Consciousness returned with a jerk. Someone or something grabbed my leg hard and jerked it to the side. It felt like my limb had been severely burned. I kicked out with my other leg, and my blind kick hit its mark. Someone released me and growled in displeasure. What or who was that?
Trying to open my eyes was met with pain. My head started ringing, but I stubbornly opened them anyway.
The tall fir trees sway, creaking slightly in the breeze.
Suddenly, a black wolf's head blocked my view. It bared its fangs and growled low. A second later, the wolf lunged at me, its jaws aimed straight for my throat. At the last moment, I managed to grab its muzzle with my hands, protected by very skillful and beautiful armored gauntlets. The wolf snapped its fangs near my face a couple of times and breathed such a foul odor that I almost gagged. The beast growled and began to reach closer and closer to me. My hands suddenly slid down its neck, and its fangs grazed my cheek. Something hot immediately ran down it.
And as if this awakened me, I began to squeeze his neck with my hands. The indignant growl quickly turned into a desperate wheeze. The wolf lunged away from me, and I couldn't hold him back.
I raised myself up onto my elbows. The black wolf, growling low and bending its head to the ground, began circling around me, clearly about to pounce on me from behind.
I crawled backwards and luckily came to rest against the wide trunk of a spruce tree. I quickly glanced around, trying not to lose sight of the wolf.
A forest with a sparse undergrowth, mostly made up of some kind of fern... A fern? How do I know what that is? And why can't I remember who I am?
The wolf ran around us with the tree and growled in annoyance.
He clearly has no intention of retreating. It looks like he'll be charging at me again soon. I wish I had a weapon. Or at least a stone, a stick...
I looked myself over.
Hmm. A very beautiful and functional suit of armor, made of white metal or alloy. A dark green cloak with a deep hood covers my back, which I immediately pulled over my head. The thick fabric is generously splashed and stained with dirt and... blood? Attached to my belt are two pairs of empty, slightly curved, ornate scabbards, lightly decorated with gold: one pair is longer, the other much shorter.
I tried to stand up carefully, holding onto the tree trunk with one hand and holding the other out in front of me: it was some protection, but not much. Besides, the elaborate armor inspired confidence.
I had almost managed to stand up when I slipped and nearly fell. The wolf thought this was an opportune moment and, practically without preparation, he leaped at me. Reflexively, I managed to get my left hand under his jaws, and his fangs clamped down on it helplessly. The next instant, my right hand darted to my left and, drawing from its hidden sheath a very narrow blade—not even a dagger, but a strip of metal—with lightning speed, stabbed the wolf several times from below, first into the throat, and then straight into the eye.
So we slid back to the ground: me, exhausted, and the dead wolf, still clutching my hand in death.
I don't know how long I sat like that, coming to my senses, but the awakened thirst and hunger forced me to start cutting the wolf's mouth with a dagger in order to free my hand from the trap.
By the time I freed myself, I was completely covered in blood. Having somehow wiped the stiletto first on the wolf fur and then on my cloak, I slid my only weapon back into its hidden sheath.
Irritably pushing the wolf's carcass away from me, I finally stood up. At first, the world swayed violently, and I had to clasp a tree trunk with my arms to keep from falling. But gradually, I regained my composure enough to stand without support.
The first step was rather clumsy, but the second was better. After going back and forth, I was faced with a choice: what next?
The sun overhead, moss on the trees... In a word, I easily determined north and south. But where to go?
I walked around the place where I woke up and looked at it carefully.
Apparently, I came from the West. I wandered, heedless, kicking up the withered leaves. I tripped over a root protruding from the ground and collapsed. Then a wolf, following exactly my trail, came upon me.
It's alarming. Very alarming. If everything was so good where I came from, then why didn't I stay there? Was I being persecuted, or was I being persecuted?
My imagination conjured up a crowd of people in black cloaks, shouting something inaudibly and angrily while shaking their swords.
And I wanted to live the way I wanted...
I'll have to go back where I was going. To the East.
I carefully pulled the glove off my left hand and gazed in amazement at my slender, aristocratically manicured fingers with long nails. On my ring finger was a signet ring made of white metal, exquisitely engraved with a leaf with a droplet hanging from it.
No thoughts. No memories. Nothing awakens when looking at her.
