A week, Laera thought to herself. The unthinkable had happened—she was a slave owner. She, a wood elf of Tunare, somehow owned a Crushbone orc for seven days. Desperately, she tried to explain matters to Guurg. Without giving away her true lineage, Laera attempted to urge, cajole, and even command the orc to run off and be free, but Guurg wouldn’t hear of it. Dromjen was Dromjen, and he insisted on upholding the stakes.

Looking to Dreketh for support was of no use. Laera had the distinct impression that the shadow knight was receiving a particularly sadistic form of amusement out of the whole situation.

“Consider yourself lucky,” she explained, unrolling the straw matte on the ground. “If you’d gone double-or-nothing, it would be two weeks. Now get some sleep.”

Grumbling in resignation, Laera began pulling off her boots. In doing so, the further thought occurred to her—what if she had lost? Looking to Dreketh, she tried to banish the thought, knowing the dark elf would likely have just killed the orc outright and been on her usual way.

Dismissing her doting “slave,” Laera slipped onto the mat next to Dreketh. Though dutiful to a fault, Guurg proved to be a creature of narrow vision, procuring only one matte for his master as he had. All the same, the orcs of Crushbone extended few amenities to their Teir’Dal visitors in the first place. Though thin and disheveled, the woven sheet of hemp certainly beat sleeping on the coarse, grimy dirt they had been for the better part of their journey.

Dreketh lay silently, her forearm draped over her eyes to block the flickering light of the torches burning nearby. Laera watched her companion for several moments as she settled in, an old adage about war leaping readily to the druid’s mind.

“Strange bedfellows, indeed,” she whispered, watching Dreketh’s leather-clad chest rise and fall in slow, even breaths. So much had happened to them. What was yet to come?

As exhausted as she was, Laera found little rest that night. She didn’t know if it was recent events troubling her, or the fact that she was surrounded by orcs in every direction, but the wood elf found it difficult to do much more than doze for brief periods. Her eyes invariably drawn to the moon glowing high above, she listened to the ominous nighttime sounds of Crushbone—whip and all.

“How certain are you about this route?” Field Captain Devron asked quietly.

“Positive,” Rigel answered in a whisper. “Laera always came here when she wanted to be alone. It’s a secret, and I’m the only other person she told about it. Believe me, if she intends to sneak out of Greater Faydark, this is the route she’ll take.”

“Very well,” the captain nodded. “We’ll give it until dawn. If she hasn’t turned up by then, I’m assuming she took another route and pulling the unit back.”

Rigel opened his mouth to argue when Devron brought him up short.

“We only have eight hours before our next scouting shift. That’s barely enough time for us to find sufficient rest and sustenance if we live off the land during patrol. I can’t spend any more time with this. I’m sorry.”

Biting his lip, the young scout peered from out of the brush toward the hidden path.

“I’ll stay alone, then,” he muttered. “I’m not going to let that blue-skinned wench take-”

“That’s out of the question, footman, and you know it,” Devron interceded. “You and Druid Nellynwae are close, I understand that. But if the Teir’Dal traveling with your friend really has coerced her, I fear you would pay too high a price for your loyalty to her. Only a noble spirit would go to such lengths for a friend. I commend you for that, but I’m not willing to let you take that risk. You’re leaving with the rest of the unit in forty minutes, and that’s an order.”

Clenching his jaw, Rigel let out a long, slow sigh, making no further comment as the captain left to check on the rest of the unit hidden among the trees.

He still couldn’t believe what he had seen last night. Laera—his Laera—collaborating with the blood enemy of all elvenkind. Casting his mind back, he could still hear her voice that fateful night months ago when she first left Kelethin.

“You see, something is going on,” she’d said to him. “Something very big… I suspect it has something to do with the Teir’Dal.”

Apparently her suspicions were all too correct. It seemed that the treachery of the dark elves was even more dangerous than she suspected. Now it was obvious she had fallen victim to their subversions—for the person he saw near the lift was not the Laera Nellynwae he knew. The Laera Nellynwae he knew would never collaborate with a Teir’Dal. Never! In her innocence, the foul beasts had obviously duped her.

There was no other explanation, and Rigel was determined to bring her back to the light. One way or another, he would see to it that Laera was liberated from the clutches of that creature she traveled with. Even if it meant abandoning his unit, he would do whatever it took to break his friend of her brainwashing. Once again, she would be herself. Once again, he would have his friend back, and this time he wasn’t letting her go again.

