Liraiel: The Final Patrol

Liraiel: The Final Patrol

Sunset settled over the Dark Shores, staining the charred trunks the colour of old blood. The forest still bore the scars left by Deathwing, but those old wounds had long since been overshadowed by newer ones. After the burning of Teldrassil, these lands seemed to have lost the last traces of life. Sparse shoots pushed up among the blackened roots and fallen trees, but they were a long way from becoming the forest it had once been. The wind stirred the dry branches, lifted grey dust from the ground and carried the smell of burning, damp wood and decay.

I forced myself not to look at the burnt trees for too long. Each time, they brought back Teldrassil, the fire that devoured our home, the screams that still returned to me in my dreams. I remembered the faces of those who had not managed to escape, and every time I thought of them, hatred rose again from the depths of my soul. Sylvanas and her followers had taken too much from us. The flames themselves had long since died, but their consequences continued to haunt our people.

Now we patrolled what remained of our native lands, hunting those who still dared to trespass on the territory of the night elves. Our squad had received orders to survey one of the forest sectors where strangers had recently been spotted. We were to check an old trail, study the tracks and find out whether Horde forces had settled nearby. Nothing unusual for a reconnaissance mission, especially in these times. But even a routine assignment here could turn deadly.

Talorien walked ahead, our commander and the most experienced warrior in the squad. His grey hair stood out against the dark green, and his face was crossed by scars left by long years of battle. He moved calmly, wasting no strength on unnecessary motion, and studied every stretch of the path with care. Talorien was a druid, able to take the form of a bear, and in battle the main weight of the enemy’s onslaught fell on him. He knew how to hold a position, cover his comrades and make decisions when there was no time left for long deliberation.

I knew him first and foremost as a strict mentor, who demanded discipline from everyone and did not forgive carelessness. He did not raise his voice without need and did not try to seem more fearsome than he really was. A single glance or a short order was enough to remind us that on a mission any mistake could cost a life. Talorien never promised that he could protect us from every threat. Instead, he taught us to do everything possible to avoid ending up in a position where such protection would be needed.

On the right flank moved Kael, a warrior armed with a sword. His sturdy build, short fair hair and habit of keeping his back straight gave him a confident air. He had already taken part in border skirmishes and knew that the enemy rarely behaved as you expected. Kael did not try to outpace the others and did not waste time on bravado. He kept to a distance that allowed him to come quickly to the commander’s aid if a threat appeared ahead, while at the same time controlling the stretch of forest to the right of the trail.

In battle, his task was to meet the enemy with his weapon and not let anyone break through to those behind him. Kael understood his role well and did not try to take the commander’s place. In our small squad this mattered: each of us had to know not only our own abilities, but also the limits of our duties.

In the centre of the formation walked Elara, priestess and healer. Her long braids were neatly pinned up so as not to get in the way as she moved, and her gaze kept travelling from the trail to the trees on either side of her. She knew how to keep calm even in tense situations and paid close attention to the small details around her. Where a warrior might see only the trace of a recent skirmish, Elara noticed signs of injury, traces of blood or damaged plants that showed which way the enemy had gone.

Her place in the formation had not been chosen by chance. While Talorien took the blow and Kael and Mels covered the flanks, Elara was to remain as safe as was possible at all on a reconnaissance mission. In the event of a clash, her magic could save a wounded comrade or give the rest of us the chance to retreat. But I knew she would not simply wait behind other people’s backs. If necessary, Elara could stand up for herself, and her sharp tongue was sometimes no less effective than her spells.

The opposite flank was covered by Mels, our hunter. He was agile and watchful, and preferred to notice danger long before it crept close. An owl often sat on his shoulder or on the nearby branches, accompanying us on patrols. Its silent flight let it search parts of the forest that could not be seen from the ground, and its keen eyesight helped to detect movement among the branches and undergrowth.

