Morning's Companion

[Chiroptera]

Solo, continued from The Golden Girl Tavern.
"The light of day is truly the most glorious when contrasted with the darkness of night . . ."
Tales of questing heroes always mentioned the glory and spoils that followed the completion of a challenging mission. Gold, the beautiful princess, a magical sword . . . the hero always seemed to come away from his struggle with a pay-off that made the whole troubling affair worthwhile.

The only prize Eltarri could claim was an agonizing soreness that spread through every muscle in her body.

She had been awakened by the boisterous mating calls of a robin that had taken up residence in the spreading limbs of the oak tree under which she slept. Eltarri's first instinct had been to reach for a rock to throw at the offending avian. Upon attempting to move her arm, however, a shock of agony had flared in her shoulders, a pain so unexpectedly harsh that her responding screech had abolished the need for a stone, startling the bird into a squawking flight that left more than a few feathers behind. The only subsequent sounds from the half-elf's campsite was the occasional rustling as she shifted under her cloak and the doleful moans that the movement engendered.

Eltarri decided that her quest would have to wait for a day or two, at least until she was able to get off the ground. She lay on her back and gazed up at the azure sky through the branches of the tree, marvelling at the colors and light that permeated the surface world. She had set up camp in a small, bush-surrounded clearing that afforded a clear view of the purple mountain range that she had recently left for the first time in her life. Her head rested on one of the gnarled roots that pushed through the ground at the base of the oak, though now she regretted her decision to sleep on the uneven ground that was covered with the lush grass that had inspired that idea in the first place. Dappled sunlight drifted lazily to the earth, its sparkling radiance reflected off every leaf and branch of the flora around her. She wondered again, as she often had since leaving the underground caves that she had spent the first seventeen years of her life in, why her mother had so rarely allowed her to see the glory that was nature. A nagging voice in her head told Eltarri that she probably already knew what her mother's response to that query would be.

There is a darkness inside of you. She would say, her red eyes shadowed with shame and sadness. It must be kept under strict control. Who knows what would happen if it were to be unleashed on the surface?

It was why the innate talent for magic that she had inherited from her mother had never been nurtured. It was the reason for the isolation and stern discipline that had characterized her childhood. It was why she had not even known about her father's sword and the magical bracers that now graced her forearms until her sixteenth birthday, the day her mother had deemed her ready to learn the truth about herself.

Bloody lot of good that blasted surface-elf blood does me, she thought bitterly. Surface elves were tall and graceful, all of sunlight and spun silver. She was short and clumsy, dark-haired and sallow. The evil that had indirectly governed her life would certainly be repulsive to her unearthly kin, who gloried in their own ethereal beauty and culture. That elven heritage was one she would never attempt to claim, despite the light skin tone that she had inherited from her father that led many to mistake her for one of her lofty brethren. Her humanly coloring had been unaffected when she had been filled with darkness, though her eyes and facial features had changed to reflect her unnatural Dark Elven ethnicity. Her full-elven mother had been transformed completely, golden hair bleached to an incandescent white, creamy skin altered to a midnight ebony. Her eyes, that had been a green of famed vivacity, were turned a dark, haunting crimson. But more than the outward changes, the transformation that had occured inside of the two was what had caused her mother to seclude her daughter and herself underground.

I am . . . evil. The realization stung as much now as it did when she had first learned of her innermost nature. All her life, her mother had taught her to control the blossom of malevolence that resided deep within her, to deny the darkness that constantly strained to escape from her control so that it could fully transform her into the dark witch she could become. And though compressing the evil had become second nature to the girl, the battle that raged inside of her mother was less auspicious. Eltarri remembered the sudden rages that would turn her proud and noble mother into a screaming, violent banshee of roiling hatred and malice. Afterwards she would cry, smothering her daughter with tearful kisses and apologies, but the uncontrolled bouts of fury lasted longer and longer as Eltarri aged. It was with a brave and dignified facade that the once-radiant elf revealed her plan for self-imposed imprisonment to her sixteen-year-old daughter.

If I'm buried behind miles and miles of rock, she had explained optimistically, when the evil fully takes over -- as I know it will -- at least I will be able to harm no one other than myself.

Eltarri's eyes squeezed shut as she drew in a long, ragged breath. Her barely-remembered father was gone, banished to an unknown plane by the same sorceress who had embedded the darkness deep inside of her mother and herself. The transformed elf who had been her sole companion and mentor was trapped leagues below ground in a prison of cold stone, awaiting the day when her body would yield to the evil that barraged the barriers she had confined it to. Despair was a comforting tormentor . . .

"NO!" Eltarri declared aloud. "I will not fail her!"

Determination once again coursed through Eltarri's veins, dispelling the hopelessness that had risen like a suffocating fog. It was not too late to save her mother. There had to be someone somewhere who could undo the sorceress' curse.

And I will wander the world from one end to the other until I find him!

[Chiroptera]

Eltarri gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand, taking advantage of the solitude to groan pathetically at every twinge that assailed her over-worked body.

I'll be a crippled centipede if hero work isn't a heck of a lot harder than stories make it out to be.

It took only a few minutes for the girl to clean up her campsite. She pulled on her boots and fastened her short cloak over her other clothes before she strapped her father's sword onto her back. She was pleased to discover that the soreness in her muscles faded as she moved, though she still made a mental note to purchase a bedroll at the next town she came to. Her brows drew down as she remembered the frosty reception that had greeted her at the last town she had stopped in, but she shook the caution away with a defiant flip of her braid.

Things will get better, she told herself optimistically. From here, they can only go up.

Waving a fond farewell to the oak tree, Eltarri stepped out onto the worn dirt road that had been her only steady companion thus far on her journey, nibbling at a piece of dried bead. The half-elf's steps lightened as she walked, her spirit lifted by the beauty of the land around her. It was early summer and the plants that surrounded the road were in full bloom, seeming to compete with each other for the attention of all who walked past. The sun was shining, birds weren't singing, and the city of Scara Brae seemed only a heartbeat away. Eltarri's golden eyes roamed the landscape, barely focusing on one sprouting flower before another drew their attention away.

This land will never have to be afraid of me, she thought contentedly. I don't think that even a dark witch would destroy this glorious haven.

Eltarri was so wrapped up in wonder at her surroundings that when the wind carried a cloud of dark smoke into her face, the half-elf jumped back with a theatrical gasp, spluttering at the strangely-smelling fumes. Unable to identify what the smoke was from, she cautiously lifted her face and sniffed the air.

It's somehow familiar, she decided. Like a variation of something that I should recognize.

Though she couldn't identify the smell, Eltarri's curiosity was piqued, and she turned in a slow circle, sniffing regularly, in an attempt to pinpoint the source of the gas. She stopped circling when the smell came again, this time clearly coming from off the road. But even if her keen elven senses hadn't detected the scent, a piercing shriek of agony from the same direction alerted the girl to the smoke's origin.

Burning . . . flesh? The thought made Eltarri's stomach roil. She had never been able to resign herself to the idea of eating a once-living creature. Though this idiosyncrasy had severely limited her underground diet to mushrooms, lichens, and the occasional surface-found produce that her mother had ventured from their caves to retrieve, Eltarri had always maintained her strict intolerance for meat and had no inclination to relinquish it. She could endure witnessing meat's consumption by others and understood its appeal, to a certain degree, but cooking and eating a dead animal was one thing, and burning a live creature was another.

"Hero time," Eltarri doggedly muttered.

The option to stay uninvolved did not even cross the adventurer's mind as she stepped off the road and into the high brush. Her only concern was that of whether she should draw her sword or wait until its need became more obvious. She decided to wait so that the large weapon wouldn't hinder her stealthy approach.

Eltarri crept as quickly as possible through the leaves, stalks, and branches of the plants. She tried to move soundlessly, but her cloak and sword rustled the bushes she passed through. She could see only a few feet ahead of her, but as she pressed on, following the sickening smell, a rising clamor of voices and moving people alerted her to the possibility of multiple adversaries.

The smell soon become nearly unbearable, but Eltarri set her jaw and forced herself to keep going. When she reached the large, grassless clearing a few minutes later, the half-elf crawled beneath a cluster of holly bushes and laid on her belly to peer out at the lively scene before her.

The clearing was mostly filled with young, rugged men who were dressed in dark and tattered clothes and who bore weapons of all materials and condition. They were dirty and laughed raucously, their attention focused on some activity that was going on in the center of the area. Eltarri could only glimpse the proceedings from between the legs of the milling humans. They strode about, pompously waving unsheathed swords and swilling from tin mugs that were often refilled at a stack of barrels along one side of the clearing. Though the men were obviously ill-bred and coarse, they seemed to carry their weapons with confidence, and their arrogant struts seemed to be more than mere bluster.

Oh, come on, she chided herself impatiently as fear began to edge into her determination. I just took down a zombie yesterday. How can a few humans be worse than that?

"'Ow long do ya think 'e'll last?"

Eltarri scrunched back into her bush as silently as possible as the brown boots of two men came to a stop in front of her. Their heavily-accented voices drifted down to her ears, though she could tell by their feet that they were facing away from her.

"Well, I dunno," a different voice replied thoughtfully. "I woulda said that he'd 'ave given in 'bout an hour ago, so the guy's obviously got more balls than I gave 'im credit for. But I think Ganh's gonna start using 'is knives soon, and once 'e gets started I really don't think Syral's gonna have much of a chance."

The man who had spoken first gave a noncommital grunt. "Twenty gold says 'e lasts more'n an hour."

The second man laughed. "I'm already sixty in a hole for me last guess."

"All right," the first replied grandly. "I'll pay back yer sixty if 'e lasts more'n an' hour and if Ganh chooses to let 'im die with his valuables."

"Attached?"

The first man chortled with mirth. "Let's talk more once I've had a wee bit more ta drink."

As the two men walked away, the crowd that blocked the center of the clearing from Eltarri's view suddenly shifted. For one brief moment, Eltarri was given a clear view of what the men were yelling and cheering over, but that brief glimpse was all that was needed for her blood to run cold.

