Chapter 2
The wind had picked up again, cloaking the solitary Mir'Arreth in vast billows of flying snow. With a grimace, Su'kaya pulled her grey-white coat tighter around her neck, feeling every gust as if it blew straight to the marrow of her bones. She'd never gotten used to this. Even after all the years as a soldier, after all the surface raids, all the overland treks... In the Caves, the environment was constant. There were no sudden drops in temperature, no heavy winds... no snow. While the constantly blowing snow had been a blessing, covering up their tracks far better than she could have done on her own - right now it was leaving her blind in unfamiliar territory. Hells, the thrice-damned dragon could be fifty feet away from her and right now she'd take it for a ridge.
Sighing, the pale-skinned Elf slid in behind a tree, taking a moment's shelter from the wind. The dragon. The mere thought had caused her to clamp down on her crossbow hard enough to wring a tortured creak from the trigger. It would have meant her death, and Rann's, but if she just could have plugged the treacherous Priest, it would have been worthwhile.
Rann, surely, would have preferred it that way. After all, the beast had already killed him. He was just taking his time actually dying. He'd been substantially worse when they woke up, and there was no way she could help him. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if she'd done more harm than good. Even Nia would have been hard pressed to actually do much. Only healing magic could likely make a difference, and they were about three weeks travel from the closest person who could do something like that. Rann would be lucky to live a few more days, lying still to boot. A human healer could, perhaps, have done it, but any of that rare breed around would be the Blackscars' creature. Besides, none of them really trusted human healing. It was too simple. Too... painless.
No, she had long since admitted to herself that there was no way to save the Zha'khen, ever since she had seen to him last night, really. At least it was a far kinder death than the one Rann had always expected. He had joked about it like he was disappointed.
A sardonic grin crept slowly onto Su'kaya's lips. Except, she had to admit, she didn't really know if he had been joking.
Gritting her teeth, she checked the crossbow and prepared to step out of the relative shelter of the tree again. If she remembered correctly, and Rann had backed her up on it when he wasn't slipping in and out of consciousness, there had been a small farm about half a day from the hollow tree, probably supplying foodstuff to the fort not too far away. She wasn't outfitted for a long overland trek, but if she could find the farm, perhaps she could remedy that. At the very least, she could get enough provisions to outwait the worst in the lair. Flexing her fingers, vainly trying to keep them from going numb, the slender warrior disappeared into the snowdrifts.
Half-rising from his wooden chair, Cerlindron put another log on the fire. He suppressed a sigh as he sat heavily back down into it - as heavy as his slight frame would allow, anyway. He'd almost let the fire go out, but to his great relief, it quickly took to the new log. The crackling fire was almost enough to drown out the whispered conversation next door. He was confused enough about the issue as it were - he most assuredly did not need to overhear Ivy's whispered conversation with the farmers' daughter. Especially not when all they seemed to talk about were boys - well, men - and he thought he heard his own name crop up a bit too often. At least Peter was sound asleep. The situation was embarrassing enough without his ribbing. Of course, Ivy might have one or two very interesting details about Peter. So all told, it was probably for the best for everyone that the Greycloak slept, soundly if not noisily.
With a final, not totally unfriendly glare at his sleeping compatriot, the delicately built Elf tried to make himself comfortable in the chair. Unfortunately he found that he still couldn't help but strain his ears to follow what parts of the whispered conversation he could. It was almost as if the women were doing it on purpose. The worst part was that he couldn't for the life of him decide just why it made him so uncomfortable. After all, it wasn't as if he was attracted to any of them.
Cerlindron had always been popular among the women, just as most of the Elven men who had joined the Greycloaks' cause. Occasionally, he wondered if they really stopped to consider exactly what he looked like, or if they had just blindly decided that all Elves were attractive to them. After all, he'd even caught women turn appreciative glances in his or Kalin's direction - who professed a preference for large, heavily muscled men, among which he, with his fine, slight build and by human standards, almost feminine features certainly did not belong. It was much the same with Elven women - like his sister; all the men seemed to go around pining for them. Good for the self esteem, but still...
