Ch 19: Smoke, Shadows, and Snare
The underbrush clawed at Nyri’s legs as she stumbled over a twisted root, her breath hitching in the stale air of the forest. She bit down on her lower lip, drawing blood to stop herself from making a sound. Behind her, Orinai’s broad shoulders blocked most of the view, his larger frame a shield against their captors.
“Keep walking,” one of the mercenaries growled, his voice like gravel.
Nyri’s heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out the crickets and the rustling of leaves. Her arms ached from being bound earlier, but the ropes had been cut when she and Orinai were forced to lead these men through the forest.
Nryi, in contrast, seemed smaller than usual in the shadow of her brother, her lithe frame trembling as she stumbled to keep pace. Her dark eyes wide and alert, darted between the mercenaries, calculating and absorbing every detail with a sharpness that belied her age. Loose waves of dark hair fell messily around her face, bits of dirt and leaves caught in the strands, giving her the appearance of a frighted yet determined wild creature. The faint freckles on her nose and the small crescent-shaped birthmark by her ear seemed out of place amidst the fear etched into her young features.
She glanced to her brother’s side, searching for any hint of reassurance in his usually calm eyes.
Orinai stood tall despite the weight of their situation, his lean frame taut with tension. His gaze vigilant as a hawk’s–-scanned their surroundings with a vigilance born of necessity. A single bead, a symbol of the Ny’Kelos warriors, rested in his dark braid. The mud streaked tunic clung to his broad shoulders, and though his hands trembled slightly, and though his hands trembled slightly, his posture exuded the quiet strength that Nyri had always relied on.
His face was hardened, jaw clenched, but the slight shake of his hands gave him away. He was just as scared as she was.
A larger mercenary, broad-shouldered and carrying a heavy axe strapped to his back, shoved Orinai forward. “Move faster, boy. You know the way. Don’t think I won’t put you down if you’re lying.”
Orinai stumbled but caught himself. He turned his head slightly, murmuring to Nyri. “We’re almost there. Stay calm.”
Orinai stumbled deliberately over a root, catching himself on a nearby tree. He winced, exaggerating the motion as the axe-wielding mercenary grunted in irritation. “Keep moving!” the man barked, jabbing him with the blunt end of his weapon.
“Sorry,” Orinai muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He gave Nyri a fleeting glance as he straightened, his eyes darting towards a dense thicket to their left. The momentary delay had given him just enough time to ensure they were aligned with the first set of traps.
Nyri caught the signal, her gaze flickering towards the marketed trees. The faintest twitch of her lips told Orinai she understood. If the mercenaries continued on this path, they’d stumble into the waiting snare net.
Nyri nodded, the words meant to comfort her feeling hollow. She knew the protocol. Every child in the village did. If captured or forced to lead an enemy to Ny’kelos, they were to take them to the Decoy Hollow, a location specifically chosen for its defensibility and traps. It wasn’t far now, but every step felt heavier as the mercenaries’ presence loomed closer.
“Why’re we even keeping the brats alive?” one of the mercenaries sneered, his wiry frame twitching with irritation. “We’ve got no use for ‘em once we’re in.”
“Enough,” another voice barked—stern, commanding, and carrying a weight of authority. Nyri didn’t dare glance back to see the speaker. “They’re our leverage. If the villagers resist, we’ll need them to bargain.”
“They’re just kids,” the wiry one muttered. “I say we—”
A wet crack silenced him. The mercenary crumpled, spitting blood.
“Anyone touches them, they answer to me,” the leader said, his voice ice-cold.
Nyri swallowed hard, not sure whether to feel relieved or terrified by the man’s presence. Orinai glanced down at her as they walked, giving her a subtle nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her moving.
The Decoy Hollow
As they neared the hollow, Nyri noticed the signs—subtle markings on the trees and underbrush that only the Ny’kelos villagers would recognize. The hollow was just ahead, an area surrounded by natural choke points and dense thickets. To the mercenaries, it would look like an ideal hiding spot or shortcut to the village.
“Here,” Orinai said, his voice strained but steady. He pointed ahead, where a narrow path snaked through the trees. “The village is just beyond this point.”
The mercenaries paused, scanning the area with wary eyes. The leader stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Orinai said, his voice firm. “This is the fastest route.”
