.14 A life at stake

Tabor had followed the elf in his footsteps and now looked around, admitting defeat as it glared back at him through the eyes of his kin. Assembling the serviceable Crows in Val Royaux had been easy after word had spread the mistress had not only been among them, but had also found her death at the hands of Elissa Cousland.

Convincing them to support him in his newfound leadership had proved an equally simple task. Every assassin then present in Orlais had taken the opportunity to show their loyalty to the new suitor without hesitation.

That is why he should have known they would just as easily cast their allegiance aside. Especially when the infamous Zevran, risen from oblivion, promised them a share in his accumulated riches for their support at that very moment, and if necessary at the counsel and beyond. The elf had turned the stakes, proving to be an immediate threat.

Tabor's smile started to fade as the grins at the faces of his treacherous retainers broadened. What would stop them from clearing him out the way of their newfound path, right there and then?

Zevran had crossed his arms and had even put his daggers in his belt. Having his back turned at the group of armed Crows, he was the spirit of confidence as he smiled at Tabor in victory. The latter sighed, before he decided to draw his final card.

"I propose a duel."

The menacing collection of men behind Zevran laughed in a demeaning manner, expecting their new front man not to accept a senseless request to parlay. When he spoke, his answer surprised them all.

"Until one of us finds death."

Tabor raised his eyebrows in bafflement, and besides his appreciation for a last chance in the game he had dealt himself, he respected Zevran for this unexpected act of honor.

"Certainly. And what about the woman?"

Zevran's look momentarily lost it's triumph. He briefly glanced over his shoulder before he turned around and walked up to the door of the wooden shack, rain streaking down on him as he laid his eyes on Elissa who had remained collapsed on the floor. Then he threw the door shut and locked it with it's metal bolt.

"The winner will do with her as he pleases."

~.~.~.~

The two opponents had taken their time to exchange witty pleasantries, this time accompanied by an occasional clatter of steel against steel as they audibly scouted the barrens of their defense.

Eventually, the boisterous laughter the spectators provided changed into excited exclamations and hisses. And not without reason. De la Mancha, scarred though as he were and despite slightly limping from the hip, proved vivid and capable as ever.

Zevran soon found out the rumors about the fidelity of his aim were not exaggerated; every time he left an opening in his own resistance to strike the grey-streaked man had lashed out at him vigorously, aiming for his flanks. When the effort of holding his opponent at distance started to take it's toll on the elf he decided to dawdle no longer.

Heaving his daggers to strike in a flashing blow Tabor had no choice but to parry. As he did, Zevran disarmed him within the blink of an eye. Leaving his sword to fly through the clearing, the elf dropped his own knife to grab the man's dagger hand. Forcing the weapon to it's wielders throat as he knifed his own into his opponent's abdomen, he finally felt the life he longed to take slip through his fingers.

It didn't take long for the Crow to drop to the ground, gurgling profusely before he drew his final breath.

As the aspiring leader pooled in his own blood he made way for a new master. Zevran pulled the torn undershirt over his head, ignoring his battle wounds and wiping the blood from his hands before he degradingly threw the heap of cloth on top of the corpse at his feet. He then raised his arms in triumph, allowing his followers to cheer in his victory, before one of them yelled.

"The prisoners! She's gone!"

A sullen looking man stood in the door opening of the shack, revealing a large gap in the wall at the opposite side. It was obvious how they had made their escape during the commotion of the battle.

As the dumbfound silence held on, Zevran heard the slightest noise from the distance. When he stared down the darkened path, he saw a horse with two riders. The animal shuffled it's feet eagerly, but the man at the reins held still. The woman in the front of the saddle was the only one who looked back before the steed was urged to canter towards the main road.

Despite the whipping rain and the falling night, Zevran ceased to miss the fury ridden glance Elissa had rested upon him.

"There they go! After them!" The same man had called, as if to rectify his mistake of finding their captives gone.

"No," Zevran spoke deliberately. The Antivan Crows around them held halt, eager to pursuit but obeying without question.

"I will get to her later."