15 - De Chieftain

The Blackened Woods, so named following the recent desecration of vast areas of Quel'thalas' forests had resulted from the Horde's carefully devised attacks during their campaign to take Capital City. Dragon fire had wounded the land severely, accumulating many elven protectors into segregated pockets thus enabling the trolls and their newfound allies, the Horde, to bombard them with muscle, brawn and dark magic.

A contingent of the Horde led by the warlock, Gul'dan, had attempted to convince the Warchief they would crush the high elf nation by remaining in Quel'thalas and laying siege to Silvermoon City. With their armies increased by the Amani trolls they would pursue destroying the Sunwell, the source of the elves' power. The orc claimed they would succeed in this mission and in doing so take down the shield which protected the city against attack affording the Horde the necessary advantage to annihilating the northern kingdom.

Not entirely enthralled by Gul'dan's proposals, the Warchief had left the orc warlock to his own devices - he wanted no more delays in reaching his destination in Lordaeron. He left orders with the Dragonmaw Clan to force the orc and the armies to march west should their attempt at quashing the elves' precious city ensue for longer than his agreed three days deadline.

The trolls had readily agreed to continuing their assault on Silvermoon City and with unrelenting vigour pushed towards Evermoon Woods. Gul'dan's Death Knights and the orcs had been a weighty addition to their war parties and although they were not without losses of their own, they made steady progress.

Even when Gul'dan turned from them and left the battle along with his Stormweaver Clan to pursue what had been his ultimate goal, the Tomb of Sargeras, the trolls did not relent. Their focus was the high elves.

They had not quite bargained on the elves' allies joining forces, however, and when met with resistance from humans and dwarves as well as the Farstriders with some very unexpected bands of rogues, their advance was somewhat hindered. Once the arrival of the magi from Quel'Danas was established, so the trolls and the remaining Horde numbers were thwarted from their advance.

Meanwhile, the Dragonmaw Clan, instead of carrying out the Warchief's command to have Gul'dan march west, decided in their wisdom to warn him of the orc's betrayal instead. Along the way they duly set aflame many more Alliance held territories and not only did this aid the Warchief in progressing towards the Alterac Mountains, it also cut off a party of Farstriders from their Ranger-General. Furthermore, they had with them a principle captive – Zul'jin.

As Sauren had been recovering from his wound, Sa'themar and his troupe had set out to find the seemingly heteroclite Halduron Brightwing and the imprisoned troll Chieftain.

The dragon fires had decimated much of the surrounding countryside with some fires still raging. Their bright orange, red and yellow flames birthed thick black plumes which filled the skies for several leagues along the Eastweald and Lordaeron borders.

Portalling would have proven dangerous as well as possibly pointless under the conditions; to emerge encircled by fiery barriers would not have been conducive to locating the Lieutenant's camp. The rogues needed to utilise their cunning and expertise in finding a path through the flame-riddled ground. Being teleported out, however, would quite possibly be life-saving, so Sa'themar had the foresight to take four mages and four priests with him.

Dividing the troupe into four bands of five, each with a mage and priest in tow, Sa'themar sent them off to locate Brightwing and his party of Farstriders. He led one group, while Brett, Lina and Yathas led the other three respectively.

Even with scarves covering their noses and mouths the smell of the burnt ground, wood, foliage and countless bodies of woodland creatures was drawn into their lungs, making progress slow and at times painful. Try as they might, the odd fit of coughing and gagging was unavoidable. Eyes streaming from the smoke-infused air added another complication to the already perilous journey through the fire-torn maze. Walls of flames made the trek not only potentially lethal but truly exhausting, the intense heat bearing down on the already hard-tested groups of rogues.

The only thing which was in their favour was the distinct lack of the enemy. Other than a few blackened corpses which littered the way, no evidence of troll parties having braved the paths which the Blades travelled was found. With luck, this would remain the status quo.

Trudging through the charred forestation, an odd but strangely familiar sound came from Sa'themar's left. He crouched, signalling his team to follow suit – caution had to be exercised at all costs.

They focused on the whirring, hissing sound and moments later a break in the wall of flames opened up with a trail of frost crystallising the ground ahead of them.

Alaen stood about ten yards from them, madly patting his robes. He glanced up and frantically signalled the group to hurry through the path he had made for them.

