The low rumble of hooves pounding against the frozen earth broke the fragile silence of the forest.
A thin mist clung to the ground, swirling around the hurried footsteps of the Davra warriors and their charges. The spy's family, shrouded in heavy cloaks to ward off the cold, moved as quickly as they could, their fear evident in every hurried glance over their shoulders.
"Keep moving!" barked Nolar, the captain of the Davra warriors, his voice cutting through the stillness. He held his spear close, his sharp eyes scanning the dense tree line. "The village is less than two kilometers away. We can't let them catch us here!"
The spy's wife clutched her youngest child to her chest, her steps faltering.
Her eldest, a boy of no more than eight, stumbled but kept pace, urged on by one of the warriors. The urgency in their movements was palpable—every second counted.
Behind them, the sound of pursuit grew louder. The cavalry from Greenhill was closing in, their riders skilled at navigating the dense forest trails. The rebels' silhouettes were barely visible through the trees, but the glint of steel and the ominous rhythm of their approach left no doubt about their intent.
Nolar spared a glance over his shoulder, his expression grim. "They're faster than we are. If we don't make a stand soon—"
A sharp whistle cut through the air, and an arrow embedded itself in the trunk of a tree just inches from one of the warriors. The group instinctively dropped low, the children crying out in fear as the first volley of arrows rained down.
"They're in range!" shouted another warrior, raising his shield to deflect a second arrow. "Captain, we can't outrun them like this!"
Nolar gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He turned to the spy, who was keeping close to his family. "Get them to Davra. You know the terrain well. We'll hold them off."
The spy hesitated, his eyes darting between Nolar and his family. "You can't take them on alone. They'll—"
"Just go!" Nolar snapped, his voice dismissed his argument. He signaled to two of his warriors to accompany the family. "We'll buy you time. Get them to safety, this is an order by Varden and Sir Isgram!"
The spy nodded reluctantly, grabbing his wife's arm and urging her forward. The group splintered—two warriors forming a protective flank as the family pressed onward toward Davra.
Nolar and the remaining warriors turned to face the advancing cavalry. The mist parted just enough to reveal the first wave of riders emerging from the shadows, their weapons gleaming in the dim light.
"Hold the line," Nolar commanded, planting his spear in the dirt. His voice, though steady, carried the weight of grim determination.
"For Davra."
The rest of his troops shouted from the bottom of their heart, and so began the confrontation.
The sound of footsteps was muffled by the thawing snow, signaling the rise of dawn.
"Boys, this is our last stand. May the gods see our efforts and gift us the gift of life again!"
A volley of 5 arrows whistled right above their heads, but the few who were aimed right at them were deflected by Nolar's sword.
from the woods emerged neighing beasts, yet the elves on their backs were far more ominous.
The elvish facial features were cleverly hidden by their masks and hoods, only their words giving away their true identity.
"I will not ask more than once, so you lot better answer us before our reinforcing forces arrive.
Where. are. they?"
Nolar saw they were well equipped, and gritted his teeth.
'This will be the end for most of these boys.
One last fight in the name of the gods, how fitting considering they are the ones who sent those magistos.'
"Those you seek are far gone. They died on the way, I can show you their graves myself if you wish so."
The hooded figure stayed silent, fumes of steam exhaled through his mask.
"Dead you say? then, why don't you join them? I will gladly help with that..."
Nolar gripped his sword tightly, and swung it out of his scabbard in one gesture.
The hooded cavalry leader was no match to the best swordsman in the sleepy west, who was the lieutenant of the famed general Varden.
He cut the man across his belly, and severed him in two.
The upper half of his body slid off to the side and finally fell forward to the ground.
The riders drew their swords with haste, and charged the group.
The smell of blood hit Nolar's experienced nostrils, and his men readied themselves for the fight.
Meanwhile, on the way to Davra, the spy and his family ran for as long as their breath allowed them to.
Their power left their legs, and the airless burning pain in their lungs was only intensified by the cold.
"We can't stop running Maia, we must keep going! and you too Elli, keep running son! the village is close, push to the plains!"
