Darkness

By Katarzyna Szewiola-Nagel

Leto is an elf and an experienced by hard life assassin. No wonder that when he goes to a small human village, he feels suspicious. However, he quickly realizes that the inhabitants are friendly and that there is no danger coming from them. He begins to make friends with the villagers and for the first time has the opportunity to experience a peaceful, simple life.

Idyll does not last long, however. Winter quickly approaches and the inhabitants are worried about their herds, more and more often being attacked by wolves. Leto, wanting to repay the hospitality, decides to help them. It quickly turns out that attacks on sheep are not accidental, and the elf involuntarily gets involved in the plot which will lead him to meet the wild mages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Royal Hawaiian Press
• Release date: Nov 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393371052

Book preview

Darkness

Book I

Katarzyna Szewioła-Nagel

DARKNESS

BY KATARZYNA SZEWIOLA-NAGEL

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All material contained herein is Copyright

Copyright © Katarzyna Szewioła-Nagel 2019

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Originally published in Polish by Gremlinz as Mroki in 2012?

Translated and published in English with permission.

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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-945544-20-0

ePub ISBN: 978-1-393371052

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Written by Katarzyna Szewioła-Nagel

Published by Royal Hawaiian Press

Cover art by Tyrone Roshantha

Translated by Bo Fisher

Publishing Assistance by Balasubramanian Nambi

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For more works by this author, please visit:

www.royalhawaiianpress.com

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of Author’s rights is appreciated.

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, or used in the form of parody.

Prologue

Yggdrasil

T

he king, exhausted after an entire day of visits from ministers, fell onto a chair in his bedchamber. His wife gave him a tender look.

It was that bad? she asked, leaning over the embroidery hoop.

She was sitting in the corner of the room, calmly sewing red roses onto a piece of blue, shiny material. Her light hair created contrast with her dark complexion. The maid, on this day, arranged her hair tightly at the top of her head, and the construction of the braids was held together with two decorative pins. The queen was fond of blue, so she often wore blue robes, ending with wide sleeves, at the ends of which was a delicate, gold ornament resembling the leaves of vines. Today purple was resting on her figure, tightly tied close to her neck. The dress, on a steel corset, tired her greatly. She could not wait for the service to finally free her from the uncomfortable clothing.

Rather monotonous, he sighed under his breath.

You should take a rest. You tire yourself too much. Take a day off, without any ministers, senators and all this confusion.

"Sure, dear Eleanor," he thought to himself, If only she knew what was really going on. He had no idea if he would be able to cope with all this. Every day more and more disturbing news came from the Free March. And after all, he was not getting younger. His hair was graying, his posture hunched and suddenly he no longer enjoyed climbing the stairs. And he was most irritated by those that led to his chambers – steep and winding. Who built them, he moaned under his breath when his calves trembled with effort and his back cracked under the weight of his own body. He would prefer to be carried up them but had enough dignity to not ask for such things. The old wounds began to all come back all at once, as if they organized a meeting. Ah, this old, wrinkled body...

His wife, Eleonor, never involved herself in politics. Instead, she loved lonely, evening strolls through the corridors of the castle and a good book. Her marriage was arranged. She didn’t blame anybody for this. It’s how it’s always been. She calmly accepted her fate, as she was not one of those women who would oppose anything and everything. The spouses were divided by a big difference in age, almost twenty years; although she didn’t consider that to be something to worry about. Aaron was a tender husband and a good ruler who loved his people. He always acted according to the rules and meticulously analyzed every decision he had to make – a genius strategist. She loved him in her own way. Not love full of fire and passion, but stable and mature, sometimes too mature for her age. They did not have children, which she deeply regretted. Many medics and healers were helpless at this state of affairs, but she did not blame anyone. She was silent, though her heart ached every time she saw one of the ladies-in-waiting strolling with her children through the courtyard of the palace. She often took care of children. It was her compensation for not being able to have her own; and although she had a gift and warmth in her heart, she never allowed manifestations of favoritism, much less spoiling the children.

There was a knock at the door. The king was just pulling off his shoes, muttering under his breath that his shoes were probably too tight, because his little toe was hurting from them.

