Private Tales The Last Resort

[Draedamyr]

Not every entrance to the town was guarded. A handful of young men seemed to be on patrol. It suggested they were more concerned with deciding who could leave or arrive than by a night raid.

He was no assassin. He did not collect his bounties by creeping around at night and stabbing people in their sleep. He had the assured footwork of a master swordsman, and the light step of an elf. There was no moonlight to catch his pale skin. Just the stars and the sounds of the wind in the trees to cover his approach.

Following the border of the palisade he found one of the incomplete sections. He slipped through a gap, crouching down on the far side and pushing himself into the shadows. He waited in silence for the patrol to pass by on the outside of the fence. They walked in silence, giving Draedamyr no clue on their intentions. He crawled to the nearest house to find out if he could eavesdrop on any conversation.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"I don't like it much, either...but what are we supposed to do?"

An open window issued the sound of candid conversation, hushed though it might be. It was still early in the night, and most of the people in the little town had yet to bed down for the evening.

The speaker was a woman, unseen to the elf crouched in the shadows. They were unaware of his presence, but clearly did not want their conversation overheard.

"I know the ground has gone sour and nothing grows anymore, but do we really need to do this?" A man, steady voice unruffled even though he, too, kept his voice down. "We cannot stand against anyone who means business."

"We cannot stand against these people either!" She sounded exasperated. "I don't doubt that they mean well, but...you saw what happened with Yorenson?" There was a pause in the conversation, as of some body language that could not be seen. "They don't ask for much..."

"Just all the food and housing for their leaders." Flat, unflectionless voice. "How long until the leaders of this...." And then silence again.

"Army?" The woman provided helpfully, to a grunt from the unseen man. "Ain't an army," he replied in a low growl. "Children pretending at being an army. Going to get everyone killed in the long run."

"What do you expect? The bandits have been raiding hard since the...since the mists. They are taking food instead of gold, now." It was truth. The grim spectre of a winter with nit enough to eat loomed large, and she said as much. "Fall harvest was ruined, and winter is coming. We'll starve if we do nothing to protect our stores."

"Doesn't mean we can go around taking everyone else's!" His voice snapped at that, rising a bit. There must have been more silent interplay, because when he resumed he was quieter, if no less angry. "They have not been nice to those that refused to add their stores to the stockpile..."

"We need everything we can get,so we can ration it. There is not enough food to go round, and do you really think the city-states care about us, out here?" Her voice had an edge to it. It was clear she sided more with the militants, whatever and whoever they were.

"We make too much noise and one or another will swoop down on us and scatter this ragtag band." Flat statement of fact. "And that is assuming whoever is in charge here doesn't turn into more of a tyrant than they already are!"

"We just have to make it to spring!"

"If they haven't killed us all by then, Meg!" A door slammed shut somewhere else in the house, and there was silence for a long moment. "Thus is stupid. We shouldn't even be talking about this. We'll get caught," he said, and then there were footsteps and a door closing.

Another ragged patrol wandered by, torches in hand. Too stupid to realize the firelight would ruin their night vision, but a boon to Draedmyr.

***

Darkness was notbher element. Even though the corridor she had been in was dark, the alley she stepped into was darker. It took a little time to adjust to starlight and a thin crescent of moon, and while she did she quickly moved away from the door into a stack of discarded lumber. Somewhere distant, coyotes or wolves howled and yiped at the sky, and the haunting sound sent a shiver up her spine.

Without the need for it, she dismissed the sweet flow of power, faint though it might he. Even so, it was with regret. Standing, eyes as adjusted to the darkness as they would get, she started to survey her surroundings.

The alley appeared to be towards the far side of the town as she had observed it from above. Most of the buildings here were single or two story and all made of stone or wood, or sometimes both. If not for the situation, it would have been a quaint, idyllic little town out in the middle of nowhere.

Surrounded by a rotting forest.

Surrounded by barren fields.

Neither of these were her problems. Hers was escaping confinement at the hands of who she knew not. Maybe later she could sit and think about what was going on here and - that spark of anger still alive within insisted- deal with whoever had visited death on that little girl. Whoever had struck her in the head, too.