His voice was filled with urgency, yet when he addressed his son he wore a face of gentleness.
as they kept going a whistling sound cut through the cold only to be parried with a dagger.
The arrow was met with the sharp metal, and it clanged off the blade's body.
"Keep your head down, stay focused! Elli, take out your knife!"
The eight-year-old froze in place, his eyes wide and his legs shook.
behind him was a man with a sword, and the tip of the blade was pointed at his head.
The hooded figure felt sick to the bone by the atrocious murder he was about to commit.
'Elli, I'm so sorry... I hope you'll forgive us.'
The man lifted his sword upwards, and his tears ran their course as he thought of the many times this young boy played with his son, working through the evenings together or exploring Greenhill. When he saw Elli had escaped the village and was wanted by the chief's son faction, his entire world of values collapsed.
The blade hovered over Elli's head, trembling. The hooded man clenched his teeth, his breath unsteady as memories of his own child flooded his mind. The innocent laughter, the shared meals, the quiet evenings spent by the fire—Elli had been like a second son to him.
The spy's wide eyes were filled with dread but they were confused the moment after.
He hesitated. A moment of weakness.
"Go," he whispered, voice barely audible over the wind.
Elli, frozen in place, stared up at him, eyes wide with terror. The spy, realizing what was happening, lunged forward and grabbed his son, pulling him away. Maia gasped, clutching their youngest closer, her knees nearly giving out from relief.
The hooded man turned his head, looking toward the trees. The others would be coming soon. His moment of mercy would not go unnoticed.
"Run!" he snarled, stepping back, lifting his sword as if ready to strike, but making no move to attack.
The spy did not hesitate. "Come, Maia! Move!"
They ran. Elli stumbled but was yanked to his feet, his father urging him forward. The child looked back once, seeing the man lower his blade and turn toward the distant shapes moving through the trees. He was covering for them.
The hooded man stood alone as his comrades emerged. A fellow rider, face partially visible beneath his mask, frowned at him. "Where are they?"
"Gone," he lied smoothly. "Scattered into the forest." He pointed toward the trees opposite the real escape route. "I heard them breaking through the underbrush that way."
The elves exchanged glances, uncertain.
"Then we pursue."
He nodded, mounting his horse with them, knowing full well they would find nothing in the direction he had pointed them toward. He would delay them for as long as he could.
---
Nolar had lost count of how many strikes he had parried, how many warriors he had cut down in the chaos. Blood soaked the snow, steaming as it met the frozen ground. His men fought with desperate resolve, but they were outnumbered.
A spear pierced one of his warriors through the chest, the man crumpling with a strangled gasp. Another fell beneath a horse's hooves, his scream abruptly cut short.
Nolar himself was tiring. His breath was ragged, his limbs heavy. But he couldn't fall yet.
"Hold the line!" he bellowed, deflecting another blow. "For Davra!"
But the cavalry pressed forward, relentless. The line was breaking.
Then, from the distance, a horn blew.
A deep, commanding sound, echoing through the frozen trees.
The elves hesitated, their charge faltering. Nolar, recognizing an opportunity, drove his blade into the nearest foe and wrenched it free, stepping back toward his remaining men.
The horn sounded again. This time, even the most battle-hardened among them paused.
From the west, figures emerged—warriors clad in the colors of Davra, their own cavalry sweeping forward with lethal precision.
Reinforcements.
Nolar let out a breath, gripping his sword tighter. He wasn't dead yet.
"Fight!" he roared. "Drive them back!"
With renewed vigor, his warriors surged forward, clashing against the elves as the battle turned once more.
---
The spy stumbled onto the outskirts of Davra, lungs burning, legs nearly giving out.
"We made it," he gasped, dropping to his knees.
Maia collapsed beside him, clutching their children tightly. Elli clung to his father, tears streaking his dirt-smeared face.
The gates of the village creaked open, and armed warriors rushed forward. "Get them inside!" one of them barked. "We'll hold the gates!"
The spy turned, looking back toward the forest. The man who had spared them was out there, buying them time.
Silently, he swore that if they ever crossed paths again, he would not forget his mercy.