Nyri’s gaze shifted between the mercenaries, cataloging their movements. The ones barking orders–the leader–stood slightly apart from the group, his hand resting on his sword hilt. His posture radiated control, and the other mercenaries seemed to glance towards him before making any decision. He was the one to watch.
The wiry one near the rear kept twitching, his grip on his blade loose and uncertain. He muttered under his breath, breaking formation with small nervous steps. Easy prey.
The younger sibling leaned closer to her brother. “The leader’s the key.” she whispered “The twitchy one–he’ll panic first.”
Orinai gave her a subtle nod, absorbing the information without glancing her way.
Nyri’s stomach churned as she glanced at her brother. His words were too convincing, his tone too confident. What if something went wrong? What if they didn’t escape in time?
The leader motioned for the group to advance. “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
The mercenaries pressed forward, their boots crunching against the forest floor. Nyri and Orinai hesitated at the edge of the hollow, and a burly mercenary shoved them roughly. “Move.”
Orinai held up his hands, feigning compliance. “We’ll go,” he said, guiding Nyri forward. As they walked, he whispered so quietly she almost didn’t catch it. “Run when it starts.”
“What?” Nyri whispered back, panic lacing her voice.
“Just run.”
A guttural creak split the air. The leader looked up too late—a camouflaged net dropped, ensnaring three mercenaries in his rear guard. Weapons clattered as men shouted in alarm.
The scarred leader snarled his voice cutting through the chaos. “”Hold steady, or I’ll gut the next fool who panics!”
Nearby, a wiry man glanced nervously at the shadows, his grip on his sword trembling. “They’re inhuman,” he muttered, flinching as another trap snapped shut in the distance. ”Shut it, Faris!” barked another heavier mercenary, his axe swinging in a wide arc to clear the underbrush. “They bleed like anyone else!”
A few of the mercenaries began to fall, back their movements cautious as they scanned the trees for more traps. One of them–a burly man wielding a mace– narrowed his eyes at a faint trail in the dirt. “This way!” he exclaimed, pointing toward a less-trodden path that veered sharply to the left.
What they didnt notice were the subtle signs–the slight scuff on the bark, the absence of animal tracks–that marked the path as a decoy. As they moved one mercenary at the read triggered a concealed mechanism. A loud creak echoes through the trees, followed by the snap of a release.
Before anyone could react, a weighted log spiked at both ends, swing down from the canopy, slamming into the group with devastating force. Screams erupted as the survivors scattered in disarray.
“Ambush!” Korvan, their leader roared, drawing his sword.
The first trap snapped shut, catching two mercenaries in a hidden net. But a third soldier dodged to the side, spotting the mechanism just in time.
“Over there!” Havrin shouted, pointing toward the faint scuff of dirt leading into the thickets.
As they moved, another mercenary triggered a spring-loaded spike. The device released with a sharp crack but jammed halfway, leaving the mercenary unharmed. He laughed nervously, but the sound was cut short as an arrow pierced his throat.
From his vantage point, Daelin watched one of his comrades rush to reset the faulty trap. He gritted his teeth when another Ny’kelos warrior fell, overwhelmed by a mercenary’s sudden counterstrike.
“We’re losing too many,” Daelin muttered, signaling to Elda. “If we don’t drive them back now, they’ll overwhelm the next line.”
Elda nodded grimly and slipped into the shadows, her blades drawn.
Nyri didn’t wait. She grabbed Orinai’s hand and bolted toward the treeline, her legs pumping furiously as shouts and chaos erupted behind them. A cloud of thick, choking smoke began to rise from hidden canisters buried in the underbrush, further disorienting the mercenaries.
Nyri’s heart pounded as she ducked under a low branch, her hands grasping at the rough bark to steady herself. She glanced back, her mind racing. The mercenaries were moving faster now, their panic replaced with grim organization.
“Here,” she hissed, pulling her brother sharply toward a shallow stream bed half hidden by dense brush. “Through here”
Orinai hesitated. “It’s slower–”
“They’ll look for tracks. Water hides us,” she countered, her tone firm despite her shaking hands.
Nyri tugged Orinai deeper into the shallow stream, their breaths ragged but quiet.
Behind them, the mercenaries regrouped. The shouts of Korvan barking orders carried through the forest, punctuated by the clash of weapons and the cries of the injured.
