Page 14 of Feral Gods
My smile widens, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth. "I think not."
With a casual twist, I snap his neck, dropping the lifeless body to the forest floor. The archer has used this momentary distraction to put distance between us, already nocking another arrow. This one flies true, embedding itself in my shoulder—a painful but minor inconvenience. The dark elf's eyes widen in horror as I pluck the arrow from my flesh, the wound sealing almost instantly.
"Please," he begs, dropping his bow and raising empty hands. "I'm merely following orders. I have a family in Liiandor?—"
"As did I," I cut him off, advancing steadily. "Before your king and the purna witches stole centuries of my life."
The dark elf backs against a tree, trapped between bark and predator. "The human slave," he says quickly, clearly hoping to bargain with information. "She's important to King Kres, though I know not why. He's mobilized the elite guard to recover her—fifty warriors, at least, with purna support."
Now thatisinteresting. An entire elite guard and purna witches, all for one runaway slave? There's more to our little human than meets the eye. Also, King Kres are still working with Purnas? I thought they’ve all run away in all these centuries of stone sleep.
"When do they march?" I demand, seizing him by the front of his armor.
"Tomorrow at dawn," he gasps. "They await only the arrival of the king's personal witch."
Useful information, delivered too late to save his miserable life. I make his end quick—a mercy his kind never showed us.
Standing amid the carnage of my hunt, I feel the first stirrings of concern beneath the battle-joy. Fifty elite warriors with purna support is no small force. Our sanctuary, while defensible, is not impregnable, especially with its magical defenses still partially dormant. And if King Kres himself considers this human important enough to commit such resources...
I strip the dead scouts of weapons and any useful intelligence—maps, orders, communication devices. One carries a neptherium amulet that pulses with tracking magic, likely used to follow the human's trail. I crush it beneath my heel, then gather the bodies. No sense leaving evidence of our presence so close to the temple.
After depositing the corpses in a deep ravine where scavengers will make quick work of them, I continue my exploration of the forest, moving in a wide circle around the temple. The physical exertion feels glorious after centuries of immobility, each muscle and tendon rejoicing in the freedom to stretch and contract at will.
Near a frozen stream, I discover fresh tracks—not dark elf, but something else. Larger, heavier impressions that sink deep into the snow, accompanied by a strange, dragging mark. The scent is unfamiliar, musky and laced with magic.
Waira.
The man-eaters of Causadurn Ridge, long thought to be mere legend even in our time. Apparently, they are quite real, and judging by the tracks, this one is massive. A potential threat, though perhaps not an immediate one. The tracks lead away from the temple, deeper into the mountains.
More concerning is what I find an hour later, on the ridge overlooking the main approach to our sanctuary. A smallclearing has been disturbed, the snow trampled by multiple sets of footprints. A temporary camp, recently abandoned, with the remains of a small fire and scraps of rations.
This was no ordinary scouting party. The precision of the campsite, the careful concealment of evidence, the strategic positioning overlooking our sanctuary—all point to elite training. And the subtle traces of magic lingering in the air suggest purna involvement.
They're already here. Watching. Waiting. The dark elf scout's information was either deliberately misleading or, more likely, outdated. The advance force has already arrived, which means the main attack could come at any time.
I launch myself skyward with powerful thrusts of my wings, racing back toward the temple. The wind carries a new scent now—ozone and copper, the unmistakable signature of battle magic being prepared. They're moving sooner than expected, perhaps alerted by the failure of their scouts to return.
Landing with a thunderous crash in the temple courtyard, I find Ravik already organizing our defenses. The temple entrance has been reinforced with massive stone slabs and glowing neptherium wards. Zephyr stands atop the highest tower, hands weaving complex patterns that send ripples of protective magic cascading down the sanctuary's walls.
"We have company," I announce without preamble, striding toward Ravik. "Elite guard, already positioned on the ridge. Purna witches with them."
Ravik's amber eyes narrow, his massive form tensing. "How many?"
"Couldn't get an exact count. The scout I interrogated claimed fifty warriors plus purna support, but that's the main force. The advance team I discovered numbers perhaps a dozen, with at least one witch."
"You engaged scouts?" Ravik growls, his wings mantling aggressively. "Without reporting first?"
"I eliminated a threat," I counter, refusing to back down. "And gathered intelligence we desperately needed."
"Intelligence you should have brought back immediately, not after playing hunter in the forest!"
Our confrontation draws Zephyr from his position, the scholarly gargoyle landing gracefully between us. "Perhaps this discussion would be more productive inside," he suggests, gesturing toward the temple doors. "Away from watching eyes."
A valid point. I rein in my temper with effort, following them into the main hall. The human stands near the hearth, watching our entrance with wary eyes. She looks better than she did yesterday—some color has returned to her cheeks, and she stands with more confidence, though she still clutches Ravik's cloak around her shoulders.
"What's happening?" she asks, her gaze moving between us.
"Your former masters are coming for you," I inform her bluntly, ignoring Zephyr's disapproving glance. "With considerably more force than one might expect for a simple runaway slave."
