Page 42 of Rogue Elves of Ardani

Leaning tight against his tree, Vaara glanced in Crow’s direction again. There was a flurry of movement he couldn’t quite make out through the falling snow. He saw rope in Garros’s hands.

The remaining three bandits, minus the archer and Garros, formed a circle with their backs to each other. Vaara glanced at the ground. There was a ring of disturbed snow from when Thilo had been running in circles earlier.

Vaara held his breath and crouched low to the ground, then edged sideways through the snow, placing his feet in the footprints Thilo had left.

“Godsdamned night elves,” Thilo muttered.

“Shut up,” said another. “Listen.”

They listened. Vaara stopped moving, still crouched several steps from them. He waited until none of them were looking in his direction, then slid behind a small tree just beside them.

“Do you hear anything?” Thilo whispered.

“I can’t hear anything when you’re talking, that’s for sure,” hissed the other one.

Vaara pulled back a branch on the sapling, then let go of it. It snapped forward to hit Thilo with a hardthwack. He yelled and swung his sword wildly at the air. Vaara rounded the other side of the tree and sliced a blow at him, catching him across the neck. Red blood sprayed across white snow.

The second bandit came at Vaara, his eyes struggling to focus on him. Vaara parried a blow. To his dismay, it was much more difficult than he remembered, and he barely managed to avoid the incoming sword. Maybe he’d lost more strength during his captivity than he’d realized.

He sidestepped, ducked, and stabbed from a low angle. His blade sank through leather and cloth, into flesh.

The last one backed away instead of attacking, watching Vaara closely. Vaara retreated behind a tree as another arrow caught the corner of his cloak.

He looked in Crow’s direction again. Garros had looped the rope around her neck and was dragging her away from the campsite as Crow clawed at the rope to keep it from strangling her.

Vaara sucked in a breath. He bent and picked up a rock, peered around the tree, and hurled it at the remaining bandit. The man’s head was thrown backward as the stone struck him.

Before he could recover, Vaara rushed forward and finished him with a single vicious slice. He stepped back to avoid the gush of gore that spilled to the ground, and looked toward the archer.

Pain lanced across his arm. His fade flickered as his concentration wavered. He looked down and found blood seeping through his jacket. An arrow had nicked the edge of his bicep.

The archer was hurriedly nocking another arrow. Now that all the others were down, there was nothing between him and Vaara. A horrified look came over him as he realized it, too.

The man dropped the bow and took off running the other way. Vaara raced after him, abandoning stealth. Half blind in the darkness, the bandit tripped over brush and went sprawling to the ground. He whirled to face Vaara.

“Wait!” he gasped.

Vaara drove the sword through his chest with a crack of bone and cartilage. The man choked, his face contorted with hate and pain. Blood oozed from his mouth and chest. Vaara felt a smile pulling at his lips.

There was a soft cry in the distance behind him. He turned, scanning the campsite for Crow, and spotted movement between the tents. Putting his fade firmly in place, he stalked toward them.

His heart sank when he saw them. Garros stood in the middle of an open clearing, holding Crow against him with one arm wrapped around her middle. In his other hand he held a rather large sword. He was looking out at the trees, waiting.

Vaara crouched at the edge of the clearing. Crow wasn’t fighting anymore. In fact, she was almost hanging from his arm, like she didn’t have the strength to hold herself up.

He was pleased to see that Garros wasn’t smirking anymore, at least.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Garros called.

Vaara crossed his arms over his knees, waiting. Snow continued to fall, gathering on his cloak and then disappearing as his spell covered it.

Garros slid his sword up beneath Crow’s neck. Vaara stiffened. “Surrender now, or she’s dead.”

The binding kneaded in his chest. He bit his tongue, thinking, then still said nothing. Garros waited, looking more infuriated as the seconds dragged on.

With a curse, he lowered his sword again. “All right,” he said, and shoved Crow aside. She dropped to the snow in a heap, not even trying to catch herself. “You want to fight? Let’s fight. Come on. Show yourself. Fight me, one-on-one. Your blade against mine.”

Vaara studied the snow-covered clearing. He couldn’t walk out there without leaving an obvious trail of footprints. He could follow Garros’s prints the way he’d followed Thilo’s, but he’d probably expect that.

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