Come in! He raised his eyes.

The messenger opened the door. Behind him, he saw a crown knight who, as was usually the case, watched everything carefully. The visitor's garment betrayed where he came from. He glanced casually at the door then at the ruler, then he grunted slightly and bowed low. Hmm, trouble again. Is this woman unable to deal with any self-created problems? Aaron thought, massaging his stiff bones.

What do we have here... a letter from the baroness Alvena, he said, assessing the youngster with a look from under his bushy eyebrows.

That’s right, Your Grace, the envoy said, still bent in half. He looked as if he was about to scratch the floor with his nose.

You’ve bowed enough, my good man, the king grunted. Straighten up already, or you’ll stay like that permanently.

Eleonor chuckled, "Oh, excuse me, my love. It always amused me how you treat the, you know... etiquette.

That’s quite all right, my dear. He returned her smile.

He stood up and walked barefoot to the messenger. Messages from the baroness have always been grim, factual and, in addition, unimaginably... boring. He wasn’t fond of them. She accused the mages of all the evil in the world. He created schools of magic, only because she pushed for it. However, he also had his own goals. He wanted to bring together people with abilities beyond the skills of ordinary mortals. He wanted to make contact with the mages simpler. The fate of the state depended on it. He allowed them for a lot, even to establish internal codes and laws. Although in the end he was rather glad about that. That’s one less thing to write. When they landed at his cathedral, he read and analyzed them carefully with his advisers. After which he signed them. For Alvena, it was constantly not enough. At the news of the king's alliance with the mages, she fell into an uncontrolled rage. Through the priests of the temple and the newly founded brotherhood – the Alchemists, she ordered the careful observation of everyone. In truth, no one could feel safe, since anyone could turn out to be a mage, and yet no one wanted it, she didn’t want it. Aaron had no influence on that. Thanks to the petitions of the intimidated gentry and nobility, not including the dwarven guilds, he was forced to agree to create this new fraction of the School of Mages.

Crazy woman, he sighed. He accepted the letter from the bishop and unhurriedly opened it.

Eleanor, curious, stretched her neck.

So, what did our favorite madwoman write? she laughed.

I suppose we’ll find out, maybe she found some conspiracy concerning the ‘fanatical mages’ again. He broke the seal.

Dear Aaron!

First of all, you have my kind regards, although what I am about to convey to you is not so kind. I dare assume that in the nearby fortress-town, an alliance between the army and the mages has been formed, which aims to overthrow the system of power that you have established. So far, my findings are incomplete, but I promise to report in the near future about the results of my investigations, which, of course, I have initiated in this matter.

Sincerely,

your cousin, Alvena

Well, same as always, I suppose, he stared at the flames fluttering in the fireplace.

So, it’s my guess that she’s once again detected an intrigue. Oh, honey, I don’t understand this woman at all.

It’s all right, my dear. We’ll sort everything out somehow.

The messenger was still stuck in a sort of half-bow, not knowing whether to use the word of the king literally and stand straight in the most normal way.

Here, boy. Aaron put a coin in his hand. Tell the kind lady that she will receive my reply to her letter soon.

Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. The young man walked out, carefully closing the door behind him. After a while, they heard the clatter of iron heels that led the unexpected visitor into the depths of the castle.

I'm tired. I will prepare and take a rest. I suggest you do the same, my love. You’ll go blind from all this night-time knitting.

