The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Three

None of that mattered to Tracou. He shook, desperately trying to force magic out of his wand. Even back in the dungeon, Tracou had at least felt his magic leave the wand, but not now. Now his magic was consumed instantly. The same had happened to the magic he had been holding to restrain those humans. They likely could already move, but were waiting for the right moment to strike.

His limbs felt heavy and cold. Heat pooled in his torso, where not only his heart but most of his other organs writhed around inside him.

Not only could he not use magic, but he couldn't even walk.

He let out an agonized cry, making both elves jump and face him.

"It's just like the dungeon! I can't use magic!"

For a moment, no one moved. Then, in an instant, the four humans that had been on the ground leapt up. Two of them had been disarmed, but that left two with swords of their own.

With his wand now useless, Tracou tucked it into his sleeve and grabbed the stone knife he kept in his belt. Weeks after having received it from the Zeibr, Tracou still didn't know how to use it, but it was better than nothing. It had to be.

Mere yards away from Tracou, the man Mirthal had taken his sword from grabbed the elf's upper arms from behind and yanked them backwards in an attempt to startle him into dropping the sword. Mirthal was forced back. He struggled for a moment before he changed tactics, moving backward into the man. Lifting his leg, he kicked behind him, his foot colliding with the man's knee. The man held fast, cringing, but his full effort went to withstanding the blow he had just received. Mirthal wrested his arms from him and whirled around, both hands on the hilt of his stolen sword.

Further away from Tracou, Pendaer faced the two men who had retained their weapons. They should have been able to overpower him, but they circled him nervously. These men had never had to really fight someone, to try and draw blood and take their life. Pendaer hadn't either, as far as Tracou knew, and yet he stood with a focus that could only come from years and years of training.

The dust in the air grew thicker with every passing second, making it difficult to see even if it hadn't hurt Tracou's eyes. But the dust didn't only effect his and the elves' eyesight—the humans were having trouble, as well.

The unarmed man Mirthal faced rubbed at his eyes, harshly spitting a single Winlean word before springing towards Mirthal again. Mirthal reacted quickly, swinging his sword like a club and hitting the man in the ribs with the flat, broad side of the blade. The man crumpled to the ground with a cry, holding his side. Mirthal stood over him, visibly panting, the sword in his hand shaking violently.

On Pendaer's end, his fight had begun in earnest. One of the men had made his move, bringing his sword down upon Pendaer. The elf blocked it, arm quivering from the impact. This should have left him open for the other man, who came at Pendaer from his left, his sword ready to slice downward. But Pendaer dipped down and swung his leg underneath the other man, leading him to lose his balance and fall back onto his behind. The first man gaped down at his fallen fellow. Pendaer took advantage of this, moving upright in one motion and flinging himself at the man. Startled, the man tried to block Pendaer's incoming blow with his sword, but the force of Pendaer's swing knocked the weapon out of his hand.

Now Pendaer had a choice. He could choose to end this swiftly or to draw out the process. It would be easy to kill someone who was unarmed, but Pendaer was an elf. He had previously gone on about how elves were above killing before this.

The dust was too thick for Tracou to see Pendaer anymore.

From his direction came two big cracks and then there was silence.