Trafin had come with the group on a hunch. Not every ranger had [relay], or even the right affinity for it, but there were others he could have sent with them. Still, quests were a rarity and the lack of response from the ranger outside the dungeon was concerning. He could always count on Sarge if he found himself in trouble, so when there was a chance that this time trouble had found his old friend, Trafin intended to be there for him.
Halfway to the dungeon his hunch was validated as he heard pounding feet through the trees, a dishevelled pair of guards becoming visible in the dappled evening light. He’d [relay]ed the gist of their tale of attack by dwarves to the city, including, to mixed feelings of some of the others, the guard captain’s presence. He understood their feelings, no one liked the idea of him turning traitor, particularly members of the guard, but he was practical enough to know that only Magus Jacintha and perhaps his own captain stood a chance against Luke in a direct fight. Unfortunately, neither would be coming to aid them anytime soon. The ranger captain was out on patrol and would take some time to return, and while Magus Jacintha was impressive for her age, she didn’t travel quickly, however dedicated her efforts to hide such difficulties from her juniors. That was to say nothing of the fact the Lord might order them to remain and protect the city.
Still, while he felt no shame conveying the guard captain’s… Luke’s actions. Better to think of him in that light for now, not a servant of the city but an individual accused of breaking the law and possible enemy combatant. Trafin was however conflicted about the three words he impulsively added to the end of his message. He should have considered his position, the ranger receiving the message wouldn’t see it as a suggestion but rather an order. He should have said something like ‘inform the Lord immediately’ but he’d assumed that was obvious. He never would have said what he did if he wasn’t worried their backs were against a wall.
It was just so unlike him, his thoughts continued unfettered as he dashed between the trees. The evening and their canopies shrouding everything in twilight but knowledge of its surface was as familiar to him as a lover’s face. In fact, he was fairly sure he knew it better than the few he’d had over the years, but in his defence, he found the forest a more constant companion. He thrived as a ranger because he had both talent and desire for operating alone in the wilds. Sure, he worked with his colleagues and had friends in the guard, but fundamentally he liked being self sufficient and built trust slowly. People thought he was mad for not using the throwing knives from the dungeon, that it was just spite over the one he lost. The reality was, while they might look the same, they weren’t the knives he had years of practice with. He wouldn’t trust his life with something that might not throw exactly the same, at least not without some thorough testing. And his standard of trust for people was much tougher than for tools. Which once again begged the question, why? Why had he impulsively placed his trust somewhere that wasn’t just untested but he had poor history with? Was it just desperation? Or after all these years was he hoping for something more?
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
His internal conflict was interrupted as he stepped into the clearing around the palisade. The soldiers were alert. Jumpy even. Most disturbingly, many were nursing minor injuries and he could hear faint moans of pain from within. He hoped his friend was safe and he hoped the ranger survived. He’d have been pissed if it all turned out to be a false alarm but that would have been preferable to what the runners had reported. He felt like he’d just set down a heavy pack when he heard his friend’s voice give the order to let them inside.
Within the palisade healers rushed from person to person, a few with severe burns were barely clinging to life. More healers were already on the way, but it was obvious he had underestimated the strength of the threat. The runners had been sent when the fighting started, they hadn’t seen the injuries or the three dwarven bodies left behind. Trafin was far too cynical to hope the rest had retreated.
As Trafin heard the pain, smelt the scorched earth and flesh, saw the frustration on his friend’s face, he didn’t regret his choice. Those three little words might be the end of his career, might even be seen as treason, but he didn’t regret sending them. If these injuries were suffered even with Sarge present they needed an edge, and he knew exactly where to find one whatever his personal feelings on its source. He’d been right to end his message with tell the elves.