A small brazier sat in the dirt, smoke rising steadily from the glowing coals it contained. A naked man lay eagle-spread on the ground a few feet away, hands and feet tied to wooden stakes that were driven into the ground. His eyes were bound with a black scarf, but even from her distance Eltarri could see that his teeth were clenched tightly together, the muscles in his jaw clearly defined. Another man stood over him with his back to her, dressed completely in dark blue silk that partially obstructed her view of the victim as the robed man moved. He carried two metal spikes in gloved hands, metal spikes that glowed a burning red . . .

The crowd reshifted and her view was again blocked, but Eltarri silently thanked the gods for that mercy. She didn't need to see. She could hear the sizzling, smell the stench of burning flesh, sense the agony of the man as the crowd roared with approval.

Eltarri's mind went white with rage. She scrambled backwards, heedless of the noise she was making, fingers at the clasp of her harness before she was even completely out of the bushes. Her hand moved to grasp the hilt of her sword-

-and was caught in a vise-like grip that twisted her arm and sent a flare of pain racing to her brain. The half-elf gasped as she was lifted off the ground, then spun around to face her captor. A grinning beard met Eltarri's eyes, sprouting from below bright eyes and above a massive torso. The man was easily six feet tall and more muscled than a dwarven hammer-smith.

"Wha's this?" The huge man boomed in a jocular voice, a trail of saliva running down his dark beard. "I seem t'ave caught a little rat! Lessee what Ganh thinks of this wee intruder."

He lifted a club with his other hand and casually swung it at Eltarri's head, sending an explosion of lights across her eyes before her vision was swallowed by darkness.

[Chiroptera]

"She stirs! Welcome back to the land of the still-living."

The jovial voice rang through Eltarri's pounding head as her eyes slid open to the fading pink hues of twilight. She could only see a small circle of the sky far above her, and it took the girl only a moment to realize that she was gazing up from a considerable distance below ground. She tried to lift her hand to her face, but found that her wrists were tied together behind her back, which was resting against a curved wall. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed and bound together with a frayed rope that rubbed painfully against her bare skin. Too dazed to take notice of her surroundings, she looked up and saw a bound man sitting against the opposite wall, his outstretched legs only a few feet from her own. Just looking around caused the knot on the side of her head to throb, so she closed her eyes and leaned back on the wall. Her mouth was dry, so she took a moment to work up some salive before she spoke.

"What happened to my boots?" Her voice was scratchy and weak, but the man across from her spoke in a cultured and smooth lilt.

"Ganh told the men to remove all unnecessary articles of clothing," he said with a chuckle. "Be glad that you're wearing anything at all!"

Eltarri's eyes shot open in an instant as she realized just how "naked" she was. She still wore her pants and sleeveless bodice, but her jacket, cloak, boots, belt, and sword-harness had been removed. Even her wrists were naked, a state they had rarely been in since she had recieved the bracers more than a year ago.

"My sword!" She exclaimed, thrashing frantically against her bonds in a paroxysm of panic.

"Hey, cool down!"

Eltarri lifted her face to glare at the man across from her. Her eyes traveled from polished black boots to red-and-blue velvet clothes and then to a handsome face that was directed back at her and stretched into a friendly grin. Disheveled blond hair fell into warm hazel eyes that were bright despite a split lower lip.

Eltarri's gaze wandered around the confined area. The walls were made of cobbled stone, but the rounded floor, whose diameter couldn't have been more than ten feet, was hard-packed dirt. A large pile of dirty fabric rested against the wall to Eltarri's right and soft light fell from above, unhindered in its descent except by a wooden beam that stretched across the mouth of the hole, twenty or thirty feet above her.

"Where are we?"

The man glanced around unconcernedly. "In a dry well. But don't worry, we haven't been abandoned; they posted a guard. He's off taking a piss at the moment. You are, apparently, a very valuable find."

I'm in . . . a well? The irony of the situation was not lost on the half-elf. She let out a dry laugh and shifted her feet to ease the rubbing of the rope.

"What's funny?" The man asked.

"Yesterday I threw a zombie's head into a dry well," she told him. "Today I'm trapped inside of one."

"A zombie?" The man sat forward, his gaze focused intently on Eltarri's face. "Tell me more."

"Who are you?" Eltarri challenged, refusing to let herself be concerned with manners. She stared accusingly at the man, who pretended to reel back as if her words had been a physical blow.

"My name is Kalaj Do'Minar," he said with a gracious nod, "but you can call me Kal. I was a wandering bard until - like you - I was made a hapless captive of the notorious Dark Bane."

"The . . . what?" Eltarri was having trouble processing the man's words, distracted by the dull throbbing that came from the side of her head where the giant had clobbered her.

"The Dark Bane. That's what this band of ruffians calls itself." Kal rolled his eyes. "Apparently their leader had plans to expand this little club until it could become a desirable ally for the Scara Scourge, but-,"

"The who?"

Kal eyed the half-elf speculatively. "You must be new. The Scourge is the largest and most organized gang in Scara Brae. You've never heard of them?"

Eltarri felt the sting of embarassment at her ignorance. She quickly changed the subject to avoid appearing even more uninformed. "The leader . . . he's this Ganh everybody keeps talking about, right?"

The bard barked a short laugh. "He is now. The Dark Bane recently went through a change in management. Ganh took over and threw the old guy out of office. If he comes around, he'll have to thank you for saving his life."

"Me?" Eltarri stared at the man in confusion.

"Yes, you," Kal went on blithely. "Your capture was the highlight of the morning! Everyone got so excited about finally having a female in camp that they all lost interest in Ganh's coronation ceremony. So now they're all up there having a tournament to see who gets to keep you, and Syral's little show's been postponed til tomorrow. If he can live that long."

The conversation she had overheard from the bushes suddenly began to make sense. "The torture . . . that man was the old leader?"

Kal nodded with a smirk. "Oh yeah. Ganh decided to make a very clear example of what would happen to 'traitors.'"

"But, didn't he . . ." Eltarri shook her head in consternation. She had been about to ask whether or not she was incorrect to think that Ganh was more a traitor, but she dismissed the question with a shrug. Everything the humans did was complicated. What was the point of trying to figure it all out reasonably? "What are they going to do with him until tomorrow?" she asked instead.

"Keep him with the other prisoners, of course." Kal jerked his head towards what Eltarri had assumed was just a pile of discarded clothing. On closer inspection, the girl could see the outline of a man beneath the cloth, sprawled on his stomach with his head facing away from Eltarri.

"Why isn't he tied up?"

Eltarri blushed as soon as the question left her mouth, the answer obvious. He'd probably been so thoroughly tortured that escape wasn't a serious threat. But Kal merely smiled and looked up at the sky.

"The question you should be asking, little elf, is why we are tied up. It's not as if we'd be able to scale these walls."

Eltarri noticed that his voice held a note of challenge, as though he were testing her intelligence. Defiance flared in her chest.

"I suppose you already know," she snapped. The bard's eyes returned to her face, his smile growing.

"Actually, I do," he admitted with mock humility. "I'm tied up so that I don't kill Syral."

"Why would you kill him?"

"He's the one who captured me," Kal said, his face hardening. "I've been this brutish hoard's source of entertainment for almost a year. Syral swore that if I didn't perform every night I'd provide entertainment in a much more painful and short-lived fashion." He spat vindictively at the prone figure. "Don't you love poetic justice?"

"So why am I tied up?" Eltarri asked, hoping to draw the bard's attention away from his helpless enemy.

Kal eyed her with a leery grin. "The men just wanted an excuse to lay hands on you."

Eltarri had nothing to say to that, so she turned away from the bard and focused on trying to free her hands. She gave up a short while later. The knots were tighter than what she could manage without sight and free movement.

"So . . . zombies?"

The half-elf looked at Kal, who sat with a curious expression on his face.

"You're the bard," she said waspishly. Her shoulder and head still hurt from the giant's treatment and the girl was not in the mood for discussion. She was too preoccupied with the thought that her fate was being decided by the sword-skill of the oafs above her. "You tell a story."

He shrugged and sighed heavily. "I was just trying to be friendly. You are a fairly interesting character. You've got the features of an elf, the size of a dwarf, and the tongue of a teenage human. You sneak up on a gang to watch a torture carrying a monster sword that none of the men can even lift, you have an obvious deficiency in basic Scara Brae education, and now you fight zombies, too. What's next, do you transform into a green giant when you're angry?"

Eltarri was about to retort when the light overhead was blocked. The two looked up to see a man leaning over the hole, lowering a thick rope down the shaft.

"I'm comin' down to untie ye, bard," the man called down. "The men are ready for a show!"

"Who won the tournament?" Kal called back as the rope hit the dirt floor.

"Umm . . . we're taking an in'ermission," the lout hollered as he climbed down.

"See?" Kal said to Eltarri in a stage whisper. "I'm just these idiots' half-time show."

The man reached the ground and quickly untied the bard. Eltarri noted that he wasn't even armed, as if he assumed that the finely-dressed bard wouldn't pose a threat. He stood to the side and Kal began to climb the rope, throwing a wink at Eltarri before he shimmied up the braided cord.

"Don't worry," the man grinned as he followed after the bard. "Ye won't 'ave long to wait."

Eltarri watched the man climb, then sighed as the rope was pulled up after him. She looked again at the still figure nearby, then rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Escape was impossible, at least until she was out of this well, and with the bard gone, sleep seemed the only available distraction.

[Chiroptera]

"Don't trust him," a muffled voice advised softly, breaking into the silence. It was a grim, strained voice, one that had once been deep and mellow, but Eltarri recognized a note of suffering that lurked just below the surface. Her own mother's voice had carried that same hidden pain for as long as she could remember.

Eltarri opened her eyes and looked at the well's only other occupant. The pile of cloth hadn't moved.

"Why not?" She asked tentatively. Having witnessed even a small part of the torture, Eltarri knew that Syral was in no shape to harm her, but a twinge of fear still tickled at the back of her neck.

"He's the bastard son of a rather prominent politician," the pile said in a raspy voice. “Deceit is in his blood.”

Eltarri pictured the boyish face and charm of the young bard and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. We'll probably both be dead by tomorrow, anyway."

A dry laugh came from the man beneath the cloth. "And what would be so bad about that?"