Mels knew the habits of forest creatures well and could tell natural sounds from those made by uninvited guests. He paid attention to broken twigs, trampled grass and patches of ground where something heavy had passed. While the rest of us watched the road, he checked the space between the trees, trying not to miss a single suspicious movement. His task was not only to join the fight at range, but also to warn the squad if the enemy tried to come at us from the side.

I brought up the rear, covering Elara’s back.

I was the youngest of the five and the only one for whom real combat assignments were still a comparatively new trial. The Academy had taught me to wield daggers, move silently, notice tracks and use an opponent’s inattention against him. I could hide in the shadows, choose the right moment to strike and slip away before the enemy had time to turn. But it was one thing to practise techniques in training – and quite another to use them where a mistake leaves no time for a second chance.

I wanted to prove that I deserved my place in the squad. So I made myself keep up, watched my surroundings closely and did not allow myself to be distracted. The two daggers in their sheaths at my belt were a familiar extension of my hands. I kept a little behind Elara, leaving myself enough room to manoeuvre and the chance to react quickly if someone appeared from the rear.

Talorien had reminded me more than once that a rogue is valued not by the number of enemies she has killed, but by how well she understands the situation. Stealth, patience and the ability to withdraw in time are often more important than the agility of a blade. I did my best to follow his advice, though I liked admitting my inexperience less than I liked thinking about the battles to come.

We kept moving along the old trail without breaking the established order. Talorien chose a safe route ahead; Kael and Mels watched the flanks; Elara kept an eye on the road and on how ready the others were; I checked the space behind the squad. Each of us was busy with our own task, and from the outside our progress would probably have looked almost routine.

But the forest was growing quieter.

For some time I had heard no birdsong. Even the wind, which had earlier rustled in the treetops, had died down. Dry twigs crunched underfoot, and the crunch was far too loud amid the unfamiliar silence. I slowed my pace and looked more carefully along the edge of the trail.

There were tracks on the damp ground. Some had blurred in the recent moisture, but others were clear and deep. Judging by their size and the distance between the strides, several large creatures in iron-shod boots had passed this way.

I held my gaze on the nearest print and felt my fingers close of their own accord around the hilt of a dagger.

Something told me that these tracks had been made very recently.

Talorien noticed the same thing I had and raised a hand in warning. But it was already far too late.

The silence of the woods exploded into roaring and snarling. Orcs seemed to pour from nowhere — from behind the blackened trunks, out of the thick undergrowth, rushing us from every side. It took me a moment to count six: huge figures in rusty armour and filthy hides, moving fast, cutting off our routes of retreat. Their cries drowned out the crack of branches, and the thud of their boots mingled with the clash of weapons.

‘Ambush!’ Talorien shouted.

I managed to draw my daggers before the first raider reached me. His axe whistled over my head, and I recoiled, barely avoiding the blow. A second was already circling me on the right, cutting me off from Elara. I caught sight of her falling back under the onslaught of her attacker, trying to buy a few moments to cast a spell. Kael rushed to help her, but two opponents had already wedged themselves between them and me.

I could not let them reach her.

The first orc lunged again, swinging his axe with such force that the blade split the air beside my shoulder. I ducked and stepped towards him, slipping under the swing. My dagger slid across the straps of his armour, and a second strike made him stagger. I did not linger to see the result. In a forest this tight, hesitation meant death, and my second opponent was already raising a massive club above his head.

I leapt aside. The club smashed into the ground, throwing up clods of damp soil and ash. The orc swore and dragged the weapon back, but I got close enough to slash his forearm. He roared in pain, wheeled round and tried to grab me with his free hand. I slipped past, feeling his fingers glance off the fabric of my cloak.

Everything around me had turned to chaos. Metal rang against metal, orcs growled, someone cried out in pain. From the corner of my eye I caught Mels: he had already drawn his bow and loosed an arrow at almost point-blank range. It sank into the neck of one of the attackers. The hunter reached for the next, but was forced to leap back sharply when yet another orc sprang out from behind a tree. The owl rose above the clearing with a piercing cry, escaping the flailing, weapon-wielding hands.

