“Why didn’t they fight back,” Ayara asked herself repeatedly.  She hugged herself while pacing between two trees.  The forest floor had been swept clean by her circling footsteps. “No, they did fight back,” she assured her fretting mind. “They just weren’t good at it except for that big one and his friends.” The sky was a pale blue as morning came with the sun out of the west. “The rest weren’t soldiers.” She shook her head. “They didn’t deserve to die.”  She shut her eyes tight.  “They’re soldiers. It’s their duty. Why didn’t they fight back? Or flee? More should have fled. I would have let them go.”

A familiar tromping in the woods drew near, one that was the grace of an elf hampered by a giant’s oafishness.  She rose and mustered a smile as she faced Kornin. 

“It’s me, Ayara,” Kornin announced as he emerged between two trees.  His club, bobbing against his left shoulder, knocked off loose branches.   Just above, a quilled squirrel jabber in anger.  “There’s a road down there.  As I recall from Chrincha’s maps, it’s Hangman’s Road.  It’ll take us right to the prison if we go east.” He tilted his head back. “But not yet.  It looks like a lot of troops were heading there now.  They looked pretty beat up.  Probably from the camp that Bonnelle and the Lieutenant hit.”

Closing her eyes as she turned her head down, Ayara tried to hide her shame.  They had to be from the southwest camp; she and Kornin left no almost no survivors at the western one.  Those brave soldiers fought to the last for their Dread Lord.  Those poor soldiers barely managed a few cuts and bruises.  Those dead soldiers probably wouldn’t even be spared the dignity of cremation or burial and be left for the scavengers.

He set down his weapon, leaning it against a tree.  The club was tall enough that he had to grip it both hands and look up while trying to wedge the tip between a couple of boughs to hold it in place.  “No scouts. There’s no point to looking for us since they know we’re going to the prison next. That’ll be watched well enough Bonnelle won’t even bother trying to sneak in.  Probably another of those ‘ways things are done around here.’  The Dread Lord will expect us to face the soldiers head on for the last battle.”

Ayara rushed to Kornin and embraced him.  Her arms barely reached around his chest as she leaned into his back, laying her head against his right shoulder.  Although he was pungent and sweat-soaked she smiled as she nuzzled her face into the side of the neck.  “Thank you for calling them soldiers,” she whispered.

“Are you okay?”  Kornin wrapped his right hand around to rub the back of Ayara’s head.  It felt scratchy as her short hair was mussed under the scarf she wore.

 “I’ve been better.” Her voice was a little too loud and shaky. Bonnelle and Chrincha would arrive soon.  She needed to regain calm before then.

The couple stood in silence, their breathing and still-racing hearts the loudest things in a cold wood which she had turned into a graveyard.  Just as she had done in that cave.  At least this time, someone could say she’d fought soldiers.   

Ayara’s heart pounded and she stepped away from Kornin.  When she clasped her hands together the plates on the palms of her gloves clacked. Then she breathed deep, slow, and deliberate.  “Please, Kornin, just leave me alone for a moment,” she thought to herself.  Fortunately, he did.  His boots crunched in the carpet floor of old leaves and needles as he busied himself by looking over the perimeter.  When a far-off horse neighed, accompanied by the relaxed thumping of four sets of horse hooves in the soft ground, both elves turned their attention west, although neither were tense. 

“It’s just us,” Bonnelle announced with cheer.  She waved at the elves.  Her bright red hair shone between the trees as it swayed across the dwarf’s back. She and Lt. Chrincha rode into the clearing, with two additional horses in tow. 

“I trust your hunt was as successful as ours?”  The Lieutenant rode with a stiff back, as though he were being presented in a parade.

Hunt.  The word turned in Ayara’s mind.  Had they been demoted from fallen soldiers to simple prey? Did he believe that?

“We were successful in our mission as well.” Kornin’s voice was stern. “It seems you found a horse dealer somewhere in these woods.”

