Chapter 2

Southwest Reaches

Shetna Forest

7th Day of Pendelius, 247 A.C.

Midnight

The ilvar male crouched on an outstretched branch in the upper canopy of an ancient oak. He casually moved a strand of his long, silvery blond hair from his narrow face as he peered through the screen of dark green leaves to the campfire below.

Six crimson skinned, bipedal creatures sat around that fire, casting long shadows around the small clearing with its flickering light. The sight confirmed what the ilvar had thought when he and his patrol had reached the remains of the ilvarri village, many leagues to the north of their current position. He and his patrol had been dispatched from Sildar Istan in the southwest part of Shetna Forest following reports of large creatures in the vicinity, but had not arrived in time. The four families that lived in the village had been slaughtered, none of the fifteen ilvarri being found alive. It had not been difficult for them to find the trail the creatures had left, and they had followed them here.

He mentally noted the layout of the clearing before turning and beginning to climb, moving from branch to branch, tree to tree, away from the meadow until the light from the fire was barely visible through the leaves. He climbed down to the lower limbs and dropped the remaining few feet to the forest floor, where the rest of his patrol waited for his return.

“Gal’roth,” Tarafen Maramas, captain of this patrol in the ilvarri forest guard called Shien’tar, stated in a whisper.

The ilvarri of this patrol, six male and four female, nodded their acknowledgment, none of them surprised in the slightest at the information. The trail they had followed from the north—scorched and slashed bark on trees, ripped foliage and branches—were characteristic of the destructive creatures known as the gal’roth. They waited in disciplined silence for their leader to continue, in spite of their eagerness to begin the fight.

Tarafen knelt to the ground and, grabbing a nearby stick with a light blue hand, drew a rough map of the gal’roth campsite in the dirt of a spot clear of leave litter on the forest floor. Six targets, marked with an ‘x’, positioned around a very rough approximation of a campfire. He also drew eleven circles, one for each member of his patrol.

Once he was finished, he studied it for a minute in the faint light, making sure he had not forgotten anything. Confident he had not, he began issuing orders.

“Hasfid, Kan’il, Seonid, Shara,” the captain glanced at each ilvar as he named them. “You will approach through the treetops, and ready your bows. Hasfid and Kan’il, you will come from the north; Seonid and Shara, from the south, and do the same. Wait for my signal before loosing your arrows.”

The named ilvarri saluted, bringing the palms of their hands to rest on their chests and inclining their heads slightly before moving off to the side to string their bows as Tarafen continued.

“Teirin and Erothel, you will do the same from the east, here and here,” he indicated two points on his rough sketch and, not waiting for confirmation, went on. “Illora, Casgin, take position between Teirin and Erothel on the ground. Be ready to cut down any who live and come your way.”

“Shahara,” the named ilvarri saluted before moving away to ready their weapons with their other companions, conferring quietly to make final preparations.

Tarafen stood from his crouch and looked at the two remaining members of the patrol. While he had fought alongside the others many times before, and trusted them to make the right choices on their own, these two were new to the group. To make matters worse, they were fresh out of the academy, with this being their first assignment.

Top of their class at Esta’vellan, the martial academy in the ilvarri capitol of Shara’neth, Aeilith was a lun’ilvar maiden of forty five years, with silvery-blue skin reminiscent of Tarafen’s own, and long, dark brown hair, standing just shy of Tarafen’s six and a half feet in height. Falorn, on the other hand, stood nearly a foot shorter than his classmate, being a male of sol’ilvar descent of equal age to Aelith, with the orange-bronze skin common to those of his lineage, and short cut black hair. Not quite of adult age, both had little to no real-world experience, having never seen assignments outside of the safe confines of the academy.

The fact that they had been assigned to his patrol meant that the setra’al at the academy had deemed them proficient enough with their weapons to be sent out, but Tarafen had been told specifically that neither had seen real combat before. That meant he did not know how they would react when the battle began, and he did not like having an unknown factor like them involved. However, they had been sent with him so he could assess their abilities and see if they were, in fact, ready for service in Shien’tar. Therefore he could not keep them out of the fight entirely, as much as he wanted to.

But that did not mean they had to be in the thick of it.

The two younger ilvarri fidgeted under his scrutiny, clearly understanding they had been singled out for a reason.

“You two will come with me to the west side of the camp. There, we will block their escape after the others begin the attack,” Tarafen instructed them.

He had decided while watching the gal’roth that he should keep them close, in order to keep an eye on them. The added benefit of their position meant that any gal’roth that they engaged should already have been wounded by the others, lessening the danger to either of the inexperienced recruits.

“Move quietly, and stay close to me. Understood?”

The two recruits nodded, though Aelith chewed her lower lip as she did—a sign of nervousness, he knew. Suppressing a sigh, Tarafen turned from them to find that, as he had expected, the rest of his patrol, those he had fought beside for many years through more battles than he could count, ready and awaiting his command.

He did not bother with any more words; with these ilvarri, his brothers and sisters in arms, they were not needed.

Instead, he simply nodded to them, and watched as they melted into the shadows of the night, their movements no louder than the soft breeze that rustled the leaves around them in the cool night air. Motioning for Falorn and Aelith to follow, he too began making his way to the position he had assigned the three of them to.

The night was dark.

Clouds partially obscured the moon and stars above. Those few beams of light that made it through were further scattered by the boughs of the trees—mostly fir and oak—that surrounded them. This was not a great hindrance to the ilvarri, however, who’s eyes had long ago adapted to the low light conditions that were common on the forest floor when the canopy was thick overhead, blocking the sun on even the brightest of days, allowing them to see shades of grey in even the lowest of light. Beyond that, each wore a wooden amulet carved in the shape of a golden eagle that was the symbol of Shien’tar, the eye of the bird being a small sapphire imbued with magics that enhanced their vision in the dark, turning those shades of grey into muted colours.

They moved quickly and quietly through the trees, completely confident in their advantage over their foes in this their home. In the pale moonlight, they were just eleven more shadows moving in the near silence of the night.

