Lynesse

Betrayal

There was a lot of blood in the grass. The sharp copper tang of it mixed with the sweet smell Nagrand’s flora always made when crushed underfoot. I could taste it on my tongue, too. Thick in my mouth and on my lips. This wasn’t how it ended. 

I’d sought out Imriel again. Imriel, leader of the Golden Thorn. Imriel, who’d known my Ysirien. Imriel, who’d bought my contract from the Silvermoon Government and then lost money on it when I’d been hurt. It only made sense to make it right. To pick up where I’d left off. He and his comrades had a small little outpost in Talador. It was quaint, but work came to them, there. 

We met with jovial smiles and clasped arms. Kind spoken words to my good health and his good fortune. “I’ve got just the job; Easy. There’s a caravan that needs to make it from here to Wor’var. Basic supplies. Ammunition. Bandages. The rations went ahead yesterday.” 

He partnered me up with a huntress, Risse Swiftstream, and a male scout, Belaer Azuresun. I could heal in a pinch if we got into trouble. Belaer could scout ahead. Risse could pick off anything that came at us before they could get to us. Balance. I picked my bag back up and went to head out to wait by the wagon while Imrien briefed Risse on what he wanted. Belaer was already there. 

He was genial enough, but quiet. Minded his own. I didn’t mind it. 

It took five hours for us to even cross into the territory. The floating islands were gone, instead marked by grand plateaus that had to be their predecessors. Arrows and broken weapons littered the dirt. Large paw prints scattered the dust and deep claw gouges marked the passing of a raiding party. Risse went on alert immediately, keeping a steel tipped arrow knocked. The fletching in her quiver was all mixed. I’d admired her weapons on the way. Some white, some a deep iron grey that only came from the owls that inhabited the treehome of the Kaldorei. A few vibrant purple. I didn’t trust her. Something in the way she looked at me made the spot between my shoulder blades itch.

Everything was quiet, though. Bel hopped out of the cart as we passed the wreckage of a previous caravan. The bones of the great clefthooves that had pulled the unfortunate cart were all that were left, meat and sinew being stripped and taken for use by the victor. I remember feeling uneasy. I could tell our scout was, too. There were no shadows to hide in here under the Nagrand sun. 

We stopped to water the Talbuks two hours outside of Wor’var. Just two. Bel washed his face. Risse stood near the cart. I handled the animals. I heard the wood of her shortbow creak as she drew the string back right before I heard the rush of padded paws and snarling yowls coming down the road from the North. My wind left me as her arrow punched through my armor and lodged in the muscle of my upper back. 

Fucking Imriel. 

Belaer snarled at her, only words I ever heard him say, “We don’t have time right now, Risse.”

I spun, axe in my hands, intent on murdering the bitch. We had bigger problems, though. “He’s right you traitorous whore,” I think I said. I hope I said that. I really do. “Kill the Orcs first. Then try me.” 

They descended quick. The talbuks reared and fled in a panic. I could feel blood running down my back, but my armor had taken the brunt of the shot and the wound was shallow. I ran forward with a rebellious yell, hands and eyes glowing fiercely as they always do. Bel vanished and reappeared behind one, then a second. It took them too long to realize they were already dead before he was back to moving, daggers bloodied. 

Risse sank a white fletched arrow into one’s eye. I slammed my axe down into the juncture of one’s neck and shoulder plate before slamming my boot into it’s chest and pulling back to retrieve it. Great axes are heavy. Great axes stick. Risse took advantage. A grey fletched arrow found a home in my bicep, right where the scales of my armor didn’t cover. I snarled and slung hammer made of Light at her. She screamed and dropped to her knees, but drew again. 

I was too close this time. Her arrow punctured right through my chest plate and sunk deep, just under my ribs. Grey again. All Kaldorei arrows making me a pincushion. I couldn’t breath. She screamed again, this time in horror rather than pain, as Bel’s head rolled gracefully off his shoulders. There was one Orc left. The furry mounds of dead wolves lay hunched and bleeding out into the dirt, littered with arrows as I was. Just one more. I don’t remember blowing my wings, but I must’ve. It always left this weird spice of ozone in the air. If I did this, I probably couldn’t heal. If I didn’t, I’d probably be killed anyway. I charged. 

So did the Orc. His maul swung wide as I rushed forward. I felt the bones in my arm snap and my ribs crush. I’d already set the spell in motion, though. Hitting me wouldn’t stop it. He screamed as the righteous hammer of Light slowly seared his flesh, starting at his head and working it’s way down. My shield went off too late and I rolled harmlessly on the grass, arrow shafts breaking off under my weight. I couldn’t see Risse anymore. My blood thundered in my ears as I bled into the dirt, sun kissing my face as the post-battle silence loomed. 

There was weeping somewhere. Risse, over Bel. My vision faded to black at the corners, threatening the abyss. I gasped for air as I shoved the searing pain that was starting to muscle in past the adrenaline and shouted, “Risse! Fucking finish it!”

I caught the gist of what was going on. Maybe Risse and Bel were supposed to make it to Wor’var, I don’t know. I wasn’t. Maybe the supplies weren’t. Frame the Alliance for it’s destruction, my death. There had always been more money for private military in those conflicts. Get a few skirmishes going in slightly contested territory and you could be set for life. Imriel was probably pissed that he’d lost money on me and this was his way of getting back. People did this all the time. I’d done it. I needed Risse nearby. Fuck if I was going to die without taking her with me. 

I heard her stand more than saw it. I couldn’t turn my head.  I rolled somehow. Pushed up on my knees with my useless arm cradled in. I passed out once or twice as I sat on my knees. I think. Maybe. The arrows were mostly superficial, the bleeding definitely wasn’t. I had enough magic left that I could end her. Just enough. Barely.

Her hands were stained as she picked her bow back up, the look in her eyes murderous. Rash impulse was going to run her. I spat blood into the dirt, “Imriel tricked you, idiot. He intended all of us to die. You. Bel. Me. You took his word, got distracted, got us all killed.” 

She faltered. Doubting. Hurting. Her steps came slower. I snarled and Judged, the desire for retribution slamming into her as the magic rained down on her shoulders. I wasn’t together enough to shape it, I just needed the force of it. Her bow fell from her hands. I did it again. And again. She stopped moving after the third time, body limp in the grass.

The Light can be brutal.

It’s good we were off the path, I guess. Coming to face down in the grass while the crickets sing into the night and the sweet grass perfumes the air isn’t too bad. There are first aid supplies in the cart. Enough potions to get me to real help. Bandages. I couldn’t move. Surely a party would be sent out. Imriel might’ve not sent word ahead. Imriel probably didn’t send word ahead. Bastard. 

Fuck.