Smoke filled the sky, obscuring the weak winter sun. Down from the northern passes, an icy wind began to blow, creating as it went, whirling eddies of blackish smoke plumes mixed with newly falling snow. Barely recognizable, the shreds of a once proud flag, yet flew over the broken timbers of Targos' Palisade.

It could have been worse . . .

Numerous piles of burning wreckage scattered throughout the palisade grounds. Everywhere the eyes looked, lay countless bodies of defender and foe alike. The fallen weapons of man and goblin, littered the ground haphazardly. As the break in battle lingered, soft moans, developed into faint cries. Some voices lifted up to their gods, some cursed. One or two priests went about seeing to the wounded and dying.

Near one of inner walls, beside a mound of smoldering wood, a body stirred. A thick braid of night black hair, easily identified the elf from the rubble. Anariel and Rizdaer had been fighting near the Northwest gate, when they had been caught in a large explosion.

"Riz,"Anariel moaned as she gingerly tested her limbs. When she went to move her head, a sharp, a stabbing pain twisted behind her eyes, and her stomach rolled with nausea.

Several minutes went by as she concentrated on slowly breathing in and out. The pain receded to an ever present ache. Ever so slowly, she tested her limbs once more, moving and rolled slowly to her side. After waiting for a short time, she drew her knees up in an attempt to rise. Another wave of nausea lanced through her gut, halting her progress.

The elven maid remained on her hands and knees for a time, dry heaving unto the snow. Finally, she was able to gain her feet with the help of her long bow. Using it as a makeshift staff, she stood swaying slightly as she looked about her.

Breaks had been blasted through the Palisade's wooden walls. Large timbers lay were the explosions had cast them, crushing any in their path, no matter their allegiance. The air was heavy with the stench of burning hair and flesh as the bodies of men, goblins, and worgs lay singly and in groups. Magic too hung in the air, the smell of certain spells stronger than others.

Anariel looked up at the sun trying to gage the time of day. Just that morning they had reported to Captain Shawford to receive their assignment. Then there had been the rumble of a great explosion. The first of many.

It quickly became apparent, that under the cover of nightfall, their enemy had managed to slip right up to the Palisade's walls. Anariel recalled Nord's words to Targos' leader just last night. Both she and the knight had been to speak with Lord Ulbrec about their concerns. Both had felt another attack was eminent and that they could better serve the town by taking a more offensive stance. But it had been to no avail, for Ulbrec would not let them leave the town, not even to scout the area.

Distant shouts brought Anariel back to the present. She looked up toward the Northwest gate, and saw two soldiers from atop one of the walls, gesturing wildly in her direction. At the same time, there came a low growl from behind her. She turned.

Not more than several feet from the elf, stood a wounded soldier, holding his ground against a worg-rider. Demonic, yellow eyes stared balefully at its intended victim. Lips curled, its long, razor sharp teeth bared. From atop the worg, the goblin took aim and fired his crossbow. The soldier staggered back as the black bolt pierced his shoulder.

Silently, Anariel thanked the maker of her bow, as it required no corporeal arrow to be fired. this enabled her to fire more rapidly than a normal bow would allow. Taking careful aim, the elven maid let fly an arrow. Finding its target, the arrow seared into the deep chest wall of the wolf like creature. The creature turned and fixed its stare upon the elven maid.

Anariel was able to loosen one more arrow at the goblin himself, before the worg lunched for her. Both hands braced the bow as she swung it at the worg. The metal blade like flares at the end of the bow, cut through the rough fur and sinew of the creature, but did little to halt it.

Turning quicker than the muscle bound creature had a right to, the worg twisted his body, knocking the soldier to the ground before toppling the slender elf over.

The goblin slid off of his mount to finish the soldier. Their weapons clashed as each struggled to gain the upper hand. Voices raised in battle cries could be heard accompanied by the sound of booted feet.

The shouts were lost on Anariel, as the worg's throaty growl filled her ears. Its large hairy body, more than covered the elf's entirely. A glint of metal flashed as the maid drew a long, black bladed dagger.

Nearly overcome with the stench of the creature, Anariel could feel hot saliva drip onto her face from the beast, as its jaws snapped at her throat. With all her strength, she drove the blade up through the underside of its jaw, pinning the worg's mouth shut.

Placing both hands on the dagger, she twisted the blade. Tucking her legs up from under the beast's body as best she could, she kicked out at the worg in an attempt to free herself. But it was to no avail, the beast was too heavy for the slender elf to move.