Pulling off the glove from my right hand, I discovered a ring on my index finger, made of the same strange white metal, with a bright green transparent stone that sparkled in a ray of sunlight breaking through the foliage. Admiring the play of light, I noticed a strange defect within the stone. It seemed to contain a small black sphere.
The hell knows what this is. I don't understand a thing...
Putting my gloves back on, I sighed heavily and, listening to myself, walked further through the forest, trying to keep the setting sun always shining on my back.
I walked for a long time, mindlessly. At times, I felt like I was floating in some kind of sludge. My eyes closed of their own accord, and I wandered along, oblivious to the road.
At one point, I slipped and fell face-first into the cool mud. This brought me back to my senses, and I sat up and looked around.
As it turned out, my feet had led me where I needed to go: a fast-flowing stream was babbling just a meter away. On all fours, I reached it and began greedily drinking the icy water.
Having drunk, I finally came to my senses and began carefully washing the dirt and blood from my face. The wound on my cheek was barely bothering me. After thoroughly rinsing it with clean water, I pulled down my hood and, surprised, began to examine my reflection in a very small pool I'd discovered nearby.
Even in this poor substitute for a mirror, I saw a narrow, feminine face, large eyes with dark or blue irises, and... clearly pointed ears. What demon? For some reason, it seemed to me simultaneously right and wrong.
I forced a smile at my reflection and examined the wound on my cheek again. It didn't seem like much, but the scar would be a real nightmare. And on such a little face... Sigh...
With a sigh of sorrow, I stood up and, looking at the sun, which was clearly setting toward the horizon, decided to follow the stream downstream. The logic was simple: the stream would eventually flow into a river, and civilization could always be found near a river. After all, the river emptied into the sea, and from there...
I carefully stepped into the water and stood there for a moment. Judging by the feel of my boots, they were impermeable. Excellent.
I have to take into account that I might be persecuted...
I carefully walked along the stream bottom, sometimes sinking ankle-deep into the mud. I hoped the water would quickly wash away my tracks.
The stream was still flowing past me when I realized that I needed to look for a place to spend the night.
Remembering the encounter with the wolf vividly, I tried to climb a tree, but general weakness prevented me from doing so. I tried hard to light a fire, but either I was too weak or I was doing something wrong... In short, neither friction nor striking a stone with a dagger succeeded in igniting a fire. I was forced to simply wrap myself in my dirty cloak and spend the night among the roots of a huge oak, hoping to wake up before the next wolf devoured me.
I woke up to a terrible cold. But when I saw steam coming out of my mouth, I had to admit I couldn't last long without fire.
'An elf in the forest never dies.'
A sudden thought amused me. So what am I doing here?
Having risen with difficulty, I walked back and forth a little, dispersing the stagnant blood in my wounded and exhausted body.
After drinking some cold water, I came to my senses and turned my attention to my right leg, which had begun to ache. It turned out the wolf had caught two fangs in a gap between the armor pieces and pierced the skin, digging deep into the muscle. My leg was numb, and the wound had begun to fester.
The wound needs to be cleaned...
After pulling off my boot, I removed the armor pieces from my leg and spent a long time washing the dried blood from my underarmor and leg. Then I bit into a branch and, pressing hard on the wound with the washed dagger, drew out the pus and blood. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt all that much. However, I took this as a bad sign and thoroughly washed the bleeding wound.
The temperature was rising rapidly along with the sun. I tried to wash the dirt and blood off my cloak and hung it on a nearby bush.
It's time to take inventory of everything I own.
Feeling my right bracer, I discovered another identical dagger. The cloak's hidden pockets delighted me: one contained twelve obviously gold coins, and another held two bright green silk handkerchiefs, each corner exquisitely embroidered with a gold leaf with a scarlet drop hanging from it. Could it be that the unknown weavers had intended to represent a drop of blood?
That's all. I had nothing else on me.
All of this raises the most important question: so I've reached civilization, but what next? What if the locals quietly kill me?
Elves... Am I an elf? Perhaps so. And am I running from my own kind? It seems so...
I sighed. All questions and no answers. Just assumptions.
I need to move further downstream and try to catch at least some fish. And try to light a fire again. Thankfully, I'm feeling better now.
