Malcolm goes down

The entrance to the cave had been cleverly crafted, but Malcolm had seen at once that it could have been formed by no ordinary forces of earth or weather. Nor had the smooth walls of the long tunnel been carved by water, but neither were there any marks of chisels or other tools. He supposed it could only have been created by elves, or by some of the faerie-​folk that had inhabited these lands in ancient times, before they had been banished underground, and long before the arrival of men.

But as soon as he climbed down the ladder at the end of the tunnel, he saw that the most recent visitor to this chamber had not been long away, for there was a candle burning on a tiny shelf near the floor.

Malcolm’s heart began to pound with renewed hope. Anywhere Iylaine was, there would be fire. Could she have come here? Was she near even now?

The candle was not the only sign of life. There were animal skins all over the floor, and there were many pots and jars, baskets, piles of books, and other things he didn’t recognize. Someone spent a lot of time here. But the sight of books troubled him, for Iylaine could not read. If she was here, she was not alone.

Malcolm took his torch and went to kneel by the books. One was open atop the stack, very old and very fine, and it was written in Latin. However, he did not recognize the text, which appeared to be a poem.

He was also interested in a wheel of cheese that lay near the books. A slice was cut out of it, and his fingertip told him that the slice had very recently been cut, for it was not dry at all. Iylaine did like cheese, he reminded himself.

Any other young man would have been shouting her name by now, but Malcolm knew that there was much to be learned in a study of the chamber, and he did not intend to lose his chance by warning whomever had been reading these books.

What he did not know was that the faint shuffling of his boots on the floor had been enough to warn the sensitive ears of their owner.

“What are you doing?” a savage voice howled behind him.

Malcolm choked. He had heard no sound of feet. Before he could turn, he was blinded by a burst of blue light from what had seemed a simple ceramic pot before him.

When he did turn, there was another burst of red.

He scrambled to his feet and squinted his eyes against the unearthly light.

“What are you doing here?”

Malcolm never forgot a face, though this one had changed dramatically since he had last seen it. The green eyes were dark and sunken, and the irises were cobalt-​colored in the blue light. The hair was wild and uncombed, and the face had not been shaved in many days. Still, he knew it for the face of the only elf besides Iylaine he had ever met.

Malcolm had not trusted him even then, but now he looked nearly insane. Perhaps the handsome face and the proud bearing were all an act meant to deceive men.

“Are these your books?” Malcolm asked calmly. With his wits, he would have the advantage against a madman—provided he wasn’t simply attacked. Because of the climb he had not brought his sword.

“What are you doing?” the elf cried. “How did you get in here?”

“By the ladder. I am only looking for my cousin.”

“She is my cousin! Are you an elf?”

This was what Malcolm had long suspected, and so it did not trouble him to hear it now. “There are ties stronger than blood,” Malcolm said.

“There is nothing stronger than blood and breath of the body!”

It was an unusual response, and so Malcolm stored it away in his mind for future consideration.

“Have you seen her?” Malcolm asked.

The elf’s only reply was to punch him on the chin. Within seconds Malcolm could taste the blood from his cut lip, though his teeth seemed to be intact.

“How did you find this place?” the elf growled.

“I simply stumbled across it while I was out walk—”

The elf punched him in the stomach with such force that Malcolm fell to his hands and knees and retched.

The elf kneeled before him and said with quiet menace, “One cannot find this place unless one knows it is here.”

“She told me,” Malcolm admitted.

The elf let out a choking sob.

Malcolm supposed he was hurt to learn that Iylaine had betrayed him in this way, but he found no satisfaction in it. If Iylaine knew of this place, then she must have met this elf. She had betrayed Malcolm, too, and her father, and all of them.

“Where is she?” Malcolm asked softly.

“Where is she?” he howled. “Where is she? Do you think I know?”

“Her father’s heart is breaking for her.” Malcolm suddenly felt a little mad himself, or at least foolhardy. “And mine,” he added.

Snarling like an animal, the elf grabbed Malcolm by the hair and slammed Malcolm’s face against his knee.

The sudden pain was intense enough that Malcolm saw it as another flash of light. His first thought was that his nose had been broken, but he realized that it did not matter, because the elf then wrapped an arm around his neck and began to strangle him.

He struggled briefly, but he knew from wrestling with Iylaine that even lady elves were stronger than men. And so, granting himself four seconds for the initial struggle, Malcolm began to count in his head. He would see how long it took to die without air.

His counting slowed when he passed thirty. He could not understand why the numbers should get more difficult past thirty, but so it was. He also could not understand why he had begun to hear panicked voices behind the ringing in his ears that had briefly seemed to hush the rest of the world.

Suddenly his head was released, and as he sucked air into his lungs again he tried counting frantically backwards, as if that would bring him more surely back from the brink of unconsciousness. And now it mattered that his nose was broken, for it was also gushing blood.

“Avé Vash, dínrú aldashél aldalrín,” one of the voices said slowly.

“Avé dínrú aldashél,” the other said after a moment, seeming to coax.

Almost at once Malcolm’s nose stopped bleeding, and he tried to wipe it on his sleeve. This proved to be more painful than he had imagined. He had broken a few noses in his time, but his own nose had never been so used.

Malcolm slowly stood, though Ears did not. Two other elves stood behind him. The first was very tall even by elven standards, with pale skin and long, dark hair. The other had sandy hair and seemed young. Both were neatly dressed, calm, and held their heads high. Perhaps Ears was the only mad elf among them.

“We apologize for our friend,” the shorter elf said. “He is unwell.”

“I’m only looking for my cousin,” Malcolm said. His voice sounded strange due to the swelling of his nose.

“So are we all,” the dark-​haired elf said. “She is not here.”

“He could have simply told me so,” Malcolm muttered.

“Avé Vash, shémrú alím,” the young elf coaxed, and Ears finally stood, though he seemed dazed.

“You must go away now,” the dark-​haired one said slowly. His English was good, but his accent was heavy and almost soporific. “She is not here, and if she comes, we shall take her home. But you must not come here again.”

“Do you live here?” Malcolm asked. It would explain how the elves lived among men without having houses.

“You must go away.”

At the touch of a hand on his arm, a docile Ears followed the young elf out of the chamber and down another corridor into the dark. Malcolm tried to peer after them, but the tall elf came to stand in his way.

“You must go away. I follow you out. May I heal your nose?”

“What can you do for my nose?”

“Allow me to touch it.”

His voice was soothing and reassuring enough that Malcolm permitted the elf to touch his nose. Almost at once the pain subsided. The swelling remained, but Malcolm felt around his face—it did not seem broken now, if it ever had been.

“Is it supposed to look like this?” the elf asked with a frown of concern.

Malcolm laughed ruefully in spite of everything. “If it looks as if it’s still broken, then it’s the way it has always been.”