Light Chasers: A Novel of Lasniniar

Chapter Seventeen-3

“Thoughtful of you,” the leader said. “But I have already eaten.” He indicated another body on the ground behind him.

Lodariel bit her knuckles to hold back a choked sob. The drained corpse was Beliarani. Her second-in-command’s skin was chalky and bloodless.

“There is a camp not far from here with more elves,” the visitor from the fens said. “This one was their sentry. The others would be easy, sleeping prey.”

“Why didn’t you kill them yourself?” the leader demanded.

“There were five of them, and I was traveling alone. It is more than I could drink. I thought since your camp was nearby, I would share them with you.”

“We have already eliminated one group of elves wandering this area,” the leader said. “While the information there is another nearby intrigues me, your decision to kill the sentry was foolish. If any of the others wake to find their sentry missing, they will be alerted. You should have either stayed your hand and brought me news of their location, or killed them all. Now I have no choice but to clean up this mess. You have forced my hand.” The leader’s voice had grown disapproving.

The visitor cringed and knelt. “My apologies, Orag. My only thought was to please you.” The part of Lodariel’s mind that was still working wondered whether Orag was a title or the creature’s name. Her knowledge of the Black Tongue was by no means complete. She decided from the subservient way the drakhal was behaving, it must be a title.

The Orag pursed his dark lips, considering the cringing figure at his feet. “Since you have created this problem, you will be the one to fix it. Take some of my people with you and take care of the rest of the elves. Make certain none of them survive, and perhaps I will forgive your lapse of judgment.”

Lodariel was in motion before the creature finished speaking. She sprang like a startled deer and pelted back to her camp, bitter tears streaming down her face. Iadrawyn’s vision had been right. Lodariel deeply regretted her decision to split up their group. But what else could she have done? Struggling to get herself under control, she dashed into the dark, silent camp and began rousing the rest of her squad.

After she had gathered everyone, she spared a few moments to outline what she had learned. Her words were met with stunned silence.

“We must flee,” Lodariel said. “There is no time to pack. The drakhalu will be here soon. If we encounter them, do your best not to engage unless it is necessary. The goal is to reach Vila Eadros with the information we have gathered.” Lodariel met the eyes of each of her four remaining scouts to drive her point home. This was no time for heroics.

“Let’s go.” She launched into a run, leading them northeast in a route that would avoid the drakhal camp.

The surviving elf scouts ran in silence. The night wind rushed through Lodariel’s ears and pulled her long braids free to flow behind her. Her narrowed eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of the enemy. Overhead, the clouds swelled once more, blotting out the moon. She felt a large, cold drop land on her bare arm, exposed by her trailing cloak. Moments later, the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down. Soon her clothes were plastered to her skin.

Without the moon, it was difficult to say how long their flight lasted. Lodariel estimated they had been running for at least an hour. The rain had not abated. Above them, the heavens roiled and the occasional rumble of thunder boomed across the sky, echoing in the distance. They must be getting close to the Riliara. If they could reach the river and cross it, they would be back in Vila Eadros territory.

The sun would be rising soon, but with the heavy cloud cover, it might not even matter. Lodariel looked back to ensure her scouts still followed and silently waved them on in encouragement. As she turned back to face northeast, a clap of thunder sounded almost directly overhead. A crackling flash of lightning followed, lighting up the sky for mere seconds before disappearing to plunge them into darkness once more.

Lodariel’s senses tingled. She had seen shadows in the brief instant before the darkness had returned. She thought she counted three.

They were no longer alone.

Stumbling to a halt, she signaled the attention of the others. They wouldn’t hear her over the rain and thunder without shouting, so she used hand gestures to indicate what she had seen. Although she had made their primary objective to reach Vila Eadros with their information, she did not want these creatures letting the others know they had passed this way.

She did not want to do anything to upset the schedule of the drakhalu. Now she and her remaining scouts knew when the creatures were planning to attack. If the drakhalu thought the elves would be prepared, those plans could change and the information would be useless.

Lodariel assigned two of her fastest runners to act as rabbits, running past the roaming drakhalu toward the elven village. The others would deal with the dark creatures to allow them the chance to flee. They would not have much time. The drakhalu were at home in the darkness. Lodariel had only spotted them by chance before she and her scouts stumbled into them.