The worg continued to growl menacingly as it tried to work free of the dagger. Suddenly, it shifted its weight and swiped at Anariel. A harsh intake of breath, and a muffled scream marked its successful strike. Across the elf's cheek, and down one shoulder, the worg's claws raked a line of deep furrows.

It was then, that Anariel felt a prickling sensation that made her body feel flushed and almost weightless. Light shifted before her eyes as a magical shield formed around her. Just then another wave of magic could be felt near by, as a spell of Destruction was cast on the worg.

The shield of protection around the elven maid held but did nothing to protect her from the overwhelming smell of disintegrating worg. She held her hands over her nose and mouth in an attempt to block the worst of it.

Finally a strong pair of hands were under her shoulders, dragging her out from under the carcass.

In tandem, two voices anxiously inquired, "Are you badly hurt?" "Do you think you can stand?"

Jaemal helped Anariel to her feet, and supported her slender frame, as Valeero cast a healing spell from her patron god, Lathander. It had been the cleric's shield that had protected the elf while Jaemal had killed the worg. The goblin had also been slain by the soldier he had wounded. Anariel watched as one of the town's healers helped the man toward the infirmary.

"My thanks for your timely intervention," began Anariel. She had known that death would be a possibility this day, but preferred to not to provide the enemy with a tasty meal. Looking down at her badly torn, blood splattered leathers, she added, "Ha, I must look a sight."

"Not half as bad as you smell-" replied Jaemal. The sorcerer's eyes flew open as he realized what he had said. "Oh my dear lady, I did not not mean that as it sounded. Please forgive me, I . . ."

Laughing softly, Anariel placed a gentle hand on Jaemal's arm, "Never fear my friend, there is naught to forgive. I can only imagine why the snow does not melt at my feet from the stench of me. Worg and all."

The elven maid sighed heavily, her expression becoming more serious. "What of the others? Are they about? I fear I lost sight of them before the last explosion."

"We need to get your injuries seen as soon as possible. I fear it was only a minor healing spell I had left," apologized the cleric.

"Never mind my injuries, I am fine,"replied the elf.

"The claw marks are quite extensive. I must needs see if there is further damage," insisted the cleric.

In truth, Anariel felt a pulse of pain with every beat of her heart, from where the worg had clawed her. Brushing aside their concern for her she asked, "Where are the others? Peony? Nord? Have the goblins been routed?"

Gesturing to a small crate, Valeero suggested firmly, "Sit here a moment. Jaemal can fill you in on what has happened while I take at look at these wounds."

The cleric wisely did not push the elven maid, instead she changed tactics. "Please . . ."

Anariel sighed heavily, but complied. Jaemal smiled at the look of exasperation on the elven maid's face. He schooled his features to a more serious expression before beginning, "The enemy has indeed been routed. Save for the straggler you so cleverly found. Captain Shawford requested that Sir Nord, with a small contingency of soldiers, go after the last of the goblins. Our good Diriel went along as well to track any who may have managed to escape, and to scout the area beyond the edge of the neighboring forest."

A yelp interrupted the aasimar's tale as Valeero probed the elf's head wound a little to deeply, "My pardon Anariel. But it would be easier if you held still."

"But what of the others," asked the elf.

Well," continued Jaemal. "Peony was injured when-"

Anariel started to rise up, "Injured?"

"Stay put," admonished Valeero. "I need you to be still. There looks to be a splinter of wood lodged in your scalp." The cleric caught Jaemal's eye and mouthed the words, 'Hold her down.'

The sorcerer gently, but firmly placed his hands on Anariel's shoulders, being mindful of her injury. He continued to speak as the cleric removed the splinter, and cleaned the wound.

He continued to speak, if only to distract their leader,"You need not be concerned for our small, but mighty wizard. Her injury was a minor one, but was also one that left her vulnerable. It seems a rather large goblin, er, well, he stepped on her foot."

The aasimar continued to explain how Peony had immobilized the goblin fighter with a holding spell, only to be be pinned down by his big booted foot. Nord had rescued the small damsel, and when the final shaman had been slain, she had been taken to safety.

"She did quite well, casting her spells while balancing and hopping around on one foot! She was thinking of calling herself, the dancing wizard."

Through Jaemal's tale, a small smile had played about Anariel's lips. The sorcerer watched as the smile suddenly vanished.

