— Chapter Seventeen —
Hunting the Hunters
Early the following morning, Lodariel gathered the twelve elves she had chosen from the home guard to accompany her on the scouting expedition. They waited while she exchanged a few last words with Daroandir. She had selected each of them for their steadiness as well as their tracking abilities. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by any enthusiasts on this mission.
The predawn air was chill with the bite of autumn. A rolling fog covered the grassy plain. Lodariel pulled the collar of her gray cloak closer around her neck. She was eager to be gone, but only so she could get this journey over with and return to Vila Eadros where she belonged, protecting Valanandir and Iadrawyn.
“Don’t let them leave the village, unless you escort them personally, and only then if they are meeting with Malarin,” she said to Daroandir. Although she knew he was reliable, it made her feel better to repeat the obvious.
“I won’t,” Daroandir said with long-suffering patience.
In many ways, Lodariel regretted leaving Daroandir behind. He was a talented tracker, and there was no one she trusted more to guard her back. By the same token, he was the only one she trusted to look after the village and its leaders while she was gone.
Lodariel stopped herself from giving more useless advice. She knew she was only prolonging the inevitable. She looked into his familiar, silver gaze.
“Thank you,” she said. He would know what she meant. They clasped forearms before turning to acknowledge Valanandir and Iadrawyn, who stood nearby.
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Valanandir said with a worried frown. “Remember, this is a scouting mission. Observe and report only.”
Since Lodariel knew Valanandir meant well and truly cared for her well-being, she restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
She turned to face Iadrawyn. “Have you seen anything that will help?” Lodariel asked. Iadrawyn had been looking particularly haunted these last few days.
Iadrawyn closed her eyes. “For you, I see a safe return. But I do not see a safe journey. There is a choice to be made, which will affect the outcome. Your decision will determine who will live.” Her bottomless, green eyes opened. “I’m sorry I cannot give you more details. The paths are shrouded to me.”
Iadrawyn’s words disquieted Lodariel. It was supposed to be a straightforward mission. “Thank you,” she said. “I will remember your warning.”
She embraced Iadrawyn and clasped hands with Valanandir before going to meet her hand-picked squad. The assorted men and women wore matching, gray cloaks. Their hushed conversations died as she approached. Lodariel decided not to waste any time on motivational speeches. They knew why they had been chosen and what the mission was.
“We fan out at the southwestern border of the village and work outward. A confirmed drakhal sign has been found one hour’s walk from the village in that direction. I want to know how close to us they got. We continue to work our way toward the original sighting and if we don’t find anything closer to the village, we pick up the trail from there. If you see anything suspicious, call me over immediately. Now let’s go.”
Although Lodariel didn’t think they would find anything close to the village, she had to be sure. She sensed the drakhalu were being cautious this time. It was unlikely they would come close enough to the village to be seen by the home guard.
The next few hours passed slowly. It was tedious looking for a trail in the tall grass, and the fog didn’t help matters. As expected, no definitive sign was found. There was the odd light footprint, but like Daroandir, there were other elves who traveled outside Vila Eadros during the day to gather food and supplies. Elven and drakhal footprints were essentially alike. Both walked lightly and were tall with slight frames.
Her group finally arrived at the carcass Daroandir had discovered. Lodariel knelt to get a closer look, ignoring the smell of rotting meat. It was a gopher—one of the rodent types that lived on the plains. She estimated it had been killed about three days ago, judging by the progress of the maggots. Sure enough, there were twin puncture wounds on its neck, crusted with dried blood. There were no other signs of violence.
She stood and looked southwest. The grassland stretched far into the distance before ending at the northern bank of the Riliara. Even for an elf traveling alone, it was a journey of a day and a half. Where would a drakhal take shelter during the daylight hours? There were no caves or trees to provide protection from the sun. She would have expected the creatures to remain under the murky cover of the Dira Nelar as far north as possible before crossing the river into elven territory, as they had the last time they attacked the village. The swamp was littered with caves. But the southern border of Vila Eadros was also the most closely guarded. It made sense for them to try a different angle.
