Into the Arms of the Night

Chapter 12: A Moment of Levity for Stories

The tired group followed the female scout for the next half-hour quietly and in constant silence to keep other predators from sensing or detecting them by audible sounds as much as was possible. Harry's magic covering them all and preventing their scents from being found or from their footfalls being tracked. He was expending a great deal of energy on an injured body; it was making all of them nervous.

The elves mostly because they couldn't afford for the Lord of Magic to die on their territory; it would lay blame on them even if Harry hadn't listened and been stubborn. Tom himself was getting more and more concerned for his mate though he didn't dare say a word about it nor to allow his worry to show; but Harry was paler than before and looked like he was now sweating some to keep the constant stream of magic going.

Yet, even as they reached their safe-haven; Harry ensured they would not be ambushed by placing heavy wards that would deter any creatures from prowling about their camp. The elves watched him; some in slight awe to the ease of which he used his magic. 

It was very evident that he was exhausted and tired; but by his strong sheer willpower alone, Harry managed to erect powerful wards that kept dangers away from them all, and he cast advanced magic that forced the wards to stay in place without fading over time despite all he felt.

They looked at his own mate somewhat the same; for Tom had begun to channel his own magic to Harry to take in and use with his. To allow him to finish what he had begun; even if it went against all the consternation he could have mustered for it.

Harry knew they were in awe as much as they were wary however; for the High Elves were the predominant race of the magical arts. The predominant race over all of the magical arts; all except for the branches of elves that broke away from the High Elves, such as the Drow. They had taught other races to use differing forms of it, and the human witches and wizards were not an exception.

Harry was aware that his clan, however, was an exception. Their magic was gifted to them directly from Mother Magic; the very source of all that is arcane. It is channeled to them from her through her son Lord Death and his very essence being tied to their life-blood.

It made Harry often wonder why Lord Death had chosen to use the humans as his preferred race for his Champion. Death's protégé was the epitome of offensive magic and the one who should protect all magic that fell into such categories; no matter if used darkly or in light.

Perhaps it was simply that the High Elves; while capable of advanced offensive magic...they preferred peace and were more apt to be healers than arcane soldiers. Of course, those who showed promise in combat were more often than not offered a place in the guard or such with rich rewards tossed to them for it.

Even Iomre; he too had the taste of magic to him that was more combative than the others. Harry suspected part of it was because he knew internally that Iomre had seen war and used magic for it along with his weapons. However, Harry very much suspected that he was an earth elemental or knew some summoning magic of some manner.

Harry then grimaced as he knelt to one knee and Tom practically flew to his side.

"I'll be alright. Just...take me to the river so that I may cleanse my injuries." He spoke softly as he allowed his mana to fade and as the wards finally took hold

Tom's eyes narrowed on him, "Why didn't you say anything before? I knew you had been hurt, but I would have insisted you treat yourself first before the warding if I had known it was this bad."

Harry glared now, "And leave everyone vulnerable to whatever might find all of us as a tasty night-time snack? No thanks, Tom. I have already almost been eaten by your Basilisk, an ancient Acromantula, a Hungarian Horntail dragon and now Night-Prowlers. Never-mind that even Nagini tried to eat me when she found me alone once."