Secondary problems. Escape was a key problem, and it was to this that she bent her efforts. Stepping from cover, she chose a direction - probably east - and started skulking in the shadows, wary of anyone watching.

***

"I am certain," the man said in assured tones. He sat at a table in an appropriate house, a meal of some kind of gruel before him. He had a certain look about him, an effeminate affectation apparent in his every move. Despite the austerity of the room and even of the meal before him, he wore fine clothes in garish colors. Sequins had been sewn on his tailored shirt, crescent moons and stars.

"If it is not that fae you caught, then it is another in our midst. It was not Lore." The man set his spoon down daintily, and looked at the pair of roughly dressed men before his table. "Either way, find out. Soon or late, the big players will realize the magnitude of the problem the mists have created...and then none of us will he safe."

"Sure, whatever you say. You the boss, Issa." Both knuckled their brows and turned to go relay the defacto commander's words. The man said he had felt something, and so far he had yet to he proven wrong. A manhunt was now to begin.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr stayed quite still as he listened. As the guards walked past the flames caused the light to dance across his skin and he was certain he would be spotted. They kept on walking.

He resisted the temptation to look through the window. Seeing the occupants would give him no information of use.

Part of him thought it was enough for now. That he should take what he had learned and to return to the clearing. That part still believed he had simply missed Seska. That she was simply elsewhere.

They don't ask for much. Who were they? They were responsible for the farm. If anyone knew what had happened to Seska it would be them.

If Seska found out who had done that then her fury would be difficult to control. He had felt it simmering barely below the surface. Would he be able to stop Seska if she lost control? Perhaps she turn on the whole town when only a few had been responsible.

There were really two parts to that question, he realised. First of all came the matter of being able to stop her. Whilst he carried wards against magic they would probably sublimate in the face of the power she wielded. Then came the matter of whether he would want to stop her. Those who made the orders and those who stood by were both guilty, just to different degrees.

First of all he had to find her and he was going to start with those in charge. Seska would not have left her staff, he told himself. The patrol was out of sight now. He couldn't deal with several of them without making a noise. Instead he picked a path deeper into the town.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She melted back against a whitewashed wall as the sound of feet drew near, choosing the best hiding place she could on a street relatively void of cover. The feet were carrying someone swiftly the way she had gone, and she caught a glimpse of a small shape, long hair flying out behind. The smell of unwashed body followed in its wake.

As soon as it had gone, she skipped forward again. The silence seemed oppressive, here, the distant sound of an encamped army of sorts seemingly sucked away by darkness. The houses and businesses that lined this narrow street were as silent as mausoleums, their inhabitants asleep or absent entirely.

She had to duck into an alley at the glow of an approaching patrol, crouching low and making herself small. It was surprisingly difficult to be quiet in a dress, no matter how hard she tried. But the patrol did not really expect to find anything in their little town. Reckless and complacent, they passed within feet of her.

Children. The unruly mops that passed for hair, tangled and unwashed spoke volumes. They looked poorly fed, their clothes dirty and hanging from their limbs. To be fair, the ones at the top of the stairs had looked similar.

Starving. Rotting fields, woodlands swept nearly clean of wildlife. She suddenly understood everything, or at least enough. These people were just trying to survive, any way they could. The Sidhe shivered at that; it would make them more dangerous than ever. Desperate people did desperate things.

The patrol was just past here, and she was just stepping forward, breaking her scant cover, when the call to arms was raised. A clarion call, the sounding of a horn, rise over the sleepy little town.

"What was that?!" One of the kids was pointing back towards her, arm shaking, finger pointing at her as she ducked back. "A demon! The demons are back!" The last was a squeal, echoed with squeaks of dismay from the other children- all early teens at best - before they all took off running.

Cursing, the Sidhe continued down the dark alley, stumbling over rubbish unseen in the dark in her own desperate bud to escape the eventual patrols descending on her location.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr spied a coat thrown over a post outside a house. He took a risk to dart out into the open. He pulled the heavy leather coat from the houses and retreated back into the space between two squat, wooden houses. Now he was inside the town he was better off avoiding skulking about.

