Chapter 2 #2
She crossed the city gates and bounded onto the road, the dirt crunching under her boots.
Its monotonous sound helped bring her back to reality and focus on her mission.
Revenge was the only thing left for her now.
She had to push this loathing and self-hatred out of her mind. They would not serve her purpose.
The thought of this lonely road ahead of her made her heart sink, but her legs pumped harder as the image of the Dark Elf towering over Lindana’s dead body fueled her rage. She didn’t even break a sweat as she approached Emerald Forest. Running was second nature to her, and she was fast.
As she came to a path in the forest, she searched the spaces between the trees, then trailed her eyes up to the treetops. No animals or woodland creatures stirred. A stillness like this meant only one thing.
Something loud had recently passed through, most likely temple guards in pursuit of the assassin.
Her gaze dropped to the forest floor, checking for tracks. Fresh footprints dotted the path, overlapping and jumbled, making it difficult to distinguish one set from another. But that, too, was a good sign; it confirmed the guards were hot on the assassin’s trail.
Trusting her instincts, she followed the footprints until they veered off into a dense thicket of tangled underbrush and toppled, moss-covered trees.
Years ago, a fierce summer storm had swept through this part of the forest, tearing down the trees with its swirling winds and lightning strikes.
In the aftermath, new life had sprung from the decay beneath the crisscrossed remains of fallen branches.
Also, gnarled roots jutted from the ground, turning the forest floor into a treacherous maze that demanded deliberate, careful steps.
The assassin clearly intended to lose his pursuers here.
Clever.
But not clever enough.
She knew where the thicket led, and more importantly, she knew a faster way to get there.
Without hesitation, she turned away from the tangled mess and continued down the main path, leaving the muddled footprints behind.
While the assassin and the guards struggled through the overgrowth, she would take the easier route, skirting the thicket and heading toward a clearing where the forest opened up.
The sun was high in the sky. But the trees provided welcoming shade. Emerald Forest was bright and green by day, and cold and dark by night. This would have been an otherwise lovely day, had she not had such a grim task ahead of her.
She pressed forward, her swift steps and the rhythmic crunch of twigs beneath her boots were the only sounds to accompany her. The clearing lay just ahead, a sun-dappled patch in the distance, framed by tall, white paper birch trees.
As she approached the clearing, shouts pealed through the forest. No wonder all the woodland creatures were staying hidden.
She knelt behind the copse of birch trees and waited .
A figure in all black then climbed his way out of the thicket by bending down under a low-hanging branch dripping with ivy, the assassin from the temple.
Her heart thudded in her chest, and her hand itched for her sword to end this now, but she controlled her breathing to calm her agitation, and more importantly, her lust for blood.
Breathe in, slowly. And out, slowly. Hastiness was foolhardiness, and she was a careful planner.
She was a soldier, and ten years of discipline ingrained in her taught her the value of thinking things through.
The Dark Elf stepped into the clearing without checking it out first. She smirked, feeling confident in herself.
How reckless he was. She then remembered that he had caught her unawares and was able to kill the high priestess under her supposed careful watch.
The smirk disappeared from her face. He was no amateur either.
As the voices behind him grew closer, so did his urgency to escape. The assassin fumbled for something that was tied in a pouch around his neck. But the yells coming from the thicket were almost upon him now, so he gave up on it.
He was distracted, focused on the threat ahead, and wouldn’t expect danger from behind.
Her choice was clear. Surprise was her best weapon—strike while his back was turned and catch him off guard before he realized she was there.
He carried twin daggers; she had but a single sword.
In a direct duel, her longer blade might grant an edge, but that advantage meant little if he was faster. Dueling should be the last resort.
A shiver passed through her flesh as a vivid image appeared—Lindana’s bright red blood pooling around her, staining her once pristine robes.
Those blades were evil. She’d rather not test and see for herself their wickedness.
Another sound turned her attention to the thicket.
The first temple guard appeared, stepping carefully with long legs over gnarled overground roots.
Their white uniforms made them easy to spot.
Another one appeared and then another. Three guards made their way toward the assassin now who stood in the middle of the grassy clearing and removed his twin daggers, readying himself for combat.
She took the opportunity to strike as his back was turned to her, leaving her hiding spot and sneaking toward the Dark Elf from behind. One of the guards noticed her, but she made a gesture for him to remain quiet.
With steps as quiet as a field mouse, she rushed to him, sword held out at her side, aiming to strike him from behind.
All she could see was his back, draped in a black hooded cloak, but the hood had fallen, and the wind played through his long, white hair, whipping the unruly strands about.
She was close now. Her fingers tightened around the hilt as she raised her blade, angling it toward the space just below his ribs.
If she drove it upward, precise and forceful, it would pierce through vital organs. A clean, almost instant kill.
As she came upon him, she caught his scent from downwind. Everything else around her was a blur. Her vision tunneled as she trained her eyes to focus on the spot on his back where she would give the fateful blow.
But something went wrong. In an instant, he turned around to face her. Something must have caught his attention, must have given her away. Their eyes met, and his bloodstone red eyes went wide. He did not expect to see her there. She had but precious seconds left before he reacted.
Her plan was foiled somehow, but adrenaline was pumping, and she refused to give up. Seeing an opening, she took a stab at his neck. He avoided her attack with a dodge, but just barely.
Now, in an attacker’s position, knees apart, slightly hunched with sword lifted neck-level, pointed toward her target, she took another thrust at him, but he dodged, jumping back, arching his body away as her sword met with empty air.
Frustrated but not dismayed, she went for his neck again as he’d left it open, but this time was met with a quick cross-block from his daggers and then a riposte, which she narrowly avoided by ducking, reminding her that his dual-wielding daggers had the advantage now that she understood his skill level.
She was unable to find another opening after he’d turned his full attention onto her, and they squared up to one another in a duel.
He had the advantage. But she had numbers. The others would come to her aid, but would they be fast enough?
She decided against another direct attack. It was risky. He was too fast.
Lowering her sword to a defensive position, she sought a different strategy. Perhaps a feint? Would he fall for her going for his neck again, thinking her foolhardy? And she could strike lower this time …
But, surprisingly, he then sheathed his twin daggers in the middle of combat.
The other guards were closing in, making a circle around him.
He reached for the thing he was fumbling around for earlier in the pouch about his neck, a small dark red orb, then crushed it between his fingers, and a black liquid dripped like blood onto the ground.
Whatever it was, it stunk. The odor assaulted her nostrils.
It smelled like day-old fish and putrid swamp water.
He must be crazy.
She stepped closer, blade ready at her side. Now that he was unarmed and preoccupied, he was making this too easy for her.
But when she lunged her sword at him, he disappeared before her very eyes.
There was a dagger to her throat before she even knew it.
His other arm snaked around her waist, seizing her sword arm and locking it in place.
She struggled, twisting against his hold, but he only tightened his grip, pulling her closer.
Even though she was considered tall for a female, he was taller and stronger than she.
He brought her into position to face the guards. His voice was as deadly as his blade. “Not another step, or I’ll slit her pretty little throat.”
“And you,” he whispered in her ear. His voice changed; it was low, sensual even. “Be very still and hold me tight.”