Then came a roar that made the ground tremble beneath my feet.

Talorien had turned into a bear.

A moment ago there had been a grey-haired druid before me, and now an enormous beast loomed over the fallen branches. The bear struck one of the orcs with a paw, knocking him off his feet, and swung round to face the next. His bellow drowned out the cries of the fighters. His claws tore through skin and clothing, his mighty paws flung opponents aside, and every step he took made the earth shake. Talorien held several enemies on himself at once, not letting them close the ring around us.

For a moment, it seemed to me that we would manage.

I faced the two orcs again, still trying to break through to me. The first, with his slashed forearm, no longer moved as confidently. With a feint I made him raise his weapon, then struck his leg. He staggered and dropped to one knee. The second took advantage and charged forward with a short, furious snarl. I spun, evaded his blow and drove my dagger into the gap between the plates of his armour.

He reeled, and I retreated several paces, breathing hard. My hands shook from the strain and my heart pounded in my chest, but I was still on my feet. Elara was close by. Through the smoke and rising dust I made out her trying to reach Kael, who was still holding back the onslaught of his opponent. Mels was still fighting on the other flank. And Talorien, huge and furious, would not let the orcs break through to the centre of our formation.

We were alive. We could still win.

For one heartbeat I allowed myself to believe it.

That was when I heard footsteps behind me — leaden, fast, far too close.

I began to turn, but did not even have time to raise my dagger. A huge shadow blotted out the dim light between the trees, and a green face filled my vision: bared tusks, a fist like a hammer.

The blow landed on my temple.

A blinding light flashed in my head. The din of battle merged into a long, deafening ringing, and the ground suddenly fell away beneath me. I tried to stay upright, but my fingers opened and the daggers slipped from my hands. Out of the corner of my eye I still managed to catch black branches and a grey sky flashing before me.

Talorien’s roar reached me as if from far away. Someone was shouting my name, or perhaps I only imagined it. I could no longer make out either words or sounds.

Darkness rose up to meet me, swallowing the forest, the smoke and the faces of my comrades.

I tried to take a breath, but the world was already vanishing.

The last thing I felt was the cold earth against my cheek.

Then there was nothing.

Consciousness returned slowly, as if I were trying to claw my way up from the bottom of a deep lake. My head throbbed dully, each beat echoing in my temples. I could not tell how much time had passed or why I was lying motionless with cold mud beneath my cheek. A ringing still filled my ears, and my memories of the fight were falling apart into scraps: Talorien’s roar, the clash of weapons, the green face, the fist.

Then something warm ran down my face.

I instinctively tried to turn away, but my body obeyed poorly. The warm liquid ran down my cheek, got into the corner of my mouth, soaked into my hair. For a few seconds my dazed mind clung to the absurd thought that it was water. Then I caught the acrid smell.

It was not water at all.

I slowly raised my eyes. An orc stood right over me, tucking his cock back into his torn rags. A satisfied smirk played on his coarse face. Noticing that I was looking at him, he bared his yellow tusks and gave a short laugh.

“This bitch is awake too!” he growled, addressing his kin. “Now we’ve got two pieces of meat for our fun!”

Laughter rose all around me — coarse and gloating, so full of glee that everything inside me went cold. I tried to crawl away, pressing my palms into the wet earth, but a strong hand closed around my neck. The orc hauled me up from the ground with a jerk, and a cry tore out of me before I could stop it. His fingers crushed my throat, forcing my head back. My feet barely touched the earth, and my attempts to break free only made his grip tighter. I clutched at his wrist, trying to loosen it even a little, but I might as well have been trying to prise apart iron tongs.

The world swayed before my eyes. The pain in my temple flared with new force, and for a few moments everything around me swam. I fought to breathe in, but air reached my lungs with difficulty. The orc held me as though I weighed nothing, studying my face with mocking curiosity.