For a moment, Eltarri could only sit in thoughtful silence. What would be so bad about death? Aside from the actualy dying process, the cool nothingness that Eltarri expected didn't seem all that threatening. At the very least, her death would mean the destruction of the evil inside of her.

And what could possibly be wrong with destroying evil?

The pale, shadowy-eyed visage of an elf loomed unexpectedly before the girl's vision. A flash of shame made her answer the ex-leader with more conviction than she had thought she possessed.

"You may have nothing left to live for," she said, "but my life has a purpose. I won't give up until I've freed my mother."

"You would sacrifice your own life to save your mothers?" he scoffed. "Do you honestly think she'd demand that of you?"

"What she demands doesn't matter, because she would never have to ask!" Eltarri declared hotly.

"She expects you to live your life for her?"

"I choose to do what I can to help her. Out of love."

"Love is fickle," the man sneered dismissingly. "Fear is the only dependable motivator."

"Oh, right," Eltarri said sarcastically. "Bloody lot of good it did for you."

The cloth rustled as it was slowly pulled away. A head of cloud-white hair lifted from the ground as Syral turned to look at the half-elf. Ivory skin covered a face of sharp lines and angles. A squared chin made his jutting cheekbones even more prominent above hollowed cheeks. Blood trickled from the corners of a thin mouth and nose, which was obviously broken and swelling. But the most startling aspect of the man's appearance were his eyes, which seemed to be completely devoid of color.

"You're an albino?" The question was out before Eltarri had time to consider it. Her face grew hot and she wished her hands were free so that she could hide her blushing cheeks.

"It's what got me to the top of that band of traitors to begin with. They thought my condition was a sign of good fortune from the gods." His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "I hope they get all the bad luck my absence portends."

"Hey, down there!"

Eltarri looked up at the call, noting with apprehension that the sky had darkened to a murky purplish-blue. Was the tournament over already? A rope dropped to the ground a few feet away from her and a man slid down, the same one that had taken up the bard a short while ago.

"Le's go," he said, looking at the girl and gesturing toward the rope. "Ganh wants the remaining conten'ers to see the prize they're fightin' for."

Eltarri gave the man a blank stare. "I'm tied up."

The man's face went red above his beard, but he scrambled closer and bent down, taking a short knife out of his belt. Eltarri shivered as the cold metal brushed her ankles and wrists, then stood and went to the hanging rope. She was surprised to see the man walk over to the prone figure of Syral. He gingerly nudged his ex-leader, then swung his leg back and gave the man a vicious kick, smiling at the albino's responding grunt.

"That was for trench duty," he muttered, spitting down. "And Ganh wants you up there, too." He turned to Eltarri and motioned for her to start climbing the rope. She obliged, though the once-again sore muscles of her arms prevented her from from moving very quickly. She was only about seven feet off the ground when her arms gave out. The girl clung to the rope but didn't have enough energy for further action.

"Help the lady up, boys!" The man at the bottom of the well hollered.

Eltarri felt herself being hoisted up the shaft. She took a deep breath of fresh air as her head cleared the hole, glad to be once again on the surface. Three men grabbed her as she clambered over the edge of the well, then two went back to the rope and began to haul again. Eltarri cast furtive glances around herself, being careful not to aggravate the man who had a hand on her shoulder by moving around too much. She was still in the wilderness, that much she could see. There were more trees than she remembered seeing at the clearing, but she recognized the species of bushes that she had hid under while spying on the gang.

A moment later the limp figure of Syral was roughly pulled out of the well. The rope had been tied around his torso in a harness that had left deep, red burns across his chest. Part of the cloth that had covered him was now tied around his waist in a barely-adequate show of modesty. The harness was removed and tossed back into the hole before the two men jerked the pale man to his feet. Eltarri winced at the oozing burns and sores than were ripped open by the men's rough treatment. Syral stood only with support, his face clenched with the pain of movement as he was held between the two thieves.

Grunting preceded the arrival of the man from down the well. He glanced at Syral with distaste, then eyed Eltarri appreciatively before setting off through the trees with a beckoning gesture to his comradres.

"Le's go, lads," he drawled over his shoulder. "Back to the games!"

[Chiroptera]

Eltarri stumbled through the forest, her bare feet catching on rocks and roots. She felt guilty when she thought of how Syral behind her had to be feeling, but his greater pain did nothing to diminish her own. She tried to remember their route, in case she had the opportunity to make a fast getaway, but the dim light and plentiful flora hindered her already limited tracking ability.

The half-elf was watching her feet when she was pulled to a stop by her guard. She looked up and was chagrined to see that they were in the same clearing that they had been in before. Only now there was a roaring fire by the bushes she had hidden herself beneath. The smell of roasting meat drifted through the air, but this time it came from a fat pig that was being turned on a spit over the flames. Most of the men were sitting around the edge of the clearing, eating and drinking, but about fifteen stood in the center, sweaty, bare-chested, and carrying unsheathed weapons. As the two prisoners' presence became obvious, conversation died out and the attention of the men focused on the guarded pair.

"Ah, welcome, dear prize," an oily voice called from the other side of the clearing. A dark-haired man in blue robes was making his way toward them, his arms outstretched and a beaming smile on his face. "You are indeed a sight for sore eyes."

Eltarri recognized the man as he drew closer. The last time she had seen him, his hands had been filled with hot metal stakes. She resisted the urge to spit in the man's face, settling instead on a hate-filled scowl.

"Look, lads," the man called, turning to grin at the men behind him. "This little kitten has bared her fangs! Who will win the privilege of pulling her teeth?"

A loud shout came from the bare-chested men in the center of the clearing. Those on the edge gave regretful hoots and booed.

"Now, now," Gahn chided teasingly. "You all had your chance. The elf-kitten will sit near me until one of you is declared her tamer." He turned scornful eyes onto Syral. "And what's this? It seems the traitor also wishes to watch these games. And to think that it was he who tried to ban us from such entertainment!"

The crowd of men made loud sounds of disapproval. Ganh's eyes gleamed feverishly. "What do we think of our beloved Nim Elee now?"

Angry shouts filled the air and pieces of meat were hurled at the white figure that hung between two guards. His head remained bent, but Eltarri could see his colorless eyes burning with hatred. She wondered at the title that Gahn had used for him but her attention was distracted when the usurper spoke again.

"He will sit with the kitten, and the one who is victorious will be allowed to give the traitor twenty lashes before his slow and agonizing death tomorrow. Let the fight continue with Gorak and Fann!"

All but two of the men went to stand near the fire, striking nonchalant poses so that the fire's light gleamed off their muscles. Eltarri rolled her eyes at their vanity as she was pulled after Ganh and pushed down onto the ground. Syral was dropped unceremoniously next to her, and Ganh sat in a chair a few feet on her other side. He watched the men who dueled before him with sadistic pleasure, his smile growing every time one or the other scored a hit.

"Flats only!" He called once. "Shed blood will count as a hit for your opponent."

Eltarri sat stonily, ignoring the men who nudged each other and grinned in her direction. She glanced at Syral out of the corner of her eye. He lay on his stomach, eyes closed and breath wheezing faintly in and out of his battered body.

"Nim Elee?" She questioned in a whisper.

A bitter snort of laughter shook his shoulders. "Just a nickname. It's elvish for -,"

"'White Eye', I know."

A velvet-clothed figure suddenly plopped onto the ground between Eltarri and Ganh. "Why, if it isn't the well-kept kitten."

Eltarri gave Kalaj a withering look and then pointedly turned back to the fight. He laughed and looked around her at Syral, whose eyes were closed again.

"What on earth would inspire Ganh to bring him out here?" He murmured curiously. "They should just leave him to die in the well."

Eltarri saw that Syral was either unconscious or pretending to be, so she glanced around to see how near their guards were. Two men stood about five feet away from the three prisoners, but their attention was focused on the battle in the center of the clearing.

"How are we going to escape?" She whispered to Kal. His head whipped to the side and he stared at her with an incredulous gaze.

"Escape? Are you serious? I've been their captive for all this time and you think that we can just escape?"

Eltarri didn't voice her belief that the bard was something of a pansy, but she shrugged and began to count the band silently. "Two heads are better than one."

"And two swords would be better than none, assuming that you can even use yours."

Eltarri ignored his doubtful tone. "I need my bracers, first."

"And what would those pretty red bracelets do for you?" He asked in a mocking tone. The half-elf had the sudden urge to smack the bard across his grinning face.

"They help me fight," she said tersely instead. "Get me my bracers, and I think I can get us out of here."

Kal's green eyes bored into her face, as if to ensure that she was telling the truth. "Okay. What's the plan?"

Eltarri was about to speak when Ganh suddenly rose from his chair and flung his hand out towards the duelers.

"Fifty hits! Gorak has won the round. Lang, Frelon, prepare to battle." He turned his gleaming gaze onto the three prisoners at his side. "But first, a tale from our bard!"

[Chiroptera]

Kalaj rose with a graceful flourish, his handsome face smiling as though his audience was a gathering of rich nobles instead of a hoard of filthy criminals.

"A tale, my lord?" He asked in a voice that carried to the far edges of the clearing. "Or perhaps you would like a song?" He pulled a short pipe from out of his pocket and blew a trilling tune, then tucked it away just as quickly. "Or maybe a dance?" The red-and-blue bard capered across the dusty ground, accompanied by the guffaws of his audience. He stopped with a quick bow, darting a quick, strangely apologetic look at Eltarri before standing tall, his hand flung out dramatically.

"Or perhaps you would like to hear the soon-to-be true escape of the elven well-kitten?"

In the few seconds that it took most of the men to understand his reference, Eltarri felt a shock of heat that rang through her torso with as much force as a physical blow. How could he betray me?

"Yes, yes," Ganh encouraged with a huge laugh, glancing at Eltarri with amusement. "Tell us of the elf's escape!"

"First, my lord, let us discuss the cost of this story," Kal said. "Perhaps we shall exchange this night's entertainment- and that which was provided for the last year - for my freedom?"

Ganh pondered the bard's offer, then grinned widely. "Of course, my boy. Tell us this tale and you shall be free to go!"

Anger rose in Eltarri's throat like water from a geyser, threatening to spew forth. How could he exchange her freedom for his own? What sort of man did that? Her books had done nothing to warn her about the duplicity of handsome men; it was always the unloved member of the group that turned traitor. Her fists clenched tightly in her lap, Eltarri forced herself to sit as stiffly as her mother did, chin lifted and face frozen in a defiantly unconcerned expression.

