Chapter 8: Captured

Far away, south of the Lerian forest, sheltered by rolling hills on every side, stood a large flat scrubland, yellow with dead grass and broken stone. A massive obsidian tower rose above the plain, pitted with age and gleaming with malice. Urts lay scattered in its shadow, preparing for battle. The sound of their snarls was muffled by the hills, and luckily so: anyone privy to such a sound would sleep poorly for nights to come.

Standing on a balcony at the tower's crest, the warrior Crast watched his forces below. He couldn't help smiling at their savagery, their fury, their hunger for blood. Soon enough, his armies would be ready for war. Then his plan could continue.

​The sight of a horse shook Crast from his thoughts. The beast was galloping across the plains at full speed, ridden by an Urt. His armies watched its approach hungrily but decided to let it pass. As it approached the tower, the rider raised his arm in salute.

​Crast smiled. No doubt Makuran needed his help. Crast, of course, was all too willing to oblige.

​*He always turns to me*, thought the dark warrior. *He always asks me for advice, he looks up to me... and more. Little does he know that when we are finished here, he will be unnecessary.*

​Crast rose to his feet and turned his attention to the long staircase down, waiting for his messenger to arrive. He had no doubt that Makuran's message would be of little importance.

* * *

​The Urts crashed into them. Selia was bowled over, but she scrambled to her feet. Already, the sand around them was being kicked up by the chaos of battle. Faro knocked a pair of greenskins backward and began grappling with them. Half the pack surged for Laura, and she vanished under them.

​Grimacing, Selia plunged her blade into one's chest. It gave one last snarl before collapsing to the ground. Blood spurted, speckling her hands with foul liquid. For a moment, her feet felt unsteady. Then, she shook it off and swung her gaze across the battlefield, looking for an opening.

​A flash of movement: Laura had slipped out of the mob and rolled to her feet. As a pair of Urts lunged at her, she spun, slicing her daggers in a wide arc. They crumpled with deep slashes in their throats. Green blood began to pool on the ground. Three against seven now. Selia felt hope rising in her chest as she locked blades with another foe. The Urts were savage, yes, but they were also unruly, uncoordinated, unfocused. Selia and her friends had the advantage there. Were they going to make it?

​Unfortunately, the Urts had a few tricks of their own. As Faro tangled with a trio of them, one of them sidestepped him and elbowed him in the ribs. As he flinched in pain, another one smashed him on the head with the butt of his sword. The warrior crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

​Seeing Faro's plight, Selia knocked the Urt she was fighting away and ran to his side. Another attempted to catch her with the same trick, but she slipped under the blow and slashed wildly, driving the Urts away from Faro's body. The weapon felt slick and unbalanced in her hands; she was so unused to battle, she might as well be fighting with a frozen codfish. But it didn't matter. They were *not* taking her friend!

​Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her back. Gasping, her footing slid out from under her and she crashed onto the sand. The Urt stood leering over her. She tried to raise her sword, but the effort sent a crackle of pain through her, and she dropped the blade in shock. Her vision swam. She could make out the shadow of the Urt above her raising his blade for the killing blow. *No. No. Not now.*

​At that moment, a shark crack rang through the air and the air lit up as an electrical charge blasted across the sand. The Urt's face dissolved into shock as he was blown backward by the blast. He hit the ground, his flesh charred. Gasping, Selia blinked furiously, clearing blur from her eyes.

​Sparks was standing on the crest of the chasm, his staff still sparking. Kalann was rushing up behind him. In a second, the remaining Urts realized they were overpowered. They turned tail and fled, their howls vanishing over the crest of a dune.

​Selia staggered to her feet. Her back felt slick with blood. The ground shifted under her feet, and her knees buckled.

​Kalann grabbed her before she collapsed. "Easy," he said, steadying her against his shoulder. "We can't have our doctor die on us, can we?" He offered her a rag.

​Selia forced a smile. "Thanks," she groaned, taking it.

​"Our pleasure." Sparks prodded the charred Urt corpse with his staff. He turned to Laura. "We heard a commotion topside, so we figured we'd better check it out. I'm guessing your village ran into trouble with those freaks?"

​"Very astute." Laura said, staring at him. "You're a lightning mage? Impressive."

​Sparks shrugged. "Novice, technically. But thanks."

​Selia knelt down, letting go of Kalann. "Everyone, meet Laura," she said, pressing the rag against the wound in her back. The flow of blood was lessening; she pinched the skin between her fingers to keep it closed. "Her village came under siege at dawn, and her people need help."

Sparks glanced at the charred corpse. "So they really exist. Urts."

"Afraid so." Laura wiped her daggers off on her pant leg. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, but if my people don't get help soon, all of them are going to die."

Selia winced as her wound twinged with pain. Now that the battle was over, the rush of the fight was fading into a cold panic. There was no denying it now. Geyron was at war. Pailan wasn't going to be safe for much longer. Hother would want every citizen on hand to keep it safe. Could they afford to help another village? She looked at Laura; the young warrior seemed utterly defeated. Could they afford *not* to?

"Wait a moment." Kalann was looking around, his eyes wide. "Where's Faro?"

Selia felt a sudden knot in her stomach. She cast her gaze around; there was no sign of her friend.

Laura rushed over to where Faro had fallen. Her eyes narrowed. "Look!" she hissed. "Drag marks."

The rest of the company was by her side in an instant. Sure enough, there were thick indentations in the sand, leading off in the direction the Urts had fled.

They had taken a prisoner.