He shrugged. Peter had ribbed him mercilessly over this, mostly through good-natured jealousy, but he just couldn't enjoy it. Kalin had told him to just go with it. If they wanted them so much, why not be nice to them? Kalin found human women and their generous curves to be quite attractive.
Cerlindron didn't.
It wasn't that he didn't like humans. He did. In fact, he was a lot closer to both Peter and Ivy than he was to Kalin, his closest Elven friend. The only Elf he could truly say he would choose over them would be Eltara, his twin sister. He vastly preferred the humans action-oriented way of thinking, to his fellow Elves' mind-numbing patience. Maybe that would change as he grew older - at sixty-seven, he was considered barely an adult by most Elves. And compared to humans like Peter, he almost looked like a child, though he was half again as old as both his companions put together - but for the foreseeable future, it was the way he wanted to live.
It was just... they didn't excite him. Human women simply seemed so... unattractive compared to their Elven counterparts. They were... big and clunky, lacking in the ethereal, perfect beauty he saw in his kin. Even a woman like Ivy, who was easily as dexterous as him and hardly had any surplus body fat, looked to be badly proportioned and clumsy next to, say, his sister.
To be fair, Eltara was truly something else, even for an Elf maiden. Kalin had said so many times, and even Cerlindron had to admit it. Like the last time they had gone to the pool together... The young Elf shook his head violently, clearing the image of his sister's naked, dripping body from his mind. That was wrong. And it had been embarrassing enough back then - he supposed he was lucky Eltara never noticed the effect the sight of her had on... certain areas of his anatomy. Of course the only female Elf anywhere near this god-forsaken place was his sister. And of course she was gorgeous.
And of course, he'd spent entirely too many nights in their tent pretending to be asleep, listening to his sister's near frenzied moaning as one or the other of the male Greycloaks bedded her...
Cerlindron almost groaned aloud as he realized he'd only exchanged an image that he shouldn't be imagining - his sister naked - for an even worse one. And the more he tried to avoid them, the worse the images became. His sister on her back, squealing as Kalin slid down upon - and into - her. His sister on her hands and knees, biting into a pillow to keep from waking the whole camp, Erik pounding her from behind so hard she moved an inch or more with each stroke. His sister kneeling in front of Peter, swallowing as much of his erect shaft as she could, grey-white semen running out the side of her mouth, dripping down onto her breast...
Only barely keeping back an oath, Cerlindron practically leapt up from the chair. Stalking back and forth like a hunted animal, he felt his cheeks flushing hot and his finely made trousers tighten uncomfortably in his crotch. In desperation, he finally edged closer to the door of the farmer girl's room, listening for their voices, even brushing his hair behind his ears to hear better.
Anything to keep his mind of his sister right now.
The cot was small, with barely enough room for Linn's bed to begin with, though they'd just about managed to squeeze in Ivy's bedrolls by taking out the chest with the farmer girl's clothes. Of course, there was no way for Linn to exit the room now without stepping on the young Greycloak, but they had managed. And Linn's father was quite clear on who he would allow to share any room under his roof. Still, with the two of them in the small room, their combined body heat meant it was probably one of the warmest places in the house. So all things considered, both girls thought it was a good deal.
Besides, it allowed them to gossip without the guys overhearing everything.
Laid out on her bedroll, her long, lean and now very nude legs propped against the wall, Ivy glanced up at Linn. The bright blonde girl gripped the side of her bed and leaned forward to stare at Linn, perfectly illuminated by the small candle burning on the ledge overhead.
"A-all of them?"
Linn's jaw hung open, a mix of shock and awe on her face, a faint hint of flush in her cheeks.
"She's s-slept with all of them?"
Ivy had problems not laughing at the sixteen-year-old's startled face, but she kept it to a smile a mile wide, nodding eagerly. It wasn't often she got the chance to talk with someone close to her own age. Besides Eltara, and, of course, technically Eltara was sixty-something, though that did translate well to her own age. Lately though, the Elf girl seemed to have a thing for belittling her every chance she got. It had gotten so bad that Ivy was quite sure the only reason she'd been chosen for this assignment was to separate the two of them. Not that she cared - it allowed her to meet Linn, after all... and, of course, it gave her a chance to let Peter and Cerlindron notice her, without Eltara for competition. What competition Linn's generous bosom might provide, she could live with.
