Not all fun and games
Running through uneven terrain had left a stich in her side, her thighs ached, and she was tired, what she needed was to find a place to hide and fast. Looking around she stopped momentarily by a small stream; breathing heavily she leaned over, placing her hands on her legs, contemplating her next move. Reaching down she removed her boots, and stepped into the water. Anything with deep concealing shadows, an overhang maybe. Searching both sides she waded upstream.
Perfect, just what I need. Hoping the soft ground cover would conceal her tracks, she stepped onto the moss covered bank, donning her boots. She laid a false trail away from her desired hiding place, then circled back around to hide in the branches of an over grown pine. Amalyr, settling in to wait, listened for sounds of pursuit.
Training had turned into a series of game like activities all designed to strengthen and build different skills. Last week had been hunting and tracking various animals, played by Fenarel and Safyre. This week was another game of hunt and this time Amalyr was the prey. Her goal was to evade capture until the sun had passed its zenith.
Fenarel knelt down to examine the ground and nearby brush for signs of passage. Gaining Safyre's attention he points out the slight impression of a heel leading into the stream. Placing a finger to his lips he then points indicating his intention to head upstream. Safyre nodded assent following his lead. He then turned his attention back to the stream.
Both elves had been searching for signs of disturbance along the bank, squirrel tracks, halla tracks, even wild hare, but no sign of Amalyr. Pursing her lips, Safyre whistles off a series of sparrow like calls bringing Fenarel to her side, when a slight scuff in the moss caught her attention. She outlined her plan to draw Amalyr out. Fenarel gave her a lop-sided grin then disappeared into the forest brush.
Amalyr watched from beneath the pine bough as Safyre crossed over from the far bank, her eyes intently studying the trail Amalyr had laid earlier, the elf paused canting her head as she listened for Amalyr to make some sound that would reveal her position. The dainty human waited with her breath held until the elf moved on in search. Amalyr counted a few heartbeats before slipping silently from the cover of her pine. She scanned the far side of the stream and the surrounding forest before melting into the shadows to follow Safyre.
Amalyr was becoming increasingly uneasy as she continued to remain unnoticed by her friend. This feels too much like a trap. Her green eyes narrowed in suspicion. Where is Fenarel?
She paused in her pursuit and shimmied up a nearby tree to get a better view of her surroundings. Keeping Safyre in sight she nervously scanned the area in hopes of catching sight of the missing elf.
The way he pops out of nowhere is positively uncanny. Amalyr feeling a pleasant shiver travel up her spine, quickly glanced to the trees behind her, half hoping and half dreading he would be there. Maker! Lyr, keep it together, I don't want to start jumping at shadows. Chuckling under her breath, "I won't let him catch me off guard like that again, such an undignified squawk…." Taking a moment to think of the handsome elf, she sucked on her bottom lip. Right keep focused…Continue to follow Safyre, or look for Fenarel? She looked after her friend. Following her would be plain folly. I know it has to be a trap. If she's in sight, he has to be somewhere nearby waiting for me to make a mistake.
After a few indecisive moments, Amalyr swung down from her perch, landing with a faint thud. She glanced around once more she then headed cautiously back the way she had come, leaving Safyre heading in the other direction.
If I can circle back unseen, maybe I can pick up where his trail splits off. I better make this quick it won't take long before they catch on to my ruse.
Amalyr had returned to the pine and begun searching. I thought it would be harder to find their tracks…then again, they are supposed to be hunting me, not the other way around. Puzzled she stared down at six sets of tracks. These are new. No one else is supposed to be out this way. She took a closer look at the new tracks. These are much deeper than mine. Who ever made these must be big and wearing heavy armor.
Amalyr furrowed her brows, slightly disturbed. Fenarel and Safyre's tracks head north, the new ones are headed that way. She looked at the sun gauging the time, then back at her friend's tracks. East it is.
Amalyr found that dried leaves, hard packed earth make following these harder, but not impossible. At least whoever made these didn't bother to hide their trail. Amalyr grimaced, scanning the narrow path where the tracks she had been following met up with a smaller set of prints coming from the direction of Lothering. She ran her fingers through the scattered leaves picking up a scrap of cloth. This was a scuffle. The coarse fabric had been torn clean as a body had been thrown to the ground, deep gouges showed where the person dug into the ground trying to prevent being dragged off. Whatever it is they are up to, they don't want to be seen.
Amalyr continued to follow the furrowed dirt where the new person was being dragged. She was now close enough to hear voices off in the distance, but still too far off to make sence of what was being said. Judging by the tone, I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end.