“Their masters had no more use for them.” Bonnelle flipped her hair as she smiled, broad and smug.

Stoking her black and brown face, Ayara admired one of the mares.  The animal sighed affectionately.  It seemed a sweet animal for an orc’s war horse.

Bonnelle dismounted with great care.  Lt. Chrincha tapped his foot after he descended his horse and waited for her.  Finally on the ground, Bonnelle presented her key stone.  “This domain uses green ones! I never saw that before; most are blue.”

“That just leaves the sprites,” Kornin said.  He waved his key stone at the others, shrugging his shoulders with indifference.

Ayara turned her head down so fast she worried they’d noticed.  Her cheeks burned.  The horse leaned in, pushing against Ayara’s hands.

“Assuming they are reliable. They aren’t elves, after all.”  He noticed Ayara’s stern glare with a start.  “Or dwarves.”

“I’m surprised they weren’t here before the rest of us! But Renaut can be … thorough … in these campaigns.”  Bonnelle pocketed the key stone. 

“Thorough?” Ayara looked up. “Our mission was to get the keystone. Elimination of the enemy wasn’t necessary.” Perhaps even avoidable, she hoped.

Chrincha and Bonnelle gawked at the tall elf.

“Wasn’t necessary?” The elf’s mouth hung open. His upper-left lip curled in a sneer.

Raking her hands through her hair, Bonnelle asked “How much of the western camp survived?”

“Half,” Kornin was quick to respond.  His voice was stern, as though there could be no doubt.    

“Half?” Ayara turned to her lover, a smile on her face.

As he looked at her from the corner of his eye, he gave her a quick nod.

“Pathetic,” Chrincha said.

“Please understand that these very murderous orcs and trolls are gathering at the prison grounds to join whatever defenses were in place there.  Likely some of the best in the domain.  Sparing them last night only makes things that much more dangerous later!” Bonnelle sighed as she shook her head. “Amateurs.”

“They weren’t dangerous,” Ayara responded with petulant curtness. “

“Except that really big one with the sword,” Kornin added. “And a couple others.”

Ayara shuddered as she remembered that beast.  His weapon could charitably be called a sword.  It was more like a metal door with a handle attached.  Every time the troll swung his weapon, he knocked another tree down.  His wanton destruction was more unnerving because of the glowing feather worn about his chest that lit his face from beneath, giving him a ghoulish golden visage.

“Those would be the War Masters,” Bonnelle said. “They’re the orcs and trolls who know how to fight.  Not like those clumsy trainees at the southwest camp!”

“I would feel some shame if even a tenth of them survived,” said the Lieutenant with a graven tone. 

“That doesn’t mean they can’t be dangerous! Orcs and trolls are quite strong. Trolls have incredible tough skin, too.  Sure, most are barely trained, but don’t make the mistake of thinking they can’t overwhelm you!”

“Sorry!” Ayara threw her hands up in the air.  “Next time we’ll make sure to kill anyone and everyone who crosses our paths.  Troll, orc, goblin …” She looked up and the spikey furred squirrel chomping on an acorn as he watched the argument.  “Should I kill that thing, too?”

“She’s in hysterics,” Chrincha said.

“We’re not mindless slaves like your national army,” Kornin growled at Chrincha.  He leaned forward, his hands in fists.  Ayara rushed between them and took Kornin’s hands into hers. 

“Yendell’s army is not made of slaves!” Chrincha stepped forward, choking his staff weapon in his fist.

“There is a mandatory term of service for all Yendell citizens,” Bonnelle said, leaning against a tree. “They may not be slaves, but they’re certainly compelled to serve.”

After Chrincha and Kornin glowered at each other the officer disengaged.  Turned his flushed face away and stormed to the other side of the clearing, using his staff as a walking stick.  With each step he jabbed the end into the ground. “I wouldn’t expect Fairlaighans to understand.” He looked to the sky.  “Where are those sprites?”

The dwarf held a glass bulb to her face.  It was fixed around her thick, pale neck with a thin gold chain.  She frowned into the glass, then shook it, while mumbling curses.

