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“I don’t know. Maybe,” Villid replied. “They were valuable, that’s all we know.”
They turned a corner, and Villid suddenly yanked Aya back. “Look!” he hissed, and pointed towards a group of people around the corner, and pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. “Tyrans!”
There were two young Tyran men, younger than Villid, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age. Both wore no robes above their waist, and their bare chest gleamed in the sun as they poked at a fire and talked.
“Let’s get out of here!” Villid hissed.
“Wait,” said Aya, pointing at them discreetly. “Look at what’s on their chests,”
Villid glanced round the corner. “I don’t see anything,” he
said.
“Exactly,” Aya mused. “They aren’t branded like... like you,” her eyes wavered over the part of his torso where she knew the white, scarred numbers lay on his chest.
Villid nodded. “Of course,” he said. He had panicked. “They mustn’t be from our tribe. They may have been born here, and know nothing of Xentar.”
“I wonder where the Elves are,” Aya said.
“I know Percival said there was, but… would Elves be here?” Villid said in surprise. “Didn’t your village get destroyed?”
“It did,” Aya said quietly, slightly offended by the blunt way he had said it. “But we have had runaway
Elves, whole families cast away for breaking our laws – and there are not just village Elves, there are water nymphs, our aquatic cousins, although I have never seen one, and many believe they are extinct... even if they weren’t, none of them are strong enough to form any sort of army,” she added bitterly.
Villid stared at the little Elf, and feelings he had been repressing started to mix uncomfortably inside him. “I’m sorry,” he found himself saying, emotion welling inside him. It seemed like such a small word for how he felt. His flesh and blood, his family, had attacked her village for no reason, destroyed everything she knew, everything she had ever lived for. She had lost all her family and friends, and now, all she had, he realised, was him.
Aya gave a small nod, her lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t want to think about her lost village now. There were other
Elves, here in Fort Valour. The thought gave her hope. Perhaps after finding Llyliana, the Seer, they could go back to the forest together, rebuild their village, their civilization, and make everything as normal as it ever once was.
The inn that Percival had directed them to was bigger than the inn at Millnock, less crowded, and had a pleasant aura, with
a faint smell of wildflowers. Villid opened his sack of human gold but the bartender, who was a middle-aged, fat and bearded
Dwarf, waved it away with his huge, hairy hands.
“No gold here,” he said gruffly.
“We were told this was a human inn,” Villid said.
“Well, not anymore. You need to trade,”
“Trade?” Aya said in surprise.
“Yes, girly, trade,” he said clearly. He sighed. “Newcomers. So what’ll it be? Ale? Food? Runes, weapons, scrolls? Magic mirrors or polished pebbles? Out with it!”
“Be silent,” Villid growled, and the bartender wavered slightly. He looked at Aya. “What have we to trade?” he wondered aloud.
All they carried was gold and food. Aya fingered the necklace which always sat around her neck. It had been a gift from her mother a long time ago, back when Aya was a
small child, and before her mother had disappeared. The necklace was something she wore out of habit more than as a memory.
She took it off and placed it on the counter. “How many nights for this?” she asked.
The bartender picked up the necklace, and examined it closely. “You’re an
Elf?” he asked her. She nodded.
“This was made by Elves?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied.
The bartender scratched his chin as he frowned, his huge, shaggy eyebrows almost covering his small eyes. “’Tis worth something, here in Fort Valour.” he said finally.
“So how many nights and meals for it?” asked Aya.
The bartender looked at them both. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve no clue what this is worth,” he said. “I don’t know if it was made for the mage lords themselves or cheap stones on string. But I’ll tell you something – my wife would like this very much. You let me keep it, and I’ll let you stay here a week and feed you in the evenings.”
Villid and Aya were surprised but pleased. “Thank you,” said Aya gratefully. The bartender nodded and took them to their room. It was a big room with lots of air, two large beds, a colourful rug and two windows, each with a pleasant vase holding strong-smelling flowers.
Aya sat on her bed – it was bouncy and soft, with thick cotton rugs. She smiled at Villid. “We’ve finally found somewhere safe,” she said.
