Riyarra
The woods had thinned along their journey. Instead of a tightly packed forest of pine and maple, scrawny firs and oaks stood tall like spears thrust at the sky. It made Mule uncomfortable. He had stopped talking, and kept looking from treetop to treetop. It was just as well, Riyarra had been brooding silently to herself since their last passionate pairing. She was taking the quiet of their journey to search her soul. No matter how many miles they put between themselves and Zecair, that terrible place still haunted her. Shadows in every corner, smiles were more of a threat than a welcome; it was a place of constant worry and danger. The peace of this forest didn't bring her any comfort. Secretly, she thought nothing ever would.
A soft whistle broke the silence, and the lizard jerked suddenly to one side. Riyarra was immediately tossed free and let out a short scream of alarm. Mule held on to the rein and went down with the strider as it twisted and jerked, trying to dislodge something embedded in the back of its neck. One thickly clawed paw came at him and Mule was forced to jump away before getting mauled. He didn't have a chance to investigate the cause of the lizard's violent thrashing as another soft whistle sounded. Mule jerked his head to one side suddenly in anticipation of the arrow that flew past his ear.
"Get cover!" He shouted Riyarra, and turned to run. More arrows zinged almost silently through the trees after him. The elven princess rolled along the ground under a fallen log. It wasn't enough to cover her completely, but kept her head and chest safe. She watched the lizard thrash helplessly. She couldn't ease its pain or help it without risking her safety. As it rolled onto its side, she saw the wooden shaft that protruded from the creature's shoulder and recognized it. Anger twisted inside her like a rope, and she darted out from under her cover.
"COME OUT AND FACE ME! I HAVE THAT RIGHT!" She shouted to the trees in Eltharian, her native language. The arrows whizzed by her face and cut a red line across her cheek. The challenge had been refused.
She had been born a princess, but a soldier was what she had made of herself. The direction the shot came from was easy to tell from the grazing. Riyarra put a tree between herself and her attacker - a move that would cause them to relocate. She climbed the tree quickly and silently. Her fingers and toes dug into the crevices between the bark and, skillful as a spider, she was up to its top branches in seconds. She closed her eyes and focused her will on the use of magic. Slowly her skin turned shades of mottled grey and brown with splotches of leafy green. It was magic camouflage, and would last only so long as she remained still. This was the arena of the Eltharian military, and the trees were where they trained. She clung to the thinning trunk, and ever so slowly peered around its edge so her camouflage could follow. Motionless, expressionless, she watched the leaves and branches for any movement and was soon rewarded. Something lower on the trees moved from one perch to another.
Her quarry moved close enough to see; Riyarra made out the leafy brown and green camouflage uniform on her own people. The knotted rope in her stomach suddenly burst, and her cheeks turned flush with a violent anger. This betrayal was worse than her brothers. His was due to madness; theirs was due to loyalty to that madness.
She could almost make out their face, when suddenly they looked up at her with a start. She realized that her anger had broken her concentration, and now she was perfectly visible amid the trees. Her opponent drew back an arrow, and Riyarra dropped through the branches before it struck. She knew where he was now, and she didn't care how many stinging arrows dug into her legs and arms as she swung from branch to branch towards him. Eltharians were peerless acrobats in the trees, and so was their princess. Riyarra closed the distance between them in a few swinging vaults. Each one was a brief moment of vulnerability where her opponent embedded a few more shafts into her. Despite his skill, he couldn't land a serious hit and knock her from the branches before she swung out of view only yards away.
Panic beaded down his chin in the form of sweat. The Eltharian archer jerked his bow from left to right, trying to catch sight of her and loose another shot. She had gotten too close too soon, and he hadn't prepared for that.
Something grabbed his neck, and he saw a pair of small feminine feet lock together in front of his face before they jerked him backwards off his perch. Down to the ground he fell, screaming with surprise. The jolt of hitting the ground forced all the air out of his lungs and sent stars before his eyes. They blotted out the vision of angry death that fell through the leaves after him with a pair of arrow shafts clutched in each of her palms. He did, however, feel them when they pierced his stomach.
"WHY?!" Riyarra snarled at him. Her teeth bared inches from his face.
"C-contaminated." He wheezed, despite the pain. "You're... contaminated..." he panted. Riyarra sank away. The bloodthirsty anger was subdued as she processed what this meant. "If you...return," He continued, drawing in deep gasps of breath, his hands trembling as they reached for the arrows sticking from his gut, "you'll infect us... all..."
Riyarra shuddered in revulsion at this; despite her many small wounds she couldn't process this final blow. That knot of anger returned deep inside her. She tried to fight it back, her sorrow for her people's decision fought against it, but she could only take so much. She pulled a knife from his own belt and ended his suffering with a strike to the heart.
Riyarra threw her head back and screamed to the heavens.