"When the dear elf was stripped of her belongings," Kal began in a voice of artificial sobriety. "Those given the great honor of removing her clothes failed to realize that the maroon bracers strapped to her wrists, the very blood-toned armbands that had been dismissed as cheap decoration, were in fact . . ." he paused theatrically, " . . . magical!"

A few of the men gave mock gasps of incredulity. The others laughed dismissingly.

"With these magical items of clothing, that little elf, barely half the size of a good barrel of ale, daintier than a dandelion in a sandstorm, can lift- and dare I say, battle - with any sword as though she were a seasoned and god-blessed warrior!"

Eltarri's face was hot as the men continued to roar their mirth. His jocular words were smacking altogether too close to the truth.

"I warned you about trusting him," Syral murmured quietly from her side.

"Fine," she muttered back. "I guess men are as evil as you say."

"All the ones around here, anyway."

"And not only does she suddenly have the capacity to demoralize and destroy even the greatest fighters of our world, but she also changes into a six-foot nymph, clad in scanty lingerie with a bosom that would leave our mountain range green with jealousy!"

Eltarri gritted her teeth. If they left him with her in that well again . . .

"The elf's plan, my lords," Kal said in a voice that promised a juicy secret, "is to steal back her magical bracers. Once they are again on her slender arms, she will transform and take on every one of you-," his eyebrows rose suggestively "single-handedly."

The men bellowed in approval. Even Syral couldn't hold back a small smile. The half-elf's pointed ears were a delicate shade of crimson.

"And once she was through with you," Kal continued, " she would head for the illustrious Scara Brae, to do what she could for the good men of the Scara Scourge. That, my friends," he finished in a mockingly wise lilt, "is the way of the elves." He bowed elegantly to thundrous applause, then strode back towards Eltarri and sat down beside her with a deep exhale.

Eltarri had to twine her fingers together to keep from tearing out his hair.

"Traitor!" she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"Sorry," he whispered back, a true note of regret in his voice. "Maybe I've just been around these losers too long."

"It seems to me, boys, that our little kitten is more dangerous than she looks," Ganh called out, rising from his seat. He turned and gazed appraisingly at Eltarri. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I am quite curious to see if this kitten really will transform into a lioness."

Shouts of agreement answered the man's query, and his face seemed ready to split with the girth of his grin. Kal's face turned white.

"New game, boys!" Ganh whirled around to face the crowd and rubbed his hands together gleefully. "The one who tames the kitten will take it home with him. Fann, go get the bracers!"

[Chiroptera]

Eltarri's heart pounded as one of the men darted off into the forest. Having the bracers back would be a relief, but without her sword, they were as useless as pretty jewelry.

Kal swore softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't think they'd . . . I'm sure they won't hurt you. You're worth more alive than you are dead."

"Shut up," Eltarri snapped under her breath. "If you want to be helpful, tell me where my sword is."

"It's over by the fire," Kal replied. "I saw the men playing with it while I was performing earlier. They're taking turns seeing who can lift it off the ground."

Eltarri felt a moment of terror as Ganh approached her, his arm outstretched. She set her hand lightly onto his, ignoring the wave of nauseau that attacked at the thought of what atrocities those hands were responsible for.

"Here you are, kitten," he said as Fann returned with the bracers. Ganh took them from the man and held them out to her, his eyes bright with anticipation.

Eltarri hesitated for only a second before reaching for her bracers. She hadn't realized how attached she had gotten in just a single year.

Please help me. She thought desperately as she pulled them onto her arms. Disappointed groans came from the men as she swiftly tied the laces and remained a pale half-elf. Though she still lacked shoes, jacket, and harness, the bracers went a long way towards making the girl feel complete.

Ganh stepped back with an excited giggle and clapped his hands. The men who had been lounging around the clearing now stood, pulling out their weapons and grinning at each other.

"Here is a sword for the kitten," Ganh said, handing the girl a short broadsword. The weapon was only about a foot-and-a-half long and less than half the width of her black blade, but without the bracers Eltarri had trouble even with lifting it. "Let the games begin!"

Please, just this once, she silently begged the bracers as the men began to rush toward her, work with a weapon other than my sword!

Already cognizant of the taciturn bracers' reply, Eltarri lofted the little blade over her head and ran towards the men, screaming an unintelligible warcry. Her charge made the approaching men pause for just an instant, long enough for Eltarri to dodge around the throng to the side of the clearing, where she tossed the sword into their midst and began to run full-out, skirting the forest as she circled towards the bonfire on the other side.

The trained men quickly recovered from their shock, their own cries renewing in ferver as they tore after the girl, the ones who had been in the rear now leading the chase.

"Ya idjits had bett'r not hurt m'girl," one thief shouted, swinging his club at the legs of the man beside him. Eltarri's pace slowed as the path between herself and the bonfire was blocked by the charging men. She jumped back in horror as an axe-bearing man leaped out from the bushes and swung his weapon at her head. She fully expected to feel the blow, and so was surprised to see the man's axe bounce harmlessly against . . . nothing? Another man took a swing at her with a stick, but this attack too was stopped a foot away from her body as if by an invisible wall. Eltarri took advantage of the mysterious defense and dived towards the fire, ducking around the men who stared and swore in consternation.

Who would help me? She wondered. And which one's the wizard?

She threw a glance over her shoulder to the other side of the clearing. Ganh stood in front of his chair, smiling beatifically. Kal was biting his lower lip and watching her, his face worried and pale. Syral still lay in his stomach, but now his head was raised and one hand was stretched out toward her. His eyes seemed to glow with a deep-seated power and his lips were moving rapidly.

The albino is the wizard?

Eltarri forgot her amazement as her gaze landed on a massive black sword, sitting harmlessly by the fire beside a number of other, considerably smaller weapons. She leaped forward, ignoring the weapons of the men that slammed harmlessly into her protective shield. She fell against the ground and rolled, hand outstretched, until her fingers brushed against the leather-bound hilt of her sword.

The half-elf could almost feel her bracer's tighteting with recognition as she picked up the weapon with ease, rising to her feet and wrapping both hands around the foot-long handle. The heat of the fire pressed against the girl's back as she looked out across the crowded clearing. Men of all sizes and colors pressed towards her, fighting each other for the chance to take her down. Eltarri looked out and saw Syral's arm drop as she rose, his face falling forward in a faint just as the men closest to her stepped forward with weapons high. Then the sword of a criminal was swinging towards her face, and Eltarri's bracers kicked into action.

[Chiroptera]

Her arms moved as if by their own accord, jerking her sword up to intercept the thief's swinging blade with a clang that resounded over the yells of the criminals. Eyes widened in disbelief as the men saw the half-elf carrying the massive weapon that even the strongest of their number had been unable to lift. Their mouths fell open when she began to fight with it.

Eltarri moved with the guidance of the bracers, stepping after her self-ruling arms like a child being yanked around by an impatient mother. Her hands and fingers moved without her control, whirling the blade to block the attacks that continued to fall from all sides. Eltarri used the warmth of the fire to mark her position in the clearing as her bracers whipped her around, the heavy sword darting through the air as though it were no more than a slender branch. Eltarri could barely glimpse the weapons of the attacking men before her sword had moved to meet them, still only for the moment of impact before she was swung in a different direction to block another attack. Her weapon whipped around her body, moving faster than she had ever thought possible. The edge of her blade collided with a thick club, knocking it back an instant before her sword was over her head, bringing the downward stroke of an axe to a sudden halt. Eltarri nimbly stepped to the side as her sword flashed to knock aside two lunging daggers before swinging around to slam against a machete that had been aimed at her torse.

How long can this last? She wondered desperately. Already her muscles were fatigued, even though it was the bracers that strengthened her arms and pulled them into motion. She was moving faster than any of the men who attacked her, but with at least three attacks occuring simultaneously at any given moment, Eltarri knew it was only a matter of time before the sword was limited by its ability to be in only one place at a time.

Why won't the bracers attack?

Eltarri remembered that the bracers had definitely gone on the offensive when she had fought the zombie. She had stabbed the undead monster through the belly! Why wouldn't they let her do the same thing now? Did they have some sort of qualm about killing living things? Did the bracers have a conscience?

Eltarri focused on her footing as she was nearly dragged off balance by a sudden lunge of the bracers. Arms extended, the half-elf had to leap forward to keep up as her sword was pushed into the side of a mace-carrying human. She swallowed her revulsion as blood gushed out onto the black blade. There was a lull in the movement around her as the men realized that one of their own had been stabbed. Eltarri grimly pulled the blade out of the man, then took a wary step backwards, giving herself a foot of room between herself and the men.

Guess not. The girl realized that the bracers had probably refrained from attacking to prevent her from doing what she had done the last time they had stabbed someone. Eltarri had released the sword and ran away. Such an action in this setting would have undoubtedly proved fatal. A rush of warmth filled the girl as she reached the conclusion that the bracers were just looking out for her, making the most of her strengths and compensating for her weaknesses.

"Get her, lads!" someone cried murderously, lifting his sword and rushing forward.

"Rules stand!" Ganh bawled from his end of the clearing. "No one kills the kitten!"

The charging men faltered, their faces filled with indecision. Their gazes flickered from her face to the fallen form of their comrade. Eltarri didn't waste time wondering if the men would obey their new leader.

Once a traitor . . .

She swung her giant sword at the men on her left, who leapt back in surprise at the sudden attack. Eltarri darted forward, bracers lifting her sword once in a swift block before she was past the men, out of the clearing, and into the dark forest that surrounded it. She could hear the ruckus of the men as they thundered after her, blindly charging through the dense undergrowth with the force of stampeding elephants.

Carrying the four foot blade was awkward, and Eltarri knew that she would never be able to keep up her running pace. She slowed her steps, hoping to make as little noise as possible, and veered to the side. She gave a silent prayer of thanks that her black sword didn't reflect the murky moonlight as she crept through the bushes, keeping close enough to the clearing that the bonfire was visible through the trees. Her elven heritage and the many years she had spent underground granted her keen eyesight even in the darkness, so she moved like a deer, pausing every few feet to make sure that no men were nearby. She could hear the majority of them still running forward, bellowing in rage, but she could also hear the rustling of a few stragglers and the ones who were bright enough to realize that hiding would have been a more intelligent plan than to attempt to outrun the swarm.