The coat covered his bondolier. More importantly his hood covered his long hair and sharp ears.

From above the town he had seen some larger buildings. A communal space or perhaps a town hall. Now he was within the half-finished palisades in the dark he had lost all sense of direction. There were more people crammed into the town than there should have been. The food had been stockpiled and the fences erected against the demonic threat.

He still needed to find out who "they" were. The ones who the townsfolk were afraid of.

"They said a demon!"

"I bet they saw a fucking cat again."

Three men made plenty of noise as they rushed down the road. They each carried a spear, but they were three different lengths. Two of them had mail vests. The other wore some ill-fitting sudden leather.

Draedamyr stepped out after them and walked down the empty road after the men. He kept his head low and followed them. After they were done they might lead him to the centre of all this. Draedamyr wanted some clarity. Most of all he needed to find Seska.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

A couple of men wearing mismatched, I'll fitting armor stumbled past her. She lay on the muddy ground, careless of the mess it was making of her clothes. Those two had practically tripped over her, and it was sheer luck that she had not been spotted.

Calling these patrols was going a bit far. The people here were not soldiers, were not trained nor disciplined to the task. Hell, half of them were children, kids in their mid teens holding homemade polearms that were no less deadly for being little more than knives bound to poles.

"Something over there!" It was the gruff voice of an adult this time, and it spurred her into motion again. The shout behind her was enough to lend extra speed to her legs. There was no real way for her to outrun humans, and not for the first and certainly not the last time she considered the Art as a solution. If only there wasn't fifty people hunting her down. If only there was not one sorceress she knew of, and possibly others she did not.

If only she thought she could brute force her way out of town. Killing hundreds was certainly within her capabilities, straitened though she might be. The morality of it was something else altogether.

She rounded a corner and crashed into a group of three or four of the younger watchers, gangly youths with homemade weapons in hand. She bounced off the forward boy as if running into a wall, and the comical look of shock on both their faces was made grisly by the flickering torch in his hand. One of the others - a girl - thought quicker than the rest, and darted forward to catch her by the arm in a painful grip. Despite the fact that she couldn't be more than fourteen, it was a grip that the Sidhe did not have the strength to break. She was hauled up to her feet, arm bent at an awkward angle so that she cried out in pain at the motion. "D-demon! You cannot fool us!" The girl's voice was shrill with fear.

The others seemed to be coming to their senses and realizing that they had weapons in hand, and an intruder in their custody. They looked at them, at her, and then set their faces in grim determination.

For a long moment, she swam in pain, twisted arm the only thing she could think of. She could see a child, broken on the ground...and knew she was about to commit the same crime.

 

[Draedamyr]

"That's not a demon."

A single voice cut through the air. There was no menace in it. That came in the soft rasp of a blade being drawn. The few closest to Seska kept their eyes on her. Peasants and ignorant children. Those nearer the back, including the three Draedamyr had followed, turned around. One of them even went as far as lowering a spear towards him.

"Don't point that at me," Draedamyr warned.

"Who are you!?" called the bravest, stood next to the spearman.

"Another demon!" shrieked a child.

Draedamyr ignored them.

"Seska why are you here?" he asked. The ice in his voice melting away.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"Captured," she breathed. She did not know if she should trust her eyes just then. The elfin swordsman had come into town, looking for her?

She had expected him to move on. And so her own expectations were again subverted.

"A sorceress felt my practice of the Art. Someone knocked me from my saddle." She sounded strained, voice tight with pain. The girl holding her did not release her grip, and so the diminutive woman was held powerless by a child. If it was uncommon, it would have been embarrassing.

"Not demons, but neither belong here." The voice cut through the brief conversation between her and Draedmyr as effectively as a knife, stilling the gibbering fear of the girl holding Seska up on her tiptoes. "Especially her," the voice added.

If all the others has the look of children and the poorer class of peasant farmers, the two who approached now had the look if seasoned veterans. Their weapons were not makeshift, and were as well kept as their owners. Both wore padded leather armor that fit.

