The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Twenty Eight

Inside, Tracou watched goings on, safe and secure. The owners, an elderly couple, crowded behind him, having given him temporary control over the building. He had made a small window, just big enough for him to peek through. At least one dezmek eye gazed out from each shack.

At first, Tracou had been elated. He and the other dezmek had managed to cut the threat down from one hundred to about two.

Then one of the humans had grabbed Pendaer.

Even worse, Mirthal had rushed in to save him. He had no regard for his own safety; being a prince meant nothing to him! How Tracou or even Pendaer might feel about what he did didn't register to him, either. Idiot!

Tracou had watched Mirthal struggle against the human, gritting his teeth the entire time. Mirthal was no match—how could he be? Pendaer had trained Mirthal, but he couldn't suddenly go up against someone not only stronger but more experienced than he was and win.

In the end, though, this was his fault, too. His failure had given Mirthal the chance to do something stupid.

Dread grew and grew in the pit of Tracou's stomach, expanding to the point that it consumed his entire body as the fight continued. Seeing Mirthal pushed back against the house, the same one he had been hiding behind, the same one Tracou stood in right now, made him forget to breathe.

And then Mirthal lost his sword.

He was going to die. Someone had to do something, but Pendaer couldn't move.

Someone had to do something.

But there was no one left who could. Any dezmek who stepped out there would be helpless, little better than a human child.

Someone had to do something and it had to be Tracou.

Tracou forced a door into the back wall and darted out of it, deaf to the shock of the inhabitants behind him.

The smell hit him first. More blood than Tracou had ever smelled in his life mixed in with the foreign dust. In any other circumstances, he might have vomited, but he didn't have time for that now. His stomach was so far down on his list of priorities that it might as well not exist.

He got down low to the ground and made his way around the corner. Maybe if he surprised the man, he could distract him long enough for Mirthal to get his sword back.

As he moved, he heard Pendaer shrieking.

"Get your filthy, human hands off me! If you hurt him, I'll disembowel both of you and lead the Elven army into Winlea myself! Your lands will be so soaked in blood that nothing will ever grow there again!"

Grunts punctuated his speech. Even without seeing him, Tracou knew he was thrashing about like not only his life, but Mirthal's life and the dignity of all elves depended on it.

"I... I'm worth more to you alive than dead," Mirthal said.

Tracou's throat tightened. But this might buy him time, time, always time.

The man chuckled. "Oh?"

Listening carefully, Tracou made it to the corner of the house. He stepped on something hard and nearly leapt backwards in fright.

Mirthal's bow and quiver lay on the ground.

Why had he left it there? Leaving his weapons all over the place like a sloppy child hadn't done him any favors.

"Yes," Mirthal continued. "I'm the prince of the Elven Kingdom."

"A prince, all the way out here? Don't be stupid."