Moving carefully to ensure their path did not take them too close to the gal’roth gathered around the fire, yet close enough that they could make out the occasional flicker of the flames between the wide trunks of the forest trees, the trio of ilvarri circled around the camp to the western side. Azure eyes glancing up as they passed a large oak that Tarafen himself would have used to enter the canopy, he was glad to see the forms of Seonid and Shara moving carefully through the boughs of the trees towards a position that offered their best view of the campsite.

Seonid noticed them and gave a small wave before jumping to catch a limb in the next tree, steel arrowheads glowing orange briefly in the reflected light from the campfire. The captain returned the cal’ilvar maiden’s wave without breaking his stride, quickly returning his attention to the ground ahead to avoid tripping on the large buttress roots that poked through to the surface near the trunks of the oaks.

The density of the brush and undergrowth in this part of Shetna Forest prevented Tarafen from actually seeing the gal’roth, aside from the occasional quick glimpse. He could hear them, however, talking and laughing in their guttural tongue. From the expressions on Falorn and Aelith’s faces when he looked back, they could here the canine mawed monsters too. He hoped that they could not understand what was being said, as he could. They did not need to hear the details of the raid on Tris’nel, the village they had traveled through earlier; the gal’roth were discussing it in vivid, gory detail, and laughing about how well they would eat that night.

The ilvarri had only found thirteen of the bodies; the creature’s gleeful recounting told the lun’ilvar why.

Tarafen forced himself to stop listening as the vile creatures began discussing cooking preferences, and silently vowed that this group would not be able to treat any other ilvar like this ever again. If he had his way, no ilvar would ever be hurt or killed by a gal’roth again.

This was not the first group of the creatures his patrol had either been dispatched to hunt down and destroy, or had found in their routine surveys and taken upon themselves to kill immediately, nor would it be the last. The usually uncommon creatures had been appearing more frequently of late, which was concerning. The High Council had been sending more patrols to counter the increase in gal’roth activity, obviously concerned over what it could indicate. The last time the monsters had appeared in such numbers had been—

—A branch snapped behind him, drawing him from his thoughts as he whirled about reflexively, half drawing his silver inset blackwood blades before seeing the abashed expression on Falorn’s face.

Tarafen gave the young sol’ilvar an admonishing look as he slid his blades back into their sheathes. He paused a moment to ensure the gal’roth had not also heard. Thankfully, it appeared that they were too engrossed in the continuing discussion, and appeared not to have heard.

The disgusting conversation carried on unabated.

Reasonably certain they had remained undetected, and whispering a silent prayer to Tristus that it remained so, he began moving once more, slipping between the aged trunks of towering trees until they had reached the western side of the campsite, at least to Tarafen’s best approximation.

Spying a low hanging branch on an ideally placed oak as he made a scan of their immediate surroundings, he motioned for the recruits to remain where they were and, leaping to grab hold of it, pulled himself up onto the limb. He climbed a couple branches higher, and took another look around, enjoying the different vantage his new position gave him. What he saw below pleased him.

The gal’roth, if and when they fled, would have to pass directly under his current position if they wanted to follow the easiest path of escape. To one side of the clearing was the lip of a ravine, while the other two sides were thick with undergrowth, far too thick for the large creatures to push or tear through quickly. He considered the best position for him and the recruits and, settling on one, got the attention of the two younger ilvarri, who remained below, waiting rather nervously.

He motioned for them to climb up, one on either side of the oak in which he crouched, while he climbed still higher into the upper reaches of the sturdy tree. About halfway up he halted his ascent, and sidled out along a thicker, overextended limb, out past the majority of the strongly lobed leaves that hung around him. It took him a moment to orient himself to this newest vantage point, almost directly opposite the one he had originally surveyed the creatures from when they had first caught up to them. Through the few remaining branches and leaves, he could see that only four of the creatures remained around the fire.

Concern flooding him, he quickly located the other two; one had come towards him and his group, while the other had walked to the far side, where Illora and Casgin waited. To his relief, none of the creatures seemed to be on alert.

It seemed the creatures remained unaware of their presence.

But he did not want to press their luck.

Once he was satisfied that none of the targets had moved so far so as to disrupt his plans, the ilvar turned his attention to the trees surrounding the meadow, his deep blue eyes searching. It did not take him long to locate the other members of his patrol, each where they were supposed to be, arrows fitted to bowstrings and ready to be drawn at a moments notice.

Another gal’roth moved away from the campfire, heading towards the one on his groups side of the clearing. The two gal’roth began conversing in their coarse language as he began making his descent, picking his way back to the lower limbs of the tree. As he descended, he did his best to keep an eye on the creatures ahead of and below him, watching for any indication that the sharp eared monsters had heard him or his young charges.

Once he was satisfied with his position, he loosened his swords in his sheaths once more, and checked that Falorn and Aelith were ready as well. Seeing that they were, he let out three sharp trills followed by two lower gurgles—the song of the nightingale, a small brown and white feathered bird native and common to Shetna.

He had barely finished the call before his archers acted on his signal, responding with the efficiency and precision he had come to expect from the men and women under his command.

As he watched, arrows sprouted from the three creatures that remained around the fire, two per creature. Roaring in pain, anger, and surprise, two of the gal’roth jumped to their feet, only to be struck by two more arrows each—they fell to the ground before they could do anything else, lying still in growing pools of black blood.

The third gal’roth rolled to the side after the initial attack, the subsequent arrows skipping off the flat stone it had been seated upon, missing it by half a second. It came up in a crouch, a ball of flame appearing in its hand as it glared into the trees around the clearing. The lips of its wolf-like muzzle curled in a snarl as the other gal’roth rushed back into the clearing to see what the commotion was about. One of the newcomers snarled a command and two others summoned flames into their hands in response; all four of the canine heads searched the trees around them.

“Dar’krast,” Tarafen swore, having hoped they could avoid this particularly annoying—and dangerous—ability that some gal’roth possessed through the element of surprise.

It made fighting them from a distance far more difficult.