Mercenaries.

"Issa thought you would be tricksome," the taller of the two said. He had not drawn a weapon, eyed Draedmyr warily. "Didn't think you had friends."

He gestured to his companion. Stepping into full light, it turned out to be a rather fetching young lady with a hard face and hard eyes. A scar on her chin enhanced rather than detracted from her looks. "Bind him, Stella. Watch for any trick, children."

 

[Draedamyr]

"No," he said. He sounded utterly disinterested. His reply would have been ppropriate if someone had asked him if he would have liked another glass of wine. There was a hardness in his gaze as he turned it upon the two mercenaries.

Demons were not his forte, nor were the monsters of the wild. He was not an elven ranger, but he was an elf.

As a refugee he had been left with nothing. No family, no wealth, no place to belong. The clothes on his back and determination and patience. He had dedicated his life to the sword. Those few humans who could match his spirit would perhaps get twenty to perfect the art.

The children would run. Even if the chances of escaping this town were slim he would rather go down with Reverie in his hand.

"Let her arm go, girl."

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

Stella eyed that blade in his elvish hands warily, and with good reason. She could read Draedmyr as well as any other seasoned fighter could, and could see the danger in trying to do as the tall man had said.

"Jarred. That might be unwise." Her voice was as clear and crystalline as spring water in the mountains. No fear in her voice, only pragmatic caution.

"Do not unhand the little imp," Jarred intoned to the girl that held Seska. He turned to Draedmyr, still no weapon in hand. He did not feel the need, after all; they had the numbers, and would have more before long. The people from the farms might be poor with a sword, but they were good with a bow. Bows were easier here.

"Why are you here?" The question was flatly delivered. Behind Draedmyr, another three or four young men arrived, homemade weapons in hand. "If you are a spy for the cities, you can go back to them and tell them they will find no easy meat here. What we have, we will keep. Sending a witch and her shield along will not sway us."

In truth, they did not understand why a city state would. But Issa was paranoid, of Vel Anir in particular. Looking at these non-human made both Jarred and Stella doubt.

"At least drop me down on my feet," the Sidhe gasped in pain, but the girl holding her held for a moment longer before doing what was asked.

 

[Draedamyr]

There were enough of them now that if they have enough bravery and enough discipline they could bring him down before he could carve a path through them. An unskilled ogre in plate mail would have a better chance than his sword.

"I don't even know the name of this place," Draedamyr replied. "It sounds very much like you ambushed my friend as she was riding around your town."

Few of those gathered around them had their feet placed properly to attack. He could probably reach the leader before they got him. Dying to kill a man who would not even fetch a bounty worth his attention.

"We look like spies to you?" he asked in confusion. "I strongly recommend you set her back down on her feet at least."

Eventually Seska would get fed up and make the girl set her down.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She glared at the girl who, though wild eyed and clearly afraid, at least had the decency to look abashed. She did not loosen that death grip on the Sidhe's wrist though.

More people arrived, but it really made little difference to her calculating mind. There had never been a moment when she could have blithely carved a path through these people. Once, long ago, she would not have even considered their lives, much in the way they would not consider the lives of ants. Draedmyr could strike down the leader, but in the same time she could strike all of them down.

What stopped her?

A nameless girl, rough woolens dirty and worn, holding her while she darted fearful eyes from Draedmyr to Jarred to Stella and then to Seska herself? The boy standing behind the elfin swordsman, hand shaking on the half drawn, rusted blade he had probably scrounged from some attic somewhere?

What had they done? She could not even draw anger up at the leader of the group.

"There are spies, and then there are spies. You could have been in the mist. Not everyone that comes back from the mists is...is the same." He did not back down any.

Seska could feel something else approaching. Another caster, on the way. Whatever they chose to do, they were running out of time to do it.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr turned his head just a fraction.

"Draw that blade another inch and you'll lose that hand," the elf whispered. His voice seemed to cut the air as assuredly as his blade surely would.

Draedamyr turned to Seska. For the first time he let his gaze linger on hers. He offered her a slow nod. He turned back towards the two who seemed to be in charge. Now they were truly surrounded. In hindsight he might have stayed to the shadows and waited in case they simply locked Seska away again.