Eleanor looked affectionately at her husband as he prepared for bed, pulling off his elegant robe, as he submerged his hands in a bowl full of cool water, rubbing the remains of the day from his face with a starched flaxen cloth. She knew that he hated whenever she’d try to help. If she tried, he sent her away with a nod of his hand, frowning. He liked to feel independent. He always displayed strength and steadfastness, although the years have marked their footsteps on him. She saw how fragile he was becoming. Not only in the physical sense. He was her husband, she loved him, but above all else, he was a king. She worried about the matters of the country and politics. For quite some time now, he wasn’t able to deal as well with the senate and the nobility. He gave into them more. The same was true for the mayors of defensive cities. She knew that soon she would have to take matters into her own hands. And the alliances with mages... eh... alliances. She wasn’t sure if in case of an attack they’d respond to their summons at all. After all, the Schools of Magic are just... magical places that she was not able to comprehend herself, even though the rights and privileges were in the royal libraries. She was afraid for that moment to come – she didn’t know whether she would manage – so she secretly studied books at night, training in war techniques, strategy and most importantly, in the art of diplomacy. She was unlikely to achieve anything with swords, not in a country where women with swords in their hands were not quite welcome. Apart from the city guard, of course. A woman at the head of the country? No. The people, set to patriarchy since the dawn of time, will not easily accept that. Although it will still take some time before her hand rests on the insignia of power, at least that’s what she hoped. Who knows, whether it’s Alvena who will come asking for what’s hers. Her position must be strengthened so that the people would stand behind her, not the Baroness. So, she remained suspended between her love for her husband, and ensuring the good of the country. She knew that conflicts with the mages would sooner or later start to fester like wounds to finally infect the entire country. They must find a compromise that will remedy the situation.

Chapter 1

Yggdrasil

"

Damn it all!" he swore under his breath and moved slowly around his own axis. I must have gotten lost, but how in the hell? he wondered. Involuntarily, he pulled back the hood and scratched his forehead. He knew these forests very well. This time something went wrong. As if this place attracted him towards itself in a magical, inexplicable way. He had been hunting game for several hours, and when the hunt was about to end, the animal disappeared from his sight. He was left alone, surrounded by tall and old trees. He didn’t like this place; however, he didn’t see any other option than to sleep here and endure this unbearable location. First, he must find a suitable place for the night. Some grass would be welcome as well. At the thought of eating, his bowels made a significant noise. Food. How much time has passed since he had an actual meal in his mouth...?

The night became impenetrable; so black that it seemed as if it neither had a beginning nor an end. Every now and then, the sounds of the nearby birds or the slight rustling of leaves in the air could be heard. Silence at this time of the year radiated with peace and melancholy. The world around him inevitably headed towards one direction; it was preparing for winter stagnation. Bears have long fallen asleep inside their caves. The deer, clustered in tight groups, paced sleepily along the forest thicket, vigilantly watching out for the dangers hidden in the shadows of the shaky foliage. From time to time, the howling of the wolves penetrated the air. It filled with fear not only the inhabitants of the forest, but also people living on the outskirts of it. Over the past few years, the forest hounds have increased in numbers. The locals therefore had a lot of legitimate fears related to the packs. Not only pigs were in danger, but also the people themselves. So, they decided to not leave their homes in the evenings, and the livestock was locked tightly in reinforced byres or pigsties. In addition, these creatures seemed larger, more virulent and disturbing than before; what’s worse, even active during the day, which after all, was unusual for wolves.

Superstitious inhabitants of these areas blindly believed in local deities. The households had symbols of the Redeemers and Mother of the Fertilized Earth above their doors. In every natural phenomenon, the hands of divine providence were seen. They thanked the Redeemers quite literally for everything – what the earth births, but also takes. Every year, in late autumn, farmers placed agricultural produce and livestock on small altars that were located near settlements or villages, thus thanking for the harvest. At the same time, they asked for grace during the coming winter.

Leto, breaking through the forest thicket, spotted a stone altar. He approached it, sneaking in the shadows of the bushes slightly swaying in the wind. He didn’t see anyone in the area. The stone altar turned out to be a sacrificial table on which farmers have recently placed gifts for Mother Earth. The village was a bit further away. He saw the lights looming in the dark, so it couldn’t be very late. The stone monument protected him perfectly. The food was tempting. His stomach demanded a meal, constantly giving reminders of its existence. The elf sat down next to the stone and reached for the first fruit he could reach at the edge. The lightly upholstered skin has already spoiled slightly. So, he took a small blade from his bosom and cut out the inedible part. He didn’t care about the Redeemers getting angry at him; he didn’t believe in such things. They were like mead – giving confusion and nothing else in return. The only certainty of consuming this beverage was the terrible headache and bitterness in the mouth, lasting a few days. The fruit tasted delicious. Sweetness spilled over his tongue and delightfully teased his taste buds. He had forgotten himself for a moment. He blinked slowly and reached for another treat. When he finished, he came to the conclusion that no one would venture into the area of the altar anyway, so he could simply fall asleep on the spot, sheltered from the wind in a quiet and peaceful grove. And tomorrow? Tomorrow he will try to find his way back to the road; currently, in complete darkness, it was pointless.