Eltarri circled the clearing until she was directly behind the chair of the ringleader, who was standing near the fire and laughing uproariously at the man who had been stabbed. The half-elf was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see that the man was alive and being tended to by a few of his fellow thieves, though these men were grinning widely and snickering.

"He's fine, he's fine," Ganh hollered at the few who remainined in the clearing. "Are you all going to let the elf make fools of you? Go swiftly and join the chase before that vicious little kitten gets away!"

Eltarri looked around the clearing and saw that the few men left were all looking out toward the forest or getting ready to go into it. Syral still lay near the chair, face hidden by his bleeding arm. Eltarri bit her lip. She couldn't possibly carry him, and the man was in no condition to embark on a fast-paced escape. But could she leave him to be tortured to death?

"What am I supposed to do with you?" she murmured aloud.

"Absolutely nothing," came the quiet and unexpected reply from the recumbent figure. "But I can help you retrieve your gear."

Eltarri leaned forward excitedly, barely remembering to keep her voice to a whisper. "How?"

"I saw Ganh's tent on our way from the well." Syral spoke without moving, but Eltarri's eyes were constantly watching the men who remained in the clearing. "It's about a hundred yards to the east from here."

“But what about you?”

Syral gave a cold, mirthless laugh. “Don’t worry about me.”

Eltarri hated the idea of leaving the battered man behind. Heroes never just walked away from those in need! “You could come with me," she offered, "and escape from these killers.”

Syral's head moved in an almost imperceptible tilt, his pale eyes sliding to fix on the half-elf. “Sorry, girl, but I’m a killer. And a thief. And a kidnapper. I’m not a good guy. I don’t go on quests to save Mommies and I don’t rescue damsels in distress.”

Eltarri clenched her fists in frustration. “Then why are you helping me?”

“Ganh always keeps a stash of healing potions in his bag. I’m telling you all this so that you can steal one and bring it back to me." A smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth. "Then we’ll call it even.”

Eltarri thought back to the invisible shield that had saved her life. She nodded and was about to stand when curiosity made her ask,

“How do you know I’ll come back?”

“I don’t.” He admitted frankly. “But even if you don’t return, I won’t be any worse off than I am now."

[Chiroptera]

Eltarri nodded again and ducked back into the brush.

"Hey, wait!"

The half-elf whirled to face the speaker, hoping that the men in the clearing hadn't heard the high-pitched call. She saw Kal standing by a tree that was just outside of the bonfire's light. Upon closer inspection, Eltarri saw that the bard was not standing by the tree, but was actually bound to it with thick hemp ropes. The girl stepped out in front of him. She crossed her arms, sword dangling from one hand, and tilted her head to the side, hiding her mirth at the bard's comeuppance behind a lofty glare.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," Kalaj said with a grin. "Turns out Ganh wasn't serious about setting me free. The double-crossing snake lied to me!"

Eltarri lifted one dark brow. "I can't imagine."

"Don't be snide." The blond man pushed against his ropes to show how thoroughly trapped he was. He turned his hazel gaze onto the half-elf with a hopeful smile. "Help me out?"

"Why should I?" Eltarri challenged in a scornful voice. She was sorely tempted to leave the betrayor there to face his fate alone. But even considering the idea made a hot feeling rise in her chest, a burn that promised all such satisfaction and more, if only she would surrender to it's hold. The evil . . .

With a determined shiver Eltarri stepped forward and lifted her sword. "Hold still," she ordered before sawing at the ropes a few inches away from his arm. He watched her nervously, flinching whenever the black iron drew close, then threw off the ropes when she was done and took a measured step away.

"Come on," she beckoned, setting off through the forest. She heard Kal pushing through the undergrowth after her.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"To Ganh's tent," she said, then paused when the bard stopped dead in his tracks. "Come on, I need to get my things!" And Syral's potion, she decided not to add.

"I just got away from the baddies," he said in an dubious tone. "Why would I want to go back for the sake of a purse and heels?"

Eltarri, once again, had to fight the urge to hit him. "Stop being so blastedly selfish, Kal! There's a bigger world out there than the one that ends at the tip of your nose."

"Yes, there is," he agreed with a delicate sniff, "and I want to be alive to see it!"

The half-elf threw up her hands in disgust and turned on her heel, striding into the forest without a backward glance. She jogged through the trees, hiding in bushes when a man ran by, and reached a canvas tent a few minutes later. It was a small lean-to, so diminutive that even she could see over the top. She peeked into the entrance, saw that it was empty, and quickly crawled inside. A spread bed-roll took up the majority of the carpeted floor, but there was a little wooden chest and a pile of paraphernalia against one of the sides. Eltarri grinned as she recognized her gear. She quickly went through the pile, pulling on her cloak and boots and buckling her belt and harness into place before she fastened her sword onto her back. The spring mechanism of her harness had been a little dented, but Eltarri found that if she pressed the clasp hard enough, the sword-sling would open and close without problem.

Dressed and armed at last, Eltarri went swiftly to her final task; the procuration of a healing potion. She used the hilt of her sword to smash open the lock on the small chest and opened the lid carefully, hoping there wasn't some sort of hex or charm. The cover fell open without complaint, revealing nine tiny, corked bottles that were packed tightly together. Eltarri gingerly lifted one for a closer inspection. Each of the bottles was narrow and undecorated, about the size of the girl's thumb, and filled with a colorful liquid, every one of which was unique from the others in the chest. Eltarri looked at every bottle in turn, but the cork, sides and bottom of each vial were smooth and blank.

Blast. The half-elf thought with chagrin. How the heck am I supposed to tell which one's which?

She was about to pick one randomly and hope for the best when her eyes landed on the inside of the chest's lid. Carved into the dark wood was a three-by-three grid with a single word inscribed on each box. The writing was poorly done and faded, but Eltarri could tell even in the dim light that the language was not Common. She squinted her golden eyes and tilted the chest toward the doorway to catch some of the moonlight. With a startled gasp she realized that the language on the inside of the chest's cover was Elvish! Some of the characters were too faded to read, but Eltarri recognized that though the runes were in Elvish, the words themselves were Common. She quickly eliminated fire, pain, disease, vertility, and death, but of the others she could only read the first of each's two symbols.

Two that begin with "li," one that that starts with "lo," and one "ray."

Eltarri took a moment to think, despite the anxiousness that gnawed at her belly. Her face brightened after a moment.

Life! One of these must stand for life! She pulled out the two potions that corresponded with the "li" boxes. One was a vivid blue, the other a murky white. She listened for the noises of men, and when she heard none, tore a strip of fabric from the end of the bedroll. She used the cloth to wrap the vials together, leaving the corked ends exposed, and tucked them into the front of her belt.

It was as she was rising to leave that her mind registered the silence. It wasn't the innocent silence that resulted from the absence of life, it was a heavy silence, the kind of silence that descends upon a rabbit just before the hawk -

"Get 'er!" A voice screamed from outside the tent.

Eltarri was suddenly crushed beneath the weight of the tent's cross-pole as twenty men threw themselves onto the canvas' edges. She wedged her arm between her stomach and the ground, hoping that the vials would survive the unexpected assault. The canvas was twisted and tucked around her, and then Eltarri was airborne, swinging in a tightly-wrapped hammock of brown tarp.

"Like catchin' flies in honey," chortled one of the carriers. "She was jest where the bard said she'd be!"

"We got 'er, lads," another man cried jovially. "The kitten's ours!"

[Chiroptera]

For a moment, Eltarri forgot her rather dismal surroundings. The rough canvas that cocooned her body, the even rougher men who had captured her in it and who now carried her back to the clearing she had so recently escaped, the inevitably bad fate that awaited her there; all these concerns were pushed aside in favor of a single, all-consuming resolution:

I am going to kill the bard.

It was such a comforting and satisfying thought that it didn't even spark the half-elf's worry about waking up her inner evil. The idea filled her with a glowing, merciless peace, a dreamy promise of justice that made her heart sing with righteous fury. His killing wouldn't be done in revenge, it would be an act of justice!

The girl's breath rushed out of her body as she was dropped unceremoniously to the hard ground. She considered attempting to free herself from the tangled canvas, but the shuffling of many feet across dirt warned her of the return of the mob. If all the men were back from their futile chase, putting herself back in their midst would probably not prove a very wise course of action.

"Look at what we 'ave!" crowed a voice bursting with pride. "We caught the elf-lass! We get to keep 'er!"

"My, my," Ganh's greasy baritone responded, coming from only a few feet away from Eltarri. "Looks like you fellows sacked yourselves a kitten."

"Aye, we did, sir," a voice said from the foot-end of her enclosure. "She was in yer tent, sir, stealin' from ye, no doubt."

"Indeed?" Ganh queried in a supercilious murmur. "How rude. But well done, men, undeniably well done. As the rules of the game state, the kitten is now yours to do with as you like."

A joyful cheer went up from the men who stood over the half-elf. Eltarri shuddered as her imagination helpfully supplied her with suggestions of just what the men were planning.

"Only . . ." Ganh's voice broke through the hubbub, ripe with hidden amusement. "There are twenty of you, yes? And yet there is only one of she. How do you plan to . . . split the booty?"

A long moment of silence greeted their leader's revelation.

"We'll . . . um . . . share?" A hesitant voice suggested.

"I ain't sharin' nothin' o' mine with you," another man declared. "Ye don't even 'ave hair and the lice still love ye!"

"Well, at least I wasn't kicked outta town for deflowerin' my sister," returned an irate criminal.

"That's only 'cause you was caught bangin' yer ma!"

The sound of a fist making forceful contact with a jaw reached Eltarri's ears only moments before a large object tumbled onto her legs. The man growled as he scrambled to his feet, cursing colorfully and roaring threats. Other noises were coming from the men around Eltarri, and the half-elf dared to hope that the men might kill each other before she was even remembered as the cause of the problem.