Some gal’roth, like the three down in the clearing, apparently, could summon balls of flame to their hands at will, and hurl them at their opponents, where they exploded on impact. This made it especially difficult for the ilvarri, whose tactics usually utilized the trees around them to bloody the creatures from a safe distance before closing to finish them. The lun’ilvar captain had fervently hoped that they could kill any that had this ability before they could manifest it.

He watched helplessly as, true to his fears, the gal’roth threw their fireballs into the trees all around, even as another flight of arrows soared in. The flaming spheres lit the night as they flew through the air, almost perfectly aimed for where he had positioned his people. Another gal’roth fell to the ground, one of the ones who had just thrown its ball of fire, as it was pierce by multiple arrows, one finding its throat, black blood pouring from its muzzle even as it fell. Another staggered as it, too, was struck, but remained on its feet, letting out a guttural howl of rage.

Two of the balls of fire entered the trees to the north, the third to the south, singeing leaves as they passed through the boughs of the trees before they made contact with the more solid wood within.

They exploded on impact, blowing leaves and branches off the trees.

A scream of shock and pain sounded from the northern side as the flames spread outwards, engulfing the target trees and their neighbours. Tarafen winced at the cry, thinking of Seonid and Shara and hoping they had moved fast enough to avoid the worst of the twin blasts.

No such cries came from the southern trees, where the third ball of fire had erupted in flames, to similar effect. He hoped that meant that Hasfid and Kan’il had gotten out in time as he watched flaming leaves and branches fall to the forest floor, sparks flying as they struck lower limbs on the way down. He could see no sign his two kin as the tree was engulfed in flames.

Two more arrows flew into the remaining creatures as Teirin and Erothel continued the attack from the east. The gal’roth leader growled another command to the others that remained standing, and all began to flee—in two different directions. The leader and the wounded one came towards Tarafen and his charges, while the other fled to the east, headed straight for where Erothel and Teirin remained.

Tarafen let out two more sharp trills before dropping to the ground, drawing his twin blades as he landed directly in the path of the two fleeing gal’roth.

Aelith and Falorn dropped down to either side of him, Falorn holding a blackwood sword and shield, the inlaid silver of each glinting orange in the reflected light of the flames, Aelith gripping a silver tipped blackwood spear tightly in two hands. Falorn stumbled as he landed, his toes catching under a root, and he fell to one knee, loosing his grip on the handle of his sword as he did. Both gal’roth, initially surprised when the three forms had dropped down in front of them, veered for the stumbling sol’ilvar, the obvious weak point of the three now facing them.

“Falorn!” Tarafen cried in warning as he sprung to intercept the creatures, hoping to distract them from their wild charge.

Hurrying to retrieve his fallen blade and regain his footing, Falorn did not see the two gal’roth closing on him until he heard his captain’s warning. By then, one was upon him, ripping the hardened wooden shield from his forearm with a swipe of its clawed hand as the straps snapped. The creature’s other hand slashed across the ilvar male’s chest, digging deep gashes as its claws tore aside his wooden breastplate, tearing through the leather padding beneath as if it were mere cloth.

“Falorn!” Aelith cried from behind Tarafen, seeing the blood and torn cloth flying from her friend as the captain came within striking distance of the larger of the two, one blade slashing across at it.

Mistaking the female’s shout for a war cry of some kind, Tarafen’s intended target glanced at him in time to see the silver of the ilvar’s blade shimmering in the faint moonlight as it swung through the air towards it. With a growl, the creature swung around to meet the lun’ilvar’s charge, canine maw opening in a howl. Despite the warning, however, it was still too slow to avoid the black blade.

It was, however, able to partially deflect the sword, stealing some of its momentum before it slashed across its chest, opening a shallow slash across its torso. Black blood flowed from the wound as Tarafen retracted his blade, ducking as he did to dodge the larger creatures clumsy, retaliatory strike.

As he went under the arm, he brought his second blade up, stabbing at the limb as it passed over top him. He felt the blade make contact with the beast’s forearm, but it did not have the force necessary to break through the thick skin, and it slid off to the side. The ilvar reflexively leaped back following the failed attack, sensing more than seeing the gal’roth’s other hand as it came around to grab him. He was quick to close the distance again following the strike, not willing to risk giving it a moment in which to conjure another globe of fire.

He risked a glance towards Falorn and the other gal’roth, hoping against hope that the younger ilvar was still capable of putting up a fight.

What he saw did not encourage him.

While it’s companion met the attack of the blond ilvar, the other gal’roth, already wounded from the ilvarri ambush, pressed it’s assault on Falorn, it’s claws slashing repeatedly as the wounded yet nimble ilvar somehow managed to dodge them. The black haired sol’ilvar had given up on any attempts to retrieve his fallen blade, focusing solely on keeping away from his opponents attacks, while also attempting to mentally block out the pain that flared in his chest with each movement.

While he had so far managed to keep ahead of the creature’s attacks, the young ilvar held no delusions about his ability to keep it up for much longer. Already his movements felt more sluggish, each taking more effort than the last. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, and between that and the pain in his chest, he knew that one of the monsters claws must have caught a lung.

He was running out of time.

As he spun himself away from another attack—stumbling over a root as he did and almost loosing his footing in the process—he saw Aelith out of the corner of his eye, still standing where she had landed. Her hands were gripping the shaft of her spear so tightly that the weapon trembled as she stared at the scene before her, transfixed.

“Aelith!”

He called out to her, barely ducking under another attack and coughing as blood filled his throat again. Spitting purple blood from his mouth, he wiped the remainder away, smearing it across his bronze skin. He breathed in a wet, gurgling breath, coughing again, as he prepared to again try to break his friend from her stupor.

“Aelith!”

Concerned for her companions in the trees that still burned brightly, and frozen with fear from the ferocity of the gal’roth charge, Aelith watched as

both of her companions engaged with the enemy.

She knew she should go to Falorn’s aid—there was no doubt about the danger he was in—but she could not will herself to move. Her shock at the viciousness of the enemy’s retaliation had pushed all of her many years of training out of her, overriding her instincts. In spite of all her years at Esta’Vellan, she should not be here.