“They’re regrouping,” Orinai whispered. His hand tightened on Nyri’s arm. “We need to keep moving. They’re too close.”
Nyri glanced back one last time, catching a glimpse of Havrin hacking through the underbrush with his axe. The sight sent a jolt of fear through her, and she turned to Orinai, her voice trembling. “How much farther?”
“Not far,” he whispered. “Just keep moving.”
A sharp command echoed through the chaos: “Hold formation! Regroup by the fallen tree!”
The icy water numbed her legs, but she focused on the sound of the splashing behind them. The mercenaries hadn’t followed them directly into the stream but were now circling along the banks, their distant voices growing louder.
As the children waded deeper, Nyri noticed an odd patch of forest floor ahead—a dense covering of leaves too uniform to be natural. She gestured sharply to Orinai, and they veered away just as a mercenary splashed into the stream behind them.
A loud crack split the air as the man’s foot slammed onto the concealed trap. Sharpened spikes burst upward, catching his leg and dragging him down with a scream. Blood soaked the water, sending ripples outward. The commotion drew more attention, and Nyri tightened her grip on Orinai’s hand.
“Keep moving!” she hissed, pulling him further downstream as more mercenaries approached.
Minutes passed. The sound of the mercenaries ebbed and flowed, but there was no guarantee they’d lost the trail. Nyri’s breath hitched when she saw ripples spreading from the opposite end of the stream. Something was moving toward them, swift and deliberate.
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“Stay low,” Orinai mouthed, his amber eyes darting to the treeline.
Behind them, the remaining mercenaries scrambled to regroup, their movements hindered by the smoke and the traps that continued to spring. Arrows whistled through the air, striking with precision as Ny’kelos archers, perched high in the trees, began their assault.
A shadow emerged, the silhouette sharp in the dim light. The figure carried a blade low and moved with unsettling precision. Nyri tightened her grip on Orinai’s hand, certain it was another mercenary who had found them.
The figure crouched, and before Nyri could react, a hand clamped over her mouth. She let out a muffled yelp, but the figure leaned closer, revealing a face streaked with mud and paint.
“Kai!” Nyri exclaimed with surprise.
“Kai,” Orinai exhaled, his body sagging in relief.
Kai released Nyri, her gaze cutting toward the treeline. “Move,” she whispered, her tone sharp but steady. “Stay low. Stick to the edges.” Nyri hesitated,glancing at Kai, but the older warrior motioned firmly. “You’ll slow them down more by surviving. Trust me.”
“They’re too close. I’ll cover your path.”
Nyri hesitated, but Kai’s firm grip on her arm was grounding. As they moved toward the stream’s edge, Kai’s eyes darted toward the distant sound of boots on water. Without a word, she threw a small pouch into the stream behind them, the contents erupting into a hiss of thick smoke that spread quickly.
“They’ll track the water,” Kai muttered, her tone grim. “We’ll have to draw them away. Follow me.”
Without another word Kai tossed a small pouch into the steam. Smoke hissed and curled into the air, smashing the children’s retreat as she melted back into the shadows.
Kai led them through the smoke-filled forest, the children close behind. Nyri's final glance revealed raiders falling to unseen traps, the village's tactics claiming them one by one.
She turned back to Kai, her heart pounding. They were safe for now, but the battle was far from over.
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“We’ve lost half our numbers!” one of the mercenaries hollered, panic creeping into his tone.
“Then fight smarter!” the leader snapped. “This isn’t some backwater rabble we’re dealing with.”
He scanned the battlefield, noting the precision of the traps and the coordination of the attacks. He had no idea how they knew they were coming but, whoever these villagers were, they weren’t amateurs. He tightened his grip on his sword, a grim determination settling over him.
“This isn’t over,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the treeline where the children had disappeared.
The smoke curled around the clearing like a living thing, wrapping itself around the mercenaries’ throats and obscuring their vision. The leader’s sharp commands echoed through the chaos, his voice the only semblance of order amid the chaos.
“Hold formation! Regroup by the fallen tree!” he bellowed.
The remaining mercenaries stumbled over roots and rocks, their movements clumsy as they fought against the disorienting traps. Arrows continued to rain down, each shot deliberate, striking at their weak points—an exposed thigh, an unguarded back.