"I represent no city, no organisation and certainly no demons. They very nearly killed us too. We travel north. Walk us to the limits of your town and there doesn't need to be bloodshed here."

He did not promise any more than that. That burned out farmstead still played on his mind. Right now he was in no position to ask questions or make demands. This problem was bigger than something he could fix.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"I cannot do that," Jarred replied to Draedmyr. "Even if I wanted to, I could not." He looked the elf dead in the eyes, nodding slowly. "Spies or not, affiliated or not...we have to detain you. But there does not need to be any bloodshed here," he said in agreement. His hand left his weapon, and he gestured for the boy with the rusty weapon to stand down.

Seska looked at the girl that still had her by the arm in a meaningful way, and she looked back into her pale eyes unabashed. "You hot away once," she said in a high pitched voice, and the Sidhe sighed.

"If we are going to be kept in captivity, how about not in some dark cellar, tied up this time?" She sounded a bit...peckish about that bit of treatment.

"No, you are going to go see Issa and he will decide what to do with you. Not my job to make such a decision." He sounded quite happy to hand them off to someone.

"What is she d-doing out?!" The voice was shrill and wild, and come from the dark haired girl from before. She scarcely looked any less wild now. She pointed an accusing finger at the Sidhe, unsteadily. "Demon touched!"

"Quiet down, Lore. I am looking them to Issa." He sounded as if he was trying to sooth the young woman, but it was clearly not working.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr allowed himself to breathe. His feet had been rooted into a defensive stance, but one that could be shifted into attack quickly.

"Fine. We go talk to Issa."

He turned towards Seska and finally stalked in that direction. The young humans around her backed away at the sight of the gleaming sword moving towards them.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked quietly. He managed to seem as if he paid no attention to anyone but her now. In truth he was carefully watching the others in his periphery. Draedamyr didn't allow the concern he felt to show on his face. It was something that he didn't want these people to think they could use against him.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

It was times like these she wished to be able to communicate telepathically with another living, sentient person. It was nearly in the scope of her abilities to pull off...but unethical at best.

"Only my pride," she said sourly. If she was concerned about their present situation, she did not show it. As the elf approached, the girl that held her swallowed hard, but still retained her grip. She looked at him, defiant. The only thing that spoiled it was her wide eyes. "I have had worse."

"You can't take her to him," Lore protested behind them. She clutched at Jarred's arm, tugging on it plaintively. "She is demon touched. Touched by them!"

"Boss wants to see 'em," he replied gently. "Lead the way, Lissa," he said.

The girl with Seska tugged at the diminutive woman and started moving. "Come on," she said, while Lore kept whining behind them.

 

[Draedamyr]

He did not reach nine centuries of life by being rash. As long lived as they could be most elves did not make four centuries. The dangers of their world. Orcs and disease, hunger and war. He imagined how easy it would be to remove the girl's grip on Seska. Just a swipe that cut the back of her hand to teach a lesson.

Much like the demons it seemed that their interest was in Seska. Even the ones that flanked him seemed more interested in the exchange between the girl and Seska.

They were led further into the small town, at least at first. For all Draedamyr knew the might have been heading out of the far side eventually. In the torchlight he caught sight of the pale orbs of curious faces suspended in the dark night of open windows.

He hoped that this was all just a mundane event. A group of deserters or mercenaries who had decided to do as the ancestors of royalty once had and just take control of land.

Regardless, there was a chance they were being led somewhere they had no hope of escaping.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She focused on one foot in front of the other, ignoring the ache in her arm where the girl gripped her. She was aware of others flanking Draedmyr warily, eyeing the blade in his hand with trepidation at the very least. A skilled swordsman was an easy thing to pick out, after all; the man carried himself with grace and confidence only someone with skill could manage. Of all the handlers here, the only one that might even stand for more than a moment against him was Jarred.

But all were more wary of Seska. Sorceress, and in these parts there was generally an equal measure of awe and fear of such. This was not Elbion, after all. Magecraft was not necessarily rare, but it was uncommon.