"Every one... well, not Cer, of course."
Linn dropped back down on her back, staring at the ceiling with wide open eyes. Lewd images of the slim Elven girl filling her mind. She had hoped for a conversation like this when her father let Ivy sleep in her small cot, but this was beyond her expectations. If Ivy only had one regular companion close to her own age, that was more than Linn had - well, girls, at least. Her sister was already one year married and out of the house by the time Linn's body started developing and she started seeing boys as something besides a source of irritation, so she couldn't really talk to her about stuff like this. And the boys, while certainly appreciative of her company, wasn't exactly interested in talking.
Finally, she leaned back out over the bed, feeling the chill on her shoulder as her slightly oversized nightshirt slipped off it. "B-but, she can't be more than... than our age?"
Ivy shrugged, maintaining the grin on her face. She couldn't really blame the Elven girl, as she'd given in to more than one of the men herself, after all. But Eltara had been vicious enough, talking behind Ivy's back lately. It felt good to repay her a bit. "Hey - she's an Elf. She's been our age for ten years or so. If she hadn't gotten some in all that time, I'd feel sorry for her."
The farmer girl burst into giggles at that one. Ivy had a hard time not joining her, despite the fact that she was almost eighteen now and hadn't behaved like a small girl like that for years - or so she'd like to think. Finally giving in to it, Ivy let out a small giggle, which only set Linn off again. Sighing happily, the young Greycloak stretched and sat halfway up, resting on her elbows, as she raised her head to the level of Linn's bed. With a sigh, she curled up her long, muscular legs, slipping them into her bedroll. She'd stretched them out enough for now, and besides, she was starting to feel a bit cold.
Linn was just bringing her giggling under control as Ivy started stretching. Not for the first time, she found herself comparing her own still-developing body to the lean, dark blonde Greycloak. She had admired Ivy since they first met, about a year ago, during one or other of her father's meetings with the secretive rangers. They'd hit it off almost at once, but hadn't really gotten many chances to really get to know each other before now. To Linn, Ivy seemed everything she dreamed of being herself - fast, strong, smart, grownup, and really attractive. She might be too lean to be considered classically beautiful, but Linn had seen nearly every one of the men admiring the Greycloak's long legs at one time or another - including her own father at one point. That had seemed downright wrong back then, but quite entertaining now. Most of her upper body was hidden under an old, well-worn nightshirt, but Linn knew well enough what her idol looked like underneath that. Her stomach was flat, almost to the point where you could see the outline of her muscles. She admittedly didn't have much in the way of curves - not even a handful, to quote her father. Though he was talking about something drastically different at the time - but what there was of it was perfectly shaped and firm. Her face was sharply defined and nearly perfectly proportioned, framed by straight, dark brown hair that flowed almost to her shoulder.
In short, Linn found herself coming up rather short, both literally and figuratively. She knew she was an attractive girl herself, as the boys who came to work on the farm had chased her often enough. But compared to Ivy, she felt lacking. Except, of course, for her breasts.
Linn was proud of her breasts. In fact, they were easily more than twice the size of Ivy's. They hadn't really started growing until some four or five months ago, and she had worried that she would spend her life with large hips and as flat as a board. Well, she didn't worry about that anymore. She had outgrown two nightshirts in less than four months, leaving her with one that her older sister used when she was with child. It felt more like a tent. She did kind of like the cleavage it presented, though, even if Peter's downright ogling had made her blush like nobody's business.
"Wow... Peter, too?"
Ivy nodded, a grin a mile wide on her face. It wasn't too hard to spot a sign or two of excitement on the younger girl's face. Not that she was one to speak - just that question had sent a butterfly or two from her stomach heading for... lower regions. "Peter too... And I 'm a bit surprised he actually... fit in her, if you get my drift..." She was not disappointed.
Linn's eyes went so wide you could have sworn Peter and Eltara were demonstrating what Ivy was saying right behind her. The peasant girl stammered for a second on her reply, before blurting out, "You... you've seen them? Or did you..." Linn's big, blue eyes widened even more as the realization hit home, her sentence lost in a stunned gasp.
