The cheer of victory rang out across the battlefield. Marshal Elimon straightened and looked up into the night sky. He seemed to slump and relax. He pulled off his helmet and looked at the companions. “Amazing work. Please give my thanks to the Forest Witch for her assistance.” He then coughed and vomited a gout of blood.

Vinny sprinted towards the elven knight as he slumped over in a clatter of silvery armor. Wali shouted behind him, “Healer! We need the healers!”

Vinny slid to a stop next to Elimon. He already had his best restoration potion in hand, the deep purple liquid glowing faintly. He rolled the knight over and looked at the visage of the marshal. Vinny sighed and knew what he was about to do was pointless. He did it anyway. He bit the stopper off the bottle and poured it into Elimon’s slack mouth. Elimon did not swallow; the purple liquid seemed to bubble and fizz but did nothing more.

Vinny pushed his mana into Elimon, feeling the destruction the man had withstood. There wasn’t a bone in his body left without fractures. His musculature was shredded, and many of them detached from their anchors. His internal organs were burst, and the heart had stopped. Vinny laid the knight on the ground and closed the corpse’s eyes and slack mouth. Somehow Elimon had fought with vigor long past where he should have died. Wali and four elves in healer’s robes rushed over. Vinny stood and shook his head. Looking at Wali seriously, Vinny said, “The Marshal is dead; nothing any of us can do to fix that.”

Wali slumped, trusting his friend’s assessment. “Oh no, that’s not good.”

“He’s mush inside. I don’t know how he was still standing and swinging that sword around like that.” Vinny said sadly, looking down at the marshal.

As the healers knelt by the body, Yacob walked over to clap Vinny on his shoulder. “You tried what you could, right?”

“Yeah, buddy, I did. That potion could have fixed him if I had gotten it to him before he died.”

Wali stood next to Vinny on the other side. “I think he was dead before Rags was. He just didn’t accept the fact. He refused to let his city fall before a monster like that.”

Sas’cha had returned to her catkin form. A bloody wound covered her neck and shoulder—a remainder from where Rags had torn a patch of her skin free. Around them, the army broke lines and moved out into the field of still burning and smoldering trolls, some still howling as they burned.

A squad of knights approached the healers and companions. Wali looked up at them; one carried a stretcher, and another carried a blanket. With great reverence, they moved the corpse onto the stretcher and covered it with the blanket. Another knight collected the Marshal’s helmet and sword. These were laid on the body, and the knights carried away the hero of the day.

Wali, Yacob, Sas’cha, and Vinny stood and turned to watch out over the field of fire for a moment. Beyond that was the killing field where a thousand or more elves had given their lives to save the city—the corpses of a thousand trolls in various states of death filed in among them.

Wali felt the determination rise in him again. There might be no way to prevent this sort of travesty again. All he could do was fight the fights as they came. War was coming to this world again, A war that would claim thousands and thousands of lives. Wali had already lived through one war like that. He did not want to survive another like that. In this fight, only monsters and soldiers fought. If the defenders had failed, if Wali’s fire oil plan had failed, then what?

Trolls in among the homes and streets of the shining white city of elves? Would the blood of so many innocents stain the white marble red? Would the dreams of the terrified innocents drive a monster like Rags to be even crueler? How many new skins would adorn the belt of the herald?

Elimon had given his life with gusto. He fought with great honor and knowingly gave his life in that fight.

Sas’cha was missing a patch of skin. If she had been in her catkin form, she could have died. The thoughts of death gripped Wali’s chest. These three were ‘his.’ Like Sas’cha had claimed him, he had claimed them. Vinny, with his sardonic sarcasm. Yacob, with his simple strength. Sas’cha and her cat self. These were his family now.

He pulled them into a close hug, and tears dripped from his eyes as he said to them, “We need to get stronger. If this was one of the heralds, I do not want to face one of the Demon Lords. We and everyone here would be dead.”

They all nodded, feeling the sentiment. Vinny was the first to pull away, “My sister, I have to keep her safe. I have to fix her.” He said as he stood back from the other three.

Wali grabbed him and pulled him back to the group. “You are one of us. We will do everything we can to help her.” Yacob and Sas’cha nodded in agreement. They stood apart again and watched the fires being smothered while the dead were collected.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Behind them, a throat cleared, and a knight stood waiting. When Wali acknowledged him, the knight said, “The king wants to see you.”

Wali looked at the others, soot-stained, bloody, and tired. Vinny was spreading some sort of salve on Sas’cha’s shoulder as she hissed and threatened his life. Yacob watched, trying to hold in his mirth. He held onto Sas’cha’s wrists from behind as the cat-woman snapped her fangs at Vinny’s hand.

“You three done messing around over there?” Wali said to them.