“It seems so,” Villid nodded. “Just how valuable was that necklace? It wasn’t some precious family relic, was it?”
Aya smiled. “Not quite,” she said. “My mother helped me make it when I was a little girl, out of pebbles, some lining from my mother’s dress and gold paint. I thought it was worth a try.”
Villid found himself smiling down at her. It crossed Aya’s mind what a lovely smile he had – how different it made his eyes look. Those warm, brown eyes that made her feel shy and enthralled all at once.
Then she was laughing, and so was he. Once they started it got difficult to stop. When Aya laughed, her eyes sparkled and her light giggle was incredibly infectious, Villid mused.
It wasn’t until the laughter died away that they realised how close they were standing to each other. They looked away, embarrassed, still shaking off twitches of smiles pouncing on their lips. It was a full minute of awkward silence when Villid finally said, “So, shall we explore the town?”
“Let’s,” said Aya gratefully, appreciating the opportunity to leave the room and its strong fragrance of sweet flowers.

Chapter Thirteen
The old, thick tunics from the travelling thieves were dirty and uncomfortable, and attracted many strange looks from others. Villid and Aya managed to find a small human stall selling simple tunics, boots and shirts, who accepted gold. Villid rummaged through boxes of clothes for something big enough for him when he did a double-take at the merchant. The merchant gave him a glance, and then looked down, as if carefully examining something. Villid was sure he recognised him from somewhere, but couldn’t pinpoint where. Eventually, he put it down to the fact that he had seen many humans in the past few days, and carried on rummaging through the boxes. The human merchant accepted their gold hungrily as they paid for several tunics and pairs of boots, but turned hurriedly afterwards, as if willing them to leave quickly.
“There’s something strange about that merchant,” muttered Villid, as they left, carrying their new clothes.
The city was much bigger than they had first thought – although mostly bars, inns and homes, Aya and Villid also came across different areas where one particular race seemed to be displaying their tradition into a miniature village. A
Dwarven town full of small, rounded houses were patterned with square linings of gold and silver carved into black marble and short, stout chimneys pouring delicious-smelling smoke from D
warven cooking. The
Vrana town was full of caves and boulders, the pathway uneven like the side of a mountain.
Villid felt uncomfortable when they found the town of Tyrans, although it held barely a fraction of true life there. It felt slightly nostalgic, walking through the dirt pathway, between tall towers of grey stone, where Tyran men and women cooked smoked bull and boar over roaring fires. Villid felt impressed when they saw the large fountain almost identical to the one at home – four strong Tyran men holding up a large stone basin, where a woman held a sword above her head, water spouting from the tip. Aya stared at it in fascination.
“Your homeland is beautiful,” she whispered. She seemed to be enjoying the town, although she sometimes cast nervous glances at the surrounding Tyrans, who ignored her and continued with their business. No wonder she felt afraid, Villid thought, with a stab of guilt.
It took a while to find the Elf town, but when Aya did, she felt herself clutching at her cloak with a definite nervousness.
“They won’t know yet,” she realised aloud, clapping her hand to her mouth. “They won’t know yet that the village is gone!”
Villid realised that, too, as he looked upon the modest wooden gate that separated the Elf town from the Tyran town.
“You can’t tell them,” said Villid desperately, taking her
arm gently. “You can’t. Tyrans and
Elves live together here in harmony. If you tell them now, there could be a riot.”
Aya lowered her hand. “You’re right,”
she said sadly. It seemed a terrible thing that hundreds of
E
lves lived right by them, without any idea that their forest village had been taken over, and was gone forever. But Villid was right. If the Tyrans and
Elves here became enemies, it could endanger Fort Valour.
The tall gate to the Elf town was made of
iron, which circled and twisted to form a grey arch. It suddenly opened with a loud creak, and an
Elf woman appeared. She looked young, but carried an air of mature grace, as if she was much older than her face suggested. Her long hair was a
brilliant silver, and she wore a smart green cloak held together with gold brooches. She was an extremely beautiful woman. “Good day,” she said, smiling at them. She did a double-take, stopped, and bowed respectfully. “Alviér, Sister,” she smiled.
