The first blow came from behind, sharp and sudden,
without warning.
Rayek barely had time to cry out in surprise before
he collapsed to the dirt lane. For a moment shock blocked the pain, and
then he was overwhelmed by the agony. It felt as though the human’s club
had cleanly taken the back of his head off. But no, the pain was too intense
for him to be dead. Not yet.
“Filthy mother-poking gwit,” the gruff voice sounded
above him, and he heard the scuffle of several pairs of boots drawing near.
**Surely, you’re not going to take that lying down,
are you, my love?** the voice in his head taunted.
A large hand took hold of his collar, yanking him
to his feet. He was still dazed by the blow to his head, and his vision
was still blurred, shaded in blazing red lights. He did not see the fist
or the sparkle of metal on the knuckles. But he felt it a moment later
deep in his abdomen. A ragged gasp tore from his lips as he crumpled in
the grasp of the bear-like human.
He dimly recognized the voice of the ringleader,
the one who held him tight by the shoulders as the others pummeled him
each in turn. The brute at the inn the night before, with his gang of six
similarly built men. Miners, probably, by their broad shoulders and coarse
mouths, drunk on sweetmead and looking for a fight. He had been careful
to linger in the shadows the night before, but he had been spotted by them
nonetheless.
He smelt the rancid taste of the cheapest
brew in the air as the men swarmed about him, fighting for their chance
to give the point-eared owl-eyed freak a good thrashing. Not that they
needed the encouragement of potent drink. Their kind was always spoiling
for a fight with his kind.
It took a great effort, but his anger fueled his
strength, and he broke free of the leader’s clutches. The next arm driven
towards him was caught and brutally twisted to the side. A loud crack,
followed by a scream more befitting a screech owl echoed in the desolate
street. “Andjal!” one of the man shouted in slurred indignation as he threw
himself at the tall elf, intent on exacting revenge for his fallen comrade.
Rayek saw the large form lumber towards him and bent as the man leapt at
him, flipping him over his shoulder.
But the miners outnumbered him, and as he straightened
to turn to his next attacker, a heavy metal-ringed fist slammed into his
face.
**You can do better than this,** Winnowill laughed
lightly. **Humor me, beloved. Show these humans what you’re capable of.**
“Is this your doing?” Rayek gasped, shuffling back
on the ground as the six humans loomed over him. “You’ve been silent the
last moons. Are you hungering for ‘sport’ again?”
“Oh, you want sport, point-ears?” the leader laughed,
drawing his dagger. “I’ll give you sport, skinny magicker...”
Rayek raised his hand as the man charged, and with
a roar he fell back as if pushed by a great force, flying to the ground,
grunting with pain as elbows were skinned and teeth shaken. Unfazed, or
too drunk to care, another human charged, and Rayek drove him back in the
same method. He flew even farther than his leader, and when he struck the
ground he stirred only slightly, too dazed to rise. The remaining men hung
back a moment, exchanging glancing, before they surged towards the elf.
Rayek managed to repel one with the same magic, and floated the second
one off the ground, letting his inebriated flailing propel him away. But
the three others struck him as he concentrated on their companions. A large
beam of wood, scavenged off the street, clubbed him across the shoulder,
as his concentration broke. The floating miner fell to the ground and the
men clustered around Rayek each managed another savage blow before he could
shield himself.
**Are you sure you wouldn’t care for some assistance?
** Winnowill teased, even as Rayek dimly thought her voice was a little
tensed, a little worried. A fist shot for his face and without thinking
Rayek caught the wrist, a surge of heat and light flowing through his arm.
The man screamed, staggering back as he clutched his wrist. His hand and
forearm were scorched with blistering burns, steam rising off the charred
skin. The sight itself was enough to intimidate another man, but before
Rayek could think any further on his situation the leader of the gang reappeared,
bloodied and enraged.
**Your left, Rayek!** Winnowill called, and he turned
around just in time to reach up and catch the hands that would have delivered
a possibly fatal blow to his head. He struggled with the man for possession
of the splintered wood beam. With a sharp kick to his knee, and a check
on his side, Rayek forced the miner to drop the beam. Winnowill had warned
him, he realized as he drove the human back with the magic he was struggling
to control in his dazed state. It was an odd move for her. Usually when
such fights broke out she waited until the last moment to save him with
powers or warnings. It seemed she was almost anxious to help him, a curious
tactic in their endless games.