His suspicions were confirmed at seeing Laera and the dark elf emerge from the trees in the company of a small Crushbone orc—probably a pawn or even a runner. The sight of his friend still made up all in blue to look like one of the Teir’Dal made Rigel want to leap out and snatch her away that instant, but reason prevailed over impulse. Turning, the acolyte cupped his hand around his lips and he made a bird call, alerting the others.

Laera halted dead in her tracks about fifteen yards away, causing the orc and dark elf to pass her by several paces before realizing she had stopped. He could hear the inkie’s loathsome voice sound shrill among the trees, probably demanding to know why her new wood elf plaything was holding everyone up.

Before long, Captain Devron was at his side again.

“That’s her?” he whispered.

Rigel nodded once, pointing toward Laera.

“Left side, all in leather,” he muttered.

“Very well,” the captain said, making several hand signals to the trees behind. “She’s your friend. Do you think you can handle her when we make our move?”

“She won’t hurt me. She saved my life near the lift yesterday,” Rigel replied with confidence.

“Fine, you take the left flank and subdue your friend. We’ll take care of the blue skins.”

Nodding, Rigel rose to a crouch, moving into position.

“What’s wrong now?” Dreketh asked the lagging druid.

“That bird,” Laera answered, her eyes darting among the greenery. “It sounded like a meadowlark.”

“So?” the shadow knight shrugged, impatient to keep moving.

“So when have you ever known meadowlarks to flock in Greater Faydark?”

“How should I know?” Dreketh made a perfunctory glance around, seeing nothing.

“There are meadowlarks all over the valleys of Butcherblock,” the wood elf commented, continuing her search. “But they never come to the deep forest. It’s too dark and misty.”

“Maybe it’s lost or something.” Dreketh turned to continue down the secluded path. “Come on, we need to make it to the ridge before noon.”

“You don’t understand, I think that-”

The wood elf’s words were cut off by the quick and subtle sound of movement in the brush. Cursing under her breath, Dreketh reacted quickly. In a blink, her sword was drawn from its scabbard, the dark elf assuming an aggressive stance facing the undergrowth where the sound came from.

Weaponless, Guurg stepped closer to the dark elf, his murky eyes darting from tree to tree, sensing danger.

“Dat no bird,” he commented in a grumbling voice.

“Don’t move an inch,” Laera said cautiously, her own eyes glancing about with more care.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Dreketh argued.

“Take one step and it could be your last,” insisted the wood elf. “Scouts use bird calls to signal trouble in the forest. If they have any seasoned rangers with them, the could kill us without even being seen.”

“Then why haven’t they killed us already?”

“Because during times of war, it-”

A loud thump sounded behind the three of them, like something large hitting the ground among the foliage.

“No, wait!” Laera cried, but it was too late—Dreketh had already whirled around to confront the sound.

To her disappointment, the shadow knight discovered it was a boulder about the size of a child’s ball. Rolling along the ground, it quickly disappeared into the brush. A second curse escaped the dark elf’s lips as she realized it was a ruse to distract her. She tried her best to regain her previous stance when intense pain shot up her leg, making her stumble. Looking down, Dreketh found the steel shaft of an arrow protruding from the gap in her leggings at the back of her knee.

Guurg let out an alarmed howl at the attack. The orc runner’s voice was quickly cut short, however, as a wood elf female fell from the trees behind him, landing nimbly on the ground with both feet. Giving the orc no chance to attack or escape, she plunged a gleaming dagger into his back, transforming Guurg’s howl into an agonized shriek.

Dreketh grunted, sending a powerful swing of her blade toward the wood elf’s head. Anticipating the attack, the agile scout blocked the sword with a main gauche that appeared in her other hand seemingly out of nowhere. Weapons locked together, Teir’Dal and wood elf pressed against each other, their eyes glued to their opponent’s gaze in a test of strength and resolve.

Suddenly, Dreketh let go her weight on the blade, causing her enemy to overextend her balance. Circling her sword around, she brought it down in a swift chopping motion, forcing the wood elf to back away in a skillful tuck-and-roll. The maneuver left the dagger protruding from Guurg’s back, the orc falling to the ground as he tried in vain to grab at the handle.