She was not ready.

Gripping her spear tightly in shaking hands, she willed herself to move as Falorn continued to stay just ahead of the larger creature’s lumbering swipes, blood pouring from his chest. The sight of his garish wounds caused her breaths to come faster and faster as panic set in and she began to hyperventilate as a feeling of helplessness came over her.

If Falorn, whose skills in melee were far better than her own, was in trouble, what chance did she have?

“Aelith!”

The desperate cry, so full of pain and anguish and followed by a fit of wet coughing, cut through her confusion, helping to align her thoughts and bringing her focus back to the fight in front of her, to her friend. She watched as he ducked under another slashing claw, coughing blood as he did. His normally bronze face had taken on an ashen hue under the purple smears of blood that streaked across it, and was locked in a complete mask of pain.

She took a trembling step forward.

He cried out to her once more, quieter this time as he stumbled to avoid another attack. He was not quite fast enough this time, however, and the ilvar was spun around as a claw snagged the tattered remains of his armour and disrupted his movement.

“Falorn…” she whispered as she witnessed her friend’s growing peril, anger rising inside her at her inability to help. That anger welled up, piercing through her confusion and allowing her to overcome her fear. She drew a deep, shaky breath to steady herself, loosening and adjusting her grip on the shaft of her spear.

She took another step forward.

Drawing another breath, pushing all her doubts out of her mind with a growl, she angled the tip of her spear down, and narrowed her eyes.

She charged.

As his opponent drew back, trying to give itself room for a better angle of attack, Tarafen lunged low, both blades slashing towards the monster’s ankle, putting all of his strength behind the twin blows.

One-two the blades came in, the first breaking through the tough, scale-like skin of the gal’roth, the second following the same path to dig in even deeper, eliciting a roar of pain and rage from the creature’s canine maw. It jerked backwards, first one step, then another—and fell to the ground as its ankle, tendons and muscle sheared through, gave out beneath it’s weight, muscle balling up under its knee. Branches snapped and dead leaves crackled as the beast thudded to the ground, thrashing wildly with its three working limbs in vain attempts to keep the blond ilvar away.

Tarafen was quick to leap atop his fallen foe, easily dodging and deflecting the frenzied, clumsy attacks of the wounded creature. Black blood spurted as his blades slashed across its exposed throat, putting an end the monsters roars and grunts.

He did not pause as the creature stilled beneath him, knowing the dire straights his young charges were in.

Falorn especially would not last much longer, he noted as he looked their way.

Even as he began heading towards Falorn, Aelith charged in, impaling the towering gal’roth in the lower back with her spear, interrupting the twisted creature's howl of victory.

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The captain sped up his own pace, willing his legs to move faster as she struck, realizing as her spear entered the creature that though her spear dug deep, it had not struck any major organs. The creature was far from finished, he knew, as Aelith struggled to retract the spear from it’s thick hide. While she had not killed the creature, however, she had succeeded in another manner.

Aelith had managed to draw the gal’roth’s attention from her fallen friend.

Sure enough, while her hands were still gripping the spear, the gal’roth spun with a howl, ripping the shaft from her sweat slicked hands. It caught her in the gut with a tremendous backhand, knocking the wind from her even as it knocked her back. The beast’s next attack came before she could recover, it’s other fist slamming into the side of her head.

The lithe lun’ilvar went limp, crumpling to the ground, unconscious, as Tarafen closed the remaining distance.

The gal’roth batted aside his first attack easily, but did not engage, instead taking a large step back as the ilvar pulled the blade back before him. Before he could reengage the beast, a ball of flame appeared in it’s hand. With a snarl, it hurled the flaming sphere at him.

Tarafen dove to the side, feeling the flames heat as the projectile as it flew past him, barely missing him before impacting on the trunk of a tree behind the diving ilvar. The smell of singed hair filling the air, telling the ilvar that it had not missed by much even as he made to leap at his foe. Before he could, however, he was forced to roll aside as another flaming sphere shot over him. A third followed close behind, exploding on the ground near the recovering warrior.

It’s concussive blast knocked the ilvar down, blades flying from his hands; Tarafen twisted as he fell, bringing his leaf covered cloak up with an arm to protect his face from the heat and flames.

The gal’roth used this opportunity to turn and flee, knowing it could not hope to defeat the blond ilvar with the damned spear in it’s back. It leaped over Falorn, not glancing down as the mortally wounded sol’ilvar attempted to drag himself across the ground to where Aelith lay unmoving.

Recovering from the blast, Tarafen quickly patted his cloak and legs, patting out the flames that licked at his cloths, even as he heard the creature fleeing through the underbrush. Though it had disappeared within the shadows of the trees within seconds, he could still hear the snapping of limbs and crackle of the leaves underfoot as it ran over them. He considered pursuing for the briefest of moments before a look to Falorn dissuaded that notion.

Getting to his feet, he recovered his fallen swords and, wiping the black blood from them and sheathing them as he went, moved quickly to where the younger ilvar was pulling himself across the forest floor, heedless of anything else.

“Falorn, stop moving,” he commanded as he knelt near the black haired ilvar, eying the violet trail he had left in the litter behind him with concern.

“A-Ae-Aelith…” Falorn’s voice was weak, barely audible between gasps of air, his bronze face appearing more orange in hue due to the extreme loss of blood. The sol’ilvar either ignored his captains orders, or did not hear them as with one hand he grasped a root in front of him, intent on pulling himself towards the downed female ilvar. He grunted in pain as his wounds scraped against the rough debris covering the forest floor.

Tarafen sidestepped, staying crouched as he did, moving so he was blocking the wounded ilvar’s path, forcing him to stop. He put a hand on Falorn’s shoulder, gently but firmly stopping him in place. Falorn raised his head to look pleadingly at his captain, an act that clearly took too much effort as he gasped in pain.

