evening.'
Dietz grunted. 'About bloody time.'
CHAPTER FIVE
'Be ready,' Lasalnean Silverleaf whispered. He had an arrow nocked, as did all his warriors, and they crouched in the forest not far from their target, their brown and green clothing and grey cloaks fading into the protective foliage. He had waited for the day to pass, knowing their colouring and sight would be used to greater advantage when dusk sent shadows across the world. The light was mostly gone already, only a few small traces of the day remaining, and the sky overhead was deepening to the cool dark blue of night. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and beyond the trees he could see only darkness, which was just what he wanted.
The trees rustled around him, as his brethren shifted in preparation. Or perhaps it was merely the forest indicating its impatience. It was old, nearly as old as Athel Loren, and could outwait any elf, but at times it was capricious and demanding, and unwilling to delay its gratification. What's more, the sight before them was most likely as irritating to the forest as it was to Lasalnean and his kinband.
'Now,' Lasalnean shouted, leaping up and charging out from the trees. The ruins stood before them, not two hundred feet away, their backs to the mountains that loomed up just beyond, to brush the sky with snow-capped peaks. The ground flew by as he raced to cross the distance before their foes spotted him.
No such luck, however. The clouds shifted even as he rose from the forest's edge, allowing the moon to cast its soft glow down upon the ground, and Lasalnean knew that his long silvery hair would catch the light. He heard a bellow from somewhere up ahead, joined an instant later by other shouts and cries. He and his kin had clearly been spotted. A crude spear hurtled towards Lasalnean a second later, missing his shoulder by less than a handspan, the force of its travel imbedding it in the ground behind him. More spears followed, along with chunks of rock. Lasalnean grimaced as one stone fell just short of him, and his eyes caught the rainbow sheen of the rock and the delicate, scrolling patterns carved along one smooth, polished side. The beasts were using the very ruins around them as a weapon.
'Die, foul creatures!' he shouted, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran, his warbraids bouncing against his neck and shoulders. 'For Athel Loren! For the Asrai!' His sharp eyes picked out a glimmer that might have been an eye from up ahead behind the stones, and he fired an arrow at it, swiftly drawing and nocking a second one. He kept his longbow high as he ran, so that its carved length and corded bowstring would not tangle his legs. A movement caught his attention as one of the creatures stepped from behind the rocks to launch a spear. Lasalnean's arrow took the beast in the throat before it could release its weapon, the spear falling from its hands as it pitched backward.
Beside him, Nelyann was singing her battle cry, an eerie combination of melody and rage, her voice mimicking the sounds of fierce winds and heavy rains. Although he had
heard her sing many times, it still sent chills up his spine, but he also knew that it unnerved their foes even more, and so he did not object. She wore no armour, as befitted a Wardancer, but twin blades gleamed in her hands, and she spun and leapt as she ran, sliding past spears and other missiles as if they were moving in slow motion. Although he did not fully understand her devotion to the trickster god, Lasalnean had always admired her grace, and her skill in battle left him in awe. He was glad to have her beside him, as always.
Ersomir and Ellsamar ran on his other side, along with Riellyan, each with their bows strung, and he could hear the zip of the arrows as they leapt towards the waiting foes. Lasalnean felt the same surge of pride he always did when he led his warriors into battle. They were a good, tight unit, his kinband, every one of them proven in combat
Dietz grunted. 'About bloody time.'
CHAPTER FIVE
'Be ready,' Lasalnean Silverleaf whispered. He had an arrow nocked, as did all his warriors, and they crouched in the forest not far from their target, their brown and green clothing and grey cloaks fading into the protective foliage. He had waited for the day to pass, knowing their colouring and sight would be used to greater advantage when dusk sent shadows across the world. The light was mostly gone already, only a few small traces of the day remaining, and the sky overhead was deepening to the cool dark blue of night. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and beyond the trees he could see only darkness, which was just what he wanted.
The trees rustled around him, as his brethren shifted in preparation. Or perhaps it was merely the forest indicating its impatience. It was old, nearly as old as Athel Loren, and could outwait any elf, but at times it was capricious and demanding, and unwilling to delay its gratification. What's more, the sight before them was most likely as irritating to the forest as it was to Lasalnean and his kinband.
'Now,' Lasalnean shouted, leaping up and charging out from the trees. The ruins stood before them, not two hundred feet away, their backs to the mountains that loomed up just beyond, to brush the sky with snow-capped peaks. The ground flew by as he raced to cross the distance before their foes spotted him.
No such luck, however. The clouds shifted even as he rose from the forest's edge, allowing the moon to cast its soft glow down upon the ground, and Lasalnean knew that his long silvery hair would catch the light. He heard a bellow from somewhere up ahead, joined an instant later by other shouts and cries. He and his kin had clearly been spotted. A crude spear hurtled towards Lasalnean a second later, missing his shoulder by less than a handspan, the force of its travel imbedding it in the ground behind him. More spears followed, along with chunks of rock. Lasalnean grimaced as one stone fell just short of him, and his eyes caught the rainbow sheen of the rock and the delicate, scrolling patterns carved along one smooth, polished side. The beasts were using the very ruins around them as a weapon.
'Die, foul creatures!' he shouted, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran, his warbraids bouncing against his neck and shoulders. 'For Athel Loren! For the Asrai!' His sharp eyes picked out a glimmer that might have been an eye from up ahead behind the stones, and he fired an arrow at it, swiftly drawing and nocking a second one. He kept his longbow high as he ran, so that its carved length and corded bowstring would not tangle his legs. A movement caught his attention as one of the creatures stepped from behind the rocks to launch a spear. Lasalnean's arrow took the beast in the throat before it could release its weapon, the spear falling from its hands as it pitched backward.
Beside him, Nelyann was singing her battle cry, an eerie combination of melody and rage, her voice mimicking the sounds of fierce winds and heavy rains. Although he had
heard her sing many times, it still sent chills up his spine, but he also knew that it unnerved their foes even more, and so he did not object. She wore no armour, as befitted a Wardancer, but twin blades gleamed in her hands, and she spun and leapt as she ran, sliding past spears and other missiles as if they were moving in slow motion. Although he did not fully understand her devotion to the trickster god, Lasalnean had always admired her grace, and her skill in battle left him in awe. He was glad to have her beside him, as always.
Ersomir and Ellsamar ran on his other side, along with Riellyan, each with their bows strung, and he could hear the zip of the arrows as they leapt towards the waiting foes. Lasalnean felt the same surge of pride he always did when he led his warriors into battle. They were a good, tight unit, his kinband, every one of them proven in combat
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