Ludo looked at Miklos, “Who do we wake up first?”
“No one, until all are tied up.” Miklos replied darkly. “I trust no one. This is an opportunity to question both sides and discover the truth.”
“Or two stories, neither of which are entirely true.” Maruc said, after he had finished sewing a nasty gash on the Traldar he was attending to.
Feldard began trussing up the sleeping Traldar and Hutaakan alike. Then looked up to the one Hasan had levitating. “Do you think they will understand us?” he mused aloud, then called up the jackal-headed humanoid. “My friend here is going to lower you. If you fight us or attempt to flee, I’ll have to shoot you,” he commented laying a hand on his once more loaded crossbow. Then nodded to Hasan to bring the Hutaakan down.
Ludo watched as the strangers were trussed up. He was of two minds. Was it a good thing to subdue both sides in a war against each other? He suspected that all they were going to do was make enermies of everyone in the valley, which would do them no good at all. As his Father once said, pick a side and support it fully, when you sat on a fench, all you ever got was a sore backside.
“What now Miklos, this is getting no closer to what the Sons of Night are after. How will we know when we question them who is telling the truth?”
“Why are we here? To find what the Sons want,” stated Hasan. “These men are worse than the dogs they hunt, and surely know less as well. And the Sons are human, as far as we know, and far more likely to have subjects than these Hutakaa. We should free the Hutakaa.”
Stephan stopped the tying up work along side Feldard. “And kill the Traldar, Hasan? I’m just a soldier but even I can see you’re jumping to conclusions. You call the Traldar worse than dogs when you know nothing of them! Your elven elitism is showing through, Hasan.”
When the levitated Hutaakan was back on the ground, he slowly held his open hands up in the air. Then he turned to the elf.
“Suilannad otornonya vorima. Elen sila lumenn’ omentielvo manenna sinarë…” The Hutaakan was speaking the language of the elves. It was an accent and dialect with which neither Hasan nor Miklos was familiar, but it was close enough to the elven tongues spoken by the varied tribes of Karameikos that they could understand. Though they were unfamiliar with it, the accent was a pleasant and refined.
“Please, I doth beseech thee,” implored the Hutaakan in Elven. He was one of their priesthood, judging from his garb. “These primitives with which thou dost now travel have brought blood and destruction upon the valley. For ages, my race hath been selflessly dedicated to keeping the forces of entropy and chaos at bay. These savages hath put all in peril with their recent hostile actions.”