Ivy bit down hard to keep from laughing, not even bothering to really suppress the giggle that did escape her. "Yes... and yes."
Linn was practically hanging on her bedside now, the images of the delicate Elven girl rapidly replaced by the thought of Ivy spreading those wonderful legs for the big Greycloak sleeping right outside the door. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, words escaping her for the moment. There was a distinct flush in Linn's cheeks now, her breaths rapidly shortening.
Ivy licked her lips and continued, "Remember that really warm day this autumn? I was coming back with a message, and... saw Peter heading for the small pool back behind where we make camp."
Linn nodded breathlessly, hanging on the Greycloak's every word.
"Well, I figured... I could use a bath, and besides, if I didn't catch a hint as to whether or not he was... interested in me by taking my clothes off right in front of him, I'd never know, right?" Ivy blushed slightly at her own forthrightness, but even more at what she left out. It wasn't exactly just a hint of interest she'd been hoping for. Peter was seven years her senior, built like a small castle, and roguishly handsome, even with the near-constant stubble that couldn't seem to grow into a real beard and he refused to shave off. She'd been pining - or drooling, rather - over him ever since she got assigned to the small Greycloak squad early last year, bringing their total to ten and introducing the first and only real competition for the men's attention Eltara had ever had. "So I hurried to deliver the report I was carrying to Simon, and rushed down to the pool... And I haven't even gotten it in sight when I hear Eltara moaning."
In fact, she hadn't heard a thing until she turned around the last few trees and almost right into the couple's line of sight... though to be fair, they probably wouldn't have noticed a thing unless she walked right over and joined in. "So I sneak up the last few meters, look through the bushes...and see Eltara bent over against a tree, Peter behind her, rutting like a wild boar, and their clothes just thrown all around the place." The Greycloak was breathing almost as heavy as Linn now, wishing she knew the blonde just a little better - if this had been one of her old friends from back out West, they'd both be... helping themselves by now. She had felt herself growing warmer and wetter down there ever since the gossiping had turned explicit, and judging by the way Linn's breasts heaved, how her nipples almost poked through the cheap fabric of her nightgown, and how her legs were moving beneath the blankets, the farmer girl was feeling much the same.
With deliberate slowness, Ivy rolled over to her side, closing her eyes briefly as her thighs rubbed against each other, sending small sparks from her crotch throughout her body. Holding her hands up with space between them, she indicated something just under a full foot in length.
It took a few seconds for the implications to sink in, but the look on Linn's face was well worth the small exaggeration she had made. For a few seconds more, the girl only made nonsensical noises, and when her mind finally caught up with her body, her tongue didn't seem to have waken up yet. "That bi... I mean... how did he... how did... didn't it hurt?"
The girl's reaction mirrored her own thoughts back then so well that Ivy had to crack a smile, causing the blonde to blush an even darker shade of red than before. Ivy had been so intimidated by his size that it was only the look of pure ecstasy on Eltara's face that kept her from foreswearing ever having sex with the man. Truth be told, there had been a hint of pain in one or two of Eltara's whimpers, but when she climaxed... If he did hurt the frail Elven girl, there wasn't a doubt in Ivy's mind that Eltara considered it more than worth it.
"Are you kidding? I thought he was going to split her in two! He was thrusting so hard the entire tree was shaking! But she was screaming 'more, more'...Peter isn't a bad guy. If she'd told him to stop, he would have.... but she didn't, so he just kept it up. He was groaning with every thrust about how tight she was, how good she was... And she was thrusting back at him, but he's like, twice her size, so she had all she could handle just not getting mashed against the tree. Soon, she was just screaming, not making sense at all, though she slipped into Elvish occasionally... I think she was saying 'fuck me...'"
Ivy couldn't take it anymore. The memories were too much. In all her years since she started thinking about boys, nothing had turned her on like that sight. Most nights, if she slept alone, she would fall asleep with her own juices drying on her fingers and the image of Eltara's face locked in ecstasy on her mind. Moaning softly, she slipped one hand beneath her sheets, the moan turning to a whimper as she brushed her now almost painfully hard clitoris, her legs moving slightly, just slightly, to accommodate her fingers.
