The trip home was a nightmare. Aphora’s plan to destroy the Gemlirians’ fort had worked perfectly. Unfortunately, it also had been a lot like kicking over a hornet’s nest. The soldiers manning in the fort had either died or fled, but the destruction hadn’t gone unnoticed by the surrounding villages. She pushed hard across the plains, troops trailing at her heels. She was unable to stop, unable to rest, unable to do anything but run. And yet, it was not the Gemlirians she was worried about. Perhaps, by sheer force of numbers, they could overwhelm her, but she felt confident she could outrun them. No, her fear was that a Sidhe would come to investigate the commotion.

She had almost reached the ruined village that housed the portal back to Arallû when that fear came true. It started with an icy feeling running down her back. That could be dismissed, perhaps, as mere paranoia, but when the tips of grain and grass that blanketed the endless plains began to glaze with ice, Aphora knew it was no mere feeling.

She’d been running for days by then and, while elves certainly required less sleep than most, she was nearing the end of her endurance. Fear, though, is a powerful motivator. Her legs pumped faster, and her breath came harder, as she raced across the quickly freezing ground, not daring to look behind her.

A cold wind blew at her back, like the breath of winter itself. The wind howled and flakes of snow began to swirl around her, bombarding her face like tiny kamikazes. Aphora pressed on, her heart beating against her chest with an almost painful staccato, and crested a small rise. The ruined village sprawled below her. Since her rampage the night she’d rescued Qas̆pahti, it had lain abandoned, but now a small troop of soldiers awaited her. Their thick, black armor was dusted with the rising flurries, but the emblem on their shield was one she knew all too well. Gemlirians.

Aphora’s step faltered. The soldiers below were not beyond her capability to defeat, but with the Sidhe not far behind, her prospects seemed grim. I have to try.

Her steps sped up, her lips murmuring a prayer to Selene, as she descended upon the waiting warriors. But it was not Selene who answered her.

As Aphora ran, the snowflakes swirling around her were joined by a fat drop of rain which rolled down her cheek. One drop was followed by a second, and soon a steady rain fell from the heavens, turning the frosted grass slick with moisture. The hair on her head grew fizzy as static filled the air and then, in a bolt of lightning, Imhullu appeared directly in her path.

Terror gripped her heart as the Sidhe manifested, and she spun to the side. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. She raced across the plains, away from the gathered troops and the treacherous Sidhe. Frost and rain beat down on her as she tried to complete a circuitous route back to the emerald door and its promise of safety.

A bolt of lightning struck down in front of her, closer this time. Aphora tried to dodge, but Imḫullu was faster. She flailed as the blonde man’s arms wrapped tight around her, the ribbons in her dress unspooling.

“Stop, stop,” he yelled in her ear. “I’m here to help.” She pulled free of his grasp and darted a few feet away before she turned to look him, suspicion pooled in her eyes.

“This isn’t your doing?”

The man grinned, displaying a dazzling smile. “Well, I didn’t say that. I did promise you the arm of a Sidhe, didn’t I? Ta-da! Tell you what, I’ll take care of the Gemlirians for you while you pry the arm off of my old frenemy, Frozone. It will be like we’re partners.”

Aphora stared at him flatly. After days of running, she was too tired to muster the energy to be angry. “The deal was for the arm of a Sidhe, not a whole living one.”

“Did our agreement actually specify that,” the man asked with a grin.

Aphora’s heart sank. No, it hadn't. Had she done all this for nothing? Was he just going to leave her to die?

Perhaps her despair showed on her face, for the man’s cheeky grin suddenly vanished. “Um, don’t cry. I’m just kidding. I’ll do the hard part and you can bully the kindergarteners. Sound good?”

Imḫullu didn’t bother waiting for her response as, in a crack of thunder, he vanished. A thousand feet behind her, a swirling wall of frost and ice lit up like a snow globe as a bolt of lightning descended upon it. She watched for a moment as the man engaged the other Sidhe, then, wearily, turned to face her own assignment.

There weren’t that many trolls, perhaps a hundred in total, but they were well-trained. Equipped with heavy armor, the soldiers had closed ranks, forming a shield wall penetrated by nothing save for the long, gleaming sarissas that bristled like the quills of a porcupine.

Idiots. After days of running, Aphora’s legs wobbled slightly as she walked toward the troop. Their discipline was impressive, and she had no doubt that they had learned their stripes facing the heavy cavalry that Styrnn’s armies preferred. But such tactics were of little use against a mage.

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Rain and snow continued to beat down on her as her dress unwound, thread by thread. The silver strands flared around her like the hood of a cobra, revealing her body to the soldiers. Some were foolish enough to whistle and jeer, but Aphora ignored them. It was the last pleasure they’d ever know.

With shouts and the crack of a whip, the commander brought them under control and the soldiers advanced toward her, spears held at the ready. She waited quietly, the water pouring down her body like a river in spring as they marched against her. And when they were close enough to see the whites in their eyes, her threads struck.