With an increasing sense of foreboding Amalyr picked up her pace. Once she neared the ravine she crouched, then began to crawl, attempting to get close enough to the edge to peer over without being seen.
Amalyr froze at the sight before her, blood freezing in her veins.
NO! Templars had her father.
Malcolm's arms were being pulled back by one, a knee in the small of his back held him in a kneeling position. A second templar had a big hand over her father's nose pushing his face back and forcing a small bottle between his lips. Malcolm sputtered; unable to breath he involuntarily swallowed the contents of the small vial.
All Amalyr could feel was fear and fury at the site of her father being held helpless. They had to have drained his mana. There is no other way they could have captured him. Thank the Maker Bethanys with the Keeper. I wish Carver was here. No telling if Safyre and Fenarel will find me in time to be of help…I can't wait for help; I've got to help father NOW! Scowling she got to her feet ready to do whatever was necessary to rescue her father, when a pair of gauntleted hands grabbed her arms roughly from behind; she clinched her jaw and struggled uselessly as the Templar pushed her through the underbrush toward his waiting comrades and her father. Amalyr closed her eyes disgusted with herself; she had been so focused on the seen in front of her she had failed to notice the missing Templar. How could I be so stupid!
The big templar standing before Malcolm looked up as a struggling Amalyr was all but carried down to the group. This close Amalyr had to shut her eyes against the pain she saw in her father's eyes. He looked terrible. The right eye swollen shut, skin cut around the socket and the whole side of his face slowly darkening to purple
Amalyr forced herself to meet the gaze of black beady eyes behind templar plate. "Let him go, or by the Maker I will kill you!" She snarled in thinly controlled rage and tried to lunge at him. The Templar holding her laughed nastily as the big man turned his attention back to her father.
"This is what happens to up-start mages who leave the circle." He sneered pulling the two handed broadsword from over his shoulder and ran the length through her father's body brutally twisting the blade on its way back out. The Templar holding Malcolm released his arm's letting him fall face first into the dirt, blood slowly pooling on the ground; turning the earth to red mud.
FATHER! NO!
Pulling off his helmet the templar turned to face a struggling Amalyr, his blade still dripping with her father's blood. He stared down at her with contempt for a long moment before he finally spoke. "You have been harboring a known apostate," He wiped the blood from his blade returning it to its scabbard, "one who has been running for years. Who else are you hiding? How many?" Amalyr looked away, refusing to answer.
The big man with mouse brown hair and a scar running from brow to chin across a pock covered face grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back to meet his eyes. "I don't like apostate sympathizers, you're just as bad as that filth we were sent to hunt. You will answer my questions little girl." Foul breath washing over her.
Refusing to show fear she spit up into the pock marked face. The templar jerked back in disgust, wiped the spittle from his face, and then backhanded Amalyr hard with his gauntleted fist.
Head ringing from the blow she ran her tongue over her bottom lip tasting the coppery tang of blood. Can't… pass… out. She was having difficulty fighting against the gathering darkness. Her eyes snapped open when he grabbed her by the hair again. "We're going to teach you what happens to those who harbor apostates, wench." The last templar gathering close. "And then you will tell me exactly what I want to know. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" His cruel mouth stretched in a thin unpleasant line.
You're not getting my sister! Not knowing what the Templar had planned, Amalyr did the only thing she could think of to keep her sister safe. This is going to get me killed. Using the Templar holding her for leverage she kicked out as hard as she could, not into the big man's groin as expected but into his knee with a satisfying crunch. The big man let go of her with a pain filled screech, face going red. Cold steel fingers dug into the flesh of her arms as the pock faced Templar wrapped his gauntleted hands around her neck slowly choking her.
Amalyr struggled vainly…Ca…Can't…Bre…ath… Have to….get away… She was having trouble focusing. Startled, Pock Face let go of her as an arrow blossomed into the neck of her captor, veiling her vision in red mist. Finally free Amalyr dropped, spinning on her heel and sweeping the big templar's feet out from under him, not giving Pock Face a chance to react, she leaped to his chest driving the wind from his body and sheathing her blades in his neck severing the artery.
Amalyr jumped to her feet searching for another target. Her gaze fell to the last templar, an arrow jutting from the slit in his helmet. Startled, Amalyr lifted her blades in a defensive gesture at the sound of approach; relief flooded her as the two elves came into view, bows still at the ready.