Linn was shell-shocked. She wasn't exactly innocent anymore, and far from 'unspoiled' as some would put it. But having her idol on the floor by her bed, openly masturbating, while spilling lewd secrets about handsome men sleeping right next door? But she was so wet down there the insides of her thighs had turned slippery, and she'd had to force herself from keeping her hands going where they weren't supposed to in company. As Ivy's moans grew slightly louder and started interrupting the story, Linn's fingers dove for her crotch, as if possessed of a mind of their own.
This time, Cerlindron did groan aloud. The tightening in his pants had grown to a throbbing bulge, and he didn't even know which possibility was worse - if he was getting excited by two human girls barely a fourth his age, or if he was excited hearing about his twin sister begging a man to take her until she fainted.
He tried to stop, take a few deep breaths and concentrate on something else, but the heavy breathing mixed with soft but steadily louder whimpering from the inside got into his head everywhere he went in the room.
Finally, at his wits' end, the delicate Elf grabbed his finely wrought bow and slung a leather quiver over his shoulder. Even a patrol in this freezing weather was vastly preferable to this torture. He seriously doubted anyone would be out on a night like this, but that didn't matter. Getting out of the house before he did something really foolish... now that did matter. Grumbling under his breath, the bulge in his pants showing no sign of diminishing, the young Elf tore the door open, hardly even feeling the first blast of the freezing wind. He slammed the door shut behind him, at the moment not caring if he woke up Peter or not.
At the time it took his eyes to adjust from the firelit room to the darkness outside, Cer had long since realized his mistake. In his haste to escape the damnable whimpering and whispered stories, he hadn't even stopped to get his coat, much less looked for the thick woolen tunic. But going back in and having to explain to Peter why he'd left so suddenly... For a little while, the Elf stood looking at the door, and then he turned from it resolutely, pulling the much too thin tunic he did wear tight beneath his chin. No, he'd almost prefer freezing to death. Just a quick round or two around the house then, and with a bit of luck, Peter would be sleeping when he returned.
He'd almost completed his second, wider circle when he spotted the footprints, almost totally hidden by the driving snow, leading towards the shed...
Su'kaya carefully slipped inside the shed, closing the door as fully as she dared. There wasn't any obvious way of opening the thing from the inside, and if she closed it fully and the latch fell shut, she'd be trapped. Not that she would be likely to have much trouble with whoever opened the door, but dead bodies had this annoying way of drawing much more attention than some missing goods.
The shed's elevation - it was probably a good two feet above ground level, most likely raised on thick poles or rock piles to keep out scavengers - and the overhanging roof had kept the snow from piling up too high to get the door open. But she'd still had to shuffle enough of it away that it would be blatantly obvious to anyone coming close enough that someone was inside. Now, most humans seemed to have this weird phobia against going outside after nightfall, but you never knew. She'd have to work fast.
Cer studied the footsteps for maybe a full minute, nervously licking his lips and feeling the wind freeze his spittle to ice. There was someone in the shed. The door seemed closed, but the tracks were leading right up to it, and it could look like it had been opened. He knew he really should go back inside and get the others - or at least Peter. But... a Blackscar would never have crept inside the storage. He would have pounded on the farm's door and demanded entrance. Perhaps it was a drifter, just seeking shelter from the weather? Besides, the young Elf really didn't want to have to explain to Peter why he left in such a hurry - without even a coat.
For a few seconds more, he stood motionless, considering. Finally shaking his head, he started backing towards the corner of the farmhouse. Whoever was inside didn't really matter. Even if it was only a drifter, or someone from a neighbouring farm who had been surprised by the storm, they couldn't risk that he or she would mention seeing an Elf. Everyone knew that practically every Elf on the Island ran with the Greycloaks - apart from the strange, dark-haired Elves he'd heard about in the South. Just the mention of something like that would bring the Blackscars down on this farm like a sledgehammer.
