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Lakashtai, if you’ve got something prepared, now would be the time.

Very well.

For an instant, the night was lit up with an emerald glow, and Daine felt a wave of power pass over him, pressing against his thoughts, then releasing them. The elves froze in place. Daine aimed a quick blow at Shen’kar, but to his surprise, the drow warrior ducked down beneath it.

Don’t fight! Lakashtai thought. They can’t act directly, but they can still defend themselves. Flee as fast as you can—if we’re lucky, we’ll have a minute or two before they recover!

Gerrion? Daine thought. I believe you’re the guide.

So why aren’t you following?

Gerrion was already halfway across the clearing. They raced into the jungle, leaving the dark elves behind.

They ran hard and fast, redoubling their efforts when Lakashtai reported that the elves had broken free of the trance. Branches tore at Daine’s skin, and more than once he stumbled on the uneven terrain, but Lakashtai was always just behind him, pulling him up and pushing him on. His injury ached, but it seemed that he’d only received a tiny dose of venom—the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as when he’d been stabbed by the scorpion itself.

Daine couldn’t say how long they ran, but eventually Gerrion slowed to a walk. “I think … we should be safe now. We’re almost to the city.”

Daine could smell smoke in the air, and now that he was moving more slowly, he could see an orange glow in the sky ahead. “There?”

“Yes. We’ve probably been spotted by the patrols already—let me see if I can summon guards.” With that, he called out, a long, loud verse in Elvish—and Daine couldn’t help but notice that he spoke with the accent of the elves they’d just left behind, not the slower speech of the Valenar.

A moment later, another call came in response, echoing through the jungle. “We’re safe,” Gerrion said. “Even if we’ve been followed, they won’t attack us once my friends arrive