Argo groaned. "Chaim... Esaelp od ton eid!"
Chaim mouthed the words in little more than a whisper. "I ma gniyrt ot dloh no Argo...Tub siht dnouw spas ym htgnerts..."
A splat of blood landed on Chaim's hand. Argo glanced up. A soldier was standing in front of him a deep gash down his arm. His sword blade was pointed at Argo's heart. "What have we here?" He asked, snearing. "A man? With the elves?" He laughed. "I've found him!" He called to the others.
Argo blinked dizzily, he knew his head injury was bad, blood was already running down his neck and soaking the shoulder of his cloak. Where was his father? Who were these men? What was going on? More soldiers marched into the room.
"What's this!?!" The leader shouted, "I told you not to hurt him!"
"I'm sorry," snapped the first soldier. "But he put up quiet a fight."
"You may have killed him!" The leader snapped, "see how he bleeds!"
Argo winced and half fell onto his hands and knees. "Chaim..." he whispered. "Father..." he fell over onto his stomach.
"You idiot!" The soldier's leader snapped, "He's half dead!"
One of the soldiers reached down and yanked the lance out of Chaim's chest. Then kicked him, the groan the escaped Chaim's lips proved he was alive. "What do we do with this elf?" He asked.
The leader grinned. "Bring him along." He ordered, "He'll make good sport for the king...if he lives."