On reaching the mage, Sa'themar nodded gratitude before moving over to join Lina and her team. Alaen repeated his magic a few yards to the right of where the guild leader's group had just emerged. Next to join them was Brett and Yathas whose paths had just crossed moments earlier.

Brett stared at Alaen who still made a fuss of his attire. The mage turned irritated eyes to the seasoned rogue. "Fifteen gold this cost me!" he grumbled. "Fifteen gold!"

Brett grinned as he saw the scorch marks on the fabric. "Well, you shouldn't wear such finery when you are in battle."

Alaen looked utterly insulted at the mockery the rogue afforded him. "I do not have the means to fritter away like you overblown and overpaid rogues do!"

Brett simply laughed. "Rubbish. You are just a tight-assed little mage. That rag will be tomorrow's dishcloth and you know it."

"How very dare you!"

"Alright! If you two have quite finished then we have business to see to." Sa'themar called over.

Without protest or explanation, the two men joined the once more complete rogue troupe.

Lina's group had successfully located the Farstriders. A short distance from where the troupe had convened, approximately the same number of rangers as there were rogues camped in a clearing close to the lake's edge.

Lina inched back and whispered to Sa'themar. "Anything strike you as strange?"

He let his eyes scan the rangers and their immediate surroundings. "There should be more of them," he responded matter-of-factly.

"Yes," the blonde replied. "Either many have already been killed or Halduron has them posted around the vicinity."

Yathas spoke up. "Knowing Halduron, it is more likely the latter. His company is tightly knit."

"Agreed," Lina admitted. Sa'themar nodded.

The smell of wet earth and foliage permeated the air. On close inspection, it seemed the rangers had generously doused the clearing up to the perimeter. Using water from the lake this ensured the flames would not take again if the breeze swept the fire their way once more.

To the left of the rangers an old brick ruin once covered in fertile moss and ferns were now blackened, the foliage crisped and flaked after being engulfed by the rampaging dragon fires. A huddled figure sat side-on to the stone. Although they were still a fair distance away, it was not hard to tell that this prisoner had been subjected to a severe beating. Dried blood was crusted around many grazes and gashes not to mention an eye-socket. The one remaining fierce yellow eye watched the Farstriders closely.

Two rangers approached the ruin and the prisoner. The metallic clink of chains sounded as the figure shifted.

Sa'themar watched silently as the two rangers threw scraps of food down on the charred earth.

"You better eat, troll. We need you alive, although barely will suffice." One said, laughing.

"Judgement will be passed, but not by us." The other said before proceeding to urinate on the food offered.

The figure didn't answer it just stared contemptuously at its two tormentors.

The rangers kicked at the burned, damp ground until a divot-sized chunk also covered the food they had thrown. Laughing quietly to themselves, they then turned and rejoined their comrades.

"Are you going to try to talk some sense into the Lieutenant?" Sa'themar asked Lina. His expression was hard to make out in the fading light of day but his tone was unmistakable. He clearly didn't think there was any chance of reasoning with the man.

"I have to," Lina insisted. "I cannot allow him to throw away his and the other rangers' lives all because he wants his best friend to dole out justice. I agree, it can be settled here and now."

Sa'themar nodded. "I will come with you, then."

Yathas and Lina exchanged a look. "Very well," she conceded.

Moving back to the rest of the troupe, Sa'themar instructed Brett to keep a sharp lookout. From experience, he knew the trolls favoured night-time attacks and for all there had been none since the Farstriders had been stranded with their prisoner near the lake, that did not mean it wouldn't happen. The Amani were bound to know now that their mortal enemies had their Chieftain and they would not give up until they rescued him. He also warned them there could be Rangers concealed in the woods who would not necessarily be throwing down a welcoming mat for them. Their prisoner was considered invaluable and interference with their plans may be viewed as a threat.

Brett duly fanned out the rogues assuring the area was covered to the best their numbers could manage. The mages and priests had to remain in hiding unless their services were required.

Halduron Brightwing was a brave and loyal Farstrider having fought valiantly against the Amani tribe even before he was enlisted by Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner. He was, however, no different from any other man who had borne witness to the horrors of war. He too felt pain from seeing friends and family cut down. All too familiar with the torturous measures inflicted upon prisoners of the trolls, he was haunted by some of the desperate pleas from their victims begging to be put out of their misery. As such he had no qualms about letting his men exercise their hatred on the Amani Chieftain.

