Handorth and his men closed in around their prisoner. They forced him backwards and bound his hands behind him around a large wooden pole. Handorth seized a dagger from the cavern floor and placed its tip at the neck of the Elf while the men held the messenger's legs. The Elf would not be hurt--not too much. But he would learn some respect, and some fear.
"What is your name, and what is your message?" Handorth repeated. "You can tell us what we want, or you can feel the edge of a knife and the pounding of our fists until death takes you, hopeless and miserable. The choice is that simple. It makes no difference to me. I hate your kind more than anything on this earth. I can design a torment for you that would rob you of sanity and all will-power. You would be nothing, as your kindred were once converted into tortured servants of evil, ages ago."
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Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountains. Like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the west. Behind the hills, into shadow.
How did it come to this?
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