"Now, now, lads, be calm!" Ganh's voice once again rang out, this time tinged with open glee. "Fighting is not the answer to this dilemma!" He paused thoughtfully. "Well, maybe it is. But it must be organized! I declare a new game!"

Much to Eltarri's disappointment, the grumbling quickly subsided.

"Here it is, lads," Ganh continued. Eltarri could hear his hands rubbing briskly together. "New game: A knife-throwing competition!"

Sounds of approval came from all around the clearing. Eltarri wanted to shake her head in disgust. Men and their silly games . . .

"Ah, but that's not all!" Ganh cried, obviously delighted with himself. "We will be throwing knives not at a silly wooden target, for it's much too dark to properly see a little wooden circle. Instead, we will use for a target an object that is live, practically glow-in-the-dark, much-hated by all, and deserving of any pain we can provide."

Eltarri's heart dropped even before the man spoke his next words.

"Bring out our Nim Elee!"

[Chiroptera]

Eltarri could hear the scuffing of the men as they stepped away, then the scraping of a large object being dragged back in her direction. The load grunted as it was dropped a few paces away from her.

"Get some rope!"

The half-elf began to move, pushing against the sides of the canvas until she found the edge of the material. Her hands followed the seam, squirming through the layers until she could feel cold air on her fingertips. Trying to move the surface of the canvas as little as possible, Eltarri bagan to worm her way out of the swathing.

"Where's my bloody rope?" came a shout from a few feet away from her.

"We used it all on the bard," another voice replied.

"Where is that silly idiot?"

"We got 'im tied to anover tree."

"Is 'e gonna escape again?"

"Nah, we got 'im good, dis time."

"I was curious," Ganh interrupted from nearby in a pensive drawl. "How did you know the girl was in my tent?"

"Deductive logic!" An indignantly proud voice answered. "We figgered that since all elves are thieves, this 'un must be 'un too! And ye've got the only stash worth stealin' from, if ye don't mind me sayin'."

"Bloody liar," another man screeched from behind her. "You din't bloody 'ductive logic' nothin'! We caught the bard an' he said he'd tell us where she was if we let 'im go! So Gorak walloped 'im til he squealed. "

"An' we din't let 'im go," a mirthful voice added.

"And what happened to my elf-worthy valuables, Toke?" Ganh questioned in a quiet voice. The clearing stilled.

"We . . . left 'em there," faltered the unfortunate scapegoat.

"I see." The deadly calm of their leader's voice made even Eltarri hold still for a moment, afraid of becoming the target of his vexation.

"We'll go get 'em!" a man offered. "Come on!"

Eltarri estimated that twenty or more men departed hurriedly from the clearing, which left about twice that number to watch out for.

Blast. The half-elf thought with dismay. They'll find the chest and know I took the potions!

"String up the target," Ganh ordered sternly. "The morons who left don't deserve to play."

The girl began to squirm in earnest, pushing through the cloth without the slightest concern for covertness. I need to distract them . . .

"What's this?" Ganh's voice once again was amused. "Does kitten want to come out and play?"

Eltarri had finally reached the end of the material. She moved on instinct, basing her actions on a wildly-conceived plan, forcing herself to follow it through before she lost the nerve to move at all. Pulling the bound bottles from her belt, the girl threw herself out of the canvas and rolled across the dusty ground.

The half-elf stopped moving for only a second, her eyes darting around to take in her surroundings. The light was brighter, she noticed, because torches had been lit around the clearing. Most of the men were standing near the still-roaring bonfire, as far away from the volatile Ganh, it seemed, as possible. The pale form of Syral was sprawled a feew feet behind her discarded canvas, and behind him was Kalaj Do'Minar, tied once again to a tree.

Eltarri thanked the gods for her luck.

"I'm going to kill you, traitor!" the girl shrieked, leaping to her feet and rushing towards the bound bard. Her sudden movement had the desired effect, leaving the men around her frozen in surprise for the few seconds that it took her to race towards the edge of the clearing.

She hoped that no one would notice the way she tripped as she reached Syral, her hand resting on the ground beneath his neck for a mere second before she was up again and swinging at the bard's shocked face. Her hits were weak, she knew, but she kept up a running diatribe of insults and plagiarized curses, ignoring the bard's frantic protests, hoping to draw the men's attention away from the albino and the vials that were sitting beside his head.

Judging from the reaction of Ganh, her diversion was working. He roared with laughter, babbling incoherently about six-foot nymphs and bracers. The men laughed with him, but their amusement was less enthusiastic. Eltarri was still armed, and they remembered the way the half-elf used her sword.

"Stop her, stop her, you cowards," Ganh chortled. "Save the bard!"

Two large bodies slammed into Eltarri, knocking her to her stomach at the bard's feet. Her arms were yanked roughly out from her sides and then pinned to the ground with the full weight of a man on each one. Eltarri didn't struggle, not even when she could feel hands fumbling with the sword on her back.

As long as they're messing with me, they're leaving Syral alone, she told herself convincingly. What else could she do to buy him time?

"Bring the elf over here," Ganh ordered. A loud clatter and huffing groans at her side told the girl that her sword had been laboriously dragged from its sling. She was hauled to her feet and half-carried to the middle of the clearing, where Ganh stood with his arms folded and a teasingly stern expression on his face. For the first time, Eltarri looked closely at the man's feverish eyes. Perhaps that was what the stories were speaking of when they described the gleam of insanity . . .

"Oh, kitten," the man said in a soft voice. "What am I going to do with you? Every time we let you out of your bag you attack somebody. Why won't you just behave?"

Eltarri couldn't think of an appropriately biting comeback, so she settled for a fierce scowl, which she darted at the men who held her arms before focusing it on the oily leader in front of her.

Ganh shook his head slowly, clucking his tongue. "Those are pretty eyes, kitten, but they're going to get you into trouble someday." He thoughtfully tapped his hairy chin. "Maybe we just need to declaw you now." He looked over her head at the men behind her and gave a huge, exaggerated sigh.

"Lads," he said in a mournful tone, "the kitten won't behave. We've already witnessed this a number of times in just the last few hours. Why, she nearly killed Nagor, and I don't think that this is going to be the kind of pet one tames with gentle words and a firm hand. I have some idea of what we could do, boys, but I am currently taking suggestions on what you feel would be best."

How nice, Etarri thought sarcastically. A democracy.

"I say we jest kill 'er and be done wif it!"

"I'll take 'er! I 'ave some 'eavy rope and a good knife in case she misbe'aves . . ."

"No, no," Ganh objected, waving his hands and frowning. "We must work as a team, under my leadership, to determine the solution that will prove the most beneficial for the Dark Bane as a whole."

"I 'gree wif you, boss," one voice sycophantically called out. "Let's declaw 'er!"

A few cheers of agreement met this suggestion, and Ganh began to nod, stroking his chin in thought.

"Yes, yes," he muurmured before throwing his hands into the air. "Declawing it shall be!" He waited until the cheers had died down before continuing. "We will start with her eyes, those yellow, cat-like orbs, and then we'll break her fingers! Where's my giant? Someone go wake up that numskull, Ruko. Where did I put my spikes and daggers?"

A commotion ensued as the men began to rush around obseqiously in preparation for the "declawing." Eltarri was dragged and tied tightly to Ganh's wooden chair. She was relieved to have her boots and bracers this time, a small mercy for her raw ankles and wrists. A guard was posted beside her chair, but the half-elf risked a glance in the direction of the albino. A moment later she had to cover her gasp of surprise with a fake bout of coughing that made her guard finger his weapon and grumble warily. Eltarri aligned her head with the direction of her body, but slid another glance towards the side of the clearing to verify that her first look had been correct. She nearly sighed aloud with relief when it was.

He was gone.

The clearing was alive with bustling men, Kal was bound to the tree, his eyes fixed pleadingly on Eltarri, and the spot of dirt on which the albino had rested was free even of an imprint. Eltarri gave the bard a cold stare before pointedly turning away, her own mind battling between relief and disappointment. Syral had gotten away, which was good, but she had hoped that he would go against his self-proclaimed rule against rescuing "damsels in distress." Anger briefly flared at the man's cowardice, but she swallowed her wrath and shrugged. What better could she expect from a man?

"Here we go, boys," Ganh called cheerfully as he came towards Eltarri. Each hand held an iron skewer, the ends of which he scraped together as though he were sharpening knives. The men had finally settled down, most with more beer and meat, others with frowns and crossed arms that revealed their unhappiness at the situtation. Hope rose in Eltarri's chest against the despair. Perhaps some of the men had misgivings about torturing women.

"The kitten will be declawed," Ganh proclaimed again as he stopped by Etarri's chair, "and then she will become the prize of tomorrow's game. Whoever can spear one of old Nim Elee's valuables gets her for as long as he likes!"

The men who had looked unhappy perked up at this announcement, nudging each other challengingly and opening their mouths to boast of their skill.

Hope fell like a wingless beatle and splattered across the floor of Eltarri's spirit.

Ganh grinned and leaned towards Eltarri, the spikes in his hand glinting with firelight. The tip of one was a slightly curved spike, but the other ended in a two-pronged fork, which the man brought uncomfortably close to the girl's eye. Fear pushed away the half-elf's rationale as her mind screamed with pain that she wasn't actually yet feeling. She involuntarily leaned away from him, conscious of her own harsh breathing and trembling hands. Shut your eyes! Shut your eyes! a voice in her mind shrieked, but Eltarri's lids stayed peeled wide, focused on the metal tip that drew inexorably closer.

"Uh, sir . .."

Ganh turned in annoyance at the hesitant call, pulling the tines a fraction of an inch away from Eltarri's face.

"Uh, Syral's not . . ."

Ganh's eyes landed on the empty space that Syral's body had recently occupied. His face turned red and his eyes burned with feverish ire.

"Who let him go?" the man roared. He began to rapidly give out orders, sending parties into the surrounding trees to find the overthrown leader.

The rant was interrupted by a sudden, unexpectedly loud yelp from Kalaj. Ganh's expression flickered from anger to annoyance as he turned to look at the young bard.

"I, um, wanted to say that . . . I . . . need to talk to you, m-my lord," Kal stuttered in a high voice. Eltarri turned to look at him, annoyed to find that relief at the interruption was making tears gather in her eyes. Kalaj's face was pale and sweaty, his lips trembling with fear. And he's not even the one about to get his eyes poked out, she thought disdainfully.

