Worth the most. Slavers, then. Or bounty hunters selling to slavers. My blood runs cold as I realize what we're facing—not random bandits but professionals who see us as valuable cargo.
Nazim hisses in pain as a net drops over his serpentine form, weighted with lead and woven with thin wire that cuts into his scales. More nets fly from the darkness, and I barely dodge one meant for me.
"Run!" Nazim screams, thrashing against the entangling mesh. "Get Forla out of here!"
"We don't leave our own!" I snarl back, cutting toward him through the press of bodies.
But more bandits pour into the waystation—a dozen, two dozen. This isn't a random attack; it's a coordinated raid by a large, well-equipped band. The leader raises his hand, and suddenly the air fills with sleep-magic darts.
One takes Rophan in the shoulder. The massive minotaur staggers, his movements becoming sluggish as poison courses through his veins. Another dart whistles past my ear as I grab Forla's hand.
"We have to go," she gasps, understanding flooding her eyes as she sees the tactical situation. "Nazim's right—if they take all of us..."
I hate it. Hate leaving a comrade behind, hate abandoning the Naga who's risked everything to help us. But Forla's survival matters more than my warrior's pride, and staying means we all get taken.
"This way!" I roar, charging toward the weakest point in their line—two bandits with crossbows who've been hanging back. My sword opens the first one from shoulder to hip before he can reload. The second scrambles backward, fumbling for his sidearm.
Rophan follows, shaking off the sleep poison through sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. His fist caves in the second crossbowman's chest, then he grabs burning wood from our fire and hurls it at the nearest cluster of enemies.
The distraction gives us our opening. We burst from the waystation into the cold night air, pursuit thundering behind us. Nazim's anguished cries echo from the ruins, but we can't look back.
"The ridge!" Forla shouts, pointing toward a narrow path that winds up the hillside. "They can't follow mounted!"
We scramble up the rocky slope, loose stones skittering beneath our feet. Behind us, shouts of frustration as the banditsrealize their quarry is escaping. A few crossbow bolts spark off stone where we were seconds ago.
"Should we circle back?" Rophan pants as we reach a ledge high above the waystation. "Try to free him?"
I want to say yes. Every instinct screams to return, to rescue the friend who's already risked so much for us. But cool tactical assessment wars with loyalty, and Forla's hand in mine reminds me what I have to protect.
"No," I force myself to say. "Too many of them, and they'll be expecting it. Nazim... Nazim's tough. If anyone can survive capture and escape later, it's him."
The words taste like ashes, but they're true. Nazim survived years as a slaver before reforming his ways—he knows how these people think, how they operate. If there's a chance for escape, he'll find it.
Below us, torches move through the ruins as the bandits secure their prize and tend their wounded. We count at least twenty figures, more than we could have fought even at full strength. The leader's voice drifts up to us, sharp with satisfaction.
"Package him carefully. The Dark Elves pay extra for live Nagas, and this one's in good condition despite the scars."
My hands transform into fists. Dark Elves again. Everything traces back to those pale bastards and their slave markets. But knowing who's ultimately responsible doesn't change our situation.
We move higher into the hills, putting distance between ourselves and the bandit camp. The cold bites at exposed skin, and exhaustion weighs on all of us like lead cloaks. But we're alive, we're free, and we still have each other.
"There," Rophan points to a distant glow on the horizon. "Lights. Settlement of some kind."
I squint into the darkness, making out the faint twinkle of what might be windows or fires. It's too far to tell much, but it represents hope—shelter, warmth, perhaps passage away from this cursed wilderness.
"How far?" Forla asks, leaning heavily against my side.
"Few hours' walk, maybe more in this terrain." I wrap my arm around her, sharing what warmth I can. "We'll move at first light, when we can see the path clearly."
We find shelter in a shallow cave, little more than an overhang but enough to block the wind. No fire tonight—the light would draw unwanted attention. Instead, we huddle together for warmth, taking turns on watch while the others try to sleep.
As I stare out into the darkness during my watch, I think about Nazim. Proud, reformed, driven by guilt to help others avoid his own mistakes. Now he's paying the price for that redemption, dragged back into the world he tried to escape.
"We'll find a way to help him," Forla whispers, apparently reading my thoughts.
"Maybe." I don't want to make promises I can't keep. "But first, we survive. First, we get to that settlement and figure out our next move."
She nods against my shoulder, her breathing gradually slowing toward sleep. Rophan snores softly from his corner, the minotaur's massive frame somehow fitting into the cramped space.