He laid down comfortably. For a few more moments he stared at the starry night sky. Fragrances associated typically with human settlements reached his nostrils – horse manure, plowed land, the rotting products of agriculture and the forest on the altar, and wet grass. The night breeze caressed his face. He took a deep breath, relaxed and adjusted his head, which he placed the back of it on his crossed arms. "Now, to fall asleep, at least for a little bit," he thought, and slowly lowered his eyelids. The sleep came almost immediately; strong, deep, and relaxing for the entire body and calming the nerves. He has not felt this good for a long time. Life in constant tension reflected his appearance and psyche. He was neither old nor young; he was a beautiful elf, as the trollops called him. They disgusted him. Every time he had to interact with them, he scrubbed himself clean afterwards, hoping that the water would wash away the filth of their bodies. However, he liked the suspicious places, full of anonymous drunks and seekers of dubious pleasures, and guests of unknown birth. He often sat at the counter of the suburban tavern and watched as its regulars’quarreled over a glass or mug of mead. Amongst them, there were also many tavern whores, giggling, and passing from hand to hand. They constantly followed him with drugged eyes, begging him to treat them with a at least a fraction of the glistening from emerald green irises. He, however, preferred to sip on liquors and ignore them and the rest of their drunken company. The suburbs also gave shelter and work. Once a year he would stop at Norion – commonly called the granite city – in the elven district; right under the Baroness’s nose. From time to time, he joined mercenary groups. After the job, he simply volatilized, hiding his payment deep in his coat. Only a few knew where to find him. With the help of the moneylenders and owners of brothels, he received orders written on scraps of fabrics and leathers. They concerned places that are worth ‘visiting’, or cells that need to be liquidated as quick as possible. All that for a fair price, of course. He did not ask questions. He tracked, followed, and penetrated the victim's environment; always discreetly, always arousing trust, always innocent, appearing out of nowhere, perfectly fitting into the surroundings. It was rare for anyone to even look at him. He behaved like a ghost. A sinister omen carrying only death. Illusively beautiful, silently, and effective. He was simply an assassin who first stabs the blade, then asks questions. For some time, he was not aware of his ‘fame’. The news of his deeds, whether colourful or not, passed from mouth to mouth. Ones such as, he was called the Shadows. He was well aware of the fact that, in this kingdom, there was another famous in the half-world shadow in the services of the Baroness – Seneh.

He was suddenly brought back from his dreams by a kick to the ribs. He jumped from his place as if burning. He looked around with his half-sleeping eyes. The image of the man standing in front of him immediately clarified what took place. The mist enveloping his sleepy irises disappeared in the blink of an eye.

What the hell?! the elf screamed and instinctively put his hand on his hip, where the hidden silver dagger was.

And who are you? growled the tall man wrapped in sheep's skin.

What’s it to you?! Leto snorted.

Saliva spurted from his lips, and in a fit of paroxysm the hood slipped from his head, revealing his face. The man raised an eyebrow, and his pupils were drawn to the stranger’s ears. The elf immediately shaded his face. If not for that, the peasant would likely see the ominous glow of his eyes.

An elf? What in the hell is an elf doing in these areas? he let out. Nobody has seen one here in ages. What are you doing here, sharp-ears? he growled at him, his voice was full of contempt and anger.

You'll touch me again and I’ll kill you. Do you understand? the newcomer hissed.

Ha! Give it a try! the man laughed.

Don’t provoke me, he put on the most dangerous facial expression he could manage.

Speak, why did you come here? And if you have nothing else to do, get out. We don’t want you here! With a sweeping movement of his hand, he pointed to the road leading to the other side of the settlement.