Her eyes on her crouching opponent before her, Dreketh twisted her blade, inverting it in her hands to deliver a powerful downward thrust that would end the wood elf’s life. With another rush of wind, a second arrow struck the dark elf, checking the blow and allowing the crouching wood elf to retreat back into the trees.

Releasing one hand from her sword, Dreketh clutched at the shoulder where the second arrow penetrated her tunic. Her fingers traced quickly, but gingerly over the wound, feeling for any sign of barbs that would make pulling it out a problem. Finding none, she yanked the arrow from the wound with a jerk of her hand.

More sounds came from the dark elf’s right-hand side. With a snarl, she brought her bloodied fingers back down to her sword. Her muscles tense, she lashed out with the blade, keeping whatever was approaching at bay. Two more wood elves challenged her, both of them male, their eyes wide and faces grim. Dreketh immediately recognized the two as having never faced a real Teir’Dal in battle before, and sneered her contempt.

Raising her sword, the shadow knight motioned with one hand, egging them on to the attack. Cautious and wary of this Teir’Dal fighter, the two wood elves separated, intending to outflank the shadow knight. Dreketh’s sneer widened into an evil grin.

“If that’s the way you want it…” she muttered, leaping toward one.

Instead of striking with her sword, however, she slammed her armored shoulder into his chest as if she were smashing down a door. Unprepared for such a maneuver, the inexperienced scout fell over backwards, hitting the ground hard as the wind left his lungs in a rush. Wasting no time, Dreketh dropped herself on atop the weakling scout, her legs bent in a kneeling position that pinned the younger elf as she straddled him. One-handedly bringing her blade around to block the attack she knew was coming from behind by the other elf, Dreketh simultaneously wrapped the fingers of her other hand around her defeated captive’s throat as he lay helpless beneath her.

“…So be it,” she growled, her face twisted in a hideous display of hatred.

The air cracked with divine power as the Touch was released. The pinned wood elf cried out in a simpering wail, causing Dreketh’s grin to broaden. All around, the trees echoed with the high-pitched scream of tortured pain that eventually fell to a gruesome and terrible silence. The shadow knight watched as the spark of life left her victim’s eyes, his face frozen in a mask of agony.

The pressure on her sword fell away, and she turned a gleaming eye to the young whelp who dared challenge her. The wood elf male backed away slowly, his face shown stunned at the sight of his friend dying in such a horrific manner.

“Your turn,” she said, her vicious grin unwavering.

“I think not,” a calm voice spoke next to her.

Twisting about in alarm at the unexpected threat, Dreketh came nose to nose with the gleaming silver tip of an arrow, nocked and ready to be released into her skull with full force. Along the steel shaft, a dark brown eye stared out from behind the arrow’s fletching at the opposite end. The dark elf froze in place, knowing that the slightest move meant death.

“Drop your sword,” the archer said.

“No, wait!”

Laera knew the stone was meant to draw the shadow knight’s attention. It was a tactic commonly taught in the schools for rangers and druids to trick the unwary. But Dreketh’s reflexes proved to be faster than the wood elf’s ability to warn her of the danger. The familiar sound of an arrow soon followed the dark elf’s maneuver, its razor sharp tip lodging deep into her companion’s leg in the only vulnerable spot exposed by the bronze leggings. It was the pinpoint shot of an expert bowman—that much was certain.

With the arrow’s sudden appearance, there was no longer any doubt they had been discovered by the scouting parties. With accustomed teamwork, the hidden band defending the forest infiltrated on the intruders.

Laera watched as she saw a wood elf female dressed in leather drop from the foliage overhead, and deliver a vicious blow to Guurg with a dagger from behind. The orc cried out, unable to defend himself from the unseen attacker. She saw Dreketh immediately swing her sword toward the orc’s assailant, only to have it blocked by a piercing weapon in the woman’s other hand.

Heart pounding, Laera broke into a run to help defend her friends when the world suddenly moved out from under her. The wood elf’s vision blurred in a frenzied whirl before her head met with the forest floor, stunning her. Laera felt the firm ground press against her body, or was it the other way around? It tilted and spun wildly in all directions.

Though she consciously knew it was impossible for the ground to be behaving in such a way, her senses refused to listen to reason. Closing her eyes, she had no choice but to wait for the confusing tilting to stop before she could do anything about it. She also knew that she was helpless until she could recover, and every second that passed was one more chance her attacker would deliver the killing blow.