Lina approached first. So as not to unduly alarm Halduron or his company, she decided it was best to advance without using the trait rogues specialised in. From the scorched forest she walked into the clearing holding up both hands in full view. Yathas and Sa'themar followed suit.

Their presence was noted by a few of the rangers who instantly readied their weapons but hesitated when they saw the visitors extend amnesty.

Halduron had sat with his back to the rogues but on seeing his men react he quickly assumed a fighting stance. When he recognised Lina and Yathas, he lowered his sword and signalled his company to do likewise.

His welcoming smile was fleeting, exhaustion possibly the reason. He greeted them with a bow, his eyes taking in the platinum-haired man who accompanied them.

"It is good to see you, Halduron," Lina offered, uncharacteristically nervous.

The young man's eyes moved back to Lina. "And you Lina. Yathas." His attention shifted once more to Sa'themar.

"This is the leader of The Crimson Blade, Sa'themar Nightflame," Lina advised.

Halduron offered a curt nod which the guild leader reciprocated.

The young Farstrider's countenance was stern. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in this burnt-out, forsaken place?"

Lina was noticeably taken aback by the ranger's tone.

Another voice unexpectedly intervened. A woman emerged from behind some of the rangers. She was striking with vibrant red hair and a presence which demanded reverence.

Sa'themar observed with interest the dynamics playing between his rogues and the Farstriders. He decided to let Lina and Yathas lead.

"Lady Liadrin," Lina inclined her head. Again Yathas did likewise. The woman's eyes rested on Sa'themar, clearly awaiting his accolade. A moment later he obliged.

"Lina," Liadrin replied facing the Firefury woman. "Forgive Halduron's rather testy welcome..." she flitted her gaze to the young ranger before focusing once more on the three rogues. "It has been a harrowing few days, I am sure you will appreciate."

"Understand yes, appreciate – no," Lina said quite firmly.

The woman smirked. "You are still as feisty, I see."

"I'm afraid that will never change."

A small ripple of laughter passed between the two. Lady Liadrin stepped closer, encouraging Halduron to accompany her.

The two women looked at each other. A silent communication between them was sensed rather than perceived. Sa'themar remained quiet nonetheless.

"I think we share a similar opinion, Lina," Liadrin reassured.

The female rogue straightened, her acuity of the intimation clear. She directed her response to Halduron. "You are an exceptional Lieutenant and have proven your ability, loyalty and worth countless times. Equally, you have always demonstrated a wisdom beyond your years, Halduron. Why, therefore, are you allowing this barbaric treatment of the Chieftain?"

The young Farstrider's jaw tightened. He spoke with deference, but nevertheless, there was a touch of reproach in his tone. "It is out of my hands."

"And whose hands, therefore, is it in?" Yathas enquired.

The young ranger did not respond. At this point, Sa'themar could no longer maintain his silence. "You do realise your chances of survival between here and Silvermoon are not in your favour?"

The Lieutenant's eyes were hard when he looked at the guild leader. "I do not understand what you are implying."

Sa'themar openly guffawed. "Come now," he began. "You have not acquired the position you boast through ignorance or stupidity."

"Sa'themar!" Lina protested.

Lady Liadrin watched the exchange with mild amusement.

Sa'themar continued. "No! He needs the bare facts reiterated so he doesn't have to live the rest of his life – if he survives long that is – regretting a misplaced idea of who should rightly decide the punishment of the Amani Chieftain."

"Well put," Liadrin added. "And I wholeheartedly agree."

Halduron huffed and crossed his arms.

Sa'themar was momentarily caught off-guard by the praise afforded from the Blood Knight and his mouth involuntarily twitched at the corners.

"As you have surmised what my intentions are Sa'themar Nightflame, might I ask once more, to what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed presence? Are you here to help or hinder me?" Halduron posed.

From the sidelines, Brett watched the group as they conversed. He wasn't completely sure if it was going in the Blade's favour, but as always, he would bide his time and keep the troupe back unless it was necessary for their intervention.

A low menacing laughter drew his attention towards the prisoner chained to the old broken-down building. The troll was also watching the young Lieutenant and his visitors. He seemed to find it rather amusing.