Where were they hiding? The other elves waited for her to complete her inspection.
“Join up in pairs and sweep outward. Leave no blade of grass unturned. We have a clear sign here. We must find the trail.”
Lodariel followed her instincts, trying to determine where the creature would have gone next. She turned south and bent low to the ground. The area around the carcass held no prints. There had to be something…
A small, dark spot caught her eye as she brushed the grass back with her hand. She knelt to inspect it. A small trail of black marred a single blade of grass. Wetting her finger, she swiped the blade and tasted it. It was dried blood. The droplet pattern suggested it had fallen from above. Since there was no sign of other predators nearby, it was most likely from the drakhal’s meal.
“I have something here,” she called out. “Narrow your sweep to this direction.” She pointed southward.
Moments later, one of the pairs found a faint boot impression traveling southward. Lodariel felt the familiar thrill that accompanied the discovery of a trail. It was only a matter of time before they discovered the drakhal camp.
The next two days were slow going. Although they had the beginning of a trail and a suspected direction to work with, they couldn’t afford to make assumptions. They didn’t commit to any direction until a sign was found. Those signs were few and far between, but on the third day, they made a breakthrough.
Lodariel’s group had been moving steadily southward. They were perhaps a day’s march from Vila Eadros when one of the elves gave a shout, waving her over. Grateful for a reason to stand, Lodariel straightened her legs from where she had been crouching and went to investigate. At first, she could see nothing unusual. Then the scout parted the tall grass to reveal something she never expected.
A burrow had been dug into the ground. The entrance was on an angle and large enough for an elf to use. Intrigued, she dropped into it to investigate. Although the opening was narrow, the interior was wide enough for two to lie side by side. The soil had been tightly packed. Although it made her flesh creep, Lodariel crawled inside. Lying on the earthen floor within, she looked up. With the tall grass above and the angle of the tunnel, no daylight reached the chamber below. She wondered how many more warrens existed in the surrounding area.
Unable to bear it any longer, she scrambled back to the surface and brushed the dirt from her clothes.
“There are no signs to confirm, but I think we are looking for two drakhalu,” she said to her scouts, who had gathered around her. “I don’t know why else anyone would go to the trouble of digging a hole of that size. We continue south. Keep your eyes open.”
As their hunt took them beyond the burrow, the trail became more distinct. Although they didn’t find two sets together, they began to find boot impressions more frequently. The creatures were less cautious the closer they got to the edges of their domain. Another day passed before Lodariel and her scouts reached the northern bank of the Riliara.
Storm clouds were moving in from the west, which gave their task new urgency. Lodariel estimated the rain was only a few hours off. They had to find the directi
on of the trail on the south side of the river before it washed away. Tracking the drakhalu through the shifting fens of the Dira Nelar would be difficult enough as it was.
On the damp bank of the river, they finally found two sets of prints side by side. With a clear trail to follow, the elves were able to make up some lost time. The prints led to a narrow ford before disappearing into the water, but immediately resumed on the opposite bank.
Now Lodariel and her unit were on the south side of the river, on the edge of the Dira Nelar. The vast swamp was shrouded in a misty haze. It’s thick, rotting stink filled her nostrils. Lodariel did not relish the idea of continuing their hunt in enemy territory, but they couldn’t turn back now. She took a deep breath through her mouth and led the elves forward.
As the mist surrounded them, it was the constant hum of insects she noticed first. She slapped her neck as one tried to bite her. Only drakhalu would be comfortable among such bloodsucking creatures. She felt the tension in her group increase as the view of the Riliara faded from sight behind them and they were surrounded by the murk. The elves held their weapons ready as they searched. A strange flapping sound from overhead made them freeze. Lodariel let out a relieved sigh when she realized it was only a bat.