Once the rage subsided she looked down at the body below as if seeing it for the first time. Terror and revulsion now churned in her stomach where anger once resided.
"Oh elders... what have I done?" she cried softly and touched the man's cheek. She shouldn't be capable of this... this bloodlust. Her fingers gently closed his eyes. Softly, hands red with blood held his cheeks to her own face, and she whispered a quiet prayer for the soldier's spirit. Something suddenly smelled intoxicating, and that warm flush that had come with her anger suddenly returned to her cheeks. The smell came from her fingers, so she licked them in experimentation. The taste of blood sent her body into warm shivers and she couldn't help but sink her lips on the source below her. Soft moans fought their way out amid the slurping of the dead elf's spilled essence. Then like a shock to her system she jerked away and screamed in horrified denial - she was drinking his blood.
Frantically she wiped the blood off her fingers onto the body. She needed to get it off. She needed to get away from it. Whatever it was, it was driving her mad. Riyarra ran through the forest towards the one person that could help her.
Riyarra could easily follow the trail Mule made through the brush. There were arrows scattered here and there along with broken twigs and trampled saplings. Her wounds were still bleeding; she only had time to take the arrows out least they get snagged on something. She found him not far off -- Mule, and the archer. The elf girl sniper had an obvious wound, her face was ruined by a rock, but Mule didn't seem injured. Her soldier's instincts told her there was something more here than what appeared. She took cover with her back to a tree and just listened, her eyes scanned the treetops that she could see. Nothing stirred that shouldn't be stirring. If there was a third archer, they already had the shot they needed, yet no shot came.
Cautiously she approached the two on the ground. Mule wasn't breathing and a panic started to grow in her stomach. Her fingers touched his neck and felt no pulse. There wasn't a sizable wound, only small cuts, and yet something acrid tingled her nose ever so slightly. Riyarra leaned down to a significant cut on his arm, and breathed normally -- the acrid smell was coming from his wound, and also from the arrow clutched in his hand. The tips had been poisoned.
Her hand rested on the human's forehead, it was cold and growing colder. Riyarra sank to her knees as her heart fell with her -- Mule was gone. She would cry for him, and honor his memory and the help he had given her, but not now.
Riyarra pulled the servant's dress from her body and laid it over the man's face. Quickly she set about stripping the archer of her clothes and gear; she found the petite girl was just a size smaller than herself. Snug enough to wear, but uncomfortable in a real fight. It would have to do.
Dressed as one of them now, she pulled the tattered dress over the corpse and completed the ruse, and her transformation. Princess Riyarra and Mule had died here, slain by an unknown attacker. Only a soldier left here alive to report the deed done. She set to climbing a tall oak, careful to keep an eye to the branches above for onlookers or spies. The stolen outfit stretched against the larger curves of her hips and chest, she was a bit malnourished from her imprisonment, and therefore slimmer than usual, yet even so the garb was uncomfortable to move in. In time, however, it would wear to fit, just like the last uniform she wore.
Once she was perched high above, with the wilderness floor far below, her legs and arms remembered their training and she leapt high and far into the leaves. She would find the squad sent out to kill her, and then she would get her own answers.
Below her, the guardian that had kept her safe, in his own way, was left behind.
****
"This is where I left them." Riyarra said under the cowl of her hood. Only her bright green eyes pierced out from underneath it; she had pulled the mask up to cover her mouth and nose.
"Commander!" an Eltharian boy in soldier's garb came running up to the four of them. Riyarra was escorted on both sides by armed soldiers. Her hands had been tied behind her, and the soldier's swords were a quick thrust away from her back. She was their prisoner. "Look, Harpais!" the boy said with alarm and brought forth a large golden feather. The commander glanced at it briefly before returning to meet his prisoner's icy stare. They all wore the same vest and pants uniform. It left their arms bare, but that could be covered by the cloak and hood. The captain didn't wear his cloak. He let his dark brown hair, bound tightly in a braided ponytail, swing free behind him.
"Keep looking" The Eltharian male commanded the boy who bowed and left to examine the surroundings. The officer was of medium build with a well toned body. His shirt was sleeveless and exposed the chiseled arms that perpetually rested at his hips on the hilts of two twin swords. His body was dark for an Eltharian; he held some forest blood in him. And his garments looked more suited to a mercenary than a soldier of the royal guard.
"Where did they take the human I wonder? And to what purpose?" he said as he rubbed the brown chin stubble he sprouted. He glanced to each of the soldiers briefly. "Hold her." Both men immediately seized Riyarra's sides and held her still as she struggled. The commander pulled off her hood and mask roughly. He grabbed the top of her hair firmly and jerked her head to one side. There he scrutinized her pale skin -- it was perfect, without blemishes, without scars, pure...
"Your mark is gone." He commented quizzically.
