Galanör put the last Reaver down that stood between him and the ballista. Aenwyn was close behind, her scimitar slashing to defend herself.
“It’s not loaded!” Galanör complained, turning to see Aenwyn slice her foe into pieces.
“Here!” Aenwyn handled one of the spear-like bolts from the ground and passed it to the ranger.
“Watch my back!” Galanör shouted as he began to align the bolt onto the central shaft of the ballista. Of course, Aenwyn was already moving to defend him, dancing around the weapon to keep any Reavers at bay.
Satisfied with the placement of the bolt, the ranger attempted to winch the drawstring back behind it. His arms trembled with the exertion, an effort he would not have needed prior to the battle.
“Aenwyn!” he shouted desperately, seeing Yillir’s flight path begin to line up.
Aenwyn ordered two elves to guard them as best they could while she jumped to Galanör’s aid. They both groaned under the effort as they drew the string into place. Working together, it wasn’t long before it gave a resounding and satisfying click.
“Take the shot!” Galanör urged, reaching for his blades again.
“Me?”
“You’re a better shot than me!” the ranger encouraged. He pivoted just in time to block the downward stroke of a Reaver’s blade. A boot to the chest shoved it back into the timely swing of a dwarven axe.
Then he saw it. Death.
It was as if the ethereal and ancient entity walked side by side with Alijah Galfrey. The half-elf, visible between a dozen fighting combatants, flashed his green blade in sweeping arcs. Every elf, dwarf, and Centaur he faced was collected by Death, their souls added to the extensive tally that already belonged to his cursed blade.
“Come on!” Aenwyn berated herself.
With what strength she had, the elf manoeuvred the ballista to keep the bolt head in line with Yillir’s erratic flight. Galanör dashed to her side and added his blades to her defence. “He’s here!” the ranger informed. “Alijah and Malliath are here!”
Aenwyn never took her eyes off her target. “One dragon at a time!” she replied, firing the bolt at last.
The missile sailed over the top of the battle, whistling as it cut through the air. Galanör watched it intently, willing it to find its mark. Yillir’s flight path, however, was momentarily altered at the last second as it moved to avoid the wild swipe of a rogue Troll. The bolt careered off one of the spikes on the dragon’s tail. Aenwyn cursed and slammed her fist onto the ballista.
“Load another bolt,” Galanör muttered. “Load another bolt!” he bellowed. “Quickly!”
Time against them and enemies at their back, the elves worked to place another bolt onto the main shaft and draw the string back. Both elves and dwarves clashed with Reavers to protect the pair, but there was nothing any of them could do against a dragon.
“Pull!” Aenwyn grunted, her strength added to Galanör’s.
Yillir ripped the Troll’s head from its body and spat the mangled skull from its mouth. Rid of the temporary hindrance, the dragon roared and flapped its ragged wings, taking it back into the sky.
“Pull!” they both groaned.
Flying right for them, Yillir opened its maw, preparing to consume them in flames.
Click. It was the most satisfying sound in the world.
Aenwyn shoved Galanör away and assumed full control of the ballista’s aim and trigger. Only seconds existed between them and death by fire. The elven ranger caught just a glimpse of the smile that flashed across Aenwyn’s face before she let fly the lengthy bolt. It launched with a loud and powerful thunk, though its flight was short-lived when Yillir took the bolt directly in the mouth. The dragon was instantly brought down by the force of it.
The ground shuddered under the impact, which killed any unfortunate enough to be in its path, but its speed continued until Yillir skidded across the battlefield and its head slammed into the front of the ballista, knocking Aenwyn back a step.
Galanör wanted to celebrate the victory with her but there was no time. Another shadow was upon them. The ranger gave no warning before he wrapped his arms around Aenwyn’s waist and brought her down with him. As they hit the blood-soaked ground, the meaty fist of a Troll crashed into the ballista and reduced it to splinters.
The roar that followed was deafening. Determined that such a savage noise would not be the last thing he ever heard, Galanör rolled to the side with Aenwyn still in his arms. They avoided the second fist, which dented the ground, and quickly split up to confuse the beast.
Four wretched eyes looked down on Galanör as he ran around the remains of the ballista, missing Aenwyn who weaved between a group of dwarves to flank the Troll. Using one of the dwarves’ pauldrons, she deftly leapt up and found purchase on a spear jammed in the monster’s ribs. From there, she scaled its rocky back until its stubby head was within her grasp. Galanör was preparing to evade the incoming hammer fist when Aenwyn took the dagger from her belt and rammed it into one of the Troll’s eyes.
The next attack never came for Galanör, the Troll’s wrath now directed elsewhere. One hand after the other snatched at the air around its hideous head, searching for the one who tormented it.
“Get away from it!” Galanör warned.
Before Aenwyn could jump down, however, the Troll found its attacker and yanked her from its shoulders. Aenwyn fought to free herself but the monster’s grip was unyielding. The Troll growled in her face and brought her towards its open jaws. One bite would snap anyone in half, armour or not.
“NO!” Galanör raged, seeing Aenwyn’s life coming to a gruesome end.
The ranger reacted without thought, his muscles falling back on centuries