He had no longer to consider it, for the mob struck
from behind, forcing him to the ground. One hand grabbed his hair, tugging
it back sharply, then letting his head strike the dirt hard. A heavy boot
kicked at his ribs and another at his arms as he struggled to rise.
**You’re slipping, Rayek,** Winnowill sneered, her
scorn only causing him further pain. The humans were swarming about him
like insects, fighting amongst themselves as they loomed over their fallen
prey.
**Let me help you,** the voice in his head urged.
Another kick of a hard-soled boot, this time to
his head.
**Let me out,** she hissed, desperate now, **if
you want to live!**
Rayek struggled on two fronts, in the physical to defend himself, and
in the spiritual to restrain Winnowill. She was clawing at his mind, fighting
to escape, if only for a moment. No, he could not let her loose. He was
nearing unconsciousness; he would not be able to restrain her later if
she managed to slip past him now. She would wreak a cruel revenge on the
miners, crueler than they deserved, and then disappear though the town,
attacking all she could find to sate her twisted lusts.
“Rayek!” he heard Ekuar’s voice call from far down
the street.
**Rayek!** Winnowill screamed in his ear as he felt
a fiery blow to his head and a shot rang out in the night. The world went
dark.
One of the miners fell to the ground, and his companions
scattered at the sound of the gun, the sight of their friend shot and killed.
Retribution would be coming, surely, but for the moment they had to flee.
“Rayek, oh no!” Jesla cried, racing as fast as her
thin legs would carry her. The old woman fell to her knees before the dying
elf, tears running down her sunken cheeks as she saw the blood from his
head wounds staining his blue-black hair. She placed two slim fingers against
his neck, feeling for a lifepulse. It was weak and faint, faltering with
each beat of his failing heart.
“Was he stabbed?” her grandson Linc asked urgently
as he dropped to her side. “No...” she gently examined his body. “Whatever
blessing that is... oh the poor thing, here, help me,” she and the minstrel
carefully rolled Rayek onto his back as Ekuar and Tolmen joined them. The
old healer winced as she saw the bruises slowly darkening his bronze flesh,
saw the blood at his lips and forehead. “Those animals, demons take their
souls... how could they do this do this to the poor child...”
“Brownskin?” Ekuar called, his owl-eyes wide with
concern. “Brownskin, my son, can you hear me?”
“He’s not dead, is he, Grandmother?” Tolmen asked
urgently, tucking his pistol into his belt.
Jesla shook her head. “No... no he lives... but
not for long...” she closed her eyes tight as the tears welled again. She
looked down at the elf’s beautiful face. She had known him less than a
moon and already he was as dear to her as any of her sons, even as she
knew he was far older than she could even imagine. His face was expressionless,
appearing almost at peace in the uncertain light of the moons. More at
peace than she had ever seen him before. “Tolmen, Linc, help me lift him,”
she choked, fighting back furthers sobs. “We have to get him back to his
bed. He might still live if we hurry.”
“Rayek?” Ekuar called insistently as slender Linc
and broad-shoulder Tolmen lifted the injured elf. **Stay with me, Rayek,**
he begged silently. **Stay with us a while longer.**
* * *
Rayek slowly returned to something vaguely approximating
awareness untold time after the brilliant shattering of light had plunged
into darkness. **Ekuar,** he called through the blackness surrounding him.
**Winnowill?**
“Welcome, beloved,” he heard her voice near. “This
has proven an interesting night, has it not?”
“What....” Rayek realized he was not in his body...
at least not as he had expected to be. It was more than a dream, that he
knew with utter certainty. But it felt nothing like any of his previous
experiences at “going out.” Something was different. Something was wrong.
He searched the darkness around him and gradually focused on the Black
Snake, seated, floating in the black plane a short distance away, her gown
primly settled around his crossed legs, her eyes sparkling as she watching
him, a contented smile on her face.
“What... do you have to smile about...” he struggled
to raise his head. He felt no pain any longer, only a dulling, draining
weariness.
“Can’t you feel it?” Winnowill smiled sweetly.
“Feel...” but a moment later he understood what
drove her cheerful mood. He could sense it in the air around them. The
draining lethargy was no mere weariness of the soul. Death hung in the
air, he could feel it to the very depths of his soul. He was still in his
body, he realized, but drifting further and further away, taxing his spirit
in a losing struggle to remain in the shell.
“You’re dying,” Winnowill explained, her smile growing.
“And our dual curses are almost at an end.”