After washing the wound again, I covered it with handkerchiefs and wrapped it with a narrow strip of cloth cut from the bottom of the cloak.
At noon, you must not forget to unwind and check.
Having put on my armor and boots again, I moved on, limping slightly, but now along the stream.
A short while later, the stream unexpectedly merged into a narrow river. After observing it for a while, I reconsidered the distance I'd traveled and decided I needed to cross to the other bank. Otherwise, if I followed the river downstream, I might very well end up near the place where... I was attacked? Oh, never mind...
But what should I do? Go up? It seems so.
We need to find a ford...
I started to move along the river, when after just a dozen steps I heard a distant horse neigh. Something inside me estimated the distance – about eight hundred meters to the northeast.
Crouching low, I began to creep silently through the tall undergrowth. Where had all the hunger and weakness gone?
The closer I got, the more noise reached me: someone's loud laughter, conversation, loud laughter, someone's pleas, the frightened neighing of horses.
Suddenly I heard a short cry, full of pain and despair.
Oh, I shouldn't have gone there.
But at that moment, when I was already considering the option of stopping and turning back, the trees parted and I saw.
About twenty meters away, the forest broke off, forming a small clearing with a narrow road running through it. A small caravan of five carts pulled by horned oxen was parked in the clearing. A dozen bearded men in roughly quilted clothing knelt beside the carts. Besides them, about two dozen dead people in blood-stained white and blue clothes and several dead and wounded horses lay strewn across the clearing.
All of this was controlled by two dozen bandit-looking men, dressed in light armor without insignia and armed with identical straight swords.
Before my eyes, one of them thrust his weapon into one of the bodies, shouting loudly:
- Selon! We've finished checking everyone...
Oddly enough, I heard the answer from the tall, bearded man sitting on a magnificent black horse, despite the fact that it was not only spoken much more quietly, but also much further away from me.
- Excellent. Once you've finished looting, catch up with us. But be quick: travelers may be rare on this road, but the baron is no fool, and anything can happen.
Baron... Baron... A local nobleman of low rank.
The men raised the captives from their knees with sharp shouts and kicked them onto a cart. After that, the small caravan moved on from the clearing.
Spotting movement among the tree trunks out of the corner of my eye to the right, I glanced over and saw two young men dressed in leather vests with deep hoods and linen trousers. Their weapons were longbows held in their muscular hands. They were just slinging quivers, barely half filled with thick, gray-feathered arrows, over their shoulders. One of them clapped his comrade on the shoulder and exclaimed:
"We had some good shooting today, Larn! Maybe Selon would be generous with a bonus? What do you think?"
I quickly began to move behind them. The forest let me pass without a sound: the dry leaves didn't even rustle under my feet, and the dry rags somehow didn't break under my weight.
Larn snorted loudly:
"I'm sure he won't give us anything from above, even if we shoot the baron himself. He's a tightwad, a bastard, a marauder, and a bandit. It was a shame we ever joined them." He glanced around, but clearly couldn't see me. And this despite the fact that there were only a few trees between us. I could clearly see his short, well-groomed blond beard and the eyes glinting from under his hood. Turning back to his interlocutor, he said much more quietly: "We need to get away from them. Baron Tur will definitely organize a raid after all this. And if he turns to serious mercenaries or elves..." He paused meaningfully.
My eyes narrowed of their own accord, and my fingers pulled stilettos from my bracers.
So they were definitely bandits. These simple words stirred up a dark, viscous wave of grim images from the past within me.
Unfortunately, some memories faded again, faster than I could grasp them with my mind. However, the rest left behind extremely unpleasant associations.
Madness. Death. Blood... Nightmarish magic...
The memories captured me so much that I froze.
The whistle of long arrows with white feathers and terrifying jagged tips. A dead blue-eyed girl in white armor in my arms. My desperate cry.
One of the moments was particularly striking: a torture chamber and a man crucified on a snow-white wall.
I ask him:
"So you're bandits?" And only after I said this did I realize that I had said it out loud, standing behind the backs of these two gathering archers.
"Well, yes. How could it be otherwise..." the guy replied, not yet realizing that he was talking to a stranger.
His comrade turned in confusion at the sound of my voice and, seeing me, his eyes widened. He opened his mouth, obviously about to scream, but my stiletto sliced his neck right down to the vertebrae. His head snapped back and a stream of blood sprayed from the open wound onto my face. A few drops landed on the first guy.