"I, uh, know where Syral went!" He blurted, eyes darting to Eltarri and then back to Ganh. Anger bubbled in Eltarri's throat as she realized that the idiot was again attempting to barter with the criminals, this time exchanging Syral's whereabouts for her.

"Stop it, you coward!" The half-elf exploded. "I didn't ask you to save me!"

"I'm not lying!" Kal threw her a furious glare. "I really can tell you where he went! And- and he left a message, a secret message for you!"

Ganh's amrs dropped to his side, his face oddly blank as he considered the bard's words. "What's the message?" He asked warily, the anger he had so recently displayed suddenly gone.

Kal looked at the men around him and licked his lips. "It's a secret message," he repeated.

Ganh's complacent smile reappeared on his face. He walked the few paces to the edge of the clearing, waving away the warnings of his men. When he reached the bard, he casually rested the forked spike against Kal's cheek and murmured lazily, "What's the message?"

Kal opened his mouth. "The message is-,"

But a very different voice delivered it, a voice hoarse and grating and filled with a hatred that saturated the air with its loathing.

"You're dead."

[Chiroptera]

Ganh's eyes widened in surprise a moment before his spikes dropped to the dusty ground, his hands jerking to clasp at his constricted throat. His tongue bulged out of his mouth as the air around his neck contracted in a choking vise. His eyes rolled at the criminals in the clearing, who had been watching their leader's actions with confused indecision.

"Help 'im!" one man shouted belatedly. The rasping of swords leaving their sheaths filled the forest as the men advanced uncertainly on their unseen enemy.

"You want to fight me?" Syral's voice was harsh and powerful, echoing across the night air with the force of a lion's roar. The men slowed their charge, fear beginning to creep its way onto their faces.

"Fight me, then."

Eltarri's throat clenched as a luminescent figure stepped from behind the bard's tree. The dirty white cloth that was wrapped around his waist provided a startling contrast to the glowing white skin of the albino. Scars covered his body, dim lines that interrupted Syral's refulgent facade in patternless designs that only made his incandescent skin seem brighter. At first, Etlarri assumed that the man was somehow reflecting the light of the moon, but the more she watched, the clearer it became that the light shimmering across his skin came from within. Ripples of luminescence swarmed across his body, distorted waves that looked like moonlight on a pond as they radiated across his exposed torso and arms. Even the man's hair was aglow, shining so brightly that it was almost unbearable to gaze upon.

The braver men of the Dark Bane ran forward with weapons raised, screaming in well-disguised terror as they bore down on the unarmed man. Syral's face was calm, but his colorless eyes burned with anger. When the first row of men were about three feet away from him, a white hand was flung out, fingers spread, and the man whispered something in a voice too quiet even for Eltarri's sharp hearing. The men who had been running at him stopped as suddenly as if they had charged into a wall. The row behind them was unaccountably knocked off their feet, all falling simultaneously as though a wooden beam had been slammed across their faces. The third row was hit from behind, their heads whipping back as something collided forcefully with the back of their necks.


"Li" for life was right because he's healed. Eltarri reasoned, her gaze fixed on Syral. So the other "li" must have stood for . . . light?

The men in the clearing cried out in fear as Syral stepped over the prone figures of the defeated men and into the circle of torches, the still-struggling Ganh floating after him. The usuper's face was a dangerous shade of red, his eyes glazed from lack of oxygen. The men turned away from the glowing figure and ran towards the forest. Syral stopped only a few yards away from Eltarri's seat, his eyes focused on the crowd of men before him. The albino's face was stolid and merciless, filled with grim determination as his hands weaved a circle before his face, lips moving as he cast his spell.

The fleeing men rebounded off of an invisible wall that had sprung up to surround the clearing. They slammed their fists and weapons against the barrier, yelling and cursing as their attacks did nothing to diminish the unseen barricade. Eltarri could feel the pull of magic as Syral's hands moved again. She saw a thin white mist cover his luminous fingers as they moved in long, graceful strokes that reminded her of the way her mother had painted. But unlike the beautiful pictures that were created when her mother stood before an easel, the scene that greeted the half-elf's eyes was one of dark destruction and pain. Men were swept off their feet, dashed to the earth, and tossed into the air by undetectable forces. Blood poured from the noses and mouths of the men who had been slammed into the unapparent wall or the ground. The snapping of breaking bones echoed frequently in the confinement, accompanied by screams and groans as limbs were fractured, spines were twisted, and ribs were shattered by the force of the impacts.

Eltarri could only watch in rising horror as the men fell. She reminded herself that they were criminals, that they would have done the same to her, that they deserved to be destroyed . . . but she could not feel satisfaction. Every invisible attack seemed to add another weight to her chest, crushing her heart with their pain.

Stupid girl, she rebuked herself as tears began to spill onto her cheeks. He's saving your life!

The half-elf struggled to inhale. Every attack seemed to suck the air from the vicinity, pulling the breath from her lips the moment it left her lungs. She realized with a start that it probably wasn't her imagination. What if Syral was using the very air around them as a weapon? How far . . .

The half-elf's thought were diverted by a sudden pressure that pushed concertedly against every inch of her body. A headache bloomed in her temples as her skull was compressed, her ears ringing as though she had dived too deeply into a pool of water. Screams rang out across the clearing as men fell to the ground, clutching at their heads and rolling in the dust and gasping for breath. Eltarri felt her lungs begin to falter as the pressure prevented her chest from expanding after she had exhaled. She dragged her eyes to Syral, desperately gasping for air.

The glowing albino stood with his right arm outstretched, fingers contracting like a claw, slowly tightening into a fist. His teeth were bared in a murderous growl, eyes burning with a feverish hatred that reminded her eerily of Ganh's demented expressions. Even his chest was heaving, ribs arching against his luminous skin before caving in to the pressure.

The air, Eltarri thought wildly. He's making the air solid!

"Stop it, Syral!" she tried to shout over the clamor of the dying men. Her voice came out as a thin wheeze, a whisper that died almost before it left her breathless lips. Vision beginning to blur, the half-elf clenched her hands into fists and forced her chest to expand, heart pounding laboriously as she filled her lungs with as much of the solidifying air as she could swallow. "You're . . .killing . . . us . . ."

The albino's glowing head whipped to the side as the girl's words inexplicably reached his ears. His hand dropped to his side as his face instantly changed from the angry scowl into an expression of startled awareness. With a sudden, nearly audible rush, the various implements of his power dissipated, leaving a cool wind that whipped the dust of the clearing into the air and ruffled the luminous hair of the albino. Syral turned stricken eyes to the mayhem he had caused while Eltarri's lungs gratefully filled with soft air. Her head cleared quickly, diverting her attention away from herself and onto the men before her.

Not a single member of the Dark Bane was standing. Even Ganh's lifeless corpse had fallen to the ground, his eyes pointing sightlessly at the glowing moon. Screams and moans continued to come from the few men who were conscious as they grasped at broken bones or bleeding faces. The still-shining Syral took a step towards the fallen men, then stopped and turned instead towards Eltarri.

He cut the cords that bound her wrist and ankles with a dagger pulled from the belt of a fallen criminal. He didn't speak and wouldn't meet her gaze. When she was free he wordlessly turned and set off into the forest, head lowered and arms hanging limply at his sides.

[Chiroptera]

Eltarri watched him leave the clearing, wondering whether or not he expected her to follow. Her gaze settled on the fallen remains of the Dark Bane. Still reeling from shock, Eltarii stood from the wooden seat and took a step towards the prostrate men. She didn't know much about first-aid, and there were so many of them . . . Eltarri stopped and turned, walking towards the edge of the clearing instead of towards the men. She would help them, but first there was something she needed to retrieve.

The half-elf stepped outside of the clearing and went to the tree where the bard was still tightly bound. Eltarri avoided looking at him, but his mouth opened as soon as she was near.

"What in the name of-,"

"Shut up, Kal," Eltarri interrupted wearily. Her eyes scanned the ground in search of her sword.

The bard rambled on in an overwrought diatribe. "I wasn't going to tell them about Syral escaping, but he suddenly pops up behind me and threatens to kill me if I don't tell them what he says! And then all I see is Ganh suddenly getting choked to death by some invisible monster and then everybody's dying and that glowing . . . freak is-,"

"Kal," she said again in a firmer voice, "shut up!" She saw where the sword had been carelessly dropped and picked it up, feeling a wave of comfort as the long hilt seemed to mold into her grasp. She turned to Kal and began to saw at his bonds, glad that the bard was finally silent.

"There," she said when finished, swinging the sword over her shoulder so that she could capture it in the sling. "You're free. Run quickly before you get caught and have to betray me again."

The bard's face tightened reproachfully as he threw down the rope. "Oh, come on. You know you would have done the same thing."

"No, Kal, I wouldn't," Eltarri answered with certainty. A moment of silence stretched uncomfortably between them before Kal cleared his throat.

"I suppose I'll be heading for Scara Brae," he said timidly. "Do you . . . need a traveling companion?"

Eltarri shook her head slowly. "No, I'm not leaving yet."

Kal turned to the half-elf in surprise, his eyes wide with incredulity. "You're staying? With the men who tried to gouge your eyes out?"

"I have to help them," the girl heard herself stubbornly say. "It's what heroes do . . ."

"Heroes?" Kal's voice was loud, no longer merely surprised, but bordering on angry. "Heroes defeat the bad guys. Those guys behind you are the bad guys!"

"But that's what makes us good, that we don't leave our enemies to die! We don't leave people alone in a dark, cold cave underground. We don't abandon our fathers on distant, unreachable planes, and we don't let the evil inside win, because we're good!" Eltarri heard herself babbling, her voice high and hysterical. Words poured from her mouth, spilling out against her will. No matter how hard she tried, the girl couldn’t force herself to stop speaking.

Kal took a step closer to the half-elf. Grabbing her shoulders, he gave her a quick, hard shake that made Eltarri’s mouth snap shut with an audible click. The bard stared at her, his face troubled, his hands still on her shoulders.