I'll do what I want! he replied and very slowly he slipped his hands into the pocket of his coat. He did not let the peasant out of his sight the entire time. In his head he was already arranging a scheme on how to deprive him of his poor life.

You know what, I like you, the man in the sheepskin grunted, leaning against his sides. In his head immediately popped up a plan which could work, with a bit of cunningness, of course. He needed just someone like that – fierce, unyielding, and above all, unknown in these areas.

Leto raised his right eyebrow first, then his left eyebrow. His face was petrified for a moment. He had no idea what was actually happening. He sensed trickery. He inspected the surroundings, suspecting that others were lurking behind the trees, probably armed with pitchforks or flails. However, no twig snapped, no blade of grass bent, and no leaf rustled in the thicket.

What? he let out surprised. First you scold me and kick me, and now you’re saying you like me?! Which is it then?! By the Gods, what are you even talking about?!

It’s nothing, he shrugged, but it’s rare for someone to talk with me like this. You know how it is. First a smack in the face, then some joyful babbling. Do you understand, elf? he laughed. Leto felt shivers. The man had an incredibly penetrating laugh.

"All right, I will not tell anyone that you ate half of the harvest from the altar, and you will not tell anyone that you got a kick in the ribs from me. How about that?

How do you know that I ate anything? he eyed him up.

The peasant pointed his finger, like a spear, at the bitten and cut into pieces of fruit sitting at the foot of the stone monument.

Nothing will escape your attention, eh? he grunted at him, digging his feet in the bedding.

What, you think I’m that dumb? What would you say to something nicer to eat? Like some porridge?

Leto shrugged his shoulders, though the sounds that made up the word ‘porridge’ made him think of honey and dried fruit. Although in general, every man was a fool to him; well, nearly every. Once again, he thought that the villager was dragging him into a nicely planned trap. However, he didn’t notice any disturbing manifestations of magic or assassination. It all felt so familiar and ordinary that it was nearly boring. Again, unhurriedly, and with some reluctance, he looked around. That one there is probably just an ordinary peasant. He stepped from foot to foot. Maybe it's stupid, and I’m probably getting involved with something troublesome, he thought but I would like to eat something warm. His stomach hissed again, and saliva appeared in his mouth, which he quickly swallowed. He hoped that the unbearable man did not notice. He felt as if he was revealing his worst weaknesses, amongst which was hunger.

All right, you fool, he said.

You don’t mince these words, eh? Come on, my wife probably made breakfast already, he pointed his hand at a house slightly on the outskirts of the village, surrounded by a crown of fruit trees, at this time almost completely stripped of leaves.

Now the valley was revealed to the elf in all its glory. Above it were steep mountain peaks, crowned with white slopes. Dense gray and green vegetation grew at its feet, which composed mainly of tall and mighty old trees. He felt as if he had reached the very edge of the world. The mist touched everything, hovering low above the plots. The elf thought deeply. He must have greatly strayed from the road on his journey. He asked himself again, "But how? Because of that he found himself in this place, almost cut off from the rest of the world. He was surprised by the silence, perhaps it was due to how early in the morning it was. Or maybe a completely different reason? Or perhaps, again, he’s seeing something in everything that is not actually there? His innate suspicion has exposed him to ridicule more than once; it also saved him. He didn’t want to think about that now. The charm of this valley began to take over him. Curiosity mixed with an immediate desire to be amongst the scattered homesteads. Something obviously tugged at the scraps of his soul. He didn’t know what this force was, but it meant something completely different. Something he has never experienced in his life. In the end, he spoke to the balding man, Do you always greet strangers that way? I mean... with a kick to the ribs?"

The man glanced at him from under the puffy eyelids. I probably wouldn’t have found you, he grunted, But I was checking the snares and stumbled upon some strange object under the altar. And since I am curious by nature, I decided to take a closer look. I kicked you to see if you’re alive.

Leto looked at him surprised, then rubbed his forehead with his hand. He still couldn’t understand how the inhabitants of villages and small towns scattered all over the kingdom could be so trusting. He had seen it many times. He didn’t want to dwell on it now. He wanted to as soon as possible find himself at the gate of the house of the person he just met. He tried to shake it all off, but he couldn’t. The spell of the valley was doing its job, settling on his shoulders, filling him up and baffling him. He collected his makeshift bed and he stuck everything in the bundle he had now slung over his shoulder.