Firm hands crept beneath her arms, lifting her with an almost gentle nature by the shoulders. Laera could feel the ground fall away beneath her as her attacker tried to bring her to her feet. Suddenly, up separated itself from down, and the turmoil clouding the druid’s head cleared. She had presence of mind, however, enough to remain limp in her captor’s hands until the right moment.

As soon as her feet met the ground firmly enough to lend her enough leverage, Laera twisted about, her elbow connecting with the man’s face with a thud. The abrupt movement made her head pound painfully, but the druid forced herself to see through the pulsating clouds threatening to obscure her vision, and reached over her shoulder to draw her staff.

Her attacker stooped before her, his hands covering his face where she'd struck him. Deciding it was not best to give her enemy the chance to recover and attack a second time, she swung the staff low, striking his lower legs. Yanking hard, Laera deprived the woof elf scout of the ground in much the same way he’d done to her. The man pitched backwards into a clutch of green, fern-like brush, rolling down a small incline hidden by the plant’s sheltering leaves.

Infuriated by the sheer indignation of the scout’s stealthy attack from behind, Laera was determined not to allow him to escape so easily. The druid leapt into the brush, sliding deftly down the incline on bent knees until she skidded to a halt before her prone opponent at the bottom. Thrusting downward, Laera brought her staff to press firmly against the scout’s larynx.

“If you take me down, you better be damn sure I’m out!” she said through clenched teeth, applying even more pressure on the staff to drive her lesson home.

“Lae,” the scout croaked, his windpipe cut off so he could barely speak. “What have they done to you?”

The druid’s eyes widened. There was only one person who ever called her by that nickname.

“Rigel?” she asked, craning her neck. The dirt that sullied his face along with the trail of blood flowing from his nose made the young acolyte virtually unrecognizable. “By all the gods, what are you doing here!”

The young scout shoved the wooden staff aside irritably, removing it from his throat.

“I came to take you away from that blue atrocity who captured you!” he spat.

Laera stared at her old friend, her expression one of mixed astonishment and profound displeasure.

“You what?” she asked angrily. “You led them here? Why would you do something like that!”

Rigel held his throat with one hand, scooting himself along the ground to back away from the enraged druid. Bumping against a tree, he scrambled to pull himself upright as he spoke.

“Now, I know it’s not your fault. You didn’t realize how treacherous they can be. It’s okay, I understand. We all do, Lae. Really.”

“What are you talking about?” Laera asked, exasperated at the acolyte’s patronizing tone.

At that moment, the horrific cries of the dying scout rang out from beyond the hill’s crest. Laera looked up sharply, seeing morning’s light filter in from the canopy of dense fern leaves above her head.

“Gods, no!” she whispered. Without further thought, she raced back up the incline.

As she arrived at the top, she found Dreketh kneeling atop one of her attackers in the distance, grimly staring down the shaft of an arrow at point blank range. The druid’s heart leaped into her throat, knowing that there was absolutely nothing she could do to save her companion before the archer released the bowstring.

Acting on impulse, Laera stretched forth her hand, speaking several arcane words of Tunare’s protection—praying with every passing moment that the archer would not release the arrow before she could finish her spell. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw a bright yellow glow envelop the dark elf. Dreketh’s blue skin hardened to a wood-like texture that, while it wouldn’t protect her from all harm, would likely save her life should the arrow take flight.

The shadow knight gasped, closing her eyes as she felt the protecting power sweep over her body. She felt her skin harden beneath the armor she wore, and upon her face. Intuitively, she knew who had cast this enchantment on her.

All eyes, save for Dreketh’s, turned toward the druid several feet away.

“Footman, control your charge!” the archer called to Rigel, his bow still aimed menacingly at the dark elf before him. Drawing his lips in, he let out a short, high-pitched whistle. “Come out and seize these two! My arm’s getting tired!”

A handful of wood elves emerged from the trees, including the female who backstabbed Guurg. Leaning down, she yanked the orc runner up by the arm, causing him to cry out painfully from his injury. Without any visible concern for his welfare, she wrenched her dagger from the bloody wound in his back.

Two more wood elves took Dreketh roughly by the arms, dragging her off their fallen comrade. Glaring her silent defiance at the archer standing over her, she reluctantly let go of her sword, allowing it to fall at the man’s feet.