Although the trail was difficult to follow, it was more or less intact. The elves were traveling even slower now, not only to avoid missing clues, but to test the ground in front of them before moving forward. Many patches of land were no more than vegetation floating on top of the water. An hour passed before they found something interesting.
“Look at this,” Beliarani, her second-in-command said in a hushed tone, beckoning Lodariel. “The second set of prints splits off here and starts heading east.”
“We have found more of the other pair continuing south.” Lodariel frowned. This was something she hadn’t anticipated. Why would the drakhalu split up?
“Which pair do we follow?”
Iadrawyn’s words echoed in Lodariel’s memory. She had a bad feeling this was the choice she had meant. She mulled it over for a few moments before forcing herself to make the choice she knew was right. She could not afford to second-guess herself here. She didn’t want to be the one to send her people to their death, but that was part of the burden of command. She would have no way of knowing whether she had chosen wisely until it was too late.
“We can’t afford to ignore either trail, and with the rain on its way, we must act quickly.” She looked to Beliarani. “You will take six others and follow this trail to see where it leads. If it’s a dead end, come back and find us. If you find something important, return to Vila Eadros and report to Valanandir and Iadrawyn.”
She could tell the other elf didn’t like it, but knew it was what had to be done. Beliarani lowered her head, accepting Lodariel’s command. Moments later, their group was split. Six elves followed Beliarani east into the mist, while the other five remained with Lodariel. Lodariel wasted no time worrying whether she had chosen well. Only time could provide the answer.
Steeling herself, she led her remaining troops along the southern trail. It wasn’t long before it began to rain. Lodariel raised the hood of her cloak and continued her hunched over sweep of the marshy ground. At this point, her quarry would have been traveling for several hours since their stopover in the burrow they had discovered. The drakhal’s trail should be leading to shelter soon. Even in the gloomy fens, the occasional patch of sunlight could pierce the clouds, making daytime travel dangerous for drakhalu. Lodariel hoped they could find the drakhal’s shelter before the trail washed away entirely.
She caught sight of a small piece of dark cloth snared in a slimy looking bramble. It looked like the corner of a cloak. She waved for the others to follow. They hadn’t spoken a word in the hours since the group had split. Not only was the weather miserable, but they were now deep in enemy territory.
When Lodariel tested the ground near the bramble with the butt of her spear, she hit something solid. It did not feel like earth. She cautiously stepped forward to investigate. It was stone. Where there was stone, there could be caves. She felt a thrill of excitement. Turning back to the others, she used hand signals to instruct them to follow her in wedge formation. If there were caves ahead, it was possible the drakhal was still in them, and perhaps not alone. They moved forward in silence, as only elves could. The rain continued to fall.
The island of rock rose out of the swamp to form a large cave. Its dark entrance yawned before them. Lodariel signaled the others to wait while she investigated. It was no use leading them all into what could be a trap. At least one of them had to survive to tell Valanandir and Iadrawyn what they had found.
Lodariel crept up to the cave entrance. She forced herself to breathe slowly even though her heart was pounding. Although she knew it was possible the drakhal they were tracking had already moved on, something told her this wasn’t the case.
Edging along the rim of the entrance, she slowly moved her head just enough to peek inside. As her eyes became adjusted to the darkness within, she made out the form of a nodding drakhal facing the entrance. It might be the one they were tracking, but from the way he had been posted as a sentry led her to believe there were more of the creatures inside. She had to know the size of the force they were facing. It would be useless to turn back now.
Every moment she waited brought them closer to nightfall. Lodariel took a deep breath and stepped inside the mouth of the cave.
Once she had crossed the threshold, she stood completely still for several moments, waiting for a reaction. The sentry did not move. Sweating with fear, she forced herself to creep closer. Her soft leather boots made no sound. She bit back the scream building inside her, keeping her mouth clamped shut. She was a proficient tracker, but attacking from the shadows was not her preferred method of combat. She would much rather give a berserker’s cry and meet her enemy head-on. But this mission wasn’t about personal pride or death in glory. Keeping her impulses under tight control, she crept in front of the drakhal.
