The sincere groveling of Maelor and Lysandra fed the pride of the body's former owner. Their pleading tempered the fury that urged me to raze the village, allowing me to think with greater clarity. I decided to grant them time to convince the villagers. Although our stop was meant to be brief, there was no real need to adhere to any schedule. We were, after all, near-eternal beings.
Besides, patience was worth the investment. Should they succeed, I would gain at least sixty more dark elves—raising the number of my retinue to a little over one hundred.
Most of the villagers, especially the men, had to be bound to prevent further violence. Lysandra, Floren, and Vaelior joined the vampire-elves in trying to explain themselves to what was, quite literally, a captive audience.
Maelor, meanwhile, chose to speak privately with his brother inside his house. I had no desire to eavesdrop, yet even through the wooden walls, my hearing made it effortless. I could have ignored them—but their conversation was far more interesting than the shouting match outside.
Maelor began, of course, by recounting how I saved his hunting party from total annihilation at the fangs of a single serpent. Then he spoke of Lysandra—of her severed hand and the venom spreading through her body with excruciating slowness—and how, in desperation, he had allowed me to turn her into a vampire so she might live.
Predictably, Finlor seized upon that detail.
"Vampires, Maelor? So you truly have become vampires? The same cruel creatures who hunt elves and humans for their blood?" His voice cracked with disbelief and anger. "Have we not heard enough of their evil? Even in the last century alone, countless elven villages have been slaughtered by their kind! Elven blood is nectar to their forked tongues."
"Yes, vampires, brother," Maelor replied evenly. "But not the kind you know. You've seen enough to know that already. We do not burn in the sun—in fact, we grow strong beneath it. We have become like plants, sustained by sunlight itself."
Finlor barked out a laugh at that, but Maelor pressed on. "It is true. We brought no food on our journey."
"You expect me to believe sunlight makes you full?" Finlor scoffed.
"Yes, brother. The vampire lord made us as he is. He wields a strange power drawn from the sun itself. You've fought him—you've seen it. His spells are not of shadow, but of radiance. You'd expect them from a priest of the sun god, not a creature of the night."
"We have fangs, claws, strength, and speed beyond mortal measure," he continued, "but can you truly call us creatures of darkness if we thrive under the sun?"
That made me chuckle where I sat, reclined against a tree just outside the village. The argument was clever—clever enough to make even me pause. Frans had been a creature of darkness, yes, but I did not have to be. If I could suppress—or at least redirect—the body's monstrous urges, perhaps I could stop short of being truly evil.
Finlor, for a moment, had no reply. I thought he might have been convinced.
"But…" he finally muttered, "the way he looks at us, speaks to us—as if we were ants beneath his heel."
"That's because we are as lowly as ants to him," Maelor answered. "He is an immensely powerful being. He razed a serpent's nest alone. Left dozens of the beasts scorched and chopped to pieces. He returned to our village carrying the severed head of a mother serpent."
Finlor burst into laughter. "Ha! I was almost convinced, Maelor. Why must you exaggerate so? Scorched and chopped? Even a child knows serpent scales are immune to fire and steel. They have ruled this forest for ages for a reason."
"If I show you twelve cartloads of serpent scales, would you believe me, brother?"
"What else would you show me, Maelor? A hundred bundles of wyvern hide?"
Maelor sighed and led his brother outside. The rest of the villagers, still skeptical, were herded toward the gate. Some struggled against their bindings, convinced they were being led to slaughter.
I found no small pleasure in their faces when the cloth coverings on the carts were drawn back. Silence fell immediately. Finlor stepped forward, disbelief plain as he lifted a single serpent scale—an object the size of a platter—and examined it under the light.
He moved from cart to cart, uncovering more. Piles upon piles of scales. Each one genuine.
It was undeniable proof.
From hostility came curiosity. The villagers began to ask questions, and Lysandra and the others eagerly answered.
"And these," Maelor said proudly, gesturing to the heaps, "are only the finest scales. We left behind the lesser ones—even many in perfect condition—simply because we could not carry more."
Finlor's eyes were wide. "How did you bring all of this here?"
"We pulled it ourselves, brother. All the way from the serpent nest through narrow forest paths. As the lord told you, he multiplied our strength and stamina tenfold."
Finlor nodded absently, eyes drifting back to the glittering pile. "This is a fortune, Maelor… more than a king's ransom."
"Indeed it is," Maelor replied, smiling. "And we will use it to build a grand city to the south—a city for all dark elves in the forest."
Finlor turned, visibly intrigued. Yet instead of asking about the city, he asked another question.
"And what does he want from us?"
"He seeks to build a kingdom—to rule the entire dark forest," Maelor said, placing a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "He wants our devotion and service as his subjects. And I think it fortunate that he found us first. Please him, and we could both sit at his side—me as his advisor, you as captain of his host."
At last, Finlor allowed himself a small smile. "That is a fine thought, brother."