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“Greetings, youthful one,” he says in a gravely, lively voice. “I am elated that you have awakened, and we can see about this stubborn palm of yours.”
Even in my dazed state, I can tell that this dark elf has ulterior motives. He scurries over to the cot, pulls up a stool, and grabs me by the wrist, turning it over to analyze the wound.
The dazzling green shade of his eyes is enough to make me concerned again.
“Whoa,” I scoff, ripping my hand away. “Ever hear of consent, good old buddy?”
The mage is entranced by the medallion, following it like a patient following a hypnotist’s swinging clock. I pull my hand aside. It’s feeling more like a phantom limb at this point.
“You have to tell us what is going on first,” Sheryl interjects, taking the bucket and resting her hand on my thigh. “You told me you know what this thing is, so spit it out.”
The dark elf licks his lips, which is entirely unnerving. He pulls down his hood to reveal his blackened, wrinkly skin, and Sheryl and I do our best to keep our grimaces to a minimum.
He swallows dryly before speaking, not quite to us, but to some cosmic listener.
“I’m afraid I cannot remove it,” he says, gazing around the hut in a stupor. “But you will surely die if you do not, as it will infect your blood with its poison.”
My lack of energy doesn’t keep me from glowering with irritation.
“That isn’t what she asked,” I say weakly. “Tell us what it is, or we are leaving.”
The elf lets out a deep rumbling chortle. My heart drops into my gut, and I instantly know that we have come to the wrong mage.
“I’m afraid you are going to have to learn to serve with one hand, m’lady.”
With the swiftness of a knight, the dark elf reaches behind his back and brandishes an ax, the chrome glistening in the glow of the small firelight. Sheryl pushes me backward slightly, so my palms come to the cot, the wound in my hand burning as I press down on the surface.
“No! No!” she calls out. “No one is going to cut off her hand.”
I take Sheryl by the shoulder, my heart pounding relentlessly. I appreciate her being my champion, but something, maybe that foreboding feeling again, tells me it will do us no good.
“I didn’t ask, now did I?” the dark elf mutters manically.
I try to rise to my feet with the intention of punching the bastard directly in the throat. Thinking that would be enough to get us to safety, but my plan is instantly foiled when more of the fuckers emerge from outside the tent like rodents surging through a well-lit room.
“SHERYL!”
The minions grab Sheryl and restrain her easily while four more take me and shuffle me over to a small, rusted table. Then they pin my arm to the surface while I struggle, staring in horror as the mage walks over and holds the weapon high up in the air. It is silhouetted by the fire, a shadowy fate about to crash down and annihilate any and every life I could have one day afforded to thrive within.
“Hold still,” the dark elf laughs. “This is going to really hurt."
Sheryl screams for me as the ax comes down in slow-motion. I clench my eyes shut, pleading for some invisible deity to cradle me softly into that good night.
My prayer is swiftly answered, and the elves have disappeared. Their cries fill the heat with anguish and wet violence, awakening me from my acceptance of fate. I am on my knees, forearm still laid on the table, and Sheryl cowering next to the fire.
At first, there is only silence, and I begin to wonder if my head had been slammed against the bar instead. The dull ache of my palm continues to say otherwise, and just as I begin to understand what might be happening, the hut encasing us is sucked into the sky, exposing us all to the elements.
“LANA!”
I fall onto my back and stare in horror at the astonishing, gristly, and surreal sight before me. All six or seven of the dark elves are being ripped to shreds, some by an actual body, others by an unseen force that swims and dances with tangerine sparks that are the only indication of the magic being used.
I can’t completely compute what is happening, but I know the elves are being destroyed, their arms separated from their torsos, along with their heads rolling in the dark sand and leaving trails of bright red blood.
Their desperate cries are muffled as multiple hands grip their throats, long, dark gray skin tightening like a vine around a flimsy tree branch. All I can do is watch, somehow both amazed and terrified, as this being takes out the creatures who were ready to take my arm from me.
Sheryl has crawled toward me as the violence continues around us, taking me by my uninjured wrist.
“Lana, are you all right?”