One of the mercenaries, younger and less experienced, broke formation, running blindly into the smoke. A snare snapped tight around his ankle, yanking him upside-down with a cry that ended abruptly as a hidden blade swung out, slicing his throat.
“They’re playing with us!” another mercenary growled, slashing wildly at the underbrush.
“No, they’re hunting us,” the leader corrected, his tone cold and calculating. He squinted through the smoke, catching sight of faint shadows moving among the trees. “Aim for the heights! They’re in the trees!”
A few of the remaining mercenaries followed his command, loosing arrows upward, but their shots went wide. The Ny’kelos warriors moved too swiftly, disappearing into the shadows before they could be targeted.
The leader clenched his jaw. This wasn’t a battle—it was an execution. If they didn’t adapt soon, they wouldn’t make it out alive.
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Elda crouched low in the underbrush, her blade glinting faintly in the dim light. She exchanged a quick glance with Daelin, who nodded, his hand gripping a spear tightly. They had positioned themselves at a natural chokepoint, a narrow path where the mercenaries would have to funnel through if they wanted to regroup.
“They’ll come this way,” Daelin murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of battle.
Elda’s grip tightened on her weapon. “Good. Let’s make them regret it.”
The two of them didn’t have to wait long. The first mercenary stumbled into view, his head swiveling as he searched for signs of his attackers. He didn’t see Elda until it was too late. She surged forward, her blade slicing cleanly across his throat. He fell without a sound.
Another mercenary appeared, this one quicker on his feet. He raised his sword, but Daelin’s spear flew through the air, striking him squarely in the chest. The man staggered backward, gurgling as he collapsed.
Elda moved to retrieve the spear, but Daelin stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Leave it. There’ll be more.”
As if on cue, the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. The two warriors exchanged a grim nod and melted back into the shadows, ready for the next wave.
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Ren crouched behind a tree, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His injured arm throbbed with every heartbeat, but he couldn’t afford to stop. Not now.
“Think they’re buying it?” he called out, his voice strained but still carrying a hint of his usual humor.
Vyn, perched in a nearby tree with his bow drawn, didn’t reply. His focus was locked on the mercenaries below, his eyes scanning for any signs of a counterattack.
“They’re buying it,” Vyn said finally, his voice low and even. “Get ready to move.”
Ren grinned despite himself. “You’re the boss.”
He darted out from behind the tree, weaving through the chaos with deliberate unpredictability. Two mercenaries split from the main group to chase him, their bellows cutting through the air. The nimble injured swordsman risked a glance back, smirking as one stumbled over a root. “You’re slow,” he taunted, before veering sharply into the trees.
As the mercenaries closed in, Vyn loosed an arrow striking the nearest mercenary in the throat. Before the others could react, a spear flew from the shadows, piercing a second soldier's side. Vyn shifted his aim and sent another arrow curving mid-flight, catching a third mercenary in the back before he could raise his weapon.
Ren skidded to a halt, turning to face Vyn’s perch. “Nice shot,” he called out grinning despite the chaos. His injured arm hung awkwardly at his side, but he still managed a playful jab. “Now, can you hit one with style? Maybe a flip or something?”
“Get back here,” Vyn replied, already nocking another arrow. “We’re not done yet.”
Before Ren could respond, the air was pierced by the sharp crack of a whip-like weapon. A long vine lashed out from the trees, wrapping around the legs of one of the remaining mercenaries and yanking him off his feet. A figure leapt from the canopy above, landing silently as the mercenary struggled against his bindings. It was one of the Ny’kelos warriors, her skin painted with streaks of mud and ash, blending seamlessly with the forest.
The warrior didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, she drove a curved blade into the mercenary’s chest before disappearing back into the shadows.
A Ny'kelos warrior emerged from the brush, their spear finding its mark in a mercenary's thigh. But victory was short-lived—another raider's blade caught a warrior mid-leap, ending their charge with brutal efficiency.
“They’re not invincible!” the mercenary bellowed, rallying a few of his comrades. “Push through!”
The remaining mercenaries began to panic, their formation breaking apart as they tried to keep track of the attackers darting in and out of the trees.
“They’re everywhere!” a stocky mercenary growled, his axe cleaving into the underbrush.
