Prologue

About the maddening of an elf after reading some scribe in the Forgotten Tomb. This small incident transpired before the Ember War, around 300 years before the book.

 

Arvid doesn’t like the damp nor the cold, but if he doesn’t stand watch, the king would have his head.

“The dead can’t move for much. What would the king want us to stand watch for?” He always complain to Rorik.

“Shut your hole and do your things, and there will be no trouble!” Rorik would always whisper back angrily.

The tomb is not only ancient, it is forgotten. Some dumb farmer stumbled upon a secret catacomb within Hollow Pass Burrow, and thought the king would reward him gold for the news. The king did reward, for his family, his head. And soon Arvid found himself complaining about the damp and the cold of an ancient and forgotten tomb.

Arvid truly did not mind about anything he complains, but rather the elves. The scribes somehow figured only elves can read the strange runes carved on the stones, the wall, and scribbled in the many scrolls scatter within the tomb, so the elves were summoned. These are not the kind that live in the infamous Murkwood, home to the elven kingdom, but rather the outcast. They make Arvid nervous, with their strange tongue that sounds too close to a chanting by witches whenever they read the scroll or the carving on the stones. Worse yet, Lord Villard said it is forbidden to break a fight with these pointy ears, as well as talking behind their back.

So, what a soldier to do but to complain about weather?

The upper floor elves are one thing, the lower ones are a different story. Arvid heard they have become somewhat violent over the span of two days since they get here. He even heard whispers of some soldier being murdered. But they are only whispers, and Lord Villard would never allow his troops being murdered like that.

The most annoying thing is that, when the elves moved down to lower levels, Arvid kind of misses them. The eerie chanting is quite preferable now that Arvid experience the silence of the tomb. The whispers of wind through some hidden air hole within the tomb sound almost like the murmur of the dead… the thought of it alone is enough to raise goosebumps.

And if not the goosebumps, then the boredom will eat at him. It leaves a tickling urge of wanting to do something. The same routine everyday doesn’t help either, nor the same food and the same guard post. Arvid would give everything for something to do right now.

As if the god heard his prayer, there was an accident two levels down. The talk was, there were some elves missing and some soldiers turned up dead. By the look of the corpses and their expressions, it must be painful. Arvid knows he should feel terrified, or at least not feel grateful for it, but he does.

Rorik and he are guarded near where the corpses turned up, which was on the entrance of a small room. There are countless of those kind of room in the catacomb, and every one of them full of scribble and drawings of something awful. Luckily they only have to face the hallway to watch for the killer, or killers, as the talks suggest. Some say the missing elves did it, for sport, or for scorn, some even say those that were killed found treasures and was killed for it. Whatever the reason, Arvid feels it has something to do with the scribbles on the wall in the room.

The room is not different from the others, but the inscription here is not. Arvid doesn’t know how to read, but he knows something strange about the way those carvings was made. It feels almost like hate.

“What do you think happened to them?” Arvid whispers to Rorik, as soon as the captain is out of earshot.

“Don’t know, but suppose it has something to do with the missing elves.” Rorik is not always the most enthusiastic brother to talk to.

“Do you think they kill them?” Arvid doesn’t need to specify who “they” are.

“Don’t know, but suppose they did, what you gonna do about it?”

Arvid is going to say more, but Rorik shushes him up.

“What?”

“I heard something!” Rorik makes a fist, and holds out his spear. His serious face makes Arvid nervous. He tries to listen, but finds only silence. He sweeps his stare over any rocks and boulders on the far end of the hall. Only the flicker of fire and the cackling sound of amber remains. Things look quiet.

A thundering sound of steel against steel cracks through the silence, and from the chest plate of Rorik grows a glowing dark spear. The eyes behind him are not human, but something else entirely, red and evil. And it glows.

Goosebumps creeps up his neck, and the elf knows. His lips curl up into a sinister smile. While he does, the mouth parts open, reveals a bloody hole. He cackles, and each laugh he breathes in heavier, till he almost chocks on his laughter.

Now that Arvid can let out a faint sound of alarms. But as he does, warm wraps from behind around his neck. The fingers lock tight and chock the life out of him. He tries to break free, but these hands were made of steel, and he chocks. He tries to shout but only spit, and gag. Tears fill his eyes. The flicker of lights blossom into fading flowers, then, there is nothing but darkness.