The elf looked at her companions, "Where is Rizdaer?" At their silence, she asked again, her voice coming out a bit sharper than had been her intent, "Has anyone seen him? No? Then where and when was the last place you saw him?"

Anariel did not wait for either of them to answer before she rose up off the crate, Jaemal's hands not withstanding. Slinging her bow to her back, she began her search.

In her mind, the drow would not have been far from her in battle. More to herself than either of her companions she said, "He was never very far from me throughout the attack. It must have been the explosion that separated us."

The sun was starting its descent, marking the time as early afternoon. The battle had waged most, if not all of the morning. As the snow continued to fall gently, the three companions call out to Rizdaer, and searching the debris for the dark elf.

Just as Anariel was starting to fear the worst, the elf's keen hearing caught the sound of a drow curse.

There, against an outer wall, facing down four soldiers, stood Rizdaer. The drow had suffered numerous injuries from the same explosion as Anariel. The worst being his leg, which had been impaled with a broken piece of timber. He had crawled from the wreckage, and managed to wrap a makeshift bandage around his leg.

But before he was able to locate Anariel, he had been cornered by some of Lord Ulbrec's men.

Yet despite being wounded, and out numbered, the drow's reputation commanded enough respect, that the soldiers remained a cautious distance from the dark elf.

Rizdaer shifted his weigh off of his injured leg, leaning heavily on a discarded iron shod staff.

"For the last time irivvil srow/i, I am a member of a fighting party, sanctioned by your leader to fight your enemies and save your worthless, pitiful hides."

"You're a liar. All you sub-human breeds lie," spoke one of the soldiers.

"Aye, but you dark ones are the worst of the lot. Suppose we'll be a heroes bagging the likes o' you."

"I tire of your ignorance. Die then you bigoted fools," said Rizdaer with a sneer. "For I shall not be taken easily."

With the ease born from much practice, the drow warrior willed away the pain from his wounds. Smoothly he lifted the staff, making it whirred sharply in the cold air as he put it through a series of moves. Focused, he moved into a fighting stance.

"Enough of this nonsense! Stand down,"came a clear, strong voice. Anariel moved to stand between the soldiers and Rizdaer, while Valeero and Jaemal flanked the soldiers.

Knowing that it would not do to kill their misguided allies, the cleric, started casting a Shield of Lathander on her party. Meanwhile, the sorcerer prepared to stun the soldiers.

Anariel continued to address the soldiers. She pinned them with a glare as cold as the snow and ice around them, "Have you not had your fill of fighting that you must needs attack an ally?"

One of the soldiers, their sergeant, began to move forward, causing Anariel to put a hand to her aching head and growl, "I swear by all I hold dear, if you make me raise my voice again, you will wish you had been killed by the goblins."

To emphasize her intent, she drew both her blades from the sheath at her back. When the soldier remained where he was, she continued, "This man is one of my companions."

"But lass . . . he is a, ia drow/i," hissed one of the older guards.

"Truly? How very observant of you," Anariel retorted. "How much better would it be if you had observed instead how he has fought for you. He has placed his life on the line for this town, bled for it, just as any of you have. He deserves your thanks, not your ire."

"So speaks a pointy eared wench," jeered the sergeant. The expression on his face reflected the scorn in his voice, "How do we know it was not your kind that started this attack? You elves are all the same, no matter the color."

Green eyes flashed and narrowed, "We are not your enemy. Are your eyes so poor that you can not tell a goblin from an elf? Or is it your judgement that is lacking?"

Anariel closed her eyes and sighed heavily, "Either way, I grow sick and tired of educating those of you without common sense or decency. Know this, had I wanted your deaths, they could have been had without so much effort. I simply would not have traveled from the south to stand here and bleed for you." Anariel would have shaken her head if it did not feel like it was about to explode.

The elven maid felt a slow, and purposeful movement just behind her left shoulder. She knew without turning, that Rizdaer now stood near her.

For her ears alone she heard, "iUssta sea'an/i, come to rescue me. Shall we bleed on them together mistress?"

Anariel could sense the drow's half sneer. Relief flooded her in the knowledge that he was hale enough to needle her. Her reply came just as quiet, "Mistaking sarcasm for wit again, I see. If you had but shown the smallest consideration to fly in the same direction as I did when the explosion occurred, this rescue would not have been necessary."

Rizdaer puzzled over the the elven maid's words, said with heavy traces of humor and warmth. Her voice warmed even more as she expressed her pleasure in his surviving the explosion. He felt a sliver of emotion he could not quite identify at her words. Not understanding, he growled, "I suppose you expect me to be grateful."

