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."
Tracou picked up the bow and frowned. His original, not-quite-a-plan had been to run up and launch himself at the human. This could have worked, but it would probably lead to his own death or at least injury. Even if he saved Mirthal that way, Mirthal wouldn't be happy about it. It would be worth it to avoid Mirthal's death, of course, but he would prefer everyone alive.
If he could fire this arrow, he could get the man to walk away from Mirthal. Maybe. Tracou could hardly fire an arrow with help, much less kill anyone, but if he could at least surprise him that would grab his attention. It might give Mirthal enough time to grab his sword or even allow Pendaer to break free. As of right now, both of them were trapped. Mirthal had a sword pointed to his throat and Pendaer had a whole human on top of him. Karthik, of all people... Karthik, who knew both Pendaer and Mirthal and said nothing.
Someone had to do something.
"It's true. I can prove it to—"
"If you want me to spare your life, beg. I'm not falling for such a pathetic ploy."
Swallowing hard and ignoring the way his throat stuck together, Tracou grabbed the arrow and held it against the bow. It had been months since he and Mirthal had practiced archery back in Shalen. Not only that, but he had been exhausted by the end of it and hadn't even shot the arrow himself.
He tested pulling back the string and winced. Maybe he should have practiced alongside Mirthal here in Ergakan.
Tracou drew back from peeking around the house and knelt there, catching his breath. Pendaer never stopped yelling for even a moment, his voice the only sound Tracou could hear above his own pounding heart.
Tsova, Stepan's bird, flew overhead before landing on the top of a roof nearby.
The seagull's eyes glittered the way Stepan's did.
Leaning around the side of the house again, Tracou held the bow and tugged the string back. Mirthal, still against the wall, still with a sword to his throat, had closed his eyes. He had to be thinking of a way out of this—begging would get him nowhere, but they had no time.
Pulling the bowstring hurt. It didn't help matters that this bow had been made for someone Mirthal's size. But he couldn't not do this. He had to try. If this failed... Well, he would go back to his previous plan.
"Hm? Have you accepted death, then?" the man taunted.
Aiming, which should have been the less intensive part, proved near impossible. His arms shook, his muscles screaming in protest. Can't do it. Dezmek can't do this.
Tracou clenched his jaw, aiming for the back of the man's head. So much of his focus went to aiming that Tracou didn't see Mirthal open his eyes and spot him, his mouth agape.
Then Tracou let the arrow fly.
Half of him expected the arrow to flop onto the ground, but it sailed through the air. It didn't soar like one of Mirthal's, but it moved and that was enough. Slowly, almost as if someone tossed it, the arrow traveled to the man and poked the back of his helmet with a tunk. It bounced off of him and hit the ground.
The man froze. He turned toward Tracou who now had a choice: stay visible or flee for his life. Despite the danger, he stayed put. If nothing else, he might be able to pull the man away from Mirthal.
Then he would run.
Glowering, the man socked Mirthal in the stomach and watched him fall to the ground with a cry. With that finished, he advanced on Tracou.
When should he run? He wanted to run now. Maybe he should have ran hours ago, taking everyone in the village with him.
Nearly upon him, the man stopped two feet away, observing him. Tracou stood up, ready to sprint with all of his might. His legs itched to move. But not yet. Not yet.
A shadow fell between the two of them. Tsova descended on the man in a whirlwind of feathers and frenzied kicks that left red grazes on the man's face from Tsova's heel talons. Tracou, mere feet away from this, could only watch as the man struggled with the bird.
Growling, the man grabbed a hold of Tsova with both hands and roughly threw her to the ground.
"How many creatures have you recruited, dezmek?!" the man shouted. The man then took a purposeful step toward Tracou.
Surely now he should run. He knew that—it was as plain as day—but his legs wouldn't move.
Another step toward him.
Maybe this man would throw him to the ground, too, breaking his neck.
Footsteps raced toward them. Karthik called out a warning to the man.
The human whirled around just in time to see Mirthal slam the broad side of his sword down onto his head. A sickening crack echoed across Ergakan. The man crumpled, teetering toward Tracou. He began to fall and Tracou jumped out of the way just before the body hit the ground with a whump.