He was only dozing. Lodariel could tell from his shallow breathing his sleep was a light one. She couldn’t afford for him to wake before she had finished looking around. She also didn’t want to alert any drakhalu inside the cave to an enemy presence by killing him, as much as she would like to.
With an internal sigh of regret, she reached around the back of the drakhal’s head, her fingers scant inches from touching him. She would only get one chance. She would have to be quick.
Alerted by her proximity, or perhaps prompted by some dark dream, the drakhal began to stir. Lodariel was out of time. Before the creature’s eyes could open, she pressed her fingers against the base of his skull and gave hidden pressure points a twisting jab. His eyes opened, but immediately rolled into his head as he slumped forward. She caught him before he could hit the ground and settled him against the cave wall.
She had bought herself more time, but not much. Drakhalu were notoriously strong and quick to recover. She took a steadying breath and crept deeper into the shadows of the cave.
As the dim light from the entrance faded into the distance, she was forced to go slower to allow her eyes to adjust to the inner chambers, which were completely dark. The stale air carried the metallic tang of blood. A strange whispering sound filled her ears.
Huddled figures began to distinguish themselves from the darkness. Lodariel felt an icy fear in the pit of her stomach. The entire cave was filled with sleeping drakhalu. There had to be hundreds of them. Their soft breathing echoed through the cave.
Her instincts screamed it was time to leave. She had to get this information back to Vila Eadros. Moving carefully, she retraced her steps, straining her ears for any sign her presence had been noticed. Her skin was damp with sweat as she arrived at the entrance. As much as she wanted to run, she forced herself to go slowly.
Despite her care, she still managed to step on a stray pebble as she was passing the unconscious guard. It skittered out from her boot and bounced acros
s the cave floor before rolling to a stop. Lodariel stood frozen, waiting for a reaction.
The guard began to stir. Abandoning caution, she opted for speed and ran on light feet out of the cave. The murky late-afternoon light seemed unnaturally bright. The drizzle of rain felt cold on her skin. She pressed herself against the outside of the cave and strained her ears for sounds of pursuit while she waited for her eyes to stop watering. Nothing happened.
Peeking around the edge of the opening, she saw the guard settling back into a crouch facing the entrance. The creature seemed somewhat dazed, but calm. She let out a slow breath of relief and went to gather the rest of her team. They needed to be far from this place when the sun went down.
After sparing a few moments to relay what she had seen to the others, Lodariel and her team retraced their steps to where the trail had split and began to follow the other branch that led east. Some of it had washed away, but the signs were still there. The ground that this drakhal had chosen was firmer and held better prints, but if the rain came down any harder, the elves would be in trouble.
They traveled as quickly as they dared, not wanting to be caught in the fens after dark. If they could just cross the Rilloda, the southern branch of the Riliara, Lodariel would feel much better. It would make their group more difficult to track, should the drakhalu find any sign of their visit.
She felt a surge of relief as the sluggish river came into sight. The trail was headed straight for the water. The last rays of the sun were fading in the west and the rain clouds loomed overhead. If only their luck would hold awhile longer…
They sloshed across a ford in the river, revealed by the faint trail they followed. By the time they reached the other side, it was almost completely dark. They had left the murk of the Dira Nelar behind for the open plains of the Pelo Gali, another buffer zone between the elven regions and the dark lands. The area was mostly barren, covered by a stubby, dried brown grass. It almost crunched under Lodariel’s feet. She cringed at the feel. Beckoning to her scouts, she drew them into a huddle.
“I don’t think we can track much farther now that the light is gone,” she said in a low voice. “As good as our eyes are, we’re tired and we might miss something. I also don’t want to wait here until morning for any drakhal to find us. There is little shelter in these lands, so the best we can do is get some distance from where we forded. Let’s go north a ways and set up a cold camp. We can come back to pick up the trail in the morning.”