Before Anariel could answer, several guardsmen approached with Captain Shawford. The seasoned soldier took in the scene before him, "What goes on here Sergeant Fletcher?"

"Well sir, Captain, we were checking for any enemy survivors like, and we came upon this darkling, this drow." The captain remained silent, causing the sergeant to swallow nervously before he continued, "We figured that this darkling was in on the attack. An inside man like. We were going to bring him in for questioning, when this lady elf drew weapons on us. 'Tis my belief that the she-elf is a party to this evil. Shall we bring her in too?"

"Let me ask you this Sergeant," began Shawford. "Where have you been this past sennight?"

"Why, I have been on guard duty at the Northeast gate, Captain. 'Twas yourself that placed me there."

"Have ye been both deaf and blind then Fletcher?"

"Sir?"

"Since you have either been asleep, drunk, or both, I will explain," began Shawford. In a voice laced with sarcasm, he continued, "You see Sergeant, Lord Ulbrec and his belven/b lady wife, have bid Lady Anariel and her party welcome here. The lady and her companions, ball/b her companions, were responsible for clearing the docks and discovering were and how the goblins were gaining access to the docks. Furthermore, I suggest you think long and hard Sergeant, for the lady you accuse of being the enemy, is the daughter of a paladin."

"But sir, I-"

"Put up your weapons Sergeant, or I will let the lady use you as a practice dummy," said Shawford. "You and your men can report to Isherwood, as he needs help in securing the main gate."

As the man made no move to follow the orders, Shawford voice snapped like a whip, "Move Fletcher, now. Lord Ulbrec and I will be having a little chat about you iGuardsman/i Fletcher, I can promise you."

"Aye sir," replied the demoted soldier. Before leading his men toward the Northwest gate, Fletcher cast a look of hatred toward Anariel and Rizdaer.

Under his breath he mumbled, "Loosen my rank on account o' the likes of her. Well, I can promise that the paladin's daughter had best be watchin' her back, eh lads?"

As Fletcher turned around toward the gate, he collided into a broad, solidly built chest. The former sergeant looked at the deep hued robes of the Mulhorandian sorcerer, swallowed nervously, and then looked up. The dark eyes of the aasimar seemed to pierce the guardsman were he stood. Fletcher swallowed.

Without warning, Rizdaer suddenly appeared near Fletcher. The dark elf stepped in close to the soldier's side, his voice dark and menacing, "I offer you a promise irivvil/i. Should any harm befall my mistress, it will be byour/b back that bears watching."

Jaemal, still blocking the soldier's escape, added quietly, "Only if I decide to share."

Fletcher swallowed again, then stammered, "I must carry out the Captain's orders, let me by."

Almost reluctantly, Jaemal stepped aside.

Valeero, having joined the sorcerer, and the drow, smiled a lopsided half smile, "Nicely done gentlemen. I shall sleep easier at night knowing that chivalry is not dead."

Jaemal smiled at the cleric's gentle teasing, while Rizdaer frowned.

Anariel approached the trio, "Captain Shawford said that he expects Nord and Diriel to be returning within the hour. Come, let us go back to the inn and see how Peony is fairing. Shawford's healer, Nolan, has given us enough healing potions for us all."

As the group started walking back toward the town, Anariel fell back to walk along side Rizdaer. After waiting a moment or two for the others to widen their lead, she said, "You never did answer my question."

"What question are you referring to mistress," asked the drow.

"Are you grateful? For being apart of the party I mean."

After a slight pause, the dark elf answered, "You needed another sword arm. Should I to be grateful to this rabble in Targos, that they do not know one end of a blade from another?"

"What about being grateful that I know the difference between just another swordsman, and a true warrior I can depend upon." As the silence grew, she added, "I am grateful that I have found such a warrior as you, and such a man that I know I can trust."

Another pause,

"Mistress, I am not use to hearing fair words from a female. You have saved my life, and as such, you have both my sword, and my life. I serve you willingly."

Anariel sighed, "Well, one step at a time I suppose. I shall have to see that you become use to fair words."

"I shall give it my best try, mistress."

Silence reigned the rest of the way to the inn. The warm glow of light from the Weeping Widow's windows was a most heartening sight as the foursome hurried up the walk.

irivvil srow/i human scum

iUssta sea'an/i my hero

irivvil/i human