If whoever was inside got as much of a glimpse of Cer, then he would... would have to be silenced. Cer gritted his teeth. He had killed twice before, in combat, and the memory brought a sour taste to his mouth. The thought of getting someone killed because he couldn't take listening to two human girls discussing carnal activities... No. He couldn't do that. He'd go inside, tell Peter that there was someone in the shed, ask him to wake up the girls, and go up to tell the farmer and his wife. With a bit of luck, they wouldn't have to do anything.
Inside the shed, Su'kaya swore silently as the person outside, reduced to a mere shadow by the swirling snow, stopped right where she had crossed to the shed. The sound of a door slamming shut, though muffled both by the wind and the thick walls of the storage shed, had still been enough to alert her. She had shut the door, risking the latch falling down and blocking it, and through a gap between the logs, partially plugged with moss, she saw a shadowy silhouette, holding some sort of staff, or just possibly a bow, appear like a ghost from around the corner of the farmhouse. He had to have seen her tracks. She had tried to keep covering her tracks behind her as she left Rann, but when the wind had started blowing, carrying the branch became an almost unbearable chore. When a particularly strong gust of wind caught her cloak as well as the branch and almost carried her away like a leaf, she had finally thrown it away. The snow and wind would cover her tracks better than she ever could, anyway. Now, however...
Try as she might, she couldn't make out any details about the person, but unless the snow had tricked her completely, he or she was backing slowly away. Whoever the shadow was, he or she knew enough not to turn his back on the shed. A couple of more seconds and the shadowy figure would be gone behind the corner, no doubt to return with more people. With a sigh, Su'kaya unfastened her cloak and cocked her crossbow. The bodies would alert the entire area where she had been. Still, it had been more than two months since she had seen combat outside the training grounds. Unnoticed, a satisfied grin began to spread on her black lips.
In two steps, she had gained the door, kicking it open with all her might and heaving her crossbow to her shoulder, feeling the wind bite into her flesh again even as it caught hold of the door and slammed it against the wall. The shadow gave a startled sound, barely audible through the howling wind, and froze.
Su'kaya pulled the trigger. The shadow dropped like a man pole-axed.
For ten, maybe twelve seconds after Cer stormed off, Peter lay still, in case the young Elf came back in again. When that didn't happen, the Greycloak sat up in bed, grinning. He didn't know exactly what had made his companion storm off like that, but he had seen him lean in against the girls' door, and thought he had a fair idea. Much as he liked Cerlindron, the Elf wasn't exactly hard to read. For someone who claimed not to be interested in human girls - something Peter had long since accepted that he'd never fathom - He sure did seem pretty preoccupied with what was going on in there.
The heavily built man strained his ears. There was no way he could hear what they were saying through the oaken door or the thick wall, but unless his ears totally deceived him, there were some decidedly pleasant moaning from beyond the door. His grin grew wider, his eyebrows unconsciously rising slightly, as he rubbed one hand against the stubble on his cheek. He'd heard Ivy make those sounds a few times before, occasionally because of him. He didn't always notice her back in the base camp, with Cer's sister around and all. But without the stunning Elven girl to distract him, he had to admit that Ivy could turn any man's head if she wanted to. The peasant girl had filled out nicely since last time he was here, too, and judging by the sounds, there was every possibility she had matured in other ways as well.
Maybe he should suggest to Cer and Ivy that they could stay an extra day or two. If he just asked Ivy in the right way... Feeling his grin grow wider, and the not entirely unnoticeable movement in his pants to match, Peter slid half-way out of bed, good-humoredly chastisizing himself for thinking they should all stay this close to a Blackscar camp an extra day, just so he could bed a new girl. Then he froze as the harsh noise of a slammed door reached his ears like a faint echo of Cer's violent exit, made soft by the thick walls and the driving snow. Cursing the wind, the big man strained his ears again. Either it was just his imagination, or he could make out a just barely audible, very human sounding groan of pain mixed with the howling wind outside.
