The Pride of Elves

The shadow elf Balhir rode hard for as long as the night time held. The spell he cast about himself froze the starlight to cover his passing but it would not withstand the hard sun. Thus he raced for the trees against the coming dawn.

His horse Felmir wearied but did not slow his pace as the elf leaned nearer his neck and whispered vexing enchantments that hurried his pace and kept them beyond the reach of their enemy’s sight.

The starlight shimmered across the grey skin of his hands and the glassy fabric of his cloak so that anyone who might look would only see a momentary shimmer as he passed along the horizon. They reached a line of trees and Felmir slowed. Balhir had defied the Elder Council and antagonized the Magrev Horde. When the sun came up and birds sang his deeds would be known and there would be no turning back for anyone.

He drew the torque from his cloak. The black armband was laced throughout with intricate silver knot work and studded with three glowing green jewels that held his gaze. He knew the legends, that it chose who should wear it, that it suffered no unworthy person. But he was bewitched and without thought he moved to slide it onto his arm.

The instant he drew it past his finger tip it glowed white hot and there was and explosion that blew him backward. His body bounced violently against the trunk of an old tree. The tree smiled secretly to its ancient and weary self at the impudence of swift and moving things.

Balhir heard his name called as though from a far distant hilltop. He swam in the blackness of his unconscious mind. A reprimand, a piteous cry, anger at his pride. He smiled within himself that at least that much had come to pass. 

He woke to the sound of forest creatures whispering to one another about him, about his being there, the stranger, the elf, unfriendly air had brought unfriendly breath. Then they stopped, they did not scurry away but they were silent. He looked up and his head throbbed. He smelled the child before he heard her. Humans have a musk of age, even their young betray their brief lifespans in a scent of decay.

She was singing a light song that had no words nor tune. It was the sound of music from one too young to know singing from speaking. Balhir supposed she might not yet be three years old. She had likely wandered off from her parents’ care. He wondered if she might not be soon carried off by some hungry wolf or falcon. He lay still, waiting for whatever might happen. The girl came closer until her feet were near where he lay, he would remain invisible for as long as he did not move.

Suddenly something caught her eye and she ran giggling past him. She bent down and lifted something from the ground. It was his prize, the enchanted torque he had stolen in the night from the Magrev queen of Khaznmar in the deepest hold of the forgotten realms, which even the lore masters had consigned to the dust bin of legend. He had discovered it and scouted its halls and uncovered its secret ways. He had done the study and found the lore that would open the torque to his possession and one day he knew he would wear it with the right combination of incantation and intention. No magic was impervious to determined pursuit. 

She lifted it and its silver streaks caught a ray of sun that shown between the branches of the ancient trees. It gleamed in his eye and he shifted slightly at the glare. The girl saw him and paused. She began playing happily with the torque. When he had held it it was a hard and resolute metal but in the girl’s hands it expanded and contracted like fresh bread dough. She played with it like a hoop around her waist and then, pressing on it made a small bracelet that fit her tiny wrist.

He shifted again, considering his moment to run towards her and reclaim his treasure. She stretched the torque again and spun it and threw it like a toy. She turned and he saw his chance. He moved swiftly toward her but not silently. The leaves shifted beneath his feet and she turned and saw him. She laughed and waved the torque toward him. A wave of energy issued from it and knocked him back to the ground. He groaned and rolled on his side.

The little girl padded up to him in her bare feet. She would have come up to his knee if he’d been standing. She had dark curly hair and brown skin that looked like tawny syrup. Her brown eyes sparkled and she spoke a single word, “Chindee!” She pointed to herself and laughed and said again, “Chindee, Chindee!”

He gathered her name was either Chindee or something that sounded like it. He regarded her carefully. The torque was sensitive to her touch and her mood. “May I hold that?” He asked, pointing at the torque in her hand. She turned slightly and held it close. It shimmered menacingly. He drew back and reached into his pocket. He produced a single golden coin and held it up so it caught a shaft of sunlight.

“Chindee,” he got her attention and she looked. The light from the coin glimmered into her eyes. “Trade ya.” He flipped the coin toward her and she dropped the torque trying to catch the coin. Both hit the ground and he was there in an instant trying to pick up the torque. It sparked at his touch and he drew his hand away. Chindee laughed. He smiled, still bent over, and decided to recover the coin instead. 

As he did Chindee took the torque and stretched it wide.

“Doggie!” She said.

He turned to see what she was doing and as he did she slipped the distended torque over his head and around his neck. She let go of it and it snapped tight around his neck. Both hot and cold it strained his neck and he could barely swallow against the rough metal. The silver veins shimmered and he felt its power enter his body and his mind. He suddenly knew its intention, knew his peril. He was at the mercy of his own sin in stealing it, and now at the command of this child.

“Doggie!” She cried and he was thrown to the ground on all fours. He tried to speak but could only bark.

Thus Balhir of the Shadow Realm, Elvin warrior of the ancient house of Maltuan, was forced to follow a human child to her home, and sleep on her rug and only stand when bid to work, and only rest when bid to sleep. She and her family bade him work and he worked. The torque allowed him no speech. Chindee’s family took him for a kindly mute they grew to trust with any task. Their farm prospered under the hand of an enchanted elf. His will submerged but somewhere deep resentment simmered. 

Chindee grew and changed in a few brief years, after the manner of humans. She only knew Balhir as her obedient servant and did not remember that it was the ornament about his neck that bound him to her. She was known and admired as the elf mistress by their few neighbors. But rumors spread and it was said that a mysterious magic had been captured in that part of the country and soon curious eyes peaked from behind trees and under cover of starlight.