There were three metal flecks caught inside the seeking sphere, each enchanted to point in the direction of a particular item, in this case the key stones.  Two of the metal pieces rested on the bottom, indicating they were in the presence of their targets, while a third pressed against side of the sphere facing north. 

“I suspect they’re on their way,” Bonnelle said with a sigh.  “Nothing wrong with getting a little rest in before the battle.”

“It makes one sluggish,” Lt. Chrincha stated.

 “We wait while the enemy gathers their forces in preparation.”  He held up his own Seeker Sphere which held five slivers in it.  These were tuned to the enchanted items used to lure the team to the Prison of Eternal Suffering. “Should we fall, I will hold the sprites personally responsible.”

More time passed.  Nearing noon, the sky was as bright and the forest as lush as possible in the dreary Land of Darkness. Just as the Lieutenant had warned, sluggishness beset Ayara as he hunched on a moss-laden rock.  Although her joints ached and muscles burned, she didn’t betray it with a groan or grimace.  No one spoke save for quick bursts of dry conversation as everyone avoided broaching the unthinkable.

There was a light tapping at Bonnelle’s chest.  Ayara’s attention turned there but wavered as she tried to covertly watch the dwarf’s fleshy cleft.  One of the slivers of stone rapidly tapped the north-facing side of the glass globe. 

The dwarf sat on a log, obliviously swinging her feet, and humming a tuneless song. Then she looked down and gasped.  “They’re coming with the stone!”

It only meant the key stone approaches, Ayara thought. Although she understood her boss’s optimism.  She approached the north end of the clearing and then leaned to peer through the woods.  A raven approached.  The bird’s flight zigged and zagged between trees and the wings bent awkwardly with each flap.  “It’s only Caw Caw … and he seems hurt.”

“Impossible.” Bonnelle left her seat and stood beside Ayara.  Although she leaned forward, too, her voice was cut off by shrubs.  “They’re as experienced in the Dark Lands as I!”

Caw Caw burst into the clearing amongst leaves and twigs before crashing face-first into the dirt with one wing unfolded.  The crow heaved in wheezing breaths, his beak caught open.   Kornin crouched and picked up the animal.  While Henri’s bridle and saddle, fashioned from colorful scraps, were still attached to the bird, there was no sign of a rider.  

“Rough night?” Kornin cooed to the bird as he patted his head softer than should be possible with those giant, rough hands. 

He’d always had a soft sport for animals.  Perhaps someday he and Ayara could work in a farm, she thought.

“The key stone!” Chrincha retrieved the green block left behind by the bird and Kornin.  “The sprites were successful after all!” He pocketed the stone.

“But where are the sprites, Chrincha,” Bonnelle snapped at him.

“They’re your team …”

“It’s a problem for you, too! Their magic is vital to beating a campaign!” Bonnelle roamed the clearing.  She whipped her head about as she looked for either of the sprites.  “I don’t think Caw Caw could have made it here on his own. One of them must have driven him,” she mumbled.

After sucking in a deep breath, Lt. Chrincha said: “My apologies, Lady Rhodian. That was insensitive of me.”  His chest quickly deflated as he spoke.

“That’s good of you.  Now where are Henri and Renaut?”

“Here! I’m here.” Renaut’s tinny voice emerged from a bush which shook with each word.  She strolled into the clearing, pulling at the cloth which swaddled her.  “I fell off just before landing.”

Bonnelle knelt before the sprite. She raked her gloved fingers in the dirt  “What happened? Is Henri okay?”

The sprite sat on her rear.  Her hood puffed out as she let off a lingering, pained cry of exasperation.  She huffed in ragged breaths, each making the hood billow around her face, before she answered. “They captured Henri!”

“Impossible,” Bonnelle blurted.

“Not killed?” Chrincha stoked his chin. “That seems very un-orc-like.”