The three of them looked over, and Sas’cha took the opportunity to break free of Yacob and Vinny’s ministrations with a final hiss. “You got me all goopy!” She groused as the skin started to regrow. She went to scratch at it but held back. “Grrraaa! It itches!” Frustration was strong in her voice.

Wali looked at the knight, “Lead on.”

Over the next hour, the four companions walked through the city’s streets. The roads were clogged with civilians and guards alike. Those grieving the lost and celebrating the survivors were almost equal in number. Carts carried the remains of the fallen elves into the city for whatever rituals of passage the elves did. Most were not whole. Magic was being used to match dismembered parts to the correct body. For some, the medics spared the family by simply returning the armor and weapons of their fallen from their gruesome fate.

The procession of four strangers lead by a knight drew a few stares. Word had gotten around the city of the four strangers who arrived in the nick of time to save the city. Soon they arrived at the palace. Dawn had passed during the walk through the city, and the four looked truly out of place in the clean white marble halls.

In the throne room, the king and his court were much the same as before. The haughty elf looked down on the companions, “It seems I owe you a few things. The first is an apology. I did not consider that the Forest Witch might have your four as apprentices for a good reason. Nor did I consider why she might only send four of her household in our time of need.” He said humbly.

“Next, I owe you a great debt of thanks. I have been informed that you came up with the field of fire that broke the trolls’ second wave. I witnessed your fight with the herald and the death of my Marshal. I saw you try to save him, and for that, you have my thanks. He was a good and solid friend for a very long time. He will be missed.” The king continued, his words heartfelt.

“I am struggling to find an appropriate way to reward you, so I hope these gifts will suffice.” He nodded to a steward who brought forward a line of porters and five chests. The king stepped off his throne, and some of the court looked shocked. He was shorter than Vinny but stepped over to the line of chests. He pointed at the first.

“This one is for your Master. She deserves as many thanks as you four. Without her, none of us would be standing here.” He stepped to the next, the porter opened it, and the king looked inside. This one is simple.” He pointed at Vinny, “You. What is your name?”

Vinny paused for a moment, shocked to be addressed directly. “Frel’l’idanithor Vincensillitas, my king.” He said as he made the complex bow of the elven court. The king nodded and looked down into the chest. He drew out a small box and waved Vinny over. The king seemed not to know how to do this and simply handed the box to Vinny.

“With this gift, I name you, ‘Frel’l’idanithor Vincensillitas-al-Irisitas’” Vinny rocked back as the syllables flowed from the king. “You are now a part of my personal household, and this is your signet.” Vinny opened the box, and a brilliant silver and emerald ring lay on a cushion within. The rest of this is some other accouterments I hope you find a use for. Welcome to my home, cousin.”

Vinny was speechless, his mouth agape as he bowed again. He stepped back and looked at Wali for a moment, his face pale. Wali shrugged back at him, not fully understanding the significance or the implications.

The king sidestepped to another box; he opened the box and frowned. He gave a look to the steward, who paled. “I wish these were in the order I asked for them in. It cannot be helped.” The king said, irritated. He turned and indicated Sas’cha, “And you, what is your name?”

“Little King, you know of me as the Shadow Panther, Huntress of the Forest,” Sas’sha said languidly. The fur on her wound was already regrowing. Around the room, knights gripped swords, and courtiers gripped things under their robes.

The king eyed her, “It is good to meet you in person, Huntress. I hope we can continue to exist in peace. Since you are not an elf, I cannot invite you to be a part of my household. But I can present you with this.” He pulled a flat square box from the top of the case and opened it to face her. Inside was a silver and emerald mesh-work necklace. “I hope it is up to your standards of beauty. It marks that you are a friend to the elven throne.” He presented it to her.

She smiled at him, or at least showed her teeth, “You seek to collar me?” She said with a bit of threat.

“No. I seek to decorate you with the gems that you deserve. I do not think anyone could collar you.” The king said as he placed the glittering web necklace around her neck. “I hope you can find some of these other gifts to your liking with my thanks.”

The king stepped around back to the chests, opening the third. He pointed to Yacob, “You, what is your name, human?”

Yacob blushed and tried to do the complex bow but was not nearly as practiced or graceful as Vinny. When he righted himself, “Yacob, sir king.”

The king smiled, “Not one raised to court etiquette, Yacob?” The king asked with a smile.

“No sir,” Yacob said meekly.

“That’s all right. I saw your part in the battle with the herald. You have my respect and my gratitude.” The king drew a scabbarded sword from the chest, unsheathed the fine weapon, and examined it. He offered the weapon hilt first to Yacob, “I would name you as one of the Elven Kingdom’s Champions. I know you do not use a sword, but it is symbolic of the title.”

Yacob took the sword and held it awkwardly, “Um, thank you.” He said, not knowing what to do with the naked blade. The king handed him the scabbard next, and Yacob clumsily tried to sheathe it. Vinny had to help him as the king turned to the final chest and Wali.