Aya found herself smiling back. Alviér – the
Elven word for greeting a fellow E
lf – a word she had not heard for a while, and that she had doubted she would ever hear again. She felt a painful ache in her chest as she gazed at the
Elf – so it was true. She wasn’t the only one left.
“Alviér,” she breathed, and gave a polite bow.
“An E
lf and a Tyran, travelling together?” the woman said, smiling. “How wonderful! Alviér, sir,” she said to Villid.
“I am Eria, the keeper of the Elf town.” her elegant face never stopped smiling.
Villid nodded back, not understanding the Elf word, but knowing it would be rude to say so.
“I am Aya, and this is Villid, my companion,” said Aya. “Yes, we travel together.”
Eria
stared at them for a moment, and shock crept momentarily into her eyes. Then she shook her head, and smiled again.
“Is it not difficult, an Elf and a Tyran, to travel together when they are generally considered enemies outside of Fort Valour?” Eria asked. She didn’t sound suspicious, or interfering, but lightly interested.
Aya must have looked uncomfortable, for she added, “I must be on my way. It was lovely to meet you. Vadrin, Aya.” and she made her way down the pathway that Aya and Villid had just come from, her long, green robes flowing behind her. She glanced back for a moment, nodded respectfully again, and walked away.
It was difficult to see the Elven
village from behind the large gate, but Villid saw Aya stare wistfully at it. She felt a mixture of emotions as she knew what sat behind the gate – loneliness, feelings of nostalgia, curiosity to see what Fort Valour had to offer in duplicate, and a sadness, a terrible sadness that overwhelmed the rest of her unsure emotions. She felt tears stinging her eyes and blinked them away. There had been too many tears for her lo
st village – there was to be no more crying in front of Villid.
“Do you want to go in?” he asked softly, and she felt his large, warm hand touch her bare shoulder slightly.
Aya hesitated, then shook her head slowly, wanting to shrug his hand off her, but liking his touch. “No,” was all she said, in a barely audible whisper, before they turned and headed in the opposite direction. Villid asked no questions, and they walked in silence towards nowhere.

“Percival said there were training grounds.” Villid said after a while of wandering between market stalls and houses. It had been a long time, it seemed, since Villid had last trained. Up until now, he hadn’t missed it, but now, he felt a familiar ache in his body, urging him to exercise again. A lifelong habit of hard training and fighting made him miss it terribly. Now they were relaxed in the seemingly safe city of Fort Valour, his urge to train became stronger.
“The training grounds are that way,” a human woman replied, when they stopped to ask. “Second left.”
The grounds were cut deep into the earth, as big as a field but dusty brown, levelled several feet below the city The sun, high in the sky between the towering peaks of the mountains in front of them, beamed down on the square. Villid was instantly reminded of the arena where, back home, the Tyrans often enjoyed bloody, fierce battles for sport. He pushed the unpleasant memory out of his mind.
There were several people in the grounds, aiming at targets, or duelling each other. A tall
Elf and a human were locked in combat, though their jabs were too careful, their lunges too slow, giving their opponent an easy chance to dodge.
“No, no, no,” a
Knabi man yelled, watching them with folded arms. Although huge grey wings hung on his back, he was built very differently to the usual bird-people. Knabi were tall and slim, with noble, serious faces and delicate hands. This Knabi man was heavily built, with huge shoulders and arms, which were folded in front of him. His face was rough and rugged under a mop of long, red hair. The duelling human made to stab at the
Elf man, but went far too slowly, urgently cocking his head to the side, indicating to his partner that he should move.
The large Knabi man gave a heaving, deliberate sigh. “It’s like training children!” he barked. “Start again. If one of you gets hurt, that’s a
good
thing. The Darkma aren’t going to give you a second chance, or let you flounce out of the way. You look like you’re trying to dance.”
