The Lady Penitent

XXIII. Glamor

There was no way they could really sneak through the forest with two horses, a dragon, and the glow of Vladan's lantern. Then again, their goal wasn't to avoid the elves, but Holland still wished they could have approached in a way that was more difficult to spot in the darkness. She wanted to come up on the elves, not the other way around. They were hours into the forest now, though time was difficult to tell with how dark the woods were. Seeing the sun to mark where in the day it was would be impossible. The quiet was oppressive, unnerving, as it fell over them like a shroud. No birds sang above. The fallen leaves and pine needles muffled their footfalls and voices alike. If there were animals moving around the small group in the dark, they were doing so silently.

Holland saw something gleam in the lantern light just up ahead. "A helm," she said, pointing to draw their attention to it.

Ardashir picked it up and looked it over. "It doesn't look freshly damaged," he said. "The fitting is undone, not cut. He probably took it off."

"With this chill? He wasn't overheated," Khagra commented before pausing. "There's a breastplate over here." She stirred the piece of metal with her foot. "What kind of knight walks into a wood like this and starts stripping off his armor?"

Vladan picked up a sword from the forest floor to show to the others before tossing it aside. He sniffed the air. "This whole place is wrong. Why should we be surprised that someone acted strangely?"

Before Holland could say anything, the sound of an agonized scream followed by silvery laughter broke the silence. It was faint, but there, and it was coming from ahead. Immediately, the penitent drew her sword. She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. She didn't even have to say a word to her companions for them to follow suit. Ardashir put out the torch and put a hand on Khagra's shoulder so she could lead him through the darkness. Holland, Vladan, and Khagra all had pretty good vision even in the gloom, so they could lead the way.

"I thought the knights came this way a week ago." Ardashir was holding his mace tightly as he spoke. He was definitely feeling his nerves.

"Their tracks left the path a while back. I'm guessing they were lost in the woods and only just managed to regain the trail," Khagra said.

"That's the nice option," the anthroparion muttered. "The alternative is that the elves just got bored. A glamored knight might strip off his armor at the command of his new master."

Holland nodded as she moved forward. There was a clearing ahead, likely the location of the noise. She could see the golden sunlight falling on a verdantly green area: thick grass and saplings mingling with wild thorn bushes that were in bloom at the moment. The sweet perfumed aroma of flowers blew their way, mingled with smell familiar to all of them. It was the copper tang of blood. The penitent took the lead, waiting on the edge of the trees until her vision adjusted to the bright light before advancing into the glade. She only had to pass through the first of the brambles to see the source of the scream.

The first man she laid eyes on was definitely an elf—perfectly symmetrical and so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. His hair was dark and glossy, cut just long enough to fall into his emerald eyes. He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, a strong chin, and expressive lips. He was tall and slender but still apparently strong enough to hold a knight off the ground with only one hand around the dangling human's throat. He was pulling off the man's arm with only his thumb and forefinger, the movement excruciatingly slow. The knight was already missing the rest of his limbs, twitching but quickly dying. If Holland had to guess, his life had been prolonged by elven magic. The arm was tossed lazily to one side and the knight's body discarded as it went limp. The elf spoke, his voice soft and musical. "This one is broken. Fetch me another."