There is an idea in many people's minds that heavy-framed, strong men should be lumbering and slow. If that ever had root in truth, Peter had long since put such talk to shame. When he needed to, the towering man was as quick, as agile, as any man. He had surprised many. Some fatally so. He had slept - or rested - practically fully clotherd. A single, quick motion brought him from the bed to the door, the sword that had been leaning against the bed, safely in its scabbard, now gleaming naked in his hand. The moan, if it ever was there, was gone, but in its place the wind howled with new fury, as if the very idea that someone had dared go outside tonight had offended it. The Greycloak's free hand rested for a second on the doorknob, suddenly cold with sweat. What if Cer had walked into a Blackscar patrol? He glanced back at the door to the girl's room, teeth grating on his lower lip. He should wake them. The place could already be surrounded and the game up, for all he knew. Perhaps it could still be time for them to make it look like they had forced their way in here, and save the family. But any second lost might mean Cer's death, if he wasn't dead already.
Hissing a curse through clenched teeth, Peter let go of the doorknob, wrenched his dagger from his belt and hurled it at the door to the little cot as hard as he could. He'd turned back to the main door before seeing if they heard it. There was a small hatch in this door, he suddenly remembered. The fire Cer had kept so nicely burning would cast him into clear silhouette the moment he opened the door, and even in this weather, no-one with a bow could miss a target like that. But the small hole... Even on a sunny day, the hatch was nearly invisible from the outside. At least he could hope for a glimpse of the situation. As he reached for the bar that kept it shut, he heard the cot door open behind him.
Ivy didn't ask. The blade in Peter's hand would have been answer enough in any case.
Peter opened the hatch. A second later, a crossbow bolt slammed into the woodwork two inches from his face.
Kneeling above the groaning man, freshly loaded crossbow pointed at his heart, Su'kaya had a decision to make. It had been so easy. She'd noted with some satisfaction that she'd hit exactly where she wanted, the bolt's black shaft jutting out from just between his heart and his collar bone. He was even still alive, and would remain so just long enough to tell her how many were still inside. She'd briefly wondered why, in the Firstborn's name, the man had wandered outside with bow and arrow, but no warm cape or even thick tunic. It was cold enough that the flow of bright crimson staining his fine tunic was sluggish, forming crystals as the flying snow touched it, and this was what he was wearing?
Then the man half-lifted his head, glazed, hazel eyes struggling to focus on her... and everything ceased being simple. A Dru'Arreth. A secondborn. But... what was he doing here? This deep in Blackscar territory, nothing good avaited a race which had so obviously thrown in with... the Greycloaks. Of course. The happenstance was staggering, but it stood to reason that the Blackscars' arch-enemies would have their own spies in their lands...
None of which explained the Secondborn's lack of warm garments, but Su'kaya was not entirely unaccustomed to her kind's poor, lost siblings doing less than sensible things. She didn't have time to worry about it, either. The Elf had probably just unknowingly bought his life, but -
Something moved at the main house's door, a tiny square of light in the wind-swept cold. The Warrior's instincts took over again, and suddenly, it was all back to being easy. In a flash, the dark Elf took aim and fired.
Peter jerked his head back as splinters flew from the woodwork, and he heard a gasp from Linn behind him. As he stumbled back, he was briefly aware of Ivy pushing the blonde farmgirl towards the stairs. The next moment, he heaved the door open. He had hardly gotten to see much, but that one, slight second, he was certain he'd seen a shadow holding a crossbow. Certain enough to bet his life on it, apparently. It had barely been ten metres. He could cross that before the bastard could have time to reload...
The burly Greycloak stopped dead at the door, one naked foot plunged into the snow. Behind him, he heard the girls stop, as well.
Out in the snow, Cerlindron lay, lifeless, a dark shaft sprouting from his chest and a ghastly crimson stain spreading around it. Behind him, half propping him up as cover and half displaying him, was a dark-clad figure, holding a matted knife towards his friend's throath. Beneath the black hair he could glimpse a face pale as King Winter himself... and a pair of glittering eyes as cold as the night outside.
"Rejoice, Greycloak."
The voice was as harsh and biting as the clipped Islander it spoke, with a cruel lash of mirth hidden beneath it. It was also, unmistakably, a woman's.
"Your allies have come."
To be continued...?
Fist of Dar-Ratha - Chapter 2
Previous Story:Fist of Dar-Ratha - Chapter 1
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