“Ignore them,” Villid said to Aya, who was watching the struggling pair of duellers with mixed feelings of pity and amusement. Villid took her arm gently and guided her to the other end of the grounds, withdrawing his sword that hung constantly on his back. “Villid?” said Aya questioningly, half-worried, as he pulled her onto the dusty ground.
They could see others training, some Vrana, some Knabi, some humans – squaring up to each other in a combat stance, some clutching rusty axes or swords, others holding up their fists.
“Now, Aya,” Villid said, as he lead Aya to a lightly sketched circle, big enough for them to battle properly in. “Have you ever fought with two swords before?”
“No,” said Aya, feeling herself blushing.
Villid smiled slightly. For some reason he couldn’t understand, he felt warmth towards the creature who depended on him in so much already.
“I’ve trained with a bow and arrows,” Aya said fiercely, taking his smile as a smirk. “We
Elves don’t train to fight!”
“I wasn’t mocking you,” he reassured her. He stood in front of her and withdrew both his weapons, a short, heavy axe in his left hand and a slightly longer, thick-bladed sword in his right. He passed her the sword, which he supposed was lighter and easier to handle.
“It’s a wonder you survived the attack,” he said, half tauntingly, as he bent his knees slightly. “You can’t handle a sword, can you? It’s time you learnt.”
Aya held his sword in front of her. She wasn’t used to it, it felt heavier than any bow she had felt in her hands. She held it upright, unable to stop her hands shaking a little. “I’ll teach you how to fight.” said Villid. It was a statement, not a suggestion or request.
“And what makes you think I need teaching?” Aya asked defiantly.
Villid smiled again. It wasn’t a warm smile; she could see something in his dark eyes she mightn’t have noticed
before. “We all need to kill or be killed in this world,” he said softly, in barely a whisper. “If you can’t defend yourself, you won’t survive.”
Aya felt her chest tightening, and for a moment she felt unsafe. He held his axe so steadily, so confidently, as if he would strike her at any moment, and here she stood, unprotected, with no clue how to block him if he decided to lunge.
“It’s surprising you aren’t already dead,” he said – he was almost sneering at her now. “If anyone decided to attack us at the dead of night, you would be first. They wouldn’t approach me – I’m a Tyran, you’re just an
Elf.”
Aya eyed the axe, and she could deny it no longer – she felt afraid. That very same weapon had killed many before – many
Elves. “You’re scaring me,” she said, lowering the sword and taking a step back.
“Scaring you?” he said, smirking all the more. “What do you do if you’re scared? You attack! You defend! You strike!” and he lunged at her with the axe; she threw herself out of the way in time.
“Stop!” she cried, as he turned to raise his weapon again. “Stop it, Villid! Maybe I don’t want to fight as Tyrans do!”
“Aren’t you angry?” Villid said, stopping his attack only to speak. “Angry that your home, your civilization, your friends and your family,
were
all gone in one night? Are you not tormented by thoughts of your
E
lf Seer, perhaps dying, whilst you’re here with me? Do you not feel hatred
for the people who destroyed your home and your future?”
“Silence!” Aya shouted, and before she knew it she was hurling back towards Villid, swinging the sword in any way she could, attempting to hurt him, make him feel pain, as much pain as he was inflicting with every word he spoke.
Villid dodged easily, and laughed at her. “You
are
angry!” he said in mock surprise.
“Yes, I am!” she screamed, and lunged at him again; he grabbed her wrist – not hard, and it didn’t hurt, but it made her gasp and stop her attack. “Good!” he said loudly. “You should be angry! Use that anger, Aya! Use it to kill your enemies!”
Aya stared at him. This was his way of teaching? “Get off me!” she snapped, pulling her arm free of his grasp. “I will never use anger to fight! That may be the way of cruel, violent, senseless creatures like Tyrans, but we,
E
lves, have dignity! We may be without armies, and strength, and now, thanks to you, our village – but we are not without love, compassion, honour and vigilance!” she felt tears springing to her eyes, and brushed them away fiercely. “I will never
fight with anger or hatred!” she threw the sword to the ground and stormed away, leaving Villid standing alone, shocked with his mistake, and the inner strength his companion had just suddenly showed.