“Falorn, I need to inspect your wounds,” Tarafen stated in a commanding tone, hoping that would cut through the wounded ilvar’s clear determination to get to his friend.

The sorely wounded ilvar tried to respond, but ended up only coughing as he choked on the blood that filled his mouth. He let out a sudden sharp, wordless cry that ended in a gurgle as his whole body twitched; his hand let go of the root it had been grasping as the fallen ilvar dropped his head to the ground.

“Shahara Maramas!”

A rustling in the undergrowth preceded the arrival of four of his patrol, emerging from the brush to the north. They froze momentarily as they came out, taking in the scene before them. Then, without a word spoken among them, two of the new arrivals—Seonid and Shara, the cal'ilvar twin sisters, Tarafen noted to his relief—rushed to Aelith’s side, Shara kneeling to tend to the young maiden as Seonid watched the trees around them. The other two, Teirin and Illora, hurried to Tarafen’s side, ready to help with Falorn; both grimaced as they noted the bloody trail behind the recruit.

“Help me turn him over,” Tarafen commanded, with barely a glance to the pair.

Together, the three managed to roll the severely wounded Falorn over, not stopping even when the poor ilvar cried out in pain at the movement. Though still loud, Tarafen noticed that the cries had lessened in intensity from what they had been.

And it was no wonder, he thought grimly as they finished getting the sol’ilvar onto his back, the full extent of his injuries coming into view. He knew immediately that they were far worse than he had initially thought. In fact, the fact that Falorn still drew breath at all was impressive; that he had managed to move at all was nothing short of a minor miracle.

One lung had clearly been ripped open by the gal’roth’s claws, a deep, jagged tear that filled with blood with every beat of the ilvar’s heart. As if that were not enough, a branch had gotten caught between a rib and the surrounding tissue, likely when Falorn had been dragging himself across the forest floor to get to Aelith. The rest of the wound was filled with dirt, leaves, and other detritus from that same stubborn drag.

Even without the contamination, and even had they had a healer among them, a full recovery from a wound of this type would have been unlikely. The sheer volume of blood he had lost alone was staggering, and would have made survival unlikely. With the contaminants in there, however…

They had no way to properly clean the wounds without causing further damage, especially in the case of the branch, which shifted with every ragged breath the poor ilvar took. They could wrap the wounds, but he knew it would not be long before infection set in. Even were they able to clear out the bulk of the leaves and dirt, the chances of infection would still be extremely high.

Then there was the lung, which would only make Falorn’s breathing increasingly difficult. The amount of blood pouring from the ilvar’s mouth made him sure that Falorn would choke to death on his own blood, whether they made straight for Shara’neth, a five day trek from here, or even if they returned to Sildar Istan, now almost a full days march with Falorn encumbering them.

No matter what they did, his chances at survival were slim, at best.

Even as he watched, weighing their options, Falorn’s gurgling breaths slowed, his eyelids closing as he drifted out of consciousness. A small mercy, Tarafen was sure.

“Tristus sha’har iegen fledari,” Tarafen intoned softly, a common prayer for the soul of an ilvar lost in battle, a call for the legendary hero Tristus Alsuin to find a place for the departed in her ranks.

As he finished, Falorn began to shake, arms and legs jerking about. Teirin and Illora looked to one another at Tarafen’s prayer, knowing full well what it meant.

“Tristus sha’har iegen fledari,” they repeated the lament, Illora crouching to grab hold of Falorn’s hand as the spasms worsened. Seonid, hearing their intonations from where she stood watch near Aelith and Shara, glanced over and with a sad sigh whispered her own prayer.

Falorn’s eyes opened suddenly in the midst of his convulsions, and he somehow managed to turn his head so he was looking towards Aelith once more, concern evident even through the pain on his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but once more, only a blood froth came forth. Blinking away tears, Illora clasped the hand she held in both of hers and lowered her mouth to his ear, whispering what comfort she could to the distraught, dying sol’ilvar. Teirin moved beside her and dropped a hand on her shoulder as their young companion’s gasping breaths became quicker and sharper before abruptly stopping. Illora continued to hold his hand in hers after his breaths had stopped.

Tarafen reached a hand out and gently closed Falorn’s eyes, which remained fixed on Aelith, though the light behind them had faded with his passing.

He got to his feet, but stared down at the body of his youngest charge for a long moment, remembering the eager recruit from not even an hour earlier. Though rough around the edges and untested, he had seen potential in the recruit. True, that inexperience had gnawed at him, and exasperated him more than once since Falorn had been assigned to his group at Sildar Istan, yet Tarafen had still been confident that he would be a valuable addition to their team, one day. Now he would never found out.

That hit the proud ilvar captain hard. He had never before lost a member of his patrol before, and had not expected to when they left the outpost earlier that day. It was just supposed to have been another routine patrol that had, when they had discovered the slaughter in the village and the trail left by the gal’roth, turned into a simple ambush. He had planned it perfectly to minimize the risk to them all, as he did each time they went into combat. But it had not been enough.

For the first time in his career, his plan had not been enough.

He drew in a deep breath, forcing the sense of failure down for the time being, and turned his attention to his other new recruit.; he could do nothing for Falorn, but Aelith… Aelith was a different story.

He knew this would hit her hard.

She and Falorn had been close friends at Esta’Vellan. Likely more, he believed, though neither of them had said as much to him, or the others of his squad. But he had noticed the looks the two shared, the small smiles, and the way they talked to one another in the short time they had been under his command. If there had not been more, there had certainly been the potential for it. That had been snuffed out in his first battle though, ended before it had a chance to flourish.

With a heavy sigh, anticipating how difficult this would be for her, and knowing he would have to handle her delicately and with great tact, he strode across the leaf littered ground to where Shara tended to the other recruit.

“How is she?” he asked as he neared.

“She was just knocked out. It looks like she took a blow to the head,” Seonid replied for her twin, still staring over to Falorn’s cooling body.

“She did,” Tarafen replied softly, seeing again the shaft of her spear being torn from her hands, knocking her off balance and giving her opponent the opportunity to strike. It occurred to him how fortunate they truly were that it was not the pair of them lying dead now. He cursed himself for not taking more precautions, for not watching out for them better.