The others nodded and they began to head northward. No one mentioned the dark clouds overhead. There was a good chance the trail would be washed away when they returned. Still, they shouldn’t be blundering around in the dark when there could be two groups of drakhalu nearby. They walked for an hour before setting up camp.
Despite what an exhausting day it had been, Lodariel couldn’t sleep. Iadrawyn’s words of warning echoed through her mind. She wondered how the other scouting party was faring, and hoped she had made the right decision by splitting their forces.
After an hour of tossing and turning, she got up and went for a walk. She nodded to the elf on sentry duty as she left the borders of the camp.
Her feet led her to the bank of the river, which glittered in the faint moonlight that shone through the heavy clouds. The rain had stopped, at least for now. The sounds of the sluggish water lapping at the shore soothed her, clearing her thoughts. She turned to look across the Pelo Gali. Her camp was invisible in the darkness. She nodded in satisfaction before scanning the rest of the area.
Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed a large campfire a short distance to the north. Since it was around a slight bend in the river, it wasn’t visible from her camp. She wanted to believe it belonged to the other half of her scouting party, but she knew they wouldn’t be foolish enough to light a fire in enemy territory. The campfire was too close for comfort. Squaring her shoulders and deciding to trust her luck for the second time that day, Lodariel went to investigate.
She was able to get close to the camp without encountering any sentries. Her fear mounted. Only drakhalu would be so confident. Crawling on her belly in the short, spiky grass, she slithered as close as she dared. She was a sizeable cave, which could serve as a shelter during the daylight hours. Now that the sun was down, the members of the camp were lounging around the large bonfire outside. They were drakhalu, sure enough. They were also a sizeable force, equal to the one she had discovered in the fens.
Lodariel’s heart sank. The drakhalu planned to attack on two fronts.
She was distracted by the voice of one of the dark creatures. “All is going according to plan.”
She concentrated on the words spoken in the Black Tongue. The wood where she had lived until the day she had met Valanandir and Iadrawyn bordered on this foul land, so she had studied the language to aid her tracking and spying. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the speaker.
The drakhal’s voice was rich and compelling. He had black hair that flowed over his shoulders and eyes so dark, they looked like pits. She recognized his sneering, aquiline features. This was the one who had led the attack on Vila Eadros three years ago. This was the foul creature who had killed Numril.
“Soon, the power that the foolish elves call the Quenya will be ours,” the leader continued.
“Are you certain this secret weapon of yours will succeed?” one of the other creatures asked.
“I am most confident.” The leader gave a sly smile and stroked the head of someone crouched at his feet. Unlike the other drakhalu, this one had dirty, white hair. It was a tangled mess, and obscured the creature’s face as it pressed against the leader’s leg, leaning into his touch.
The leader’s attentions were distracted by another drakhal sauntering from outside the camp. He had something large hoisted over his shoulder.
“Ah,” the leader said. “News from our camp in the fens. Are you in position? Will you be ready for tomorrow night?”
Lodariel stifled a cry. She had to get back to Vila Eadros in time to warn everyone!
“We are ready, and eager to serve.” The visitor’s voice was fawning. “I have also brought you something.” He dumped his burden onto the ground where the firelight could reveal it.
It was the sentry from Lodariel’s camp.
Lodariel fought the urge to flee. She had to find out whether the rest of her camp was still alive before she went back to warn them. At first she thought she might find some way to save the captured elf, but after closer inspection, it was clear his neck had been broken.
“Thoughtful of you,” the leader said. “But I have already eaten.” He indicated another body on the ground behind him.
Lodariel bit her knuckles to hold back a choked sob. The drained corpse was Beliarani. Her second-in-command’s skin was chalky and bloodless.
“There is a camp not far from here with more elves,” the visitor from the fens said. “This one was their sentry. The others would be easy, sleeping prey.”
“Why didn’t you kill them yourself?” the leader demanded.