With a wild shout, Lodariel led the charge, throwing herself at the nearest drakhal. The creature was momentarily surprised by her vicious attack, allowing her to land a few blows with her spear before defending himself. Sparing a glance, she saw the other two drakhalu had been successfully engaged while the shadows of her messenger scouts were dashing for the river.

She soon realized the one she fought was not very strong. She felt confident she could finish him whenever she wanted, so she dragged out the fight to buy more time, counting on the others to hold their own. She flashed the creature a grin as they circled.

A sharp cry distracted her. She turned to see one of her fighting scouts crumple to the ground. She shuddered in disgust as the drakhal began to feed. Her distraction proved costly.

“There are two others fleeing for the river!” the one she had been fighting shouted as he noticed the retreating shadows.

The feeding drakhal’s head snapped up, his face dripping with the elf’s lifeblood. Spotting the fleeing scouts, he abandoned his meal and gave chase.

Cursing her inattention, Lodariel feinted with her spear while pulling a stake free from her belt with her other hand. She jammed the fire hardened, wooden tip into the creature’s chest.

The creature dropped its dagger and clutched at its chest for a moment with a surprised grimace of pain before collapsing. Lodariel was already running after the other drakhal chasing her fleeing scouts.

But her quarry was too fast, and she was too late. The creature pounced on the closest scout like a lion on a frightened gazelle, snapping the elf’s neck in seconds. He had already moved on to the next target by the time Lodariel caught up. She sensed the arrival of the third drakhal behind her, having disengaged from the battle to help take down the fleeing elves. This one was female. The scout who had been attacking her staggered to follow, already badly wounded.

“Run!” Lodariel shouted at the remaining messenger scout, who had turned back to see what had happened to his partner.

Startled back into action, the fleeing scout turned away. Lodariel lunged after the male drakhal who followed. She managed to sink her spear deep into the creature’s back, but he didn’t slow. He caught up to the elf he was chasing. Wrapping one arm around his prey’s head, he pulled it back and ripped out the jugular in one savage bite. Lodariel felt a shiver of fear. This creature was a vicious animal. And now she faced him and another drakhal with only one wounded elf at her side.

Pushing her fear aside, she threw herself at the male while he was distracted by the blood he had just shed. She attacked him like a woman possessed, sinking her spear into him wherever she could. But the creature had just fed twice, and her rain of blows didn’t faze him. Instead, he turned to face her, flashing a bloody grin.

Lodariel sank into a wary crouch. Even though she knew the attack would come, she was still not quick enough to block it. The male drakhal struck like a snake, landing a solid hit on her face. Her nose made a sickening crunch and she tasted blood.

Lodariel shook herself to clear her ringing ears. A wave of fury washed over her and a berserker’s laugh bubbled from her bloody lips as she channeled the anger into battle rage. A brief flicker of confusion crossed the drakhal’s face. She chose that moment to throw herself at him, driving the point of her spear into his eye. He shrieked, raising his hands to claw her away from his face. She let go to draw her stake from her belt. While the wounded drakhal pawed at his bloody eye socket, she drove the point home into his chest. With a final scream, he fell.

Lodariel turned to see what was happening between her last remaining scout and the female drakhal. At first, she couldn’t see either of them in the heavy rain. Then she noticed the crumpled outline of an elf on the ground and the retreating form of the last drakhal. She was running with a limp.

Lodariel didn’t hesitate. She dropped both spear and stake to draw a headless arrow from her quiver. The sharpened wooden tip was made for drakhal hunting. She nocked it in her bow and sent it flying through the darkness. It hit the female in the back, piercing her heart. She collapsed mid-stride.

Now there was no one to carry the tale of this battle back to the Orag. Once the sun rose, the bodies of the drakhalu would be dust and the elves could retrieve their fallen scouts. The rain would wash all traces of her group’s passage away.

The victory was hollow. Lodariel was the only elf who had survived. Now she had to return alone to Vila Eadros to prepare the village to face two approaching armies. Pushing back the black wave of despair that threatened to overwhelm her, she ran into the night, tears streaming down her face.