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“Come on, we’ll be late for dinner if we’re not back soon.” Mari waved Ifan on and continued along the woodland path out of the forest.
Ifan scowled, his eyes fixating on an oak tree about 15 feet away. The scene remained stationary, his gaze failing to find anything unusual. The uneasy feeling in his gut continued, but Ifan relented, persuading his horse to follow Mari.
A few moments later, Ifan sighed – the feeling of unease remained but Mari’s nonchalance had just barely convinced him that he must have been jumping at shadows. The pair continued on past the large grassy hill that was now on their right, the silence broken by Mari’s grumbling stomach. “Aha, sorry about that. Can’t wait to get back to the guild for food. What’s it today? Tuesday? Doris has planned glazed ham and potatoes if I remember right.” Her mouth salivated at the thought, but her mind was dragged away after her eyes met Ifan’s blank expression. “You feeling alright?”
“Hmm?” Ifan snapped out of his daze and blinked at Mari’s concern, “Yeah, I’m… What were we talking about?”
“I was talking about food. Did you even hear my stomach growl? It was as loud as Gustov’s snoring.” Mari smiled at Ifan who barely reciprocated.
“No. I, uh, didn’t, no.” Ifan’s eyes danced around the surroundings, the unease rising from his stomach to his chest, as his breath became strained. Every shift in the light, every crunch of leaves underfoot, and every bird’s chirp attacked Ifan’s senses.
“Do we need to stop? You look pale. Paler than usual that is.” Mari pulled her horse to a standstill, her face bathed in worry. Ifan followed suit, his head dancing from his left to his right, his eyes settling on every perceptible change in the surroundings.
“Something is off. That tree – someone was there. I know it.” Ifan’s breath became erratic, the air slipping in and out of gritted teeth. He closed his eyes. “There.” Ifan opened his eyes, the white glow returning as he stared to the east into the thicket. In the distance, a shadowy figure was dashing through the trees, their steps light but not silent.
“Shit, you’re right.” Mari followed Ifan’s gaze, spotting the figure after a few seconds. Ifan reared his horse back and burst off into a gallop. Mari spotted him in her peripherals as she followed the figure’s movements and made chase after her brother. Ifan’s horse struggled as the forest became dense; noticing it slow, Ifan patted it on the neck and stepped off, strapping his rucksack to the saddle. Mari followed suit and sped after him as he sprinted in pursuit of the mysterious figure, fighting to keep up.
The figure noticed the pair’s approach, as Ifan tore through the vegetation with his sword, his stride unbroken. Cursing under their breath, they drew their weapons, aware that they weren’t going to outpace their determined white eyed pursuer. Ifan stood opposite the shroud covered figure, both panting heavily as they weighed their opponent up. The leaves underfoot shifted as Ifan strafed around the elven man; his ears and yellow eyes the only features visible under his leather cowl. Mari was still hacking her way through the overgrowth, watching as the man twirled two small daggers between his fingers – his gaze locked on Ifan.
“What business do you have here? Why draw your weapons?” Ifan’s sword twitched as the daggers flitted around their owners’ hands.
“I could ask you the same,” responded the elf, his gravelly voice grating on Ifan’s ears.
“Ha, well – I suppose you could,” said Ifan. Mari approached from behind, her feet crunching twigs as she stepped closer to Ifan, wand drawn – catching the attention of the elf. “We’re here on a job for our guild. My sister and I.” Ifan jerked his head in the direction of Mari, who nodded in agreement. “Your friends hid themselves from us; and you are running through these woods covered in darkened leather garbs. You can hardly blame us for being suspicious.”
“So, they’ve been seen too. I can’t let you live I’m afraid.” The elf’s eyebrows hardened as he shifted his weight forward and gripped his daggers tightly. Striking forward, he feinted towards Ifan before throwing his dagger in Mari’s direction. Ifan heard a cry from his right as Mari went down, her wand rustling the leaves as it fell from her hands. Parrying the first real attack, Ifan glanced at his sister in the brief pause granted to him after knocking his attacker back. She was holding her stomach, her blood coating her hands. She was on her knees, struggling for breath. Ifan let out an anguished cry, before swinging his sword with both hands towards the elf. Using his one remaining dagger, the elf blocked each blow with precision. Ifan pushed the elf back with each strike, hoping to break his balance.
With light steps, the elf pranced backwards on the balls of his feet. Each attack from Ifan was easy to predict, his attacks wide and arcing. “Sorry boy, maybe another few years and you’d be able to keep up, but for now –” Ifan’s angered cries filled the air as the onslaught continued, a red mist appearing in between the pair. The elf winced in pain before noticing his left hand was missing. The appendage slumped to the floor, bouncing off of Ifan’s knee as he pressed on, hacking away at the unknown attacker. “Fucking hell!” The elf fell backwards, his heel catching on a large, gnarled branch. Ifan stood over him, his face red with blood – his white eyes piercing the elf’s will. Ifan drove his sword into the elf’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He cried in pain as Ifan walked back to Mari, clasping his hand over hers and pulling out his prayer beads from his pocket. The elf craned his neck, watching his captor heal his victim. “You’re a healer; a priest?” A pained laugh erupted from the elf through wheezes and bloody spluttering. “You’re a fucking monster.” He peeled his mask off his face with his remaining hand, wiping away the blood pooling in the corners of his mouth.
Ifan helped Mari onto her feet, grabbing her wand and placing it in her hands. “I won’t be long – we’ll need to catch up to his troop after I finish questioning him. Mind sending Terry after them?”
“No problem.” Mari stood frozen at her brother’s bloody visage. He smiled, before turning and heading back over to the elf. “Terry.” Mari waved her wand and conjured her feline companion, smaller this time, and pointed her in the direction the elf was running in.
“I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?” Ifan stepped over the elf, curling his fingers around the hilt of his sword.
In response, the elf spat blood in Ifan’s face.
Ifan twisted the sword. The elf released a scream of agony. “We’ll find out soon enough.” Ifan pulled his sword from the elf, keeping his boot pressed firmly against his chest. Replacing the blade back in its scabbard, Ifan reached down for the branch the elf tripped over. “Let’s hope this doesn’t give you any nasty infections,” Ifan slammed the sharpest end of the branch into the open wound on the elf’s shoulder, eliciting another pained screech. Twisting it into place, Ifan dug it into the soft earth underneath his prisoner, until its tip was buried a few inches underground. Each turn of the branch brought out a shriek of pain, as wood knots made their way through the open wound, digging their way through the elf’s flesh. The white glow in Ifan’s eyes dissipated and he knelt down over his squirming prey. “Hold still.” He pulled his prayer beads from his pocket once more and began chanting his prayer.
“Just kill me.” The elf winced as the wound healed around the moss-covered branch. Ifan’s hands worked their way down to the bloody stump at the end of the elf’s left arm and he continued his prayer. The elf’s skin slowly made its way across the exposed flesh, his blood being locked back in his body. “Why?”
“Can’t have you dying on us. As I said, hopefully the branch doesn’t give you any infections.” Ifan flashed a smile at the elf, who returned a pained expression.
“You’re psychotic.”
“Would you rather be dead? Now, if you remove this branch, you’ll reopen the wound, and your likelihood of contracting tetanus will go up massively. So, promise me you’ll sit tight until we deal with your friends.” Ifan stood up and returned his beads to his pocket.
Through gritted teeth, the elf replied, “Fine.”