"She cannot go there," Lore said again. Her words had become increasingly frantic. It was alarming, even to her, to hear that edge. Something terrible must have happened to the girl to make her so...on edge.

"Lore, that is enough," Jarred said tersely, and before anyone could react or do anything, the girl shrieked and shoved Jarred to one side.

"No! No no no no!!" A moment, the time it took to breath in, and then the girl held power. And in a flash, heat exploded into life. Seska, sensing the flare of power, had just enough time to drop low, her weight throwing the girl holding her off balance enough to fall backward...

...before heat and a violent force slammed into her back. The hand gripping her went slack at the same time everyone near her was tossed violently backward by the blast. Buts of stone slashed through Seska's dress, lacerating her back as blood from the stricken captor splashed on her.

She hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs, all the while Lore shrieked incoherently, and the others called out in alarm, looking every which way. Their confusion was merited, but would likely cost them their lives as the insane sorceress readied another spell.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr moved with a feline grace, but even his keen senses had been slow to pick up the surge in power.

The elf threw himself into a roll, feeling the hot kiss of air across the exposed skin of his cheeks. As he came to his feet he had to yank off the cord of the cloak he had stolen. Little flames danced across the smouldering leather as he discarded it.

He might have been quick enough to throw a knife for the woman's throat. Unfortunately the two nearest youths decided in the chaos that this was his fault and went for him.

Draedamyr leaned away from the swing of a small hammer. A polearm that was a knife on a stick passed inches in front of his face. He grabbed the pole with his left hand, twisting it away. Reverie flashed out twice, it's path followed by a pair of screams.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She rolled onto her back with a gasp of pain, power flooding into her in a rush. She had little time to raise her own defense, as the sorceress was already gathering power in a halo around herself. Seska allowed herself a moment to marvel at the sheer strength Lore possessed. It was inhuman, in fact, and would have been something that led to a great deal of speculation if not for the circumstances.

Any chance that there would be any semblance of sense to this nightmarish situation evaporated quickly. Jarred regained his feet, and rather than turning on Draedmyr and Seska, turned to face Lore. The look of shock on his face was very nearly comical, to Seska. He opened his mouth to speak, before being bowled over by a wave of formless magic, crashing and rolling back towards Draedmyr like a human bowling ball.

The ancient sorceress started to lever herself up, a quick motion from her head setting a zephyr across the street to knock a bow aside, the arrow being loosed landing with a solid thock! into the wall over her head. Another, unsure what to do from their vantage, knocked and drew on the wild-eyed sorceress who even now had her hair rising about her like some kind of shroud. The arrow loosed never made it to her.

"Rejected grace! Anathema, you are to us! You spit on your betters!" The girl's voice held odd harmonics to it, granting her an inhuman voice. Just then, another man - this one with the look of an actual fighter about him - rounded a corner and saw the maelstrom unfolding. He took a moment to calculate his odds, and scarpered off. The young rushed boldly towards death, while those that had a little experienced didn't run so eagerly.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr was afforded some room now that the two kids who had panicked had backed away, clutching at wounds. The others had now come to realise where the danger was. He was glad the foolish stayed. He would need a distraction to get close to the mage.

Nothing about the situation sat well for him. Bounty hunting was a complicated profession when it came to mages. There was normally a great deal of planning to nullify their particular spells and abilities. There was no time for this now. Whatever forge she drew her power from it carried and intense heat that scorched the very winds of magic.

If he had been freed he might have caught her by surprise, but the foolish youths had gone for him. Draedamyr cast his gaze towards Seska. He didn't move towards her. Instead he circled towards the opposite side of Lore. He reached into a pouch with his left hand. His fingers found the smooth wooden peg.

With his thumb he snapped it, and the frond of a pheonix feather inside. A simple piece of magic to retard the effect of any spells close to his body. Expensive and short lasting, he had been saving it for a particularly valuable bounty. Now he needed an opening.

