Page 37 of In Darkness Forged
“Hiding won’t save you,” he growled menacingly, and from where she crouched, Aislin could see the hint of a fiery smolder in his amber eyes.
“Oh, but I don’t feel in the least need of saving,” a deep voice drawled from the shadows. “Though I don’t imagine your pet human feels the same at this moment.”
Aislin came to her feet with her hand on the hatchet in her belt, and thought she heard softly mocking laughter from her right.
But there was no further sound as a night elf emerged from the trees in front of her, followed by another from the left, then the right. In the space of a breath, she and her companion found themselves surrounded by menacing figures that seemed quite different from the scouts who had first discovered her near the border.
No two were dressed or armored the same—they wore a strange, patched-together combination of leather and steel, some carrying bows, one an axe, yet another a pair of long curving swords. Three were shifted into their animal forms—a wolf, a lynx, and a gryphon that snapped its beak as it regarded her with golden-eyed intensity.
“An unusual trio,” the one directly in front of them remarked, sounding as casual as if they were meeting in a tavern over mugs of ale. “What might you be doing in such a dangerous part of the forest?”
“I answer to no one,” Aislin’s night elf replied icily. “Much like you. So do not presume to stop me as if you have some right to these lands.”
Then these night elves were also wildings?
“What right do I need when no one claims them? We hunt here for the present, and”—the one confronting them suddenly smiled, and the expression seemed wickedly amused—“I don’t feel like sharing.”
While the newcomer was clearly a night elf with his silver-gray skin and white hair, he was also unlike any night elf Aislin had seen yet. He was dressed to blend into the forest—his clothing a strange assembly that nevertheless gave him a rakish air. That impression was only heightened by the rings that glittered in one ear and the cloth that was bound around his head, covering one eye. Dark scars marked the side of his face, or perhaps those were tattoos—it was difficult to tell in the near-darkness.
He appeared utterly relaxed, almost slouching where he stood, a bow slung over one shoulder while a sword and numerous knives decorated his belt.
“I ask no one’s permission to hunt,” Aislin’s companion said, as if the number of enemies made no difference to him. And perhaps it didn’t. “But if you feel you have something to prove in front of your pack, by all means, challenge me.”
“We’re wildings,” the other night elf replied, a grin curving the corner of his mouth. “What makes you think we care about challenges?”
And then he simply attacked.
The wolf and the gryphon launched themselves at Cuan while four night elves converged on Aislin’s guardian.
For a single frozen moment, she felt almost invisible despite standing in the midst of a raging battle. The fight surrounded her completely and yet seemed not to touch her.
But that might not last forever, particularly if either of her companions fell. Drawing the hatchet from her belt, Aislin removed the sheath and threw it to the side, then glanced around her feet to ensure that nothing would trip her if she needed to move quickly. Not that it would help her much if any of their enemies decided she was a threat, but it felt better to do something than nothing.
And yet, when she looked up again, her mouth seemed to drop open of its own accord as she realized that neither her night elf nor his wolf appeared to have any need of aid.
Her companion’s weapons had simply appeared in his hands as if they were a part of him, and as she watched, the blades themselves came to life with an icy white radiance that snapped and sparked with fury.
And when he moved… He sprang so swiftly she could not have sworn she’d seen him do it, yet he was suddenly across the clearing, leaving two of his opponents groaning on the ground.
Whatever time he’d spent as a prisoner, it had clearly not slowed him down. He moved as if the fight were a dance, his opponents his partners, and the sound of the blades the only music he required. The other night elves tried—Aislin would give them that. But they were so utterly overmatched that it felt like watching children at play.
Beside her, the gryphon let out a scream as Cuan’s teeth snapped together inches from its throat. The smaller wolf leaped into the air, trying for the back of the dreadwolf’s neck, but Cuan twisted with a snarl and snagged its front leg between his jaws.
He could have bitten down and left his opponent with only three legs to stand on, but for some reason, he simply flung the other wolf to the side before dodging the gryphon’s claws.
Perhaps Aislin was mistaken, but… A glance at her night elf companion proved that he, too, was avoiding deadly force. Twice, she saw him strike an opponent with the flat rather than the edge of his blade. If he’d been fighting in deadly earnest, every one of his enemies would already be bleeding out on the forest floor.
Aislin heard exultant laughter from one of his four attackers, as if he were actuallyenjoyingthe experience of being quite thoroughly thrashed.
With a sigh, she lowered her hatchet, wondering whether this was simply a typical night elf way of saying hello, or more like the exuberant fisticuffs engaged in by village boys when attempting to prove themselves.
And that’s when something hit her in the chest, knocking her backwards and driving every bit of breath from her lungs.
For a moment, she couldn’t draw a breath, even to squeak in fear or warning. She tried to lift her hatchet, only to realize it had flown out of her hand when she fell. And anyway, the thing sitting on her chest was far too close for such a weapon to be of any use.
The lynx. She’d lost sight of the lynx, and it had used her distraction to sneak close enough to pounce.
Glowing green eyes and a mouthful of fangs filled her vision. The beast was heavy—this lynx was the size of a full-grown sheep—and she couldn’t move without its claws sinking deeper into her skin.