They crept around the side of the line of burned buildings. The ones on this side of the street were in better shape than those behind them, and they peered through open windows and doors.
Crash.
The second noise allowed them to focus, and with wordless agreement, Treffen crouched low. He duckwalked forward, peeking around the edge of the last building on the street.
Something moved in one of the shops across the way. He couldn’t make out what it was, but it looked enormous.
He backed up and whispered to Gawain. “Something is there. Could be a survivor.”
“Or an invader.” At Gawain’s nod, they moved into the street. Treffen ducked under the front window of the building, which looked to have been an apothecary shop, while Gawain flattened himself against the wall.
Holding his bow and arrow in one hand, Treffen reached behind him. He held up three fingers where Gawain could see them. Lowering them one by one, he counted down.
Together they pounced into the store.
A huge tree-beast popped up from behind the counter. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
Gawain paused, sword raised, and Treffen’s hands stilled on his taut bowstring. What’s a Treant doing in a burned-out town?
The Treant’s branches trembled, waving above its woody face. Brown leaves scraped against the ceiling, fluttering down around the beast’s roots.
“Who are you, and what is your business here?” Treffen had never heard a commanding voice like that from Gawain.
“I live here,” the Treant said. “They killed everyone.”
Treffen looked at Gawain. He had never heard of a Treant living in a village before. The creatures were born of the forest, literally trees made flesh. Its arms were thick branches, and its feet were a nest of roots. This one looked to be of the oak species and would someday be as tall as the building in which it now cowered. Its mold-ridden wood face was a mask of terror.
Treffen lowered his bow. “Why are you here?”
The Treant’s eyes fell. “I live here. Better than the forest. Humans”—his wooden lips stumbled over the word—” humans were nice to me. Now everyone is gone.” The words had the memorized feel of a scripted speech, as though every traveler through this town must have asked the creature why it lived in a village.
Gawain hadn’t lowered his sword. “What were you looking for just now?”
The Treant shrugged. “Anything. Something. Don’t know. But nothing’s left. Everything’s gone.”
The Treant watched Gawain sheath his sword. Treffen returned the arrow to the quiver on his back.
“Have you eaten?” Treffen asked the tree-creature.
“Not hungry,” it replied.
A noise in the doorway made Treffen spin around, reaching for the arrow he’d just replaced.
“Hold fire, good elf.” A hooded figure in gray robes stood in the open doorway. The man’s shadowed face was soot-stained, and he smelled like a wet dog. “I am the mage of this town, and I bid you a poor welcome.”
“Are there more survivors?” Treffen lowered his bow.
The mage entered the room and crossed to the Treant. “Sadly, we’ve found none. Trent and I were foraging in the forest when the invaders came. By the time we saw the smoke, it was far too late. We’ve been searching the town all night, looking for any survivors, but I’m sad to report that we are all that’s left of Stonebridge. They swept through here like a wildfire.”
“Who was it? Could you tell?” Gawain was still using his Knight Voice.
“Billmen,” replied the mage. “Bramble Knights. Nether Elves.” He glanced at Treffen.
The Ranger hung his head in shame that any of his kind had joined the cause of evil.
“From the Downs?” Gawain asked.
“Most likely.”
The Treant, Trent, had fallen silent, seemingly transfixed by Gawain’s shining silver armor.
Another noise made them all startle. Movement outside.
Treffen was through the door in a flash, arrow nocked. A pale flash zipped between two buildings.
Gawain was beside Treffen in a second, and the mage came close behind. The three crept around the shop where the flash had disappeared.
Treffen was first around the corner. Crouched over a pile of clothing, a pale form whipped around to face him.
The Nether Elf hissed. An elf’s beauty twisted by evil, it was all knobby elbows and sharp features.
Minion of evil. Treffen raised his bow. Can’t let it return to whoever sent it here.
It charged toward Treffen, raising a wicked dagger with dark ichor dripping from the blade. An arrow loosed from the Ranger’s bow stopped it cold. It fell thrashing to the ground, arrow protruding from its neck.
Gawain stepped forward and plunged his sword into the creature’s chest, stilling its jerky movement. They turned to hear the mage muttering behind him, but when the man saw that the enemy was dead, he lowered his hands and stopped his chant.
The Treant peeked from behind the wall. “Is it dead?”
Poor thing is traumatized, Treffen thought. “It’s dead.”
Trent sidled forward, peering through his branches. “You sure?”
Gawain pulled his sword from the dead elf’s chest and wiped it on the creature’s tattered leather armor. He kicked the poisoned dagger from its claws and buried the blade into the ground with a swift stroke. “We’re sure.”
The mage shook his head and looked at Trent. “You should leave this place.” He turned to Gawain and Treffen. “Perhaps these brave warriors would see you safe to another village.”
Gawain shook his head. “We must report back to the Glade about this incursion. And King Jasper must also be informed.”
The mage nodded. “Of course. And when you go, you might also mention that we know where his daughter went.”
“Princess Amethyst?” Gawain raised his visor.
“No, Princess Emerald,” the mage replied. “We received a message from the king the day before the attack that he was looking for her. And we know where she’s gone.”
“Emerald? You’ve seen Emerald?” Treffen looked up from the dead elf on the ground. “Where did she go?”
The mage clucked his tongue. “We tried to stop her. She passed through our village just a week ago. Said she was following a lead on her missing sister. She said she was going to Lordship Downs.”