Plague
neljä
Takari sat bound to a chair. Well, rather, one hand had been tied to the chair and the other had been tied to the table. It was uncomfortable to say the least, and she had been sitting like this for quite awhile.
She hadn't seen Elnaril since they were outside the gates of the castle. For all she knew, Elnaril could have been dead. She didn't know much – not even why she was here, and she was beginning to regret her decision to ever come here.
The only door to the room finally swung open and Takari looked up. An elf sat across from her at the table, a Tarevoon at that, and watched her for a few moments, practically prodding her on to talk first so she did. “I don't know what this is about–”
“This is about the shipment of grain you tried to deliver to the castle.”
“I gathered that,” Takari said.
“Where did you get it? Is it from Alda Harad?”
“No. The blacksmith sent us with it,” Takari explained, “Elnaril and I had just finished dropping off the bow shipment – we have the receipt to prove it, ask one of the guards – and he asked us to bring it to the castle with us.”
“The blacksmith? Durlan?”
“I think so–”
“Durlan Uladove died a week ago.”
Takari felt like a fish, the way her mouth bobbed open and bobbed shut repeatedly. The blacksmith hadn't died. Takari had seen him with her own eyes, and so had Elnaril. The chances of the both of them going crazy on the journey here was slim to none.
“Someone was there,” Takari said pathetically, “I… He…”
“I will need some information from you before I can release you.”
Takari glanced to the elf, wondering just for a moment if he was an Elder.
“What is your name?”
“Takari.”
“Your full name.”
“Takari Phelorna Anore.”
“How many years have you walked this earth?”
“Seventeen.”
The elf looked at Takari briefly before writing this down.
“From where do you hail?”
“Alda Harad.”
“Presumably, then, your breed is…”
Takari debated for a moment as to whether or not she should be honest with this elf before ultimately deciding that her mixed heritage didn't matter, and that there was no point in adding any confusion to the ordeal.
“I am of Soheren descent.”
She hadn't seen Elnaril since they were outside the gates of the castle. For all she knew, Elnaril could have been dead. She didn't know much – not even why she was here, and she was beginning to regret her decision to ever come here.
The only door to the room finally swung open and Takari looked up. An elf sat across from her at the table, a Tarevoon at that, and watched her for a few moments, practically prodding her on to talk first so she did. “I don't know what this is about–”
“This is about the shipment of grain you tried to deliver to the castle.”
“I gathered that,” Takari said.
“Where did you get it? Is it from Alda Harad?”
“No. The blacksmith sent us with it,” Takari explained, “Elnaril and I had just finished dropping off the bow shipment – we have the receipt to prove it, ask one of the guards – and he asked us to bring it to the castle with us.”
“The blacksmith? Durlan?”
“I think so–”
“Durlan Uladove died a week ago.”
Takari felt like a fish, the way her mouth bobbed open and bobbed shut repeatedly. The blacksmith hadn't died. Takari had seen him with her own eyes, and so had Elnaril. The chances of the both of them going crazy on the journey here was slim to none.
“Someone was there,” Takari said pathetically, “I… He…”
“I will need some information from you before I can release you.”
Takari glanced to the elf, wondering just for a moment if he was an Elder.
“What is your name?”
“Takari.”
“Your full name.”
“Takari Phelorna Anore.”
“How many years have you walked this earth?”
“Seventeen.”
The elf looked at Takari briefly before writing this down.
“From where do you hail?”
“Alda Harad.”
“Presumably, then, your breed is…”
Takari debated for a moment as to whether or not she should be honest with this elf before ultimately deciding that her mixed heritage didn't matter, and that there was no point in adding any confusion to the ordeal.
“I am of Soheren descent.”