5 - Captives #3
“You’re not,” Cassian said coldly. “You know nothing of the outside world. You’ve never crossed paths with a predator of this magnitude, and you’re gravely mistaken about the difficulty of your quest. You’re venturing into enemy territory; I’ll be neither the first nor the last to want your head.
The South has no regard for your kind, and the Malveth will show you no respect. ”
Tariel pressed his lips together, but the mercenary wasn’t done.
“Do you honestly believe the people of Drakensyl will support you when you’ve come to destroy their only glimmer of hope?
As for crossing the seas… do you know a single Veylaris who owns a ship and would accept an elf on board?
I’m not saying this to belittle you, Tariel, but you’re heading straight for your doom. ”
Tariel knew he was nothing without his magic. He was a man of refined conversation, well-read on many subjects, but that didn’t stop him from being powerless when left to his own devices, limited by his physical form.
So he kept quiet, unwilling to prove the brute right or dwell on the subject.
Something was gnawing at him nonetheless, and it had everything to do with his stories of dangerous quests and mysterious crystals…
His cellmate’s erudition did not escape him, which was beginning to set off some alarm bells in his mind.
“You know a lot for a mere mercenary.”
The elf doubted that his mysterious companion would try to defend himself or justify his actions to him, since Cassian seemed confident…
and sometimes a little too sure of himself.
It was actually starting to get on his nerves: he always had an answer for everything, as if differing opinions didn’t exist.
To his great surprise, though, the mercenary replied, “I know of dragons; my family served them back when the Great War was a fire devouring all life in Ennevia. The Drakensyls may be monsters in everyone’s eyes, but taking a step back, I wonder who the real villain of this story is.
After all, appearances can be deceiving, hmm, Tariel?
” He flashed a smile and glanced in his direction, before returning with a piece of bread that was a little too dry in his hands.
Cassian was right about one thing: appearances were indeed deceiving. However…
“I don’t know enough about history to hold a meaningful conversation on the subject. Still… You’ve seen the state of the land, just as I have. Does nature deserve the punishment that has been inflicted upon it because of the conflicts between the beings who live there?”
While he couldn’t care less about the fate of others, the same could not be said for nature: he loved it as he loved the stars. Its strength, its comfort… Without nature, there would be no food, not even magic… Except for necromancers and alchemists, the two fields the elf refused to engage in.
“Light cannot exist without darkness. You speak of betrayal because that is all you have ever known; if you have never encountered trust, then that only proves my point.
Elves have never known the value of an oath.
History speaks for itself: the kingdom of Drakensyl and its royal family were cowardly wiped out during what your textbooks euphemistically call ‘The Downfall,’ when in reality, it was nothing but a Blood Banquet.
The Veylaris served as a source of resources for Caelendor for millennia, and when their kingdom was attacked by dragons, the elves refused to send even the slightest provision to the people of the seas.
Look around you. Even today, Morgraves survives only on the ashes of that massacre, bearing the scars of a war that your ancestors unleashed out of sheer greed for your precious crystals.
We beg you to send reinforcements to face the beast that lurks, and even that, your Council refuses.
You have seen, as I have, the desolation of these lands.
The elves think themselves untouchable in their selfishness, but that is precisely what will be their downfall. ”
As the words left his lips, Cassian’s face seemed to contort with a pain that Tariel did not understand.
Was it compassion? Was a mercenary even capable of such a thing?
His hatred for Tariel’s kind, on the other hand, was almost palpable, whether through his current words or those spoken days before at the inn. However, something was nagging him.
“If your family once served the dragons, you remain strangely loyal to them, judging by your alarmingly biased remarks. Although the history of our world eludes me in many respects, I would like to point out that it takes at least two to make a war. I have no interest whatsoever in the politics of my lands’ council or monarchy, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that nothing is entirely black or white.
You like to put words in my mouth and claim that I—or the elves—seek glory, that this is a tale of monsters and heroes…
You say the dragon has his reasons, but I tell you that everyone does.
What is valid for one may not be valid for another.
Spit on my people, spit on the ground I walk upon, but keep in mind that we never know the whole story.
I hear your tale, but I wasn’t there, and I refuse to take sides—just as I refuse to listen to you insult me, whether out of kindness or hatred for who I am. ”
If there was one thing Tariel hadn’t lost, it was his pride. He was proud and refused to let himself be insulted like that… But he wasn’t hurt or angry. Just… irritated. Tired. After pausing for a moment, he continued with an almost surprising calm:
“Maybe I’m not capable of it, Cassian. Perhaps you don’t know anything about what I’m capable of either.
You’re too sure of yourself and rely on your knowledge as if it were absolute, but I don’t think it is.
The world is never just what we perceive it to be; in my view, it’s different for every individual who walks upon it.
You cannot reasonably judge the abilities of a man whom you have relentlessly mistreated, especially when he is weary and inexperienced in a world to which you are clearly accustomed.
So set foot on Elven soil and face our golems. Prepare our dishes, understand our culture…
You’ll be just as lost as I am. You, who seem strangely cultured, mercenary: if you judge the one who faces the unknown, it may be because the unknown has become foreign to you. ”
Finally, the elf fell silent. While he might seem immature when alone with his familiars, he was nonetheless articulate.
Tariel had shaped himself and taught himself, reading works that were sometimes purely academic, learning about potions and spells, as well as philosophical and historical texts… He wasn’t as uneducated as he sometimes let on, and his pride stemmed solely from his elven heritage.
He grumbled, sure.
He was resentful and sometimes clumsy. He was ignorant of the world around him… But he had things to say, that much was certain, and his lack of moral alignment sometimes worked to his particular advantage.
The elf was aware that he risked languishing in this cell, if he wasn’t executed instead. However, he refused to be at the mercy of the boor who had kidnapped him and mistreated him to the point of having him locked up in this cursed crypt.