The crunch and crack of brittle twigs in the undergrowth made Brett turn swiftly. He was met with Alaen and the other mages and priests being marched into the clearance by a small band of rangers. He watched as they passed where he remained cloaked in shadows.

Alaen was being his usual self, craftily issuing a needless warning. "Well, I advise you all to say and do nothing," he spouted, ensuring any nearby stealthed rogues heard while pretending he was speaking to his fellow captives. "Won't do with us all in trouble, now would it?"

The Lieutenant on seeing the new group of individuals entering the clearing commented, "Well, it seems you have come with something in mind certainly, so please do enlighten me."

Lina jumped in before Sa'themar could utter a word. "Halduron, please! I know you are a fiercely loyal friend to Lor'themar, but do you think taking the Chieftain to him would serve as some sort of abstersion from the wrongs he suffered at the hands of Zul'jin? You are risking many more lives in doing so."

The lieutenant looked squarely at her. "Are you suggesting we sit and do nothing, Lina?"

"Do nothing? You seem to have kept yourselves amused for the past few days," Sa'themar commented pitching a thumb at the creature chained to the ruins.

The call of a hawkstrider encircled the camp. Instantly the rogues were on alert. Halduron did not miss the change in the visitors' awareness. "A signal?" he enquired, readying his sword. His company, including Lady Liadrin, also prepared for battle.

"Indeed," Sa'themar replied drily. "Seems your "fun" has finally drawn the attention you really don't need."

The sound of missiles whistling through the air was heard mere seconds before the surrounding woods erupted with roars and the clashing of weapons. Dull thuds peppered around the clearing as spears, axes and arrows hit the ground narrowly missing some of the rangers.

Another hawkstrider call and Sa'themar knew his troupe were engaged in battle around the perimeter. "I sincerely hope you have more people out there defending," he shouted over his shoulder at Halduron.

"Yes, I do," the Lieutenant shouted back as he deflected troll missiles with his sword. "I have ninety men in total."

"Well, remember that number and see how many you can account for when this is over!" The guild master quickly stealthed as the first of the trolls appeared in the clearing.

Two tusked marauders were instantly incapacitated, folding over as Sa'themar's blades tore open their bellies. Innards fell to the damp, blackened ground, their sickening coppery scent rising on thin swirling vapours as the warm organs mingled with the cool evening air. As the huge bodies hit the ground squirming, Sa'themar spun back and quickly slit their throats - their death-rattles lost amid the increasing sounds of clashing weapons, tribal roars and shouts.

More spears rained down into the clearing this time claiming one or two of the rangers. Alaen signalled to his fellow mages. Chanting in unison, polychromatic domes spread above them acting as a shield preventing any more missiles entering the camp from on high. Sounds of flint and wood bouncing off the enchanted canopy confirmed the shield's effectiveness.

The priests aided the injured rangers. Luckily the wounds inflicted were not fatal or life-threatening and they healed quickly. The offending weapons were tossed aside.

Lady Liadrin cleaved her way through several trolls, finishing a few with decapitation. Blood spatters covered her armour, hands and face but she fought on with notable skill.

Halduron equally impressive moved nearer to the ruin in a bid to prevent the trolls from reaching their Chieftain. At one point he had six of the tusked warriors coming at him but he pushed them back, wielding his sword with admirable proficiency.

Alaen, on seeing the young lieutenant trying to hold off the rescue party uttered a spell which produced a circle of fire around the Chieftain. Halduron acknowledged the mage's assistance with a nod.

Enemy numbers had to be kept to a minimum for those in the centre to stand a chance and the mages came to the forefront blasting away the trolls who charged into the camp in droves. Bodies were thrown through the air on blinding jets of frost and arcane sorcery. Ejected from the epicentre of battle the battered and winded trolls were left to the mercy of the combined forces of rogues and Farstriders who fought around the perimeter.

Rivers of blood congealing with the scorched earth made it difficult for the allies to keep their footing and many had slid along the coppery forest floor. Although the night rid the world of her colours turning everything black and grey, it was not hard to assess the slick coating on the armour of both rogues and rangers was attributed to the blood drawn from battle. From some laboured breathing and limping individuals, it was also apparent some of that crimson flow was their own.

Brett managed to keep an eye on the fight within the centre of the camp and he slashed and gouged his way through the enemy. He also had to gauge how the rest of the troupe were faring. From what he could see, at least four were down, their mutilated bodies trampled into the charred undergrowth. A few rangers lay close by in a similar state. Now was not a time to grieve for fallen comrades, now he had to focus on the living.