I could have killed him at the same time as his comrade, but that was not part of my plan: the Twilight War left many 'funny' tactical moves in my memories.
"What the fuck, Larn?" the second archer says, wiping the drops from his face with his palm.
For a second he looks at his blood-stained hands in confusion and turns to me in fear, only to see me holding his friend's still twitching body.
My lips twist into a cruel smile. I whisper softly:
- Well, by becoming a bandit, you chose a difficult death...
The guy screamed wildly and, sharply pulling a long dagger from its sheath, rushed at me.
Having released the dying man, I easily dodged the straight lunge and, ducking from below, pulled the stiletto upwards, cutting not only the leather vest, but also the abdominal muscles and sternum.
The boy's scream gave way to pain, rage replacing pain. He dropped the dagger and, clutching himself, fell to his knees. I unceremoniously grabbed him by the collar with my left hand and quickly dragged him deeper into the forest.
The first trick of the Twilight War. While I was dragging a bandit screaming in pain into the forest thicket, distantly noting the other bandits rushing into the forest after me, my memory suddenly unfolded before me.
The last war between the dark elves and the light elves, called the 'Twilight'.
It was like this: the dark elves struck at night, while we operated during the day. Sometimes the squads would clash at dusk, when they were just leaving their bases and we were returning. Or vice versa. Extremely brutal, short skirmishes would break out at sunrise or sunset. That's why the war became known as the Twilight War.
In the Twilight War, they first used vampires, and we, in response, created werewolves. And both peoples were horrified by what they had unleashed upon this world...
At the end of the war, the dark ones managed to defeat our army and attempted to attack the Great Forest directly. They used humans as cannon fodder. Then the Lady sent her personal guard—the Guardians of Peace. And they showed why a single Blademaster is worth a hundred soldiers on the battlefield...
Memory helpfully showed a huge field littered with mangled corpses.
I wonder if I was one of them? Or just saw it?
Enough. They're already close. As proof, an arrow whistled nearby.
Hmm. I thought those two were all the archers in this gang... Well, it doesn't matter.
Thrusting the wounded man's back against a tree trunk, I snatched the half-empty quiver of arrows from his back and quickly darted to the side. Just five seconds of running and the forest had me safely hidden in its shadow.
As planned, these bandits followed right on the trail.
Stupid little humans. But that's the basic principle. Isolate one. Wound him and drag him into the forest so his comrades can try to help him. And then they're completely at our mercy...
"Do you see it? What is it?" the bandits shouted at each other.
- Quiet! - shouted the leader: - Don't talk! He's somewhere around here!
At least they're not walking in single file. That would be completely uninteresting.
Fifteen in total. Surprisingly, they were armed almost identically: three with short hunting bows stood behind the swordsmen, armed with straight one-handed swords of decent quality.
By the way, their weapons make me say they don't look like bandits. Besides, their leather armor fits too well and also looks like it was crafted by the same master.
I suspect they're either deserters who've decided to take the high road, or even saboteurs from one of Baron Tour's neighbors. Or perhaps from another country entirely. We should capture the leader alive and question him...
While I was considering the situation and the degree of possible danger, the bandits, obeying the commander's signals, lined up in a dense chain and began to quickly, but quietly (as it seemed to them) approach the groaning and screaming wounded man.
Tactically, everything seemed fine on their side: the archers were in the rear, the swordsmen in the front. The commander obviously thought that the fact that they were 'only' two hundred meters from the clearing would prevent me from getting behind them. But they clearly hadn't encountered the light elves in the forest. Perhaps they hadn't yet realized who they were up against?
The biggest mistake they made was right at the start – they should have abandoned the wounded. Yes, it was cruel. But this way – I'll just lay them all down here...
I easily circled around them and went to the rear. Then I discovered that the body of the first bandit I'd killed was already being searched by another.
How disgusting...
Appearing silently behind him, I grabbed his face with my left hand, clamping it over his mouth, and with my other hand, slowly, drawing out the pleasure, slit his throat with a stiletto. To avoid getting even more bloodied, I immediately pushed his agonizing body aside.
Quickly bending down, I picked up the longbow and dove into the undergrowth again.