"What is she?" he hissed at their leader, hoping he was still conscious. He didn't expect much given the shock that had been on his face.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

The man rolled over and got to his feet slowly, spitting a stream of bloody saliva to one side. "A girl. She's just a girl," he replied to the elf. Any concern about the elf and the little lady they had caught were completely tossed to the wayside by their current issue.

"Demon touched," Seska said as she got to her feet. The halo of power around the girl was impressive, and certainly far beyond anything a girl of her apparent age. There was an undercurrent within the flow, something she was not familiar with and did not like even in the slightest.

Bedlam reigned around them. Some of the youths, ill armed as they were, struggled to decide what to do and chose poorly as a result, trying to rush at the woman. Something caught them when they came too close, wreathing them in power and dropping them to their knees with no other ill effect, at least at first. A polearm wielding girl fairly exploded in a shower of gore striking at Lore, and one of the captured youths shuddered, blood bursting from his nose.

"She is using them to fuel her sorcery," the Sidhe hissed. Her words seemed to catch the wild girls' attention, for she spun and flung a hand out. Seska cursed, diving out of the way as liquid flame slammed into the stone wall behind her, cracking it with the heat and sending driblets of molten stone running downward.

"Have a care!"

 

[Draedamyr]

"I was going to!" he called back. He wished he hasn't. Lore turned her attention towards him. Their eyes met and the air between them shimmered.

Draedamyr flung a knife. Not because he expected it to strike home but because he needed a distraction. The knife stopped in the air, vibrating in place. It turned orange, then white and finally dissolved in the air.

The elf was now out of sight. He ran as the building he took cover behind was buffeted by an ill wind. The shutters snapped free, pieces of the roof tumbled down.

"Won't she burn herself out?" he called, unsure of exactly where Seska was.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

The Sidhe stood up, face radiating defiance. The sorcery flung at Draedmyr turned aside, splintering wood and cracking stone even as slate shingles flipped loose. She staggered a step, then turned and fled after the elf. She had a measure of what she faced now, and did not like it much.

She hurried until she was just behind the elf, in real danger of tripping over her own skirts as she pelted along behind. It was unfair, she thought wildly, that she had to take two steps for every one of his. It was not a pace she could maintain.

"No," she gasped as she struggled to keep up. "She is not channeling that strength normally!" Such raw strength would have melted the mind of an ordinary human girl quickly. She could feel that storm of power behind her, streaks of something alien poisoning the whole thing.

"Slow...down," she panted. Sweat already marred her face, and a stitch was growing in her side. She was not physically made for this, and was already flagging.

****

The fury she felt did not belong. Lore sent torrents of power at the fleeing backs of the Outsiders, but was not successful in killing the ancient sorceress. She knew the elf- somehow - but did not feel near the hunger for him as she did for the tiny little woman.

There was a war going on in her head, and had been for days. A struggle between some dark, alien part of her mind that had not existed before the red mists and what she knew to be her true self. The dark part was a little girl, incapable of doing what was required to become complete.

Jarred was screaming at her again. Lorr simply looked at him, and the man dropped hopelessly where he stood. The others that had been present when this began were all down, some dead where they knelt, others unconcious. Linked to her in a way that the people would not ubderstand.

Yet.

Her skin crawled on her back, writhing and shifting. Something squirmed under her skin.

Others were arriving now, and Lore began to bawl, silvery hair in disarray. Had it been silver before?

Did it matter?

"They...they killed all of them ," she wailed hysterically to the mismatched 'soldiers' as they arrived. Inside, scheming began in a multitude of voices...

 

[Draedamyr]

He turned sharply behind a wooden hovel of a house. Draedamyr stopped and leaned his shoulder against the wooden boards. The elf was breathing hard enough from the brief sprint.

From here he could just make out the palisades. Torches were being lit throughout the small town. Peasants were sticking their heads out of their houses. Looking at Seska he was reminded that the others of this town between them and its boundaries would probably try and stop them.

Behind them was that girl, possessed by some kind of demon. Draedamyr thought back to Seska's poor pony after it emerged from the mists. Those mists had apparently closed but the demonic taint had not gone.

"We need to get far from here. But first out of this fucking town and to Respite. To your staff. I can't catch her unawares here."