Shivering with shock Amalyr looked around, eyes resting on her father's prone form. Her eyes filling with unshed tears, her blades dropped from nerveless fingers; falling to her knees in grief, her trembling hands reached out and turned his body over. Malcolm's eyes fluttered open, a weak, wet cough escaped him.
Amalyr gasped. "Father!" She looked down at his ruined midsection the tears began spilling from her eyes. She placed her hands on his wounds trying to stop the bleeding. He's still alive!
"We'll get Bethy, she can heal this." She looked hopefully up at Safyre and Fenarel. "She's with Marethari; I can get her and be back before you know it."
"No Lyr." He rasped weakly.
"She can fix this, I know she can!" Amalyr cried in panic.
"They… used…magebane…won't last…too weak." Came the faint reply, he cupped Amalyr's face. "My brave, sweet …daughter, weep for me not, I go to the Maker's side." Amalyr shook her head denying what he was telling her. No no no no!
Helpless the elves watched. Their eyes clouded with concern for the small woman as the father's life seeped through his daughter's fingers.
"There has to be something, you can't die!" She wailed.
Eyes wet, Malcolm pulled his distraught daughter to his chest. "Shhh…sh…shhh…Sweet ling. I need you to do something for me." He coughed.
"Anything." Came the tear strained, muffled voice.
"Be strong… Tell Carver it falls to him now," His cough was long and rattling. "Protect our family." He swallowed, wetting his lips; Malcolm continued voice barely above a whisper and interrupted by wheezing. "Keep Bethany safe, my brave girl….I…love you all….so much!" He wet his lips again "So much. Tell your mother." Malcolm smiled weakly swallowing. "Tell her…tell her…I want her…to have a…long happy…life with…you…kids…and I'll be waiting for….her when it's her…time."
Amalyr looked into the fading light of her father's cerulean eyes, voice thick with emotion, "I will father… I promise."
"Good…girl…so proud…of you." Malcolm squeezed his daughter's hand, and smiled as he released his last breath.
Fenarel knelt down gathered the limp girl to his chest, meeting Safyre's silver gaze he mouthed "Keeper Marethari" his glance darted to the Templar bodies "Junar."
Safyre nodded, her normally cheerful face set in a grim cast, heart going out to her morning friend; she squeezed Amalyr's shoulder then raced off to the Keeper.
Taking comfort in the strong embrace, Amalyr dissolved into heart wrenching sobs; Fenarel's arms tightened pulling her close. Tears in his own eyes, he began murmuring soothingly until her crying eased.
Fenarel gently ran his fingers along Amalyr's jaw tilting her chin up, he winced in sympathy as he studied the darkening bruise on her cheek, his eyes resting on the split of her swollen lips.
She pulled slightly away letting her gaze shifted to the bodies of the fallen templars settling on Pock Face. "He killed my father. He would have killed Bethy. He was going to k..kill me." she whispered, "and I…I killed him…" She looked at her blood covered hands still curled against Fenarel's chest, then back to the lifeless bodies. "I've….Oh Maker…I've never….there all dead….I'm going to be sick…." The realization struck her; she had taken a life, Amalyr pushed away in favor of the closest bush.
Long moments passed before finally gaining her control. She wiped her mouth with the back of a hand and looked around uncertainly. Fenarel gently squeezed her shoulder and held out his water skin. She looked up at him through wet eyes, and with a small grateful sound she rinsed the dreadful taste from her mouth and the blood from her hands. Returning his flask, Amalyr leaned unsteadily against the tall elf. She sighed a little when an encircling arm pulled her in close and Fenarel rested his chin on the top of her head.
For Amalyr, everything was in a gray fog when Keeper Marethari arrived. Quickly taking charge, the Keeper directed Junar and the young hunters to dispose of the Templar bodies and to return Malcolm's to his family in Lothering. Amalyr blinked up dully at the elf woman, she could hear her tell Fenarel that she would take care of her injuries. The Keeper placed a hand on her cheeck and one above her heart. Amalyr felt a warm tingling sensation spread through her as Marethari's hands begun to glow blue. Amalyr slumped to the ground,
"The child is still in shock, only time can heal some wounds." She looked down at Amalyr. "I have put her into a small sleep, the spell will not keep long. When she wakes take her home Da'len."
"Ma serannas Keeper." Fenarel bowed his head, gathered the sleeping girl in his arms. He caught sight of Safyre, Tamlen following behind her.
A/N: I found writing Malcolm's death seen a new experience. Thank you to my Beta Kira Tamarion, and Bioware who owns everything. I just get to play with their characters.