“Wise move, inkie,” he said, slowly releasing the tension on his bow. “Very wise move.”

“Captain Devron,” Rigel said, passing Laera to approach the archer. “I thought all blue skins in the forest were to be killed on sight.”

“If that were the case here, your friend would already be dead,” the captain countered glibly, sliding the arrow back into its quiver.

“But she is not Teir’Dal!” Rigel argued. Turning back to Laera, he pointed to a series of score marks on her arms where their struggles had worn away the pollen. “Look! I told you she’s one of us!”

“Had she been discovered looking like that without your forewarning, footman, then she would be dead nonetheless.” Captain Devron turned to face Dreketh, who once again rested on her knees as the two wood elves grasped her arms in their steel grip. Stepping slowly toward the prisoner, he reached down to retrieve her sword lying at his feet. “But I find myself intrigued. What could an inkie like you be doing with a slave girl turncoat, and orc of Crushbone?”

Raising the blade to her chin, the captain lifted the dark elf’s face to look at him. Dreketh’s azure gaze met with Devron’s brown eyes, but her mouth remained firmly shut, defiantly offering no explanation, nor showing any sign of fear at the sharp edge of her father’s sword. Moments passed as the ranger captain and shadow knight captive faced off, neither giving ground in their silent battle of wills.

Keeping his eyes locked on the dark elf, Captain Devron turned his head slightly to address the wood elf female.

“Shenra, run and inform the town guard to prepare for a possible attack from Crushbone. Whether it will be now or later cannot be determined… not yet, anyway.” His lips curled crookedly into a slight grin aimed at Dreketh. Apparently he intended to find out one way or another.

“What about this one?” the wood elf named Shenra asked, jerking the orc around in her grip.

Devron broke his gaze with Dreketh to look over the orc’s wound at a distance.

“That one is dead anyway,” he said offhandedly. “These creatures can barely speak, much less be of use in an interrogation. Leave it to die.”

“You can’t be serious!” Laera spoke up for the first time, stepping forward. “You’re a disciple of Tunare! To kill an orc in battle is one thing, but you can’t just let him bleed to death here in front of you!”

The captain turned a chilling eye Laera’s way.

“Can’t I?” he asked calmly. “In times of war, the rules of Tunare change, Druid Nellynwae. Were it not for your friend Rigel, all three of you would be lying dead now. Even as we speak, you live on borrowed time by his privilege, and mine. Should the hand of death had fallen, you would be the most deserving of all for risking the lives of every man, woman, and child of your own kin,” Devron thrust an accusing finger at the druid, “by bringing this Teir’Dal to Kelethin.”

Laera scowled back at the captain, her nostrils flaring, but she remained silent.

“Look at you,” the captain continued, gesturing with disdain at the druid’s appearance. “You…who consort with orcs and the spawn of Innoruuk. You had better pray that you are broken of your insanity, or by the hand of the Mother I will see you in chains for your treachery.”

Captain Devron stepped toward Laera, causing her to draw back momentarily, uncertain of the man’s intentions.

“You say I can’t possibly be serious?” he asked mockingly, drawing a knife from his belt. “Let me show you just how serious I am… ‘child’ of Tunare.”

The captain tossed the knife lightly before the druid’s face, catching it by the blade in his gloved hand. Giving Laera one final sneer, Devron turned and threw the weapon with a strong arm.

The blade twirled, emitting a fluttering whistle as it sped through the air to lodge itself firmly in the orc runner’s chest.

The orc’s shriek mingled with Laera’s own voice as she cried out. Falling to his knees, Guurg clutched at the captain’s knife, a blank look of disbelief on his face as his eyes rose to meet Laera’s.

“Laywra elf…” he gasped, blood falling in trails from his mouth. A small gurgling cough escaped the orc’s lips as he pitched forward to lie motionless on the ground.

“No!” Laera cried. Raising her hands, she quickly cast the druid’s spell of healing in hopes that she might catch hold of the orc’s life before the moment of death took him. Guurg didn’t stir, however, as wave after wave of blue light enveloped the corpse.

“Save your strength, druid,” the captain said dismissively. “Tunare’s power is not to be wasted on the dead. Besides, in time you won’t care one way or the other about the welfare of orcs or Teir’Dal. Soon, you’ll return to us as a true druid of Tunare, as you were always meant to be.”

