Elf and Mage - Pt. 3 (Epilogue - for now)

Part 3 - Epilogue

Tulin and Daim stood over the Priest’s still smoking corpse, his wolf-skull helm cracked in half.

Surveying the destruction strewn about the ruins, Tulin contemplated if the threat to Silverglade was over. His moody rumination was interrupted by rustling behind him.

He turned to see Daim straightening up, dusting his robes. Tulin caught his eye, but Daim quickly shifted his gaze, and cleared his throat.

“So, seems like all this is wrapped up. No casualties too!” he beamed.

Daim paused. “Well, apart from them,” he said, waving his arm at the handful of littered bodies.

He walked over and stood by Tulin.

“Nasty piece of work that,” he said, gesturing at the Priest.

With his mask off, Tulin could see how inhuman his features were: dark hairy skin, fangs protruding from his jaw, yellow baleful eyes now staring vacantly. He was not a full werewolf, but something in between.

Tulin shook his head. “What madness grips these fools to play with powers they cannot control,” he said darkly. “So much death, such loss, and for what?”

Daim laughed, and clapped Tulin’s shoulder, much to his chagrin.

“Power! When you aren’t born with it, you fight for every shred of it. Be it good or corrupt, it’s only power which separates the wolf from the sheep. It’s the only thing which can give us what we all crave so desperately.”

“And what is it that you crave?”

Daim smiled.

“Purpose, Elf. Meaning and purpose in this chaotic charade we call life.”

Tulin rolled his eyes. “Battle surely woke the philosopher in you.”

“Life threatening situations tend to give me perspective,” Daim laughed. “Come, let’s take our leave of this accursed place.”

Tulin clasped his arm.

“You were in chains for practicing death magic. What different are you from the Wolf-Priest? Maybe I should put you down too.”

Daim stared wide-eyed; Tulin’s stony face betrayed no thought.

With a snarl, Daim jerked his arm out of his grip. “Maybe because I saved your life, Elf. How about some gratitude instead?”

Tulin watched him carefully, his hand straying to the knife hilt on his belt. “Why did you help me?”

Daim sighed, exasperated. “Because you obviously couldn’t have done this on your own. And yes, I was curious. The werewolf that attacked us were different, imbued with necromancy. I wanted to see what had created them.”

He spread his arms. “But I’m not after power to wreak havoc like this madman. I believe necromancy, like any art, any tool, can be used for healing, for good. This was the work I researched at the College. The simpletons there, much like you, couldn’t see past their black and white idiocy and expelled me!”

Daim’s voice echoed around the cave. Tulin continued to check his every move.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Daim said in a low voice, shoulders sagging. “I consider you a friend and I won’t fight you. I was going to let you buy me a drink for saving your life in the next tavern over, and that offer still stands.”

He stared into Tulin’s steely gaze, the silence between them widening, until he turned and began to walk out of the cave.

“Your choice Elf,” Daim called out. “Shoot me in the back, or shoot down some ale.”

Tulin watched him leave, his thoughts abuzz.

As Daim’s figured receded into the shadows, Tulin exhaled deeply. There had been enough death for one day, he thought to himself.

He took one last look at the ruins and followed Daim.

Behind him, the Priest’s scorched remains lay splayed with limbs twisted and the soulstone distinctly missing from the thick gold chain around its shriveled neck.