The hawkstrider call echoed around the camp again and the remainder of the troupe moved in. It felt like an age since the battle had begun but the reality was about twenty minutes, half an hour tops. It was a fierce fight though, and it was starting to take its toll on the allies.

Lina and Yathas had tried to keep the mages and priests protected as well as fight off the trolls who targeted them as well. Lina's blonde hair was matted, clinging to her face and neck, exhaustion was starting to wear her down.

She glanced at her husband. Concern in his eyes made her smile reassurance. He nodded. He too was starting to feel the effects of the fight. Breathing deeply, he pulled himself upright and lunged at another oncoming troll. He brought his weight down on his blades. They gouged a trough down the troll's chest, it's customary symbolic neckwear popping and pinging as the sharp edges were drawn down. Yathas fought the need to shake away the blood spatter from his face; even with this type of injury, the troll could still inflict immeasurable damage to him if he so much as blinked.

The troll's yellow eyes contained disbelief and insurmountable fury as it saw its skin being sliced open, blackened rivulets of blood coating the waistband and britches below. The thick slop of guts hitting the existing pile of corpses was barely audible above the surrounding clash. A speedy change in grip of his daggers and Yathas yanked the blades back up and to the sides, practically skinning the troll before it crumpled to its knees. The final slice across the throat ended the creature's life. It fell forward, joining its dead comrades.

Glancing back at his wife Yathas and Lina shared another smile, weary though they were. Still, the troll corpses littered at their feet was testament to their ability and stamina so far.

Halduron had kept close to the Chieftain, determined to keep him as his prisoner. His attackers were relentless and equally as single-minded to reach Zul'jin. With sword slick in enemy blood, he parried and lunged pushing the trolls back. But no sooner had he gained distance between them and their Chieftain more came from another direction - and he was tiring.

As he turned to face the latest onslaught, a searing pain shot through his side. Shocked, he stared at the attacker then his eyes travelled along the shaft of the spear driven into his body. He staggered back. The troll kept advancing, forcing the elf against the wall of the ruin. The young Farstrider stared defiantly into the yellow eyes of his attacker.

"Fi wi Chieftain belong to wi," the troll drawled, its ochre-tinged tusks coated in blood and saliva.

His face twisting with pain, Halduron refused to relinquish his prisoner. "That fiend will be served justice this day."

The troll's guttural laughter washed over the elf's tortured expression. "De only justice served dis day will be fi yuh death." He twisted the spear, causing the elf to roar.

The sound of a huge blade swinging through the air made the elf look up. Just in time, he saw Lady Liadrin behind the troll arcing her sword round to take out the enemy out. The elf ranger slid down the wall as the troll parted company with its head. The spear had gone straight through, the tip catching on the stone as Halduron fell. Liadrin ran to his side and inspected the wound.

She cupped his face in her palm. "It's bad, Halduron, but I can heal you. It's going to hurt some more first, though, I have to remove the spear."

The Lieutenant managed a nod and braced himself for more pain as the Blood Knight rolled him gently onto his side. Managing to open a pouch on his belt Halduron withdrew a thick leather block. He put it to his lips and smirked at Laidrin. "Just for such emergencies. Won't do if I bite my tongue off as well," he tried to joke. She smiled, then he bit down on the leather.

"Ready?" she asked.

Again he nodded. She placed her foot as near to where the shaft entered his body as she dared. Bending down she applied pressure, then grabbing the protruding part of the shaft she forced her foot down and pulled up at the same time. The snap of the wooden shaft was drowned by the Farstrider's cry of pain.

Ensuring no loose splinters were on the part still within the elf, Liadrin moved behind him. Taking a firm hold of the spearhead she pulled until the weapon was clear from Halduron's body. She cast the spear aside.

Shuddering from the experience, the brave Farstrider Lieutenant lay limp, reflections of the mages' magical bolts and persisting shield reflecting in his azure eyes. The ground suddenly adopted a warm golden glow as Lady Liadrin called upon the Light to help her heal her friend.