“There were five of them, and I was traveling alone. It is more than I could drink. I thought since your camp was nearby, I would share them with you.”
“We have already eliminated one group of elves wandering this area,” the leader said. “While the information there is another nearby intrigues me, your decision to kill the sentry was foolish. If any of the others wake to find their sentry missing, they will be alerted. You should have either stayed your hand and brought me news of their location, or killed them all. Now I have no choice but to clean up this mess. You have forced my hand.” The leader’s voice had grown disapproving.
The visitor cringed and knelt. “My apologies, Orag. My only thought was to please you.” The part of Lodariel’s mind that was still working wondered whether Orag was a title or the creature’s name. Her knowledge of the Black Tongue was by no means complete. She decided from the subservient way the drakhal was behaving, it must be a title.
The Orag pursed his dark lips, considering the cringing figure at his feet. “Since you have created this problem, you will be the one to fix it. Take some of my people with you and take care of the rest of the elves. Make certain none of them survive, and perhaps I will forgive your lapse of judgment.”
Lodariel was in motion before the creature finished speaking. She sprang like a startled deer and pelted back to her camp, bitter tears streaming down her face. Iadrawyn’s vision had been right. Lodariel deeply regretted her decision to split up their group. But what else could she have done? Struggling to get herself under control, she dashed into the dark, silent camp and began rousing the rest of her squad.
After she had gathered everyone, she spared a few moments to outline what she had learned. Her words were met with stunned silence.
“We must flee,” Lodariel said. “There is no time to pack. The drakhalu will be here soon. If we encounter them, do your best not to engage unless it is necessary. The goal is to reach Vila Eadros with the information we have gathered.” Lodariel met the eyes of each of her four remaining scouts to drive her point home. This was no time for heroics.
“Let’s go.” She launched into a run, leading them northeast in a route that would avoid the drakhal camp.
The surviving elf scouts ran in silence. The night wind rushed through Lodariel’s ears and pulled her long braids free to flow behind her. Her narrowed eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of the enemy. Overhead, the clouds swelled once more, blotting out the moon. She felt a large, cold drop land on her bare arm, exposed by her trailing cloak. Moments later, the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down. Soon her clothes were plastered to her skin.
Without the moon, it was difficult to say how long their flight lasted. Lodariel estimated they had been running for at least an hour. The rain had not abated. Above them, the heavens roiled and the occasional rumble of thunder boomed across the sky, echoing in the distance. They must be getting close to the Riliara. If they could reach the river and cross it, they would be back in Vila Eadros territory.
The sun would be rising soon, but with the heavy cloud cover, it might not even matter. Lodariel looked back to ensure her scouts still followed and silently waved them on in encouragement. As she turned back to face northeast, a clap of thunder sounded almost directly overhead. A crackling flash of lightning followed, lighting up the sky for mere seconds before disappearing to plunge them into darkness once more.
Lodariel’s senses tingled. She had seen shadows in the brief instant before the darkness had returned. She thought she counted three.
They were no longer alone.
Stumbling to a halt, she signaled the attention of the others. They wouldn’t hear her over the rain and thunder without shouting, so she used hand gestures to indicate what she had seen. Although she had made their primary objective to reach Vila Eadros with their information, she did not want these creatures letting the others know they had passed this way.
She did not want to do anything to upset the schedule of the drakhalu. Now she and her remaining scouts knew when the creatures were planning to attack. If the drakhalu thought the elves would be prepared, those plans could change and the information would be useless.
Lodariel assigned two of her fastest runners to act as rabbits, running past the roaming drakhalu toward the elven village. The others would deal with the dark creatures to allow them the chance to flee. They would not have much time. The drakhalu were at home in the darkness. Lodariel had only spotted them by chance before she and her scouts stumbled into them.
With a wild shout, Lodariel led the charge, throwing herself at the nearest drakhal. The creature was momentarily surprised by her vicious attack, allowing her to land a few blows with her spear before defending himself. Sparing a glance, she saw the other two drakhalu had been successfully engaged while the shadows of her messenger scouts were dashing for the river.