Scowling, Laera raised her hand to slap the arrogant captain across that smug face of his. Devron’s honed reflexes won out as he caught her arm by the wrist. Raising his other hand, he tugged gently at the glove she wore, finger by finger, sliding it off slowly to expose the tan skin underneath.

“You see?” he said softly. “You’re more a wood elf already.”

Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it in a mocking, cordial gesture.

Laera trembled as she looked at the true color of her skin, idly comparing it to the smudged blue that began at her wrist. The truth of the captain’s words drove into her in much the same way his knife drove into poor Guurg. At one time, she wouldn’t have cared about the death of an orc—or a Teir’Dal, for that matter. But Guurg was different. Dreketh was different, and not just because of the Pact. Everything was different!

Balling her shaking hand into a fist, Laera began to detest that color and all it stood for. She began to hate who she was before meeting up with Dreketh. She became ashamed of the cavalier attitude her race held toward the death of their enemies.

Looking up, Laera saw that the captain had turned his back and stepped away, addressing what remained of his unit.

“Are you all right?” Rigel asked plaintively, approaching her.

“If this is what it means to be an elf, then I’d rather be human,” she muttered darkly. Looking Rigel squarely in the eyes, her voice rose so all could hear. “If this is what I am meant for, then I renounce my destiny!”

Captain Devron turned to see what the druid was rambling on about, only to meet the end of her staff as it cracked sharply against his face. Flashes of light burst through his vision, as he was unable to parry or even slow the druid’s unforeseen attack.

Dreketh recognized a cue when she saw it. Knowing the inexperienced scouts holding her would be taken aback by the druid’s sudden strike, she wrenched her arms from their hands, and backhanded her gauntleted fists into their stomachs, doubling them over with two simultaneous blows.

Standing in one fluid motion, the shadow knight twisted to avoid the main gauche she anticipated from the female at her left. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the wood elf’s wrist in mid-thrust. Raising her arm, she brought it down with all the force her hatred could muster, elbow first, effectively snapping the bones of the woman’s forearm.

Seeing her enemies flee before her, Dreketh turned toward the captain and the one named Rigel. The captain already lay in a heap on the ground, unconscious from the druid’s blow. Her companion’s young friend stood there staring down at his felled leader in stunned disbelief.

“Wh-what have you done?” Rigel’s question ended in a choked voice, finding the shadow knight’s gleaming blade pressed to his chest.

“Such interesting company you keep,” Dreketh commented. “With friends like this one, no wonder you came looking for me. At least we Teir’Dal are devoted to each other, if nothing else.”

Receiving no response from her companion, Dreketh turned to find Laera gone.

The wood elf had stepped over to kneel beside the forgotten orc’s body as it lay facedown on the forest floor. Dappled light filtered through the leaves and mists to dance along the orc runner’s blue skin, giving it a mocking resemblance to the life it housed not more than a few minutes before. Now the broken body lay before her, nothing more than an empty shell.

No tears marred Laera’s face as she stared, mystified, at the fallen creature. Guurg was more than just an orc. In the short while she had known him, he started to weave his way into the druid’s heart. Had she been given the time, Laera knew that he would likely have become a good friend, and the fact that she couldn’t now cry at his death angered her. The fact that she wasn’t given the time to form that bond made the wood elf rail against the actions of her own race—actions that robbed her of something she hadn’t even realized she as about to receive.

Something touched her shoulder, and Laera knew it wasn’t Rigel’s hand. No, it was the blue hand of her blood enemy lending her a portion of strength as she herself had done in Crushbone during the dark elf’s moment of weakness. Again, no words were spoken. Words would have served to despoil the shadow knight’s gesture. As it was, Laera somehow knew that Dreketh understood her thoughts.

“I don’t believe what I am seeing.” Rigel’s voice shattered the moment. Both wood elf and dark elf turned serious eyes toward the impertinent acolyte standing behind them. “You’ve killed more than one orc in your life. What was this one to you that the others weren’t? You’re not yourself, Lae! You’re not! Come back with me. Come back to the school and I’ll help y-”

Pouncing with the agility of a cat, Laera leapt up to tackle the young acolyte to the ground. Gritting her teeth visibly, Laera ran her arms up and down Rigel’s face, staining the boy with pollen in a cluttering of unsightly blue smudges across his cheeks.