After casting an appraising glance around the empty clearing for any unaccounted for bandits, I checked the bow and sighed sadly at its imperfection: not only was it incomparable to the work of our masters, but even my first childhood crafts were far better.
There were only a dozen thick arrows in the quiver. I pursed my lips in displeasure – I'd forgotten to take the arrows from the first archer. Of course, I could have returned to him, but my position was too promising – I was essentially ten meters behind them, right in the middle of the bandit line.
In principle, it can work like this...
I stuck all the arrows in front of me with their points in the ground, and put another one on the bowstring and carefully pulled it back, aiming at the back of one of the archers, who stood tensely frozen in place, peering into the thicket.
I'm letting go...
The arrow entered the man's left shoulder blade, easily piercing his leather armor. The bandit couldn't even scream; staring in surprise at the arrowhead protruding from his chest, he silently fell to the side.
The bandits had just reached the wounded man and therefore did not notice the loss.
Smiling contentedly, I quickly fired the prepared arrows at the remaining bandits. In my excitement, I forgot I was holding a bow that wasn't ours, and it broke on the last shot, leaving me with my last arrow.
Without hesitation, I dove into the forest again. The cries of the wounded reached me.
The age-old ritual of plunging arrows into the ground before firing... Even if I don't return to finish off the wounded (and I will), they're guaranteed to get blood poisoning. And if they don't have healing potions or artifacts, their death will be long and painful.
Elven arrow poisons are a whole other story. They use everything the forest can provide: excrement, corpses, insect, toad, and snake venom, plant and berry sap, pollen, nectar... Our imagination really runs wild here. And considering we can't die of old age, we have endless time for research and experimentation...
Emerging from the undergrowth near the very first victim for just a second, I yanked a blood-soaked, partially filled quiver of arrows from the corpse's back and picked up a full bow. Constantly listening to the bandits' distant shouts, I counted the arrows: nine. In theory, that should be more than enough. Well, after the results, we'll think about continuing the fun.
Having placed the arrow on the bowstring, I began to creep back softly.
Five dead and five seriously wounded. I didn't exactly shoot well, but considering my condition, it turned out okay.
One of the wounded, shot through the heart with an arrow, was clearly about to die. His comrade was holding him tightly by the hand. Well, well...
- Show yourself! I'm not afraid of you!.. - another very young guy clearly panicked.
"Kayden!" the commander belatedly shouted, but he, screaming desperately, rushed through the thicket back to the clearing.
I didn't bother him—I'd catch up later, or let him go away altogether. I fired an arrow right into the heart of the older bandit who had nearly flinched after the guy. They only managed to notice the spot where the shot had come from.
"Damn it! He's out there somewhere!" another soldier shouted, pointing in my direction.
The bandits quickly moved, hiding behind the tree trunks so that they could not be seen from my point.
However, I didn't even think of sitting there forever and already changed my position, coming not even from the side, but from behind.
Just three. The commander needs to be shot in the leg—I need to ask him a couple of questions.
I stuck three arrows into the ground in front of me, generously smeared the tips with mud and, with a crooked smile, fired two quick shots, pinning the bandits to the tree trunks.
Their commander, seeing their death throes, screamed in terror and, wildly weaving through the trees, ran toward the clearing. To his disappointment, the distance was too short for me to miss—after all, his movements were quite predictable: he couldn't walk through tree trunks, for example, could he?
The arrow hit her right in the thigh and appears to have shattered the bone. I hope it doesn't hit the femoral artery, otherwise the interrogation will end too quickly.
That's all. Although no - one escaped.
I easily ran straight through the scene of the massacre, casually slashing my stiletto across the throat of one of the wounded who had risen to his feet and tried to escape.
As I ran past the commander, I noticed he'd broken off an arrow and was trying to crawl back somewhere. Just in case, I kicked him hard in the face—you never know, maybe there were some healing potions or maybe some nasty surprise in there somewhere.
Despite all the running I'd done, I could still see the boy's trail perfectly. Although, come to think of it, I didn't see it, but rather sensed it. Like a snaking haze of faintly glowing greenish mist, slowly fading into the air. Looking back, I noticed I was leaving practically no trace behind. It was all very strange.
