leaves. The fact that their ears were pointed at their tips, however, took a little more scrutiny.

Gareth felt though there was a fist wrapped about his heart as soon as he saw them. But even before he could say a word, to tell his companions that he was unable to lift his hand against them, Edmon had already started to speak:

"They are injured, and there are womenfolk among them. I cannot lift my hand against them. Not like this."

Gareth was quick to agree with him, and proposed speech, instead of attacking them straightaway. "Let me try to talk to them first. Perhaps we can form ... an alliance of sorts. There is time, while the announcer begins his spiel."

"Do what you want. But don't get your expectations up. They may not agree, and we'll still need to deal with how we are going to deal with the guards, if they refuse to let us get away with this," Gaebril growled, as he stood forward, to listen to what the ones in charge of the Arena had to say.

Something for which Gareth was grateful. He had not expected that both his companions would be so disinclined to fight the Elidar. Especially Edmon. But he was more than pleased to take advantage of it, if he could.

The elves were clearly not in any condition to continue fighting. There were two nelluani, one with pale silver-blond hair and the other who had long blackish brown tresses that seemed to burn with reddish highlights. Both were lightly armored, but it was the difference in their weapons that drew the eye. The former wielded a long thin sword and an evil-looking dagger which seemed to be made up of curved shards, while the latter had naught but a crude club of wood. Both of them seemed to be standing guard over the other pair who were still alive, two eresana, who had platinum locks like the first.

And one of them looked as if he was in a particularly bad way.

There were also two other bodies, both male, that were lying a short distance away from the group. But laid out with their arms crossed over their chests and their legs straight. They were still bearing their arms and armor, although the larger pieces seemed to have been taken up by the surviving members of their band. Who were now more concerned about the most badly injured eresan.

Edmon, on seeing the way the last lolled on the sand, stepped towards him at once. But the two nelluani slid into his path at once, and the way that they held themselves warned that they were more than likely to cut him down if he approached. The Healer looked startled at that, and Gareth took advantage of his hesitation to move between him and the pair, and try what Elvish he could remember.

"Peace! Peace. My companion is sworn to the Highest, and seeks only to offer Healing. He means you no harm," he blurted the words quickly, hoping that they were enough to make the pair reconsider, before they attacked.

But it was the other pale eresan, who was bent over his fallen companion who replied, much to the mercenary's surprise.

"Sworn to the All Father, is he? And here in this place? That is a curiosity indeed," the elf said with a curious curl of his lips. Gareth could not be certain if he was mocking the men.

"If that is indeed so, he should have no difficulty setting aside his weapons, before he approaches my lord. Is that not so?"

Edmon turned to him at that, and the blank look on his face told Gareth that he had not understood what had just been said by the elf. Which made him realize that the pale one had spoken in his native tongue. So the latter interpreted, and explained the condition that the elf had just made.

Gaebril, who was apparently paying attention to their exchange, snorted when he heard it. "Not a good idea. We are not the only ones sent in here, as you can see. And I have a feeling that we are supposed to finish them, not help them. And you want to disarm before you close with them? Not a good idea at all!"

Then the rogue turned back to point his blade at the other clashes on the field. The elves were apparently only one of the remaining teams. And there were four more out there, on the sands. "And I do not think that we are going to have the leisure either. The fat man should be done talking soon, and the fighting is going to start. And they did tell us that only one team will be allowed to leave the Pit. Best we come up with a plan to deal with that, before we start healing them."

But Edmon seemed to ignore him, handing his sword over to Gareth as he stepped closer to the supine elf. The eresan who had spoken tendered him a deep bow, as he whispered some words to the others, that Gareth could not hear. But they moved aside as well, to let the man through. Edmon did not bother to thank them, and went to work at once, picking up the strips of cloth that had been prepared, and chanting lowly as he bound them around the wound on the injured one's chest.

One of the nelluani hissed something at the other, and the latter went off to check on the other bodies of their original team, while the first remained to watch Edmon work. Gareth was quite certain that the other pair of eresana were dead, so he did not see the point at first. Then he saw how the nelluan was carefully removing bits and pieces of their gear. So, this was a salvage operation, rather than one providing aid.

And judging from the way that the elidar behaved, it appeared that they had somehow made allies out of these people, rather than enemies. And how that was going to turn out, when the melee erupted moments later, Gareth could not begin to imagine.

Then a thought struck him, and he turned to share it with the rest of his team.

*

The decision to speak to these elves had saved them from a hard fight, Gaebril realized as he watched the two women pick their way through their own dead. And studied the corpses close by. They were harder than most that he had seen. And the six of them had slaughtered close to twenty others, losing only two to the mess. And looking at the way that the dead men's limbs were scattered over their section of the Pit, it looked like it had been a rather hard fight.

But what were Edmon and Gareth trying to do? Helping these elves wasn't going to make things any easier for them. And judging from the way that the Red Priests have been throwing gladiators at them, it was likely to be dangerous too!

Yet, he had to agree that Edmon had found a way to avoid clashing with them. These elves were not the sort to let go of a grudge, if he read them right. Not that they were likely to repay the favour. Not while both teams were still in the Pit.

"Wait. We are clearly short of people. The largest team that we have seen so far had ten men. Why not recruit these into our band instead?"

Gaebril turned to stare at Gareth. That was something that had not occurred to him. None of the elves seemed to be wearing any colors at all. That meant that they were not even being considered for the Devotion. That was only to be expected, considering the animosity that they had for the Red Priests, and vice versa. Clearly, the Cardinals were not too bothered about how these people died. Absorbing them into the band brought a great deal of risk.

But Edmon had already begun to move. His pulled off the ragged sash of cloth that he had tied around his arm and tore into two, and quickly tied one of them around the arm of the injured elf. Then he tore the remainder again, and offered it to the priest beside him.

Who looked at it quizzically, as Gareth rushed back and explained. The elf said something to his injured companion then, before he called out to the other pair. Only then did he smile, and replied to Gareth's suggestion with a terse affirmation.

Who turned back to tell the rest of the Ghosts. "They agree. That makes us a band of seven then," he added then, as he started to tear up his own scrap of grey sash, for the pair of women who had been collecting the gear of their dead comrades. And were just rejoining them.

The highwayman laughed. This was something that he had not expected. The Grey Ghosts had just grown larger! Melior Twohammer would have a fit over this, he was sure. And that pleased the Grey Cat more than he could say.

"Well then, why don't we let Edmon take care of our new teammates while you and I go take a look at what's happening at the other side, eh?" he said to Gareth then, as he turned to check on the fighting on the far side of the Pit, "They look like they are about done. We do want to be the last team standing, don't we?"

* * *