“There!” she yelled into his face. “Now you’re under the exact same influence I am! Do you feel and less a wood elf? Do you feel any less a child of Tunare now that you have blue skin? Do you!” she demanded, clutching at this leather armor.

Rigel’s jaw worked noiselessly, unable to collect his thoughts enough to answer.

“I am Laera Nellynwae,” she declared, not waiting for an answer. “I am a druid of Tunare and Her advocate in the Pact of Zeranon. You are Rigel Timbrose, druid acolyte and my friend! It’s time you started acting like my friend and trust me!”

Standing, Laera threw off her white wig and tossed it into the young man’s hands.

“See? It’s just me, Rigel!” she said, placing her arms on her chest atop the tunic she wore—the tunic he'd made for her. “I’m not brainwashed or under any dark elf spell. I have a mission to fulfill—a mission that might actually end this war…” Laera stopped, shocked at hearing her own words, just now realizing the truth of them. “Might actually end this war before it begins.”

Looking over to her companion, Laera found Dreketh returning her gaze with a serious expression of her own.

“By the gods, that’s it,” the druid whispered.

“What’s it?” Rigel demanded, sitting up. “You don’t understand, Lae… together with our Freeport allies, we finally have the upper hand! At last we’ll be able to put an end to Innoruuk’s creations once and for all!” The druid acolyte sneered Dreketh’s direction as he spoke.

“Rigel, it’s more complicated than that,” Laera began, turning his way again. “You don’t know what’s really going on. We are all in terrible danger!”

“So tell me, Lae. Tell me what’s going on!” the scout pleaded, his hands spread wide.

“I…” Laera hesitated. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Sighing, Laera ran a hand through her hair, frustrated.

“Rigel, listen to me,” she said, trying to find the right words to say. “In the months I’ve been gone, I’ve been spied on, followed, chased, captured and attacked by more people and creatures than I can count. There are very powerful people on Norrath who would like nothing more right now than to see me dead.”

Rigel looked at his friend skeptically, seeing her nod.

“It’s true, Rigel,” she said. Peering out the corner of her eye, she glanced at the shadow knight standing off to the side. “Dreketh too, and for the same reason. I know how this sounds, but I can’t put her life at risk because I owe you an explanation. What’s worse, I can’t put my mission at risk, threatening all our lives. You just have to trust me, Rigel. I’m asking you as your friend.”

For the first time, Rigel appeared to listen to what the druid was saying, his blue-smudged face drawn and earnest.

“It’s not fair, Lae,” he said. “You expect me to trust you, but you say you can’t trust me with the truth. There’s something wrong with that.”

“I know,” she nodded sincerely. “But after all this is over, I promise you I’ll have a tale worth telling.”

“I hate to break up this tidy little scene,” Dreketh piped in. “But it won’t be long before those scouts return with their big brothers to take revenge for this black eye we just gave them.”

Laera looked regretfully at the wood elf corpse lying nearby.

“That’s right, we need to be going,” she muttered. Looking to Rigel, she silently asked him for the favor they desperately needed.

The acolyte waved a hand dismissively.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll tell them I was knocked unconscious, same as the captain. When I woke up, you were gone.”

“Thank you,” Laera whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around her friend. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“It’s okay,” Rigel answered, returning the druid’s warm embrace. “Now, go quickly. They’ll be here any minute. Avoid the open paths until you reach Butcherblock Ridge. They’re guarded heavily, especially at night.”

Laera nodded, still unwilling to let go of her friend.

“Come on, let’s move,” the shadow knight said urgently, grabbing the druid by the shoulder.

Stepping over Rigel and the fallen captain, Laera followed the dark elf into the trees heading westward, pausing only once to wave her silent goodbyes.

Still sitting on the ground, Rigel raised his own hand to wave back. Memories of their last farewell came to mind as he watched the foliage cover the druid’s retreat. This time, however, the heartache he once felt at seeing her leave was no longer present. Instead, the young acolyte felt empty inside. For he knew, watching her disappear amidst the leaves and branches, that the Laera Nellynwae he had known—the bright, spirited young girl he said goodbye to so many months ago—had already left.

