She poured acid over the lock. It hissed and bubbled, eating through metal. Behind her was a clash of blades.
A pained shout made her whip around. Rell had shoved one man to the ground but couldn't finish him before the other was on him again, nearly slicing his throat. The downed Snatcher was scrambling to his feet.
Elora hurled her sticky potion. It burst against the man's chest, thick resin spreading across his armor and the ground beneath him. He struggled frantically but only sank deeper.
The lock crumbled. She yanked the cage door open and grabbed the girl's hand.
"Come on!"
The teenager took it with trembling fingers. Elora helped her down from the wagon, felt a rush of triumph—
Rell grunted in pain behind her.
Before she could turn, the girl shoved her hard and bolted for the horses.
Elora tripped on a protruding stone and hit the dirt. A shadow fell across her vision. She looked up to see a sixth Snatcher—one they'd missed—standing over her with a massive war hammer raised.
No, no, no!
She threw herself sideways as the hammer came down, crushing earth where her head had been. The man raised it again, hardly straining from the weight of it.
Desperate, Elora kicked his knee. He stumbled, balance wavering just long enough for her to smash a nature elemental potion against the ground.
The effect was immediate. She could suddenlyfeelthe earth beneath her feet, sense the network of roots connecting every tree. Like having a hundred new limbs.
Roots,she commanded.Now.
The ground erupted around the Snatcher's feet. Thick roots burst up, wrapped around his legs like grasping fingers.He shouted, swinging his hammer wildly, but more roots emerged, climbing higher.Should have had a sword.
Pull him down.
The roots obeyed, dragging him toward the ground with inexorable strength.
Tighter. Around his neck.
Woody tendrils coiled around his throat. His eyes bulged, struggles growing weaker as she watched the life drain from his face.
She was killing him. Actually taking a life.
And she didn't know if she could—
A boot crunched down on the man's skull.
Rell stood over the body, swaying slightly. A dagger jutted from his side, blood soaking through his shirt.
Elora moved to his side, slipping her arm around his waist to steady him. "Come on. By the fire."
She guided him toward where the Snatchers had been sitting. The flames had died down to a controlled burn now, casting steady light and warmth across the clearing. Rell sank onto one of the logs they'd been using as seats, his breathing shallow.
Elora pulled a healing draught from her hip pouch, the liquid glowing faintly blue in the firelight. "Shirt off," she said, clinically, despite the way her heart was still racing.
Rell didn't argue. He ripped his shirt around the hilt and carefully removed the fabric over his head with a grimace. Blood had spread across his tan skin, dark and wet.
Elora grabbed a relatively clean piece of fabric from the scattered belongings of their enemies—probably part of a shirt orcloak that hadn't seen too much use. She poured the healing draught onto the cloth, letting it soak through the fibers.
"This is going to hurt," she warned, then gripped the dagger's hilt firmly.
Rell's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