I'm ready, he sighed.

Let's go, the peasant said, with satisfaction, rubbed his hands, slightly numb from the cold of the morning.

They didn’t speak. They both looked at each other surreptitiously, both thinking that the other is not doing it. The road leading to the valley was stony and muddy, cut by ruts through the middle. The roadside was covered with clumps of yellowed grass and withered late autumnal herbs. Here and there, white stones jutted out of the ground, covered with yellowing moss. Some plots were plowed, the others scared off strangers, with black birds feeding on the remains of the harvest left by the farmers. The closer they got to the buildings, the more fruit trees surrounded the farms, and by the fences crouched bushes of raspberries and vines, climbing the wooden walls of the cowsheds and penthouses. The village was surrounded by a short white wall. It seemed to have around fifteen households, maybe less. The elf tried to look at everything, discreetly and unobtrusively, just as he used to conduct a quick reconnaissance in the place where he was supposed to do the job. When the peasant looked away, he stretched his neck and mirrored his surroundings, piercing the landscape with green and glistening eyes, sucking in fresh air, tasting it, and analyzing it. He felt pleasant shivers on his skin that appeared and disappeared, as if to herald something exciting. He tried to control it, but his body did not harmonize with the mind. He didn’t ignore it, but instead decided to cooperate with it. Since it was reacting this way, he should trust it; it has never let him down.

From a distance, he could see a chapel located in the center of the area, but he did not see what deity it was dedicated to. Most likely the Redeemers, although he wasn’t certain. The cottages were made of various materials. The villagers have seemed to use literally every material that could be used for building. The low buildings covered the greening thatch. He could see white stone and wooden parts in the walls. The glass in windows, on the other hand, was most likely imported from the lowlands, and was quite often cracked. But they managed with this too. His eyes registered a resinous pomade stuck here and there. Each farm had a garden, used in various ways. In one of them he saw protruding stalks, which probably supported some vegetables, in others, stumps of sunflowers sadly looking down to the ground. In the air resounded the barking of local dogs and cackling chickens. Here and there he could see individual sheep walking on the gray meadows. Leto, however, wondered about one thing.

In the kingdom, the atmosphere resembles water which had begun to boil. The Baroness fighting with Aaron. Everywhere, discord and anxiety fueled by her obsession concerning the mages. And here? It was quiet and peaceful, as if it didn’t concern these people; as if they were separate from it all – calm, absorbed in fraternizing with nature, and the simple life. Time stood still here. There was probably not even an inn here, and men to break away from the daily stagnation, flee to the forest, pretending to hunt while supplying themselves with barrels of mead. He discreetly smiled to himself. No, he cannot think that way. He shook himself. After all, they weren’t the goddamn dwarves, who only think of liquor and girls, not to mention the fighting.

From admiring the views, the elf was distracted by one other thing. The man he was walking with didn’t even ask about his name. Could that not have any meaning? In truth, it is one of the most basic things. Or maybe he’s just imagining things? Perhaps it was a great opportunity to become somebody else? Here and now, at the need of today? In general, he wasn’t any better. He didn’t ask for the man’s name either. I guess we’re even... I guess, he thought.

They reached the cottage. The elf didn’t know what to call it. Maybe a rather small cottage, slightly different from the others in the village. Hmm, isn’t that a little strange? And the fact that it stood a little to the side, as if removed from the rest. It gave a feeling of a counterweight to what was built nearby. Nevertheless, with a cursory reconnaissance he concluded that it was the most ordinary house in the world with walls of white stone. With a sloping thatched roof on one side, and an uneven fence. Could it be the home of some village mage? No. Impossible.

The tall peasant opened the gate and with a sweeping, inviting movement, pointed to the front yard.

Come on in. Don’t be shy. Just watch out for the dog; he’s rather moody. I’m not even sure if he hasn’t gone mad. Sometimes disappears for whole weeks. Well, come in.

