A Most cunning Trap

The whole thing had been a most cunning trap. Perhaps she had underestimated the nature of the elves. The jabbress caught a glimpse of the one they called Lucky Cashban circling around behind and disappearing. She could feel that they had surrounded her. Yet fate is often kind to those who are most cruel. There was still time to deal with this one. The drow jabbress delivered a searing bolt of energy straight at the other elf who had been trailing her. She watched its swift progress with a sneer of satisfaction as it went crackling through the air and found Brisid Celemegil, the Captain of the Grey Company. She cursed as the elf managed to partially block the bolt with his shield. He staggered only momentarily before regaining his balance. In another second, sword raised above his head, he began his charge straight at her. The jabbress quickly calculated the distance and began another spell. She would teach the impertinent elf the danger of such a rash move. Suddenly, distracted by a movement on the right, she heard the arrow’s flight only slightly before it almost knocked her from the saddle. She looked to see Thrand Graywolf crash through a wall of leaves and urge his mount forward and into a gallop across the small glade. Using his legs to guide the horse, he crouched high, standing in the stirrups as he charged with his terrible bow bearing down.
She turned her cave lizard quickly and fled through the deepening gloom of the thick forest. She spurred the animal hard and leaned forward close to its neck ducking under low branches as she headed into the thickest cover. After a short while and sensing no pursuit, she quickly pulled up in a dense thicket and drank a healing potion. She felt the warmth moving inside her, the most intense heat at the point where the arrow had embedded itself in her side.

The jabbress quickly took stock of the situation but could make no decisions about what to do. She was isolated and cut off from Verin Vios. He had taken the left flank and had been engaged by several of the Maerdyn drow. She had seen one Maerdyn fall and the rest disappear after him. She felt her wound throbbing and cast a spell of healing to reinforce the potion. She examined the wound. It was not life threatening as the armor had absorbed most of the arrow’s momentum. Still, the shaft had penetrated several inches into her side. She ringed the arrow with her knife, weakening it, braced herself for the pain, and then snapped off the shaft. She tossed it to the ground with a curse. She listened again to the forest for any sign of pursuit.

It was then that she suddenly felt them again. She listened, but she couldn’t hear them. They were there, however, and she knew it without question. They were trying to flank her—same game as before, and they worked well together. She listened again. The forest was quiet. The wind was high in the trees, only a slight rustling of the leaves, and the diminishing light of the now setting sun was now manifesting itself in long shadows and amber light. Damn Graywolf and Cashban for their incessant tracking! Damn Celemegil for his blind luck. Damn the Ostar tel’Taur! Damn the elves and House Maerdyn for their alliance! Damn Mord’sythe for his lies, for his cursed feeding habits! She looked around, feeling the constricting pressure of another trap and moved off quickly toward the river. Perhaps she could lose them there.