She soon realized the one she fought was not very strong. She felt confident she could finish him whenever she wanted, so she dragged out the fight to buy more time, counting on the others to hold their own. She flashed the creature a grin as they circled.
A sharp cry distracted her. She turned to see one of her fighting scouts crumple to the ground. She shuddered in disgust as the drakhal began to feed. Her distraction proved costly.
“There are two others fleeing for the river!” the one she had been fighting shouted as he noticed the retreating shadows.
The feeding drakhal’s head snapped up, his face dripping with the elf’s lifeblood. Spotting the fleeing scouts, he abandoned his meal and gave chase.
Cursing her inattention, Lodariel feinted with her spear while pulling a stake free from her belt with her other hand. She jammed the fire hardened, wooden tip into the creature’s chest.
The creature dropped its dagger and clutched at its chest for a moment with a surprised grimace of pain before collapsing. Lodariel was already running after the other drakhal chasing her fleeing scouts.
But her quarry was too fast, and she was too late. The creature pounced on the closest scout like a lion on a frightened gazelle, snapping the elf’s neck in seconds. He had already moved on to the next target by the time Lodariel caught up. She sensed the arrival of the third drakhal behind her, having disengaged from the battle to help take down the fleeing elves. This one was female. The scout who had been attacking her staggered to follow, already badly wounded.
“Run!” Lodariel shouted at the remaining messenger scout, who had turned back to see what had happened to his partner.
Startled back into action, the fleeing scout turned away. Lodariel lunged after the male drakhal who followed. She managed to sink her spear deep into the creature’s back, but he didn’t slow. He caught up to the elf he was chasing. Wrapping one arm around his prey’s head, he pulled it back and ripped out the jugular in one savage bite. Lodariel felt a shiver of fear. This creature was a vicious animal. And now she faced him and another drakhal with only one wounded elf at her side.
Pushing her fear aside, she threw herself at the male while he was distracted by the blood he had just shed. She attacked him like a woman possessed, sinking her spear into him wherever she could. But the creature had just fed twice, and her rain of blows didn’t faze him. Instead, he turned to face her, flashing a bloody grin.
Lodariel sank into a wary crouch. Even though she knew the attack would come, she was still not quick enough to block it. The male drakhal struck like a snake, landing a solid hit on her face. Her nose made a sickening crunch and she tasted blood.
Lodariel shook herself to clear her ringing ears. A wave of fury washed over her and a berserker’s laugh bubbled from her bloody lips as she channeled the anger into battle rage. A brief flicker of confusion crossed the drakhal’s face. She chose that moment to throw herself at him, driving the point of her spear into his eye. He shrieked, raising his hands to claw her away from his face. She let go to draw her stake from her belt. While the wounded drakhal pawed at his bloody eye socket, she drove the point home into his chest. With a final scream, he fell.
Lodariel turned to see what was happening between her last remaining scout and the female drakhal. At first, she couldn’t see either of them in the heavy rain. Then she noticed the crumpled outline of an elf on the ground and the retreating form of the last drakhal. She was running with a limp.
Lodariel didn’t hesitate. She dropped both spear and stake to draw a headless arrow from her quiver. The sharpened wooden tip was made for drakhal hunting. She nocked it in her bow and sent it flying through the darkness. It hit the female in the back, piercing her heart. She collapsed mid-stride.
Now there was no one to carry the tale of this battle back to the Orag. Once the sun rose, the bodies of the drakhalu would be dust and the elves could retrieve their fallen scouts. The rain would wash all traces of her group’s passage away.
The victory was hollow. Lodariel was the only elf who had survived. Now she had to return alone to Vila Eadros to p
repare the village to face two approaching armies. Pushing back the black wave of despair that threatened to overwhelm her, she ran into the night, tears streaming down her face.