Leto looked around intently. A mutt to all this, lying somewhere nearby, waiting to take advantage of the moment of inattention and furiously bite his pants. Although, what was amusing, he didn’t smell any wet fur, the typical odor of a dog. Apparently, the careless mutt had ‘gone mad’ quite some time ago. He finally stopped in half-step, then turned around towards the owner of the land with a rather dark tone. In an instant, he felt angry. The man still didn’t say who he was.

You’re this trusting? You won’t even ask who I am, won’t introduce yourself?

The man turned unhurriedly, looking into his eyes.

Does it matter? Could anything worse than both of us killing each other happen?

At that moment, a woman stood in the door, tightly wrapped in a woolen blanket, and with a slightly unconscious gazed look towards her husband. She paused at him, then looked up and drove her eyes to the newcomer. Her hand tightened on the woolen material. The elf didn’t know whether it was out of fear or because of the cold wind, but she was shivering. She blinked a few times, then looked again at her loved one. He yawned and began to struggle with the henhouse door.

Noticing the dismay of his wife, he straightened up and started speaking calmly, Honey, this is...

Leto. My name is Leto. The elf bowed politely.

The woman’s eyes widened, as if someone had thrown a heavy anvil over her foot. Through the open door, the chicken began to walk out one by one. The man pushed back the wooden wing and smiled from ear to ear, peering into the interior of the henhouse.

Oh, such nice manners, she chuckled. I have not seen anyone who would greet me in such a way in years. That’s nice of you.

The pleasure is mine, the elf replied, looking closer at the woman.

She was rather middle-aged. Her head was covered with light, slightly wavy hair. He saw from a distance that they were beginning to turn slightly gray at the temples. Her face emanated with a sort of motherly kindness. She also had big, blue eyes, as if something was perpetually surprising her. He couldn’t see her figure through the thick blanket wrapped around her. He suspected that she was most likely slim, or just right, as men tend to say when it’s hard to determine whether they’re fat or skinny.

Come in, Leto. It’s warmer inside. You must be hungry, correct? We have porridge. I think there’s enough for us all.

Didn’t I say that my wife would cook up some porridge? the man laughed again.

You sure did, the elf whispered.

They went inside. The interior was half-dark. His nose immediately reached a sharp, herbal smell, saturated with the earth and the stuffiness of this place. A hard and tiring mixture. From the cluttered vestibule, they entered a large-sized kitchen room half-partitioned with a richly embroidered curtain. He ducked slightly to peer into the corner. He didn’t see anything special – several agricultural tools, baskets, and milk cans. Small windows, equipped with shutters, were half covered with brown, linen curtains. The stuffiness of the air must have been caused by not opening the windows. He quickly came to the conclusion that the lack of light clearly didn’t disturb the house-owners. At one of the walls was a large-sized hearth on which the cooking utensils were piled up. Above the stove hung various objects; seeming quite bizarre to his eye. The whole was complemented by a thick arm of herbs, bound in bundles and hanging all over the place. There was a table in the middle; it had traces of many years of usage and was probably made of oak; same with the stools and most of the small equipment. In the depths, he could see the door leading to the next room. Probably the bedroom of these two. He didn’t see any beds, so it must have been.

Sit down, the woman pointed to a stool.

A disturbing thought appeared in his mind. He didn’t see any children. Not a single one. In almost every peasant home, the brats almost get tangled under the feet like puppies from a large litter. Here, he didn’t hear the sounds of small footsteps and the cheerful giggles. He also didn’t see rag toys scattered all over the house. A sad silence filled the place, and the only sound that came to him now was the crackle of logs burned by the fire. He began to feel sorry for being childlessness could be painful, especially for women. He raised his eyes and looked at the hostess. She still stood smiling slightly at him and pointing to the free seat at the table. He sat down carefully and put his hands on the table. The warm wood structure gently warmed up his fingertips. He felt strange; strange because he felt like at home. No matter how it looked, or the smell was.

Please, she set a large wooden bowl in front of him with a gently steaming meal, then handed the spoon over, Enjoy your meal.

