Page 41 of Dark Elves of Ardani

The man scoffed. Nero rolled his eyes. Most of the Varai he met blended together. He wondered if they realized how unoriginal they all were.

It had always been this way—him and his mother against the world. Once, when he was very young, she’d bravely taken him to Kuda Varai to try to find someone who could teach her about his elven heritage. Instead of helping her, the elves she met there had suggested she abandon him in the forest and let the Goddess save him if it was her will. He still remembered the disgust on their faces when they’d looked at him. It was the first time he had feared someone might kill him.

But the elves were still better than the Ardanians. The second and third and fourth times he remembered fearing for his life, it had been among the humans of Ardani. Many of them had openly suggested to his mother, while he was standing right beside her, that she should have destroyed him as soon as he came out of her.

He’d lost count of how many times they’d been kicked out of inns or groceries, or worse, driven out of villages by mobs carrying weapons. When he grew older and taller, most people just ran when they saw him.

He’d lived the entirety of his childhood hidden away from others, bundled into cloaks and scarves that obscured his body, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact whenever they passed someone on the roads. Even after his mother had built Akaia’s Haven, it had taken him years to learn to trust anyone but her.

Nero and this Varai sentry were allies by default, reluctant though they may be. The Paladins had united all non-humans by declaring war on nearly every kind of outsider. Nero had thought he’d had human friends back in Valtos, but they’d all disappeared when the Paladins had come.

They were almost past the camp when Nero spotted movement—shining silver on the other end of the valley.

“Speak of the Goddess,”he murmured. A group of Paladins were marching through the rain toward their camp.

The elf cursed. Nero saw his thoughts as he looked around their camp: Did they have time to pack and move camp before the Paladins reached them? Did they have enough people to fight the dozen or so Paladins? Could they win? Would it be worth the casualties?

“Have some of your people go and create a distraction from the trees while the others pack your things,”Nero suggested.“Shoot some arrows at them and they’ll be forced to retreat to a safer area. You can move camp while they’re regrouping.”

“I don’t need your help, human-spawn,”the elf snapped.

Nero drew back a little, stung, then chastened himself for letting the insult surprise him.“All right. I’m sure you can manage on your own. I’ll be on my way.”He started to climb onto Changa.

The man glowered.“How like a half-blood to run at the first sign of trouble. Do you have no honor? No loyalty?”

“To you?”

“To yourkinsmen,”he said, spitting the word.“Will you stay and help, or not?”

Nero hesitated, his hand resting on Changa’s warm side. He could have just ridden off. He had no doubt he’d have been happy with his choice.

“I’ll stay,”he said.

“Do half-bloods know how to fight?”

“Yes,”he said, the word scraping past a tense jaw. He might not have had the same kind of rigorous, from-childhood training that the other Varai had, but he had learned nonetheless.

“Can you fade?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got a bow?”

“No.”

“Then you’d better get up close,”the man replied, eyeing the sword at his side.

While the elf alerted the camp, Nero faded and moved closer to the Paladins, tucking Changa safely into a secluded alcove as he hiked on foot toward the open valley below.

He wasn’t foolish enough to run at the Paladins with his sword swinging, of course. He waited in the trees beside the glen, watching as other Varai took up positions on either side of the Paladins’ path.

When the first volley of arrows launched, the Paladins were thrown into momentary chaos. Nero ducked against a tree, blending in with the trunk. Paladins were always armored like dragons. It was better to fight from the shadows, if at all. He drew his sword and watched the Paladins through the rain. If they were unlucky enough to wander near him, he would take them down.

In the midst of the chaos, Nero was surprised to see a familiar pale-haired woman on the ground at the back of the group.

She was alive. The sickness hadn’t taken her.

An arrow hit the ground near her, and she jumped to her feet. Her ankle must have healed, because she sprinted for the woods at startling speed, her feet light and sure on the slick stone.

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