Faris froze, his breathing shallow and uneven as sweat dripped from his brow. His hand trembled on the hilt of his blade, and his eyes scattered around the forest. The faint hum burned in his ears, growing louder and louder with every second.
“They’re in the trees,” he murmured to himself, voice trembling. They’re watching us…Whispering…”
Havrin turned, his grip tightening on his axe. “Faris, what's wrong with you now?”
“They’re inside my head!” Faris shouted suddenly, clutching at his temples. He stumbled back, his pupils dilated and unfocused. “They know! “They’re everywhere–waiting!”
“Pull yourself together!” Harvin barked, grabbing Faris by the shoulder. “We need to move or we’re dead!”
But Faris jerked free, his gaze unfocused and wild. WIthout another word, he spun and sprinted into the forest, his heavy breaths fading into the distance.
“Faris!” Harvin shouted after bum, but it was too late.
Korvan’s expression darkened “Let him go. The catalyst’s breaking him. He’ll slow us down.”
Beside him, a younger soldier whipped his head around at every sound. “They’re hunting us,” the scarred leader corrected, his tone cold. His eyes darted to the treetops. “They’re in the heights. Aim high!”
Vyn’s eyes darted from target to target. He loosed another arrow, this one striking a mercenary’s hand and forcing him to drop his weapon. “Ren, fall back toward Daelin and Elda!” he called out.
Ren ducked as an arrow whistled past him, fired from one of the mercenaries who had taken cover. “Working on it!” he replied, his voice tight as he sprinted toward the trees.
“That one’s calling the shots,” Vyn muttered. He tracked the leader as the man ducked under a branch and barked another order. “They’re holding because of him.”
Ren crouched nearby, fumbling with a fresh bandage around his injured arm. “You take the shot,” he quipped, his voice tight. “I’ll just be the bait.”
Ren burst from cover before Vyn could stop him, zigzagging through the chaos. "Over here!" His rock struck a mercenary's helm with a sharp ping.
Faris moved like a predator, his Catalyst-enhanced speed allowing him to close the distance between them in moments.
Ren barely turned in time to block the incoming blade with his good arm. The force of the strike sent him reeling backward, his injured shoulder screaming in protest.
“Damn it!” Ren hissed, raising his sword again just as Faris lunged. He knew he couldn’t block another strike without giving out.
From the treetops, Vyn shouted, “Ren, duck!”
Ren dropped as Vyn’s arrow hissed past, striking Faris in the side. The Catalyst soldier staggered but didn’t fall, his glowing eyes locked on Ren.
Vyn dropped from above, slamming into Faris. His bow cracked against the mercenary's blade, wood groaning under steel. "Ren, move!" he snarled through clenched teeth.
Vyn growled. “I can’t hold him forever!”
Ren staggered to his feet, clutching his arm. “You’re insane!”
Faris turned towards Ren, but it was the last mistake he’d make. Vyn’s arrow hissed through the air, striking true. He staggered, clutching at his throat as he fell to the ground.
“Nice shot,” Ren called out in exasperation, ducking back into cover. Vyn didn’t reply, his next arrow already knocked and ready.
Vyn’s brow furrowed. These men were adapting too quickly. They had been caught off guard, but their discipline was showing. Vyn loosed another arrow, but the scarred mercenary ducked behind a tree just in time. The man moved with purpose, barking sharp orders as if anticipating the warriors next moves. This wasn't just survival–it was strategy.
Ren slumped against the tree, chest heaving. "The Ny'kelos are bleeding them, but these bastards know warfare. We need a new strategy."
Before Vyn could answer, a series of high-pitched whistles echoed through the forest—short, rhythmic bursts that seemed to come from all directions. It was the Ny’kelos warriors, signaling to each other in a language of sound that the mercenaries couldn’t decipher.
Another wave of attackers descended. This time, they used slings to launch small clay pots at the mercenaries. Upon impact, the pots shattered, releasing thick clouds of blinding smoke. The forest filled with clamors and curses as the mercenaries staggered, choking and clawing at their eyes.
Vyn seized the opportunity, leaping from his perch and landing beside Ren. “We push them back. Regroup with Daelin and Elda.”
In the distance, the faint sound of another clash reached their ears—a quick whistle followed by the sharp ring of metal against metal. Somewhere deeper in the forest, another team was holding the line. The rhythmic hum of Ny’kelos signals echoes faintly above the chaos, their meaning lost to Vyn but still strangely comforting.
