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[Thraxas]

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He had been here long enough.

No word of a trial. No contact from the outside world. Nothing.

The only things that changed were the faces of the guards, and the degree of their brutality and depravity. From what cesspool in the nine hells did he fetch them?

It is time to leave, one way or the other.

He had been docile and compliant, maximizing the pain of his injuries by groaning and hobbling, pretending to be fearful bordering on unabashed cowardice. He figured he had fooled them long enough. They didn't even bother to keep him chained anymore.

Further delay would only risk real injuries, from which he may never recover.

These thoughts passed through the mind of the elf, Typernion, as he crouched, head bowed, in a corner of the villa. His two warders... there was always two of them... were half-drunk sitting at the table. One was slumped over, his fat, greasy, fingers still clasping the pewter mug from which he had been drinking. The other was gnawing on a half-cooked lamb shank, smacking constantly, gurgling a belch periodically.

With reflexes that surprised even him at this stage, of which only elves seemed capable, Typernion lept to his feet, grabbed an iron poker left stupidly by the hearth, and brought it down across the eating man's head. The human had half-turned, food dropping out of his mouth, and took the blow full-force. His skull cracked like an egg shell, he groaned once and hit the floor. The other guard opened his eyes and looked up only to see the green, red-rimmed, eyes of a sorely-abused elf glare at him as he also took a hit across his temple. Blood jetted from his head and he fell to the side onto the floor.

Twin pools of blood spread out quickly and then the flows subsided.

They were dead. There were no witnesses.

He tossed the poker into the blazing fire, took the keys from the dead guard's belt, unlocked the door, and fled into the darkness of the night.

He was a murderer now, and a fugitive.

But he was free.
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"If a criminal has what you want, you do business with him."

[Thraxas]

---

Darthos examined the room carefully, some of which involved a curious, and to the eyes of the attending guards, repugnant, sniffing of the corpses.

"The elf has escaped," muttered one of them to no one in particular.

Darthos turned around and cast a facetious glance his way. "Do you think so?" He returned to his investigations.

"The Lord Regent will be very upset," said another.

Darthos sighed and rolled his eyes. Feigning surprise was never one of his strong suits, but dealing with the annoyingly idiotic comments of lessers absolutely sickened him. Yet it had to be endured, for these men were the dregs of society, hand picked as much because of their lack of morals---they had none---as to their intelligence, that is, lack of it. He reached into the coals of the fireplace and retrieved the murder weapon, wrapping it in a piece of wet cloth.

One of the guards approached and stood beside him, looking at the item. "The murder weapon?"

Darthos merely closed his eyes. "The next imbecilic remark and I will not be held responsible for what happens. In short... SHUT UP... every one of you, if you value what remains of my sanity and your lives!" He pointed to the bodies. "Clean this up. I want no trace of blood on that floor. This is the Regent's personal residence, you know... well, one of them anyway. If when I return it is not in top shape, I will kill all of you," he said to them, grinning.

They grinned back, sort of.

Darthos found his lord at the castle, resting comfortably beside a fountain, reading a book. Thraxas looked up as he approached and closed the book. "Ah, Darthos, what a pleasant surprise. Do you bring me news of the caravans to Trinsic?"

"No, sire. I bring word of murder," the emissary replied, unwrapping the poker, showing it to him. "Our elf has escaped after murdering the guards."

Thraxas glanced at the object nonchalantly and returned his gaze to Darthos. "Well, it took him long enough, I must say."

"Aye, sire. How long has it been... months... we've been waiting on this?"

"Quite. No matter. It begins at last. You know what to do, so get on with it."

Darthos bowed. "It will be my pleasure, sire." He set the poker down and departed.

Thraxas went back to his reading, though it was getting a bit too hot to be comfortable this time of day.
_________________
"If a criminal has what you want, you do business with him."