The sun disappeared as it dipped below the water’s edge along the horizon. Once again, the western sky was alight with fiery reds and yellows, falling to the indigo blue of twilight far above. The surf was calm that evening, its waves breaking tension only a few feet from shore—and even then it seemed a half-hearted effort as the water splashed lightly over the sand.

Out among the shifting waters, Laera Nellynwae washed away what remained of the pollen. Resting naked on the sandy floor of the sea, the druid watched as the sticky blue substance separated from her skin to float in small clusters on the water surface before being swept away by the tide. True to form, the pollen remained water resistant to the bitter end, forcing the wood elf to scrub it vigorously with her hands before it finally surrendered.

Taking a deep breath, Laera threw herself backwards below the water, dousing her face last of all. It was a baptism she performed on herself, washing away the sin of becoming Teir’Dal, and returning to her former glory as a dark-haired, tan-skinned wood elf. Only when it felt as if she was free of every inch of pollen did she resurface.

Raising her arms, Laera looked at her skin in its natural state. Like all sinners, the wood elf’s baptism might have washed away any evidence of her actions, but the effects they had on her spirit remained. Fascinated, she looked at her skin color in much the same way she noted the color of Dreketh’s skin their first night together. Like the dark elf, her normal coloration could never be washed away, as could the pollen.

Outwardly, Laera was once again a wood elf. Inwardly, she began to wonder exactly what she was.

A high-pitched whistle caught her attention. Turning around in the water, she found Dreketh signaling to her several yards away on shore. Dinner was served.

Glancing around to make certain there were no spectators lurking about, Laera stood to wade her way back to shore through the waist-deep waters. The evening breeze along the shoreline was chill, making her skin rise in tiny goose bumps by the hundreds. Thankfully, she accepted the blanket Dreketh held out, wrapping it around her shivering body before walking the rest of the way to dry land.

As had happened during their journey through Butcherblock Mountains that day, neither companion spoke as they ate their meager feast around the campfire. Since leaving Greater Faydark, both young women had been lost in their own thoughts without feeling the need to voice them. Instead, they plodded along westward, being careful to stay away from the winding roads, but always keeping them within sight.

Having finished their silent meal, Dreketh put out the fire, and the two companions lay silently in the soft sand.

Loath to close her eyes, the shadow knight stared off into the darkening sky above. She knew with a certainty that the nightmares were about to return that night. They returned every night in one manner or another. Tonight, however, promised to be one of the worse ones. She didn’t know how, but she could feel it. It was as if a wild beast were chained up behind a closed door in her mind that would open wide if she so much as blinked.

Turning her head to one side, she looked over to the wood elf’s dark form lying in a shadowed bundle on the sand, wrapped snugly in the blanket she’d been given.

Dreketh cleared her throat softly before speaking in an even softer tone.

“Remember that spell you cast on me in the forest?” she asked.

The wood elf’s silhouette shifted as she turned to face her companion.

“I remember,” Laera answered hesitantly, undoubtedly expecting another rebuke.

“Do you-… Do you think you could cast that enchantment on me one more time?” the dark elf asked quietly, her voice barely heard over the noise of the surf.

Laera’s head rose curiously.

“Why?”

Dreketh licked her lips, her eyes returning to the night sky.

“The dreams are coming,” she whispered, her words slow. “I feel them approach every time I close my eyes. I know it’s foolish, but I’d feel safer… Please?”

Blinking several times, Laera inched her hand out from underneath the blanket. Again, arcane words came from her lips, calling forth Tunare’s blessing of nature to weave itself around the dark elf. Dreketh’s breathing stopped as she felt the power seep through her—nurturing her… protecting her… shielding her from harm.

As the casting subsided, the shadow knight breathed once again, her skin having taken on the hardened quality of wood. Drawing her own blanket up under her chin, Dreketh closed her eyes.

“Thank you, Laera,” she whispered.

Staring at her companion, the wood elf realized how that was the first time Dreketh had ever called her by her proper name. Not “whelp” or “weakling” or “woodie.” Just “Laera.” She couldn’t remember a time when the sound of her own name made her smile as it did at that moment.

Pulling her arm back underneath the blanket, the wood elf turned over to fall asleep herself. Strangely, her Teir’Dal companion did not cry out that night. No feverish cries of pain or panicked grief filled the air. Only the lulling sounds of the sea were heard that night as Laera Nellynwae and her friend slept fitfully until dawn.

Chapter 23 - Death's Vendetta