Ren wiped sweat from his brow, breathing heavily. “You think they’re doing better than us?”
The archer glanced at him, lips pressing into a grim line. “We’re going to find out.”
Ren grinned, though it was strained. “You’re starting to sound like Taren.”
“Shut up and move,” Vyn snapped, his tone half-serious as he pulled another arrow from his quiver.
The two of them moved quickly, weaving through the smoke and shadows as the Ny’kelos warriors continued their assault. Above them, archers in the trees let loose a volley of arrows, each one finding its mark with deadly precision.
By the time Vyn and Ren reached the designated fallback point, the sounds of the mercenaries’ panic were fading into the distance. Daelin stood at the ready, his spear in hand, while Elda crouched beside him, her dual blades glinting faintly in the dim light.
Elda crouched behind the underbrush, her breath steady, fingers flexing around the hilt of her blade. The muffled thud of boots on dirt reached her ears—mercenaries were closing in.
“They’ll head this way,” Daelin murmured beside her, his eyes fixed on the narrow clearing ahead, his grip on his spear betrayed the tension running through him.
Elda nodded, “I’ll draw them in. Be ready.”
Before the left hand man could respond, she dashed forward, a shadow amongst the trees. Her footfalls were deliberate, loud enough to ensure the mercenaries heard her, but still light enough to avoid detection from their sharper senses. The trick worked—shouts rang out as a few of the soldiers broke formation to pursue her.
“There’s one!” one of them yelled. “Flank her!”
Elda wove between trees, each step calculated to draw her pursuers deeper. The mercenary's confident lunge turned to terror as spiked logs crashed through the canopy, their impact echoing through the forest.
Ahead, the clearing narrowed into a natural choke point. She veered toward it, her steps quickening as the mercenaries closed the gap. One of them was faster than the others, a Catalyst-enhanced soldier with a faint, unnatural glow to his skin. His movements were sharper, more deliberate. He was gaining on her.
Elda’s heart hammered as she neared the edge of the trap. The clearing opened up into a deceptively peaceful space—the perfect place for an ambush. Her muscles coiled, and just as the first mercenary lunged, she spun sharply, ducking beneath his blade and slashing upward. Her sword bit into his arm, sending his weapon clattering to the ground.
As the trap sprang to life—sharpened logs swinging down from above—one of the mercenaries dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly blow. Instead, he barreled into a Ny’kelos warrior crouched nearby, slamming the smaller figure to the ground. The warrior’s cry of pain pierced through the chaos.
Daelin’s head snapped toward the sound, his jaw tightening as he saw his tribesman pinned beneath the mercenary’s bulk, struggling to fend off a downward swing of a blade. Without hesitation, he surged forward, his spear a blur as he drove it into the mercenary’s exposed side. The man roared in pain and collapsed, his blade clattering harmlessly to the ground.
“Get up!” Daelin barked, pulling the injured warrior to his feet. The tribesman’s leg was slick with blood, his movements faltering.
Elda stepped in as another mercenary charged, her dual blades flashing as she parried the incoming strike. “Go!” she shouted over her shoulder, blocking the enemy’s path while Daelin dragged the injured warrior toward cover.
Daelin steadied his wounded tribesman, voice soft with promise. "Hold on." He felt Elda's back press against his as she deflected an incoming blade. "Lucky I've got your back," she muttered through gritted teeth.
Daelin snorted, his spear thrusting forward to keep the enemy at bay. “If we survive this, I’ll owe you two.”
“Still not over yet,” Elda muttered, lunging forward to finish off the last mercenary in their immediate path.
Daelin’s whistle echoed from above. A heartbeat later, the trap sprang to life—a series of logs, sharpened at their ends, swung down from the canopy, crashing into the mercenaries with brutal force. Screams filled the air as the logs slammed into their targets, scattering the remaining soldiers in disarray.
“About time,” Daelin said, his tone brisk but relieved. “How bad is it?”
Vyn glanced back toward the smoke-filled forest, his jaw tightening. “They’ve lost half their numbers, but they’re regrouping. They’re not done yet.”
Elda wiped her blade against her sleeve, her expression grim. “Neither are we.”