Hampered by the cut of her dress, the strands’ length wasn’t enough to push past the bristling rows of spears. Instead, the silver threads wrapped around the spears’ and pulled down. A tug of war ensued, as the soldiers fought to free their weapons. Their ranks broke as some stepped back, trying to gain leverage over their spears, while others abandoned them altogether and, drawing their swords, chopped vainly at the threads in hopes of freeing their weapons.

Perhaps they could have succeeded, but Aphora didn’t give them time. As the ranks cracked, she darted forward. Dim blades of light gathered in her hands and as she slipped through the broken barrier of spears, the strands abandoned their grip to follow to follow their mistress. And then, she was on them.

With each blow she struck, the blades of pale moonlight passed through shield and armor unaffected. The blades cut deep, searing the flesh behind them as Selene’s wrath smote the wicked. The silver strands followed in her wake, a river of death that sought every unguarded orifice and burrowed its way inside.

The soldiers broke. Ignoring their commanders, they turned and fled, weapons and armor crashing to the ground as the pale death descended upon them. Only one remained.

A ten-foot troll who wielded a spear longer than himself, the commander alone faced her. The strands advanced before her, slashing and grabbing at the spear, but they slid off like glass, unable to catch a hold.

Exhausted, Aphora paused just out of reach of his spear. “You’ve got an enchanted weapon,” she observed.

“That’s not all I have,” the Gemlirian rumbled. “Lord Ḫalpî was most eager to capture you.”

Aphora glanced over her shoulder to where the battle between Imḫullu and the other Sidhe was raging. “That Lord Ḫalpî?” She asked.

The troll grunted in affirmation.

The two watched the battle in silence for a moment.

A cyclone of ice surrounded the pair, with only dim flashes of lighting picking out from between the clouds, but somehow, Aphora felt certain that Imḫullu was winning. And even if he wasn’t…her eyes drifted to where the emerald barrier lay hidden, just out of sight.

“You can’t defeat me,” she told the troll simply. “Even if your lord wins, I will be long gone.”

“I know.” The Gemlirian readied his spear. “But I still have to try. Either way, I’m dead. Ana dannu addāru.” His battlecry echoed across the ruined town as the commander charged.

Aphora was forced to dodge as his spear thrust where she’d been standing, her strands unable to grip its shaft. Twirling lightly on her feet, she ducked beneath the spear’s head and closed the gap between them. Her moonlight blades glimmered in the gloom as she struck for his head.

Abandoning his weapon, the troll staggered back and caught her blow on his gauntlet. The metal steamed as her blades hammered down, but it held and he lashed it out with his other hand. His blow caught her square in the chest, and she was flung backward - but the strands that swarmed around her had no need to follow. They descended on him like a plague of locusts, and though they could not burrow through any of his enchanted armor, there was no need. Slithering through the slits for his eyes, the strands dug into the commander.

With a cry of agony he fell to his knees, his arms tearing frantically at his armor. Aphora took pity on him. Rising to her feet, she summoned the blade of moonlight again and took his head. With the last of the soldiers gone, she turned to check on Imḫullu.

The torrent of snow had ceased and though the other Sidhe still struggled, it was clear the lord of lightning was winning. Doesn’t need my help, she decided and, allowing the days of exhaustion to finally creep on her, Aphora sunk down to the ground, and leaned against the headless troll.

Despite the cold rain pounding against her skin, she drifted off to a light slumber but awoke as the sounds of steps plodding through mud and puddles approached. Night had fallen and, lifting her hand, she let the moonlight flow through her. Imḫullu emerged from the darkness with a long, pale arm slung over his shoulder. He tossed it at her feet, blood still dripping from where the arm had been pulled free of its socket.

“There you go, my lady. Delivered as promised.”

As Aphora grabbed the arm gingerly and stuffed it into her bag of holding, the Sidhe plopped down beside her, his eyes filled with a touch of lust as his gaze traveled down her still naked form.

“You know, I think we made pretty good partners, don’t you think?”

“What do you want, Sidhe?” Aphora asked.

“Sidhe?” The man clutched his heart in fake distress. “Surely we’re closer than that by now. You can call me Imḫullu, or Hulli, if you want.”

“I’m not calling you Hulli,” she replied flatly, though she couldn’t hide the smile in her eyes.

“Fine, how about Ivan, then?” The levity in the Sidhe's tone dropped, replaced by a sincerity that surprised Aphora.

“Is Ivan your real name?”

“It was. Now, I’m not so sure. It’s been thousands of years since anyone knew me by that name, but, yes, once I was Ivan.”

She stared at him for a moment, unsure how to interpret his sudden burst of honesty. “Alright Ivan, what do you want?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was clear. We made pretty good partners.”

Aphora shrugged. “I don’t really myself pursuing a career of picking fights with Sidhe.”

“Not that, silly,” Ivan replied. “I mean the other day. I had a good time. Didn’t you?”

Aphora wasn’t exactly an innocent schoolgirl, but her cheeks still burned as she finally grasped his meaning.

“Don’t you have plenty of Gemlirian women willing to throw themselves at you?” She retorted.

“Absolutely,” the Sidhe cheerfully admitted. “But you know, trolls aren’t exactly my type.”

“And I am?”

He shrugged. “I have no objections. So how about it,” he added, waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

Despite her exhaustion, Aphora laughed. “Eh, why not.”