He wondered if he had drifted off for a while for when he opened his eyes again, the sky was dark, nothing more than the moon and millions of stars lighting the world. There were no sounds of battle either. Only muffled voices nearby. He slowly pushed up, propping himself on his elbow. Squinting to adjust to the darkness he scanned the camp. Rogues and Farstriders helped each other tending wounds until the priests could do their work. Others ventured to the lake's edge and splashed their faces with the cool water, some even immersed their whole head, ridding their hair of the blood, sinew and guts which had resulted from the gory battle.

Sa'themar's words came back to haunt him. "See how many you can account for when this is over!" Making a haphazard guess from the bodies milling around or sitting in front of small campfires, he reckoned he had lost about a third of his company. Sighing heavily, he sat up and rested his back very gingerly against the ruined wall.

Then he saw it.

A pair of leather-booted feet stopped beside him. He did not need to lift his eyes to know who presided over him. The guild master did not speak and Halduron knew he was waiting for him to utter the first words. "They got him." He said simply.

Sa'themar huffed. "What you left of him, yes."

"We did not do that!" Halduron pointed to the severed arm chained to the adjacent wall.

"No, he managed that himself with the spear that impaled you no less. But, your men did beat him up until he was all colours of the rainbow, no doubt with several fractures and not forgetting a missing eye."

Halduron finally lifted his eyes and looked up at the darkened high elf next to him. "I understand now," was all he could offer.

Sa'themar hunkered down next to the Lieutenant. "I have no doubt you thought you were doing the right thing, lad. Our - sometimes misguided sense of duty has shaped many of us into becoming the thing we hate. You, from what I have been told by Lina, Yathas and the Lady Liadrin, are one of the strong. You are a natural leader who has an impressive military record."

The guild leader looked over at the severed arm. "This ... glitch in your performance is a lesson, Halduron. Yes, there is always cost in war and a high price it is for some, that cannot be laid at your feet. However, know this." He faced the Farstrider Lieutenant once more. "You have inadvertently created a god. That creature limped out of here, battered, disfigured, some of which was carried out by his own hand. If that does not make him transcend to the seat of their gods or Loa, or whatever, then nothing can. And once he takes that throne, his people will worship him like a god. He will be unstoppable."

"I should have killed him," the Farstrider admitted.

"Yes, you should have, the moment you captured him. I believe your friend, Lady Liadrin, even tried to tell you that."

Halduron nodded.

Sa'themar stood tall again. "It was an error in judgement. You will need to learn from it because this is not over yet. And next time, you may not be so lucky to survive." The guild master then left the young Lieutenant to consider his future.

From deep within the troll city of Zul'aman, the witch doctors tended their Chieftain's wounds, bathing, applying elixirs and bandages where required. He sat brooding on his throne, picturing every face that had tortured him. He also recalled three strangers who walked into the camp and spoke with the Farstrider Lieutenant. He remembered a name and muttered it under his breath.

"Wat was dat name yuh just utta?" a voice said from Zul'jin's right.

He grunted turning his one eye towards the female who had entered. The click-clack of beaded necklaces and hair adornments was strangely comforting to the Chieftain. He held out his right hand to the Hexer who visited. She graciously accepted and stepped up to the throne where she planted a small kiss on his brow. He squeezed her hand, laughing lightly. "Dawta," he said. "Yuh ah mi bess medicine."

The female troll smiled and looked over her father. She shook her head, vexation furrowing her brow as she noted all his injuries. "Dey mus suffa fah wat dey ave don to yuh, fada." Anger mixed with sadness swam in her eyes.

Zul'jin straightened on his throne. "Everybody wan to tek fram wi. Now wi guh start taking bak," he growled.

"Let mi help yuh," she said.

"Fret nah, Tulu," he comforted. "Anybody wo get inna way... gwona drown…inna deir own blood."

Tulu clasped her father's hand to her cheek. A tear rolled from her eye and trickled over his knuckles.

"Ah, yuh still be grieving, gyal." Zul'jin said to his daughter.

"Yes, dey took fram mi, too. Just gimmi ah name, fada, mi ave fi mi own ways of helping."

The Chieftain looked at her. He managed the semblance of a smile. "Dere a too nuf…" he tried to deter her.

"Mi want dat one yuh uttered before - mi wish only dat one!" she said, stroking the strands of hair tied to her belt.

Resigned that she would not relent, he sighed deeply, then granted her wish. "Nightflame," he said.

Tulu grinned, satisfied.