They started in alarm, reaching for their weapons and searching for the man who'd spoken. There was nothing but darkness.
"Who's there?" Caramon whispered harshly.
"Ye don't remember us?" asked a second voice, a woman. She clucked her tongue in disappointment. "And I thought we'd gotten to be friends."
There was a rapid, fluttering sound. Then, suddenly, two small, elfin figures appeared before them. Silver moth wings sprouted from their backs. The companions stared in astonishment as the sprites doffed their caps, bowing as they hovered above the ground. "There," said the female, grinning. "Does that help?"
Caramon blinked. "Ellianthe?" he asked. "Fanuin?"
"Aha!" Fanuin declared, his green eyes glinting. "Ye do remember us!"
"But-" Trephas sputtered. "How… ?"
"Oh, we've been with ye since ye left our kingdom," Ellianthe answered blithely.
Caramon frowned, then understanding dawned on his face. "I remember now. I tried to say good-bye, before we left, but you'd disappeared. I thought you'd gone, but you were with us the whole time, invisible. Right?"
The sprites beamed. "Very good," Fanuin said.
"But why?" Dezra asked.
An awkward silence followed. Fanuin coughed. "Our da sent us along in secret, to see if the troubles in Darken Wood were as bad as ye said. Now we know they are," he declared, staring sadly at the battered bodies. "We were going to hie back home when ye left this place, and none o' ye would be the wiser."
"That was the plan, anyway," Ellianthe remarked. "But since ye're in trouble, we figured ye could use the help."
"We sure can," Dezra said. She smiled, thinking fast. "Can the two of you make yourselves invisible again?"
"Aye," Ellianthe stated, her chest swelling proudly. "Just say the word."
Caramon looked at his daughter, a smile curling his lips. Dezra returned the grin crookedly. "Great," she said. "I think it's time we found out what we're up against."
The rain finally ended. A cold wind gusted in its wake, scouring the battlefield. The companions huddled, shivering, as long, silent minutes crawled by. The wait was excruciating, but they'd resolved to stay where they were until Fanuin and Ellianthe returned.
Thenidor shouted in the darkness. "We have the bard!" he bellowed. "Give us Peldarin's axe, and we'll return him to thee!"
"Sure they will," Dezra murmured sourly.
"How'd they find out about Soulsplitter?" Caramon asked Trephas.
Trephas shook his head, scowling.
Suddenly, the buzz of moth wings sounded nearby. Fanuin and Ellianthe blinked into view, bobbing on the gusting wind.
"We saw them," Ellianthe reported. "Eight of those… creatures." She shuddered.
Caramon gestured at the muddy ground. "Draw it for us," he bade. "Show us where they were."
The sprites did as he bade, using their needle-like swords to scratch several circles in the soft earth. "Four with bows, four without," Fanuin said.
"All of them are Skorenoi?" Trephas asked.
Ellianthe nodded. "Aye." She tapped the last circle with her blade. "This is the leader."
"Thenidor," Trephas growled. "What about Borlos?"
Fanuin quickly added an X, off to the side. "He's alive," he added in answer to the companions' anxious looks, "but not moving."
"Senseless, huh?" Dezra asked. "He'll be even less useful than usual, then."
A grim silence settled, punctuated by the moaning wind and the flutter of the sprites' wings.
Caramon glanced at the others. "So," he said, "they have us outnumbered, and Bor's their hostage. But we have a few things in our advantage too. They don't know about the sprites. And they don't know we know as much as we do."
The others nodded. "So what's the plan?" Trephas asked, pawing the earth.
Dezra frowned, studying the makeshift map. "Give me a minute," she said. "I think I have an idea."
The Skorenoi heard hoofbeats on the blasted earth and tensed, the archers raising their bows. Thenidor glanced at Borlos-the bard hadn't stirred-then peered into the shadows, his hands twisting about his halberd.
The hoofbeats stopped. A torch flared, less than twenty paces away. Trephas held it high in his left hand; his right was empty. He smiled as the bowmen trained their arrows on him.
"I'm flattered," he said. "Thou must think me truly important, to arrange such a welcome."
"I only wish thy father's head had been awaiting thee, beside Menelachos's," Thenidor leered. "Alone, art thou? Where are thy companions-the old man and the girl?"
"Waiting back there," Trephas answered, jerking his head vaguely behind him. "They needn't be involved in this. I've come to surrender to thee, Thenidor."
The Skorenoi stared at Trephas in astonishment. Two of the archers lowered their bows slightly; Trephas's eyes flicked toward them, then away.
Thenidor, however, wasn't fooled. "Surrender?" he scoffed. "Why wouldst thou do that, son of Nemeredes? It isn't thee I want. I seek Peldarin's axe."
"That's why I've come," Trephas said. He reached over his shoulder, groping for something on his war harness.
The archers' bows creaked, but Thenidor stayed them with a gesture. "Take care, Trephas," he warned. "Make an unwise move, and this will end poorly for thee."
"I know," Trephas declared calmly, and pulled Soulsplitter from his harness.
The Skorenoi gaped as he brought it forward and held it before him, glittering in the torchlight. Thenidor's eyes gleamed as they fell upon the axe.
Then they narrowed. "What trick is this?"
"No trick," Trephas replied. "I'm giving it to thee-in exchange for the bard." He nodded toward Borlos's motionless form. "That was the deal, wasn't it? Let him go, Thenidor, and Soulsplitter is thine." He extended the axe. "Take it back to Lord Chrethon. He'll surely honor thee as a hero. I only ask thee to let the humans go. This isn't their war."
Thenidor considered this, his heavy brow beetling. He licked his lips, staring at the axe. Finally, he nodded. "Bring it forward," he said. He gestured to the archers. "And remember-I can kill thee with a word."
Trephas strode forward, holding Soulsplitter before him. As he went, the two more alert archers followed him with their sights; the other pair tracked him too, but inattentively, their eyes on the axe. No one but Trephas heard the flutter of invisible wings, or the slight creak of tiny bowstrings being drawn back.
They did hear the sound that followed-a pair of high-pitched, harpstring twangs-but then it was too late. This time, the sprites' arrows weren't coated in their sleep drug; the venom they bore was much stronger. Both of the alert archers were dead before they even felt the shafts prick their flesh. They crumpled to the ground as if struck by lightning. Everyone glanced, just for an instant, in their direction.
Everyone, that is, except Trephas. He broke into a run the moment he heard the sprites fire their bows, casting his torch aside and raising Soulsplitter high. The inattentive archers brought their bows up again, but by then it was too late: Trephas was in the midst of the other Skorenoi. Then, just as quickly, Caramon and Dezra sprinted out of the darkness, weapons flashing. The archers turned to meet them, casting aside their bows and yanking their cudgels from their harnesses.
A hunchbacked Skorenoi interposed itself between Trephas and Thenidor, club raised to ward off the young centaur. Soulsplitter flashed and took the hunchback's right arm off at the elbow. The axe cleaved through flesh and bone, sending the Skorenoi's cudgel-and the hand that held it-spinning away. The hunchback screamed, clutching at the stump of its arm. Trephas reversed his swing and took off its head. Blood fountained, and the hunchback's body went down in a heap. Soulsplitter shuddered in Trephas's hand as the creature's magic tried to destroy it, but its power was too great. The axe stayed intact.