She made the same gesture towards her husband. She poured herself at the end and settled in between them, once glancing at her husband and the second time at the guest. The elf nodded and dipped his spoon in the porridge. He was not, however, able to swallow the food before the woman continued the conversation.

I assume, she began, that my husband didn’t leave the best impression on you. It's always like that. I keep telling him to not kick people.

Leto shuddered. He swallowed loudly what he had in his mouth and stared at her surprised pupils.

I see that you know your partner better than anyone may think.

Oh, yes she smiled. My name is Meran, and my husband is Ulfric. He didn’t tell you that either, did he?

He did not. He didn’t introduce himself to me, or should I say, he introduced himself in a rather specific way.

Yes, said Ulfric. I introduced him to my shoe.

The woman shook her head.

Just as I thought.

Yep, the balding man said, and continued eating.

After that they ate in silence, as if celebrating the moment. However, this brief exchange of sentences made Leto feel extremely comfortable. He didn’t know these people, he didn’t know who they were, but he knew that he would not be hurt under this roof. Maybe that was stupid, nearly naive, but everything around him whispered that he could be calm. The slightly sweet porridge had a honeydew smell. That’s fantastic, he thought. This woman knows how to make porridge. That must be how she seduced Ulfric. He liked the fact that they didn’t ask him unnecessary questions, and at the same time they gave off the impression that they don’t want to be questioned either.

After entering the hut, he didn’t take off his mantle, so he did it now. The meal warmed him up enough to start sweating. He also forgot that the hood perfectly masked his look, and people at best make their guess to who he was. Hardly anyone liked elves. He knew about that.

You are an elf! Meran jumped up from her chair, as if a bee had stung her. Her husband, however, as if nothing had happened, kept slurping the porridge. He didn’t deny.

I am. Since birth. I think. He scratched his forehead, slightly worried.

Oh, forgive my nervousness. I have a sad memory related to elves, or rather, elven mages. Her face was reddened.

I assure you that I am not a mage, although I have some knowledge of poisons.

This time she went pale.

But also, I can assure you that I have no intention of murdering the entire village. He remembered a few hamlets, which he nearly completely slaughtered, but she didn’t need to know about that. He turned his emerald eyes towards her.

So, you are... Ulfric said from over the empty bowl of porridge, wiping his mouth with the end of his sleeve.

...a sort of cleaner.

That’s good. He clapped his hands, then rubbed them hard. Because you could help us with wolf packs, if that’s fine with you. Killing is killing, and these damn things won’t leave us alone since spring. My wife tried with poisons and curses, but unfortunately it didn’t help. They’re some tough bitches. Damn it!

This time Leto was slightly shaken off from the mood. The sense of security which he had, began to escape like water from a leather sack – slowly, but gradually. His hatred for mages screamed in his veins. He sprung up from the chair, reaching for his jade blade. A mage, magister, charmer, poisoner? Who was she? She became more mysterious to him than he could have expected. And what in the hell is a mage doing in this remote area? After all, most, if not all, are closed up in mage homes or mage schools – he could never remember the names of these things. Furthermore, he didn’t feel any specific thrills, the throbs of magic, for which he was so sensitive, and this seemed to be unheard of.

Schools of Magic – strange institutions which have been decorating the kingdom for maybe thirty years. They drilled themselves into the landscape of every major city, becoming its integral parts. Baroness, probably pushed by some inexplicable phobia, forced on her cousin Aaron to issue a decree that supposedly protected the population from those incompetent with their magic gifts.

Leto had run into the adepts of these schools in the past. He didn’t remember his encounters. With a tear in the eye, he remembered that he was only left with scars and hatred. What’s worse, he was still unable to recognize one of them. Only in the cities did he see hooded figures in heavy robes, with staves in hands, traversing the streets like ghosts. Their robes also bear the marks of various factions. The same was with the color or its intensity. Likely depending on the magical training or skills, because it’s been known for a while that a single mage can have only a single trained talent, the rest of his abilities were hidden. Only a few could both be healers and engage in offensive magic. Apparently, this had to do with their mental strength. He didn’t have much knowledge of that. He knew, however, that mages are damn dangerous and that it’s better, for your own