“What of Falorn?” Shara, oblivious to everything aside from Aelith until that moment, asked as she looked up to Tarafen. He shook his head solemnly, though his mournful expression had already told her all she had needed. She bowed her head in grief, hair falling around her face as she gently stroked the pale face and black hair of the head she cradled in her lap.

Silence hung between them for a few moments, each of the ilvar listening to the gentle rustle of leaves as the slight breeze wafted through the canopy, disturbed only by the crackle of flames from the battle, though those had subsided as the wet wood of the living trees refused to catch.

A low moan from Aelith broke the silence as she began to stir, her dark eyes flickering open. She blinked a few times before her eyes found focus on Shara. The young ilvar began to lift her head off Shara’s lap, but stopped as the older cal’ilvar’s hand gently but firmly pressed on her forehead, keeping her in place. The black haired woman looked confusedly up at her.

“You were knocked out,” Shara explained to the disoriented woman, “Wait a moment before you get up.”

Aelith laid her head back and closed her eyes for the briefest of moments before they snapped open. She pushed aside the restraining hand, and lifted herself to a sitting position, eyes roving the area around her. They fixed on Falorn’s form where it lay, several feet away. Tears filling her eyes, they moved to Tarafen.

“Is he…?” she started, but was unable to get the rest of the question out.

Tarafen simply nodded, unable to find his voice himself, and averted his eyes, unable to continue looking into her eyes as the tears came. Shara wrapped her arms around the young woman, rocking her gently as Aelith’s shoulders shook with quiet, gasping sobs.

“Shahara.”

There was something in Hasfid’s tone that stole his attention from Aelith. A small part of him grateful for the small reprieve, he nodded to Shara and Seonid and turned as the rest of his patrol emerged from the shadowy undergrowth behind them, lithe forms seemingly materializing as they moved closer.

“The one that fled to the east has been dealt with. It fell easily before—what has happened?” Hasfid interrupted himself as he noticed Shara cradling Aelith, and Falorn’s body beyond, brown eyes widening. He and the others with him quickly offered their own prayers to those already given. Tarafen did not miss the look of judgment that flashed across Hasfid’s face, though the sol’ilvar hid it quickly.

Wanting to make sure she had Aelith in hand, Tarafen found Shara’s eyes with his own; understanding the silent question, she gave a nod. She slowly pulled herself away from Aelith so she could look her in the face, and began softly whispering to the distraught recruit, keeping her attention focused on her instead of her fallen friend. Satisfied, trusting in his friend’s ability to help her, Tarafen motioned for Hasfid to move off to the side with him, away from the others as they moved past the two as they went to join their comrades.

Kan’il leaned heavily on Erothel, his left leg covered in blood, but none of the others seemed to have any major injuries. Tarafen did a head count as they filed past him, just to double check. Illora immediately hurried to Shara to help with Aelith, assessing the situation immediately, as he had known she would. Meanwhile, Erothel, with Casgin’s aid, lowered Kan’il slowly to sit on the ground against the trunk of a nearby oak as Teirin retrieved some cloths from his pack. The captain noticed that Casgin was holding one arm close to his body, only using his right to help with Kan’il, grimacing slightly as he did.

“Casgin was struck on the arm before we brought the beast low. A lucky hit,” Hasfid reported, noticing Tarafen’s lingering attention on the wounded ilvar, “It is not deep, and will heal fine, so long as it does not get infected. Kan’il was… less fortunate, though he, too, should be fine after some time to heal.”

“What happened?” Tarafen asked as he watched Erothel and Casgin—the latter’s arm wrapped roughly in white cloth, an angry red mark clear where the arm was bare—carefully wrap clean linens around Kan’il’s leg as Teirin held it aloft. Kan’il, grimacing with each slight movement of his wounded limb, bit into a strap of leather to stop from crying out, sweat running down his pale face.

“He was not quick enough when that gal’roth threw it’s infernal fireball at us,” Hasfid replied, anger evident in his tone—though whether at the gal’roth or directed towards Tarafen himself, the captain could not tell. “He was caught on the edge of the blast when it went off, It burned through the leather of his shin and thigh. Both are burned quite badly… Still, it could have been worse,” Hasfid glanced over at Falorn as he finished, then returned his gaze to Tarafen.

“It could have,” Tarafen agreed tonelessly, ignoring the accusation he saw in Hasfid’s eyes as he headed over to where Kan’il was being treated. He heard the crackling footsteps as Hasfid followed him, their footsteps the only sound that passed between them.

“How’s your leg?” Tarafen asked the injured lun’ilvar as he approached.

“It’s burned fairly good, shahara, but I can still use it,” his fellow lun’ilvar replied, running a hand through his long, raven black hair before adding belatedly, “Carefully,” as his companions directed skeptical looks his way. He grinned ruefully, “Wasn’t quite fast enough, this time.”

“Just be glad you weren’t any slower,” Erothel grunted as he tightened the linen wrap around the burn, the diminutive sol’ilvar’s action eliciting a sharp intake of breath from his wounded companion.

“Trust me, I am,” Kan’il replied through gritted teeth, throwing a glare Erothel’s way as the sol’ilvar tightened the bandage even further. “Does it have to be so damned tight?” he smacked at Erothel’s hand.

“If you want it to heal,” Erothel adopted a lecturing tone; Kan’il leaded his head back against the oak and rolled his eyes, the groan he gave not coming from the bandage this time.

In spite of everything, Tarafen could not suppress a small grin as the two friends continued their banter. It was short lived, however, as he glanced back over to Aelith, who’s shoulders continued to bob up and down as she grieved for her deceased classmate. Seeing that Shara and Seonid had her well in hand, at least for the moment, he went to the spot where the surviving gal’roth had fled into the brush.