Renaut took a moment.  “No, not killed! There’s some goblin mastermind leading them.  He found a way to defeat our magic, like he was human, and then he tied up Henri and paraded him around like a trophy!”

Kornin and Ayara exchanged looks of concern once Renaut mentioned humans.  They both quickly understood it had no bearing on them and returned to focusing on the current situation and hoped nobody noticed their brief distraction.

“Monsters,” Kornin muttered.   As he cradled Caw Caw in the cruck of his arm he bandaged the bird’s wounds.

“Also, those key stones are useless! I overhead the monsters talking about how something went wrong and the barrier around the prison was never erected.”

“We’ve wasted all this time?!” Chrincha huffed, his face reddening, his ears almost standing straight out.

“Quiet, Lieutenant,” Bonnelle said. “Renaut, you’re sure Henri is alive?”

The sprite’s hood flopped up and down as she nodded her head.  “Yes! They stripped him of his robes and had him bound up in wire but he was alive.”

“Perverse creatures.” Kornin’s lip curled in disgust. “Humiliating a prisoner.”

“I don’t know how they beat him. I was unconscious and got to him too late.” Renaut sniffed.  “We must go back! We must rescue him!”

“Unconscious?” The dwarf urged the sprite on in a way that reminded Ayara of when she was a child. Back then, her father and uncle would regale she and her brother with tales of warriors and dragons, making up the tale based on the kids’ reactions.  

“Yeah. Some fat orc knocked me out in a fight.  I think he’s one of the Lead War Master’s party, so it makes sense he’d be tough.  Goes by the name of Gohta.” Renaut reached up and stuck her hand through her hood to massage her neck.  “I woke up before he did and was able to get away.” She sniffed, the robes making a sullen heave as she did.  “They killed Chirpers, too.”

Kornin gasped.

“I happened across Caw Caw while watching what the monsters did to Henri.  I didn’t want to risk a rescue since I didn’t know if that goblin could affect my magic, too.  So we decided it was better to come back for help. In their celebration they’d forgotten about the key stone, so I grabbed it.”  She paused and let off a stuttering whimper that verged on breaking out into tears. “I left my brother there.  Bonnelle, it was the reasonable thing to do, right? I didn’t know goblins could stop our magic!”

“I didn’t know either, Renaut.  It was wise to let us know instead of charging in.  This Withering Sorrows has deployed a campaign both imbecilic and cunning.” Bonnelle shrugged.

“Clearly, that camp was the one they’d set up to most test us,” Chrincha muttered.  “I should have been there.”

“Seems like some real bad luck you two attacked a camp with orcs trained in combatting sprites.”

Renaut shook her head. “No, they weren’t both orcs. I said one was a goblin!”

“Did you catch the name of this goblin?” Bonnelle had told of many of her exploits in the land of darkness.  Goblins had never been more than a minor nuisance.   

“Yes! He’s named Tad! Green skin. Orange hair. Hideous little beast. Wore a belt of weapons and torture devices.”

“Thank you.”  Bonnelle set Renaut down.  “Kornin, do you have the sprites’ special weapons?”

“Of course,” Kornin answered.  He tucked the roll of gauze under Caw Caw’s head.  Then he pulled a small pouch from his belt. He tossed it Bonnelle, who handed it Renaut.

“Even if the barrier was never put up, it’s for the best we have the keystones.  It shows we did things the right way, regardless of the army’s screw-ups, and keeps us on the Dread Lord’s good side,” Bonnelle said.  “Chrincha, anything interesting going on with the lures?”

Chrincha held up his Seeking Sphere.  The various chunks of metal were pressing against the glass, pointing east, at the prison. However, all but one of the shards tips were scratching the glass as though the lures were moving.   Chrincha pocketed the sphere before Ayara could be sure of what she saw.  “They’re at the prison,” he reported, then glared at Ayara.

Bonnelle grabbed the handle of her hammer, swinging it around in the air before balancing it against her shoulder. “Good.  We make for the prison, then.  It’s time to end this mess.”