The elf’s fist clenched tight as she strode from the dell.
The mage was a fool! Once more, division had weakened the People. Their goal that evening was clear - and he had chosen to ignore it, jeopardising the whole endeavour. The ranger’s blood was on his hands; and without unexpected aid it would have been far worse.
Seething, shaking, the elf hurled her shield to the ground. Her gaze turned from the surrounding trees to the starred-sky, a stifled howl bursting from her rage-parted lips.
All that had been striven for could be undone so easily. The clawed corpse that lay already in the grove testified to the losses suffered… and if the mage persevered in his idiocy, they would only grow.
---
The sounds of battle were what had caused her to follow after them, mage and ranger, on their unnecessary quest. The kobolds had mostly been dead by the time she had reached them, her sprint slowed by scale and shield, but still the mage had continued in his obstinacy. Her words of warning were ignored; her aid was dismissed; his journey was continued.
It was as she examined the corpses of the dead that she saw the torchlight amongst the trees… surely more of the kobolds, drawn as she had been to the noises of steel and magic. Turning to warn the servant of the Great Archer, she found him gone, in pursuit of the wizard. Gritting teeth and unsheathing sword, she sprung forward in pursuit; an attempt to rescue them from the peril into which they unknowingly marched. The first sign that something was wrong came from the cries of the ranger… quickening her steps still further, she rounded a curve in the road to see him surrounded by wild beasts, struggling in vain to hold off their senseless, frenzied attacks. “Flee, Vanavar,” she cried as she closed with the melee, her sword flashing through the moonlight, interposing herself as best she could between friend and foe. The mage was nowhere to be seen.
Down, hard, her blade bit deep into the neck of a wolf, but on her left the gnarled tusk of a boar had found its mark. Vanavar screamed in pain and she turned, sword-hand striking as fast as she could will it. It was not fast enough. The ranger had fallen to the ground, hands clutched to his blood-decorated flank. She faced the boars alone.
It was at that moment that the magic of Maeve arced through the death-scented night. Three missiles of energy speeding along their course… and crashing into the body of the dead wolf. She raised her shield, but could not ward against both her foes… striking fatally at one, the other slipped under her guard and she felt its tusk rasp against her thighbone. As an arrow whistled past into the night, she staggered: the maddened boar sensed victory. Another arrow found its mark and, as her final effort struck home, it was followed by a further flurry of wizardry. Sinking to her knees, she saw the wizard approach and survey the carnage. Fumbling at her belt, she pointed to Vanavar’s body: “See to him. See to his wounds.” She drank the potion she carried, feeling returning to her leg as the vial’s content eased her wound.
“He is gone,” said the mage.
---
Amongst the trees, the elf’s hand unclenched and she sank slowly, wearily onto her haunches. Rocking back against an outcrop of stone, a choked sob escaped from her throat. Fatigue washed over her, followed by another, still greater, wave… a wave of unbidden, unwanted memory. Eyes screwed tightly shut, pain was etched on her face and blood and fire flashed through her mind.
If the druid had not chanced upon us, Vanavar would have indeed been gone, his time brought short brutally by the misjudgement of another. No more can be allowed to fall. Never again can one be permitted to lead the People into such danger. The suffering of my, my… memories cannot be revisited…
At this thought, the Von’nes’ hand flew to her sword-hilt, shining steel cleaving the air as, in one fluid motion, sword and elf stood ready. Weariness fell from her frame as resolution wrote its signature across her face.
The Hunter would guide her.
No more would fall.