Even in the low light offered by the partially obscured moon, he could make out the path the creature had made in it’s frenzied flight. Broken and bent shrubs, low limbs torn off trees, and the disturbance of leaves and other detritus on the forest floor all led in an almost unerringly straight path to the east. His amber eyes followed the disruptions for a hundred feet before they disappeared into the darkness.

He looked back at his patrol, beaten and battered, both physically and, more importantly, mentally, and considered their options, running a hand through his long silver-blond hair as he did.

They could—and probably should—turn about and head back to Sildar Istan and report what they had found and what had happened to the commander there before continuing on to Shara’neth to report directly to the ruling council. Kan’il and Casgin would be able to receive proper care and be able to recover faster than if they stayed out in the forest. As well trained as Erothel was in cleaning and patching wounds out in the field, the healers back in Shara’neth could do much better.

And that was not even considering Aelith’s state of mind following the death of her friend. It would hang like a pall over all of them, but it would effect her more than the rest. He had seen her hesitation in the fight, before the extent of Falorn’s wounds became apparent. She had frozen in her first real experience in combat. He could not risk even worse happening now. Falorn’s death would effect her, perhaps to the point where she was a liability to all of them. If they had to fight again, he could not have the rest of his patrol distracted by watching out for her. Or worse, have her rush in a senseless need for vengeance. No, she should return with the wounded to the capitol.

But if they all went back, then the creature that killed Falorn would escape, and that Tarafen could not allow. He did not want Aelith to lose control if she encountered it, true, but the gal’roth had to killed. Falorn had to be avenged.

And what of Falorn’s body?

If they pursued the gal’roth they would have to leave it behind, or they would be too encumbered by it to catch the creature. They could conceal it as best they could and hope that no scavenger came across it, that it remained untouched until they returned to retrieve it. It would likely be a day before they could return to it, given the head start the creature had by now. At the best of times, gal’roth were possessed of immense stamina and strength, and though wounded, the creature still had a much longer stride than any of the much shorter ilvarri. Tarafen had little doubt that it would be a long pursuit, and Kan’il would surely not be able to keep up, though he had no doubt the lun’ilvar would do his best—and without a word of complaint, too.

They could also bury him here, but not only would that take more time, and let the gal’roth increase it’s lead—as well as the chance of it escaping. That would also mean that, unless they exhumed him later, he would be buried without the proper rites and ceremony afforded a member of Shien’tar who fell in combat.

No, leaving Falorn here was not an option he would consider; he needed to be returned to Shara’neth as soon as possible

Another idea came to him, one that he was loathe to consider. But it gave the best chances of success, by every measure he could think of. They could get Kan’il and Casgin better care, return Falorn’s body to his home, and avenge him. It was not ideal, but nothing about this situation was.

He turned to call for Hasfid, only to find the other ilvar already standing behind him, short cropped chestnut hair matted with sweat and a little bit of black blood.

“Kan’il and Casgin’s wounds have been seen to, Tarafen,” Hasfid said without preamble; Tarafen noted the lack of title as he continued, “Shara and Illora have calmed Aeltih down as much as they can, given the circumstances. We are ready to return to Shara’neth at your command.”

Tarafen looked past Hasfid to see that Falorn’s body had been put on a makeshift litter, one of their bedrolls having been strung between two sturdy oak limbs that had been stripped of their branches. A dark green cloak—Teirin’s, he thought—covered the body as a shroud, the leaves sewn in rustling softly in the night breeze. Shara and Illora stood with Aelith, pointedly keeping the young ilvar’s face directed away from her friend’s body. Kan’il was testing his leg, walking small circles as Casgin stretched his wounded arm.

He wondered briefly just how long he had been standing there lost in thought, completely unaware of what his squad was doing behind him, for all of that to be accomplished. He silently berated himself for his lack of attention, which could easily get himself or others killed out here, especially when they knew there was at least one gal’roth still about. He was their captain, after all; he needed to be better than that. He could not afford to make mistakes like that.

“We’re not heading back to Shara’neth,” he told Hasfid.

Eyes widening, Hasfid replied, “What? You cannot be serious?”

“We can’t let the gal’roth escape,” Tarafen said simply.

“You have two wounded and have lost one of the recruits already,” Hasfid’s voice held an undertone of suppressed anger as he went on, “And the remaining recruit cannot go on, not in her current state.”

“You’re right.”

Hasfid blinked, clearly taken aback.

“Kan’il and Casgin need to return to Sildar Istan, at least, to receive healing. Maybe even head back to Shara’neth,” Tarafen agreed. “And Aelith cannot go on now. The three of them will return, accompanied by yourself and Shara, taking Falorn with you.”

“And the rest of you?”

“Will pursue the gal’roth,” Tarafen answered, though the icy edge to Hasfid’s voice told him it was unnecessary, “And kill it.”

“We all need to return, Tarafen.”

“That’s Shahara to you, Hasfid.”

“It wasn’t so long ago you called me that.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that I saved you and your old squad,” Tarafen shot back, feeling a twinge of regret as Hasfid flinched back a step.

“And that’s why I know when to turn back,” Hasfid replied in a softer voice. He gave Tarafen a hard look, “I had to learn the hard way. Don’t repeat my mistake.”

“I am not you, Hasfid,” Tarafen made to move past him.

Hasfid grabbed his arm, stopping him in place.

“Please.”

The pain evident in Hasfid’s voice made Tarafen hesitate a moment before pulling his arm from Hasfid’s grip. He saw that Illora and Seonid now watched them.

“I will not repeat your mistake, Hasfid,” he said in a hushed tone as he strode to the rest of the patrol.

Watching him go, Hasfid said in a voice too soft for Tarafen to hear, “You already have.”

Heaving a sigh, Hasfid waited a moment before following the shahara back to the others, realizing he needed to gain control of his conflicting emotions. His lapse in addressing Tarafen properly, both by title and respect, could not happen again, and certainly not in front of the others. He had voiced his opinion, and the younger ilvar had decided to disregard it, in spite of Hasfid’s years of experience.

Again.