Finding myself at the edge of the forest and the clearing, I realized I'd forgotten the most important thing: the bandits had horses. And while the main force had taken the trophies with them, the ones belonging to this particular force were somewhere nearby further down the road—I heard a horse neighing.
It must have been general weakness, wounds and hunger that dulled my thought processes...
Cursing, I ran as fast as I could in that direction, not even thinking about going straight through the clearing littered with corpses.
I caught only the moment when the boy jumped onto a powerful black horse and, lashing him with a whip, directed him after the departing caravan.
Gritting my teeth, I quickly fired an arrow into his back. At the last moment, my luck ran out – the boy looked back, and the arrow, aiming straight for his heart, pierced his shoulder. With a loud cry, he stayed in the saddle and jerked the reins to the side – my second arrow completely disappeared into the bushes.
No, well, how lucky, huh?
With a heavy sigh, I looked at the fine herd of hobbled horses. Their owners would definitely never return, and I didn't know what to do with them. Slaughter them? No way. Better yet, I'd let them go. But later, after I'd checked the saddlebags. Maybe I'd find something to eat there? And the money wouldn't hurt.
It's a shame the kid left: the bandits might come back. Although, I wouldn't do that if I were them.
Phew. I'm starting to run out of steam.
Having caught my breath, I moved back, this time across the clearing.
Looking around, I roughly estimated the number of bodies: about twenty corpses of the baron's soldiers, clad in polished light armor. Most of them had been killed by archers—heavy arrows from such a distance could sometimes even pierce cavalry cuirasses.
Many of the soldiers were clutching small, unloaded crossbows. Yet I didn't see any dead bandits—either the attack was so unexpected that all the baron's soldiers' shots missed, or the attackers took their wounded and dead. I'm leaning toward the latter.
Among the dead were both fully formed men of about thirty and still very young, strong men. It's a little sad to see them here.
I stopped next to a blue-eyed blond man lying face up and leaned over him. Clearly an officer. Or perhaps he was simply of illustrious origin: he was the only one wearing a blue and white cloak. Judging by everything, those were the colors of Baron Tours. His face was handsome and masculine (for a human being). His glassy blue eyes stared accusingly at the sky.
Okay, I'll come back here later - I have more important problems than solving the riddles of the dead...
Reentering the forest canopy, I discovered that the bandit commander had meanwhile strapped his leg with a belt and was attempting to crawl away into the forest. Let him crawl—he couldn't escape me without a leg.
First, I returned to his squad. Only five were wounded—one had already died from blood loss. Two were unconscious. The others were currently squabbling and trying to administer first aid to themselves. It was going poorly, to put it mildly.
Taking out my narrow daggers, I quickly, ignoring the feeble resistance and pleas, finished them all off with a quick 'mercy blow' to the right eye.
Did I feel guilty or have any doubts? No. I couldn't let them go, could I? Drag them to the Baron? P-p-p-p...
Necessary cruelty, that's what it's called...
The climb where I dealt with the bandits was clearly beginning to end.
I sighed wearily and followed the wide trail of the bandit commander, who was stubbornly crawling somewhere.
Hearing my footsteps, he stopped and rolled over onto his back, holding his sword between us.
"Don't come any closer!" the man said in a trembling voice.
A well-groomed beard, a mustache, a thin face pale from blood loss, a regular nose, dark eyes. Ordinary, in a word.
Stopping, I sighed and said:
"Listen: let's get this straight. Either you tell me everything I want to know and..." I shrugged slightly and continued, "...die quickly and without suffering. Or you'll deeply regret not choosing the first option, but it will be too late..." I pulled the hood off my head and, smiling sadly, added, "And your twig won't stop me."
The bandit turned even paler, and the tip of his sword trembled.
Suddenly he threw his other hand towards me and threw a dagger at me.
I dodged on instinct alone, but I couldn't stay standing—my injured leg gave way and I fell to one knee. At that moment, the bandit somehow managed to lunge at me, swinging his sword.
Anger flared within me. I ducked under a too-slow blow and slammed my stilettos into his shoulder joints from below. The man screamed in excruciating pain.
I said, looking into his eyes, widened with pain and horror:
- Well, I'm even glad that you chose the other option, because I've forgotten a lot, and our pleasant pastime will allow me to revive lost memories...