Watching the sky for any other threats, he moved into the trees to his right. The battle on the ground had been joined, with three of the attackers taking on their elfin counterparts in hand-to-hand. Riders on drakes rushed back and forth, chasing after elusive prey. Faunon’s men knew what he also knew but could not acknowledge. They would die here. Outnumbered and outflanked, they would perish, but not before taking out as many of the newcomers as possible. That was what the elfin leader planned, also.
The drake riders above had forgotten him in the chaos, his one attacker perhaps thinking his mount had slashed the elf to death even though it had not succeeded in grasping him. Whatever the case, Faunon was going to use his anonymity to his best advantage. If he could get behind the armored foes, he could come up on them one at a time and take them down until someone finally noticed him. It was not the most admirable way to fight, but Faunon had always been a pragmatist.
A drake came bounding toward his hiding place, but its rider was nowhere to be seen. Faunon held his sword ready, hoping he would not have to waste himself on the leviathan. Providing it did not kill him, the noise would certainly alert the enemy.
Fortunately, the wind was Faunon’s ally and the creature itself seemed more interested in flight than battle. Faunon saw why: one of its eyes was closed and bloody, and it was bleeding profusely from a neck wound. Part of the elfin blade that had performed what would be, in a matter of minutes, the killing stroke, still remained lodged in the wound. That meant its owner was probably dead. He hoped the unknown elf had at least killed the monster’s master.
He followed the bleeding drake’s path until it was safely away, started to turn his attention back to the task at hand, and then returned his gaze quickly to where the beast had vanished.
Barely visible among the trees was a trio of riders clad akin to the attacking force. These, however, sat and watched with a confidence that marked them as the leaders. One, as massive as any bear the elf had ever come across, even wore a crimson cloak. He and the others seemed to be watching the pitched battle with mild interest, nothing more.
Faunon decided to change his choice of targets.
The sounds of battle were beginning to die behind him as he made his way to the threesome. That meant the others were either dead or captured. Faunon was ashamed with himself for leaving them, even if it had been to try to inflict worse damage on their adversaries. Still, there was little he could have done once the airdrakes had joined the battle, and now he had a clear opportunity to deprive the invaders of hopefully one or more leaders. It was possible that these riders meant little in the hierarchy of their people, but it would make some of their kind a bit more wary of simply going out and slaughtering elves if they knew that they, too, were at risk.
“Get out of there!” someone barked.
Faunon jerked to a halt, thinking he had been discovered. A second later, a warrior on foot appeared, the sword in his left hand being used to prod the wounded drake ahead of him. They were moving in the same general direction as the elf. He held his breath and waited. Neither seemed particularly inclined to attentiveness, which was his only hope. It did lessen his chances of success, however. He wondered if there were more warriors lurking in the woods around him and if he could avoid them long enough to at least take one of the patrol leaders down.
The drake had stopped and was sniffing the air. The armored figure poked at it with his weapon. “Move or you’ll rot right here! Dragon’s blood, you’re a stupid one!”
A chill ran down Faunon’s spine as the drake turned and began to sniff the air in the elf’s direction.
The wind had started to change.
Unmindful of its cursing warden, the wounded animal started back. The elf readied his sword and, as an afterthought, tried to prepare a spell. While his higher senses were acute, his practical abilities were less than most of his kind.
It was why he could only shield himself with sorcery during a battle. Some, like Rayke, could do battle on both the magical and physical planes, and at the same time.
Slowing, the drake sniffed again. It was only a few yards away now. The armored guide joined it and tapped the beast’s side with the sword one more time. “Turn around!”
The drake swayed, its injuries draining more and more of its energy, but it would not turn. It hissed at the trees shielding Faunon from the sight of the warrior.
“Is there…” The armored figure grew silent, then studied the area that so interested the drake. Faunon knew his luck had run out.
“Lord Reegan! There’s one of them he-” The warning was cut off as the elf burst from his hiding place and jumped his discoverer. Raising his sword, the warrior tried to defend himself, but, not apparently expecting the reflexes of an elf, moved too slowly. Faunon pushed the blade aside and thrust at the place where the helm and the breastplate met. Unlike Rayke’s successful strike at the Draka, the elfin leader was unable to put the point of his weapon through his opponent’s throat. The blade cut a crimson trail across the one side of the warrior’s neck.
“Kill!” the armored figure shouted, his breath coming in gasps. He backed away, hands clutching at the wound and his helm, which had been shoved upward and was obscuring his vision.
Faunon had no time to finish him, for the drake, though dying, was still a deadly foe. It snapped at him, trying to avoid its handler as it shifted for better position. The elf jumped away, trying to keep close to the wounded warrior, who had, to the former’s surprise, fallen to his knees.
Somewhere, he knew, the three riders were converging on him, but he dared not take his eyes from his present predicament. The drake clawed at him, but weakness made it come up just short. Faunon tried to impale its one good eye, but the drake, perhaps having learned from the loss of the other eye, shied.
No longer needing to fear discovery, the elf unleashed a spell. It was a haphazard one, his first having been lost at some point in the battle, but he thought it might give him the precious seconds he needed.
A voice, coming from an invisible source behind the drake, commanded, “Back! Away from him! Now!”
The reptilian menace halted and sniffed the air. It was puzzled and uncertain.
“Back, I said!” The voice was that of the warrior whom Faunon had wounded. The warrior himself lay sprawled on the ground, blood over half his armor. Confused, the drake hissed at the world in general and remained where it was. Its limited mind could not comprehend that the tiny creature before it was playing it for a fool. The mimic spell that Faunon had cast was one he had used on occasion in the past to success. He carefully raised his sword, ready to try one last strike should the drake disobey the voice, as it had before, and charge the elf.
Panting, the wounded beast started to turn. Faunon began to slip back into the woods, hoping he still had a moment or two before the others came for him.
He screamed as a mind-numbing pain shot through his right side. Looking down, he saw an arrow protruding from his thigh.
“Well?” asked a gruff, disappointed voice. “Why don’t you finish it off?”
“The drake or the elf?” countered another. There was a convivial tone to this one’s voice, as if he might be as willing to offer Faunon a drink as he might be to kill him.
“What do we need the elf for?”
“Father will want him. You know he said he wanted a captive.”
Faunon’s entire body throbbed. He heard the sound of drakes trotting and looked up at his captors. It was, of course, the trio that he had been trying for before the wounded beast had given him away. The massive figure with the crimson cape was looking at a thinner warrior to his right who carried in one hand a bow. Behind both of them came the third. He evidently had a lesser place in the hierarchy, for his posture was that of one who is among his betters only by sufferance. All three still wore their helms. With all that had happened, Faunon still did not know what they looked like.
“We have that other one,” rumbled the bear.
“He will be dead before long, Reegan. I only wounded this one so he could not run. He should satisfy Father.”
The one called Reegan turned to the third member of their party and pointed at the limp, armored form by the weary drake. “See to him.”
Faunon was beginning to feel neglected. Had they forgotten he still had a sword? He held it before him, daring the one who had dismounted to come closer.
The calm rider shook his head. “Put that down. It will not do you any good.”
“Come to me and see!”
“I think… damn!” Reaching up, the armored figure took hold of his drag-oncrested helm and removed it.