It was certainly true, Tarafen had salvaged the situation with the mar’drek a couple years past, turning near certain defeat, and death, into some semblance of a victory. Certainly, Hasfid and several others were alive due to his heroic actions that day. But that did not mean that Tarafen was infallible.

The encounter with the gal’roth just past proven that.

Falorn was dead.

Kan’il and Casgin, two veteran warriors, were injured and unable to fight.

Aelith was traumatized and mentally unfit to continue.

Fully a third of his company was either injured, dead, or unfit to continue. No matter what Tarafen said, he was already well on his way to recreating Hasfid’s failure.

The chestnut haired sol’ilvar had taken his demotion following the debacle in stride, accepting that he had acted poorly. He had taken his appointment as Tarafen’s second, likewise, in stride. And he had done his best to advise the headstrong captain, trying to help him make the right choices.

But you could not help someone who refused it.

He had argued against pursuing the gal’roth in the first place. Their orders upon leaving Sildar Istan had just been to scout the area around the village. They should have reported back, and then, if ordered to, pursued the gal’roth. His arguments had fallen on deaf ears—and truth be told, he had not argued to vehemently, wanting to avenge the slain families too.

And the result was a dead recruit.

Heaving another sigh, Hasfid started making his way back to the others, just as Aelith began shouting.

“No! You can’t send me back!”

Aelith’s reaction did not surprise Tarafen in the slightest. He had told the others the plan; he had seen disapproving looks from a few of the others, but no one had protested out loud, except for Aelith.

“I won’t go back until that beast is dead! I need to help kill it,” Aelith continued, face flushed in anger as she glared at Tarafen, fists clenched at her sides.

The captain considered her a moment, taking in her red rimmed eyes, pale face now flushed in anger, and trembling body. He knew immediately that his initial decision was correct. He could not allow her to join in the pursuit of the gal’roth.

He knew, too, that she was on edge.

Falorn’s death had shaken her deeply, and though he could sympathize with her desire for revenge, she was too emotionally unstable at the moment to be trusted to follow commands. She lacked the control and restraint of a seasoned warrior—her outburst showed that readily enough—and he feared that as soon as they came upon the creature, she would be unpredictable. She had frozen at the sight of the enemy earlier, and that had been before it had killed her friend.

He could not have that or worse happening again.

One death was one too many already.

“No,” he replied simply, not seeing a need to elaborate.

He was wrong.

“Why not?” she demanded, fresh tears shimmering in her eyes even as Shara squeezed her shoulder in silent warning.

Tarafen said nothing, instead meeting her glare with a stern look of his own.

“Why. Not?” she repeated, louder this time as she brushed Shara’s hand off her shoulder.

“Aelith, listen to the shahara,” Shara put in before he could respond, speaking a calm, soothing tone as she replaced her hand on the young maiden’s shoulder.

Aelith ignored her, crossing her trembling arms in front of her as she continued to glare at Tarafen, nostrils flaring.

“Because I ordered you to return with the others,” Tarafen said in a hard voice, continuing even as she bristled at his words. “You will go back with them.”

Aelith said nothing.

“Casgin and Kan’il are wounded, and will be unable to fight if they encounter trouble,” Tarafen said in a softer tone, trying a different angle, “They will need you and Shara to help them along the way back,” he purposefully avoided any mention of Falorn, not wanting to set her off again.

The young woman was quiet a long moment following his response, and he dared hope that he had her convinced

That hope was dashed a moment later as she spoke, as defiant as ever, “Then send Illora. Or Erothel. Or Seonid. Why send me, and not them?”

“It is not your place to question the shahara, Aelith,” Hasfid said sternly from behind Tarafen, startling him.

Caught up with dealing with Aelith’s outburst, Tarafen had once again not noticed the other ilvar’s approach. He shot Hasfid a grateful look, which the other ilvar studiously ignored, Hasfid’s gaze never leaving the lun’ilvar maiden.

“When you joined Shien’tar, you agreed to follow orders without question. Correct?” Hasfid continued as he stepped beside Tarafen.

“Yes, but—“

“Without question?” Hasfid repeated, raising his voice to speak over her anticipated protest.

She sullenly looked between Hasfid and Tarafen, alternating between the two. She clearly knew that she had lost the argument. Her eyes dropped to the ground between them.

“Yes.”

“Then do so now. Listen to Shahara Maramas. Follow his commands,” Hasfid ordered. He glanced at Tarafen, “Shahara?”

“You will return to Sildar Istan with Hasfid, Kan’il, Casgin, and Shara,”Tarafen repeated his earlier instructions, again purposefully avoiding mention of Falorn. “Once Kan’il and Casgin have received healing, you will all continue on to Shara’neth without delay.”

“As you say, Shahara,” she spat out bitterly, saluting stiffly before turning away from him and pushing through the others of the patrol. Shara, with a pitying look to Tarafen, followed after her as Casgin and Kan’il crouched to pick up the litter.

“Make sure they all make it back safely,” Tarafen said quietly to Hasfid.

The shorter ilvar scoffed, “Of course, Shahara,” he hesitated, then added in an even quieter tone,”Make sure you all do, as well. No unnecessary risks.”

No doubt knowing he had overstepped once more, giving his shahara a command like that, Hasfid moved up to Kan’il before Tarafen could begin to respond, taking that end of the litter from the wounded ilvar. With a grimace, Kan’il complied, handing it off to Hasfid. They began moving off, following behind Aelith and Shara as the older ilvar guided the younger slowly on the path home.

Tarafen watched until they disappeared into the shadows, Hasfid’s last words echoing in his mind. He had heard the unsaid threat clearly. If Tarafen returned without any of those he took with him, Hasfid would see that he was stripped of rank.

So be it.

He turned his attention to the remaining patrol members, those that would accompany him. Four angry set of eyes met his own, normally jovial faces set in expressions of grim determination. Each ilvar nodded at him, fingers twitching on sheathed weapons.

There was no need to ask if they were ready.

Tarafen turned to the path the gal’roth had left behind, and started off. He turned his head back so they would hear his simple statement, his unnecessary declaration.

“We hunt.”