“You don’t have to be a martyr to be hero,” he said softly. Eltarri could only shake her head as tears threatened to spill from her golden eyes. He sighed heavily and let his hands fall to his sides. “Okay, we’ll do this: you go ahead and leave, and I’ll stay here and take care of those morons. Deal?”

A small smile turned up the corner of Eltarri’s mouth. “Liar. You’ll be gone before I’ve even left the forest.”

Kal blushed and let out a soft laugh. “You’re . . . probably right," he admitted after a moment. Then his face turned serious again. "Don't think that you're responsible for them. Harsh as it may sound, they got what they deserved. It wasn't your fault."

Eltarri felt a small voice inside of her head agree with what Kalaj said. Why did she feel guilty? It wasn't as if the men were innocent bystanders who had merely gotten in the way! They were evil, willing and eager to watch as people were tortured and mutilated. How would saving these men make the world a better place? The burden on Etlarri's heart lifted as the truth of the words banished her tears and her mercy. She wasn't responsible for them. There would always be evil in the world, and no matter how hard she worked to do good, there was no way that she could take responsibility for all of it. The only evil that she was in control of was that which was embedded in her soul. And since that was being kept under strict control . . .

"I'll see you around, Kal," Eltarri murmured distractedly. She lifted one hand in a flimsy wave and began to walk into the forest.

"That's it?" His indignant voice followed her through the brush. "'See you around?' Is that any way to treat a friend?"

Eltarri stopped and turned so that she could give him a withering look. "Friend? Coming from a man who betrayed me- not once!- but twice?" She shook her head with a slight, pitying smile. "I'll pray for all of your friends, Kalaj Do'Minar."

Her smile growing at the embarrassed bards speechlessness, Eltarri turned her back on the clearing and set off again through the dark trees, eyes roving the forest before her. She could feel the draining effect of fatigue slowing her pace as she walked, but the girl set her jaw and went on, determined to complete one last task before she left this forest for good.

Where did that blasted, glowing albino get to?

[Chiroptera]

She found him seated on a rock, staring dejectedly at the ground between his bare feet. He was no longer shining as brightly as he had been; the glowing was limited to splotchy patches that gleamed weakly in the dark forest, barely discernable from the wax-like tone of the rest of his skin.

Eltarri stepped out from the trees hesitantly. At the sound of her footsteps Syral's head whipped toward her, his face wary, arms half-raised defensively. When he saw that it was only her, his posture slumped again, and he turned anguished eyes back to the ground.

"I would have killed them," he said softly, his voice trembling. "I would have killed them all."

Eltarri stepped closer to the scarcely-clad albino, hands clasped behind her back. "But you didn't."

"Only because you stopped me." He shook his head slowly. "I'm not . . . safe."

"You saved our lives," she reminded him, knowing that the argument didn't hold much merit. She hadn't even been able to convince herself of that excuse's validity.

"No, you saved our lives," he corrected forcefully. "And I nearly killed you, and them, and myself!"

Eltarri stood for a moment in silence, then lowered herself to the ground and wrapped her arms around her knees, leaning forward so that only the tip of her sword rested against the ground.

"Has that ever happened before?" she asked.

"No," Syral replied wearily, "not to that extent. I've been a wind-mage for ten years, and I've always been wary about using my magic in public." His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I don't think that the Dark Bane even realized that I was a magician." His smile faded. "I've never done anything like that before."

"Do you think the potion had something to do with it?" she inquired timidly. Syral gave a short laugh and looked at her with amusement.

"Do you mean the one that healed me, or that one that made me glow?"

Eltarri looked away in embarrassment. Syral laughed again. "No, it wasn't the potions. I've just . . ." his face fell back into an expression of guilty pain. "I've never been that angry before. I couldn't believe that they would betray me like that. For crazy, old, perverted Ganh! The only thing I could think of was teaching them a lesson, making sure that they regretted ever crossing me. All I could see was red . . . I didn't even realize that I was killing them."

The half-elf held back a shudder. Her mother had said the same sort of thing the last time she had lost control of the evil inside of her.

It was as if there was something that was taking over, making me do and say all of the horrible, hateful things that I had never seriously considered. The elf's face had been as ashen as her ebony skin would allow. All I saw was blood . . .

"What will you do now?" Eltarri quickly asked before her mind could complete the memory.

"I need to find someone who can help me control my magic," he said firmly. "If that happens every time I get angry . . ."

Eltarri nodded and glanced up at the midnight sky. "I'm going to Scara Brae," she said hesitantly, "if you need someone to watch your back."

The albino looked at the girl, and Eltarri was dimly surprised to see that his irises were colored; a pale, aqueous grey. He turned away and shook his head.

"Like I said, I'm not safe," he rose from his rock, his face suddenly fixed in a mask of cold resolution. "And I don't play guardian to misguided adventurers."

Eltarri blinked at the man's transformation. No longer was he a flesh-and-blood human with emotions and insecurities; Syral stood before her an inflexible statue, firmly unyielding in his scanty clothing and militarial posture. She scrambled to her feet gracelessly, wincing as her sword smacked against a tree as she stood.

"Stay on the main road," the wind-mage ordered in a tone that demanded obedience. "You should reach Scara Brae in a few days. And keep your nose out of situations where it doesn't belong."

Eltarri gave the man a frosty glare. How dare he treat her like a child after she had saved his life? Indignantation bubbled in her throat and it took all of the girl's self-control not to stamp her foot and demand respect in loud, petulant terms.

"Good-bye, Syral," she snapped in an even tone. "Try not to get yourself killed!"

With an angry toss of her head, Eltarri stormed off through the forest. Her anger overrode her fatigue, filling her head with biting comments that she wished she had said before leaving. When she reached the main road a short while later, the half-elf looked up at the starry sky, her view at last unhindered by trees.

It's not even dawn yet, She realized with surprise as a wave of exhaustion swept across her. Looking around, she noticed that she had emerged from the forest providentially close to the place where she had entered it early that morning. In fact, she had come out about half a mile back from the place where she had first smelled the smoke.

Syral smoke, she thought with a queasy flash of amusement. I don't know his full name, but at least I know what he smells like when he's on fire.

A turbulent giggle burst from the girl, answered by the startled shriek of a roosting bird in a tree behind her. The half-elf's eyes searched the landscape, finally alighting on a large oak tree that protruded from the surrounding foliage a short distance away. A contented grin spread across the girl's face as she walked back to the same oak tree that she had slept under the night before.

At this rate, I'll never get to Scara Brae, she thought sleepily as she pulled off her boots and unbuckled her harness. Too tired even to eat the dried bread that she kept in the pocket of her cloak, Eltarri laid down on the imprint her body had left in the grass the night before. The shimmering stars left a sparkling afterimage on her eyelids as the half-elf fell asleep, sword within arm's reach, face lifted towards the sky, and mind bright with hopeful dreams for the future.




Epilogue
The albino's face thawed for a brief second into a smile as he watched the half-elf turn on her heel and stomp away. His plan was to go back to the Dark Bane's campsite to help himself to some clothing and provisions. After that, he would head through the forest until he emerged at the place where the forest bordered the main road to Scara Brae. Hopefully he would get there before the girl and have a short while to rest before he had to covertly follow her to town. He shook his head as he turned back toward the clearing. She was a courageous little thing, he'd grant her that, but big swords didn't make up for naive foolhardiness, and with her penchant for trouble she was bound to need someone to save her butt before long. Besides, his master's grotto was situated on the side of Windlacer Peaks, and it would be next to impossible to reach it at this time of the year. He had nothing better to do than act as guardian to the high-spirited wench, at least not until the harpy mating season was over.

The bemused albino stopped in his tracks as his eyes met the panicked visage of the colorfully-clad bard, who was walking quickly from the direction of the Dark Bane's camp. The blond man stood only a few feet away and had a bag over his shoulder and a dagger held uncertainly in his fist. His face was pale and his mouth was open with shock as he stared at the unevenly-glowing wind-mage.

"Kalaj," Syral said in a deliberately low growl. "Nice to see you again."

The bard's hazel eyes flew open even wider. He dropped the bag and dagger and was running almost before they had landed. But Syral was ready for him. He quickly stepped into the bard's path and swung his fist, catching the bard full in the nose and using the shorter man's momentum to strengthen the blow. Kal dropped like a sack of grain, clutching his nose as blood ran copiously between his finger.

Syral smiled. His burning knuckels gave him a satisfactory indication of the amount of pain he had imparted on the bard. "That was for double-crossing the elf," he said. Then he gave the prone man a sharp kick in the side. "And that was for being a wimp."

Leaving the moaning bard to roll on the ground, the luminous wind-mage continued on his way to the campsite.



((Syral will definitely be a recurring figure in Eltarri's life, but he won't be popping up in every quest. After making sure she reached Scara Brae without incident, he set off on his own path.))

[Osato]

Score 64

{Introduction} 7
The exposition was very well done. I’m not surprised, since your last quest was far from bad. It is good, though, to get to know who your character is from the beginning.

{Writing Style} 6
Wow, much improved from the last time. Only a few errors here and there, but nothing major.

{Setting} 5
Not so much setting, though what you did describe was very well done. Where are these bandits? Randomly out in the middle of a forest? Is there a house, or some form of abode in which they live?

{Character} 8
Awesome, I LOVE the character depth you gave the bard. Throughout the entire thread you did very well with the characters.

{Dialogue} 6
Well done, very well done.

{Strategy} 6

{Rising Action} 5
It was somewhat sudden, though not bad in general. I think a lot of that can be attributed to the fact that the quest length was somewhat short, despite the enormous posts you had… it’s hard to write a good rising action when you only have 14 posts. No worries though.

{Climax} 6
What a crazy mess, huh? The powers that you gave the wizard were cool, and so were his reactions. Well played.

{Conclusion} 7

{Wild Card} 8
Awesome thread. I can’t wait to get into the thread I have with you. Keep up the good work!


{Favorite Quote(s)}
“If I'm buried behind miles and miles of rock, she had explained optimistically, when the evil fully takes over -- as I know it will -- at least I will be able to harm no one other than myself.”

"I just got away from the baddies," he said in an dubious tone. "Why would I want to go back for the sake of a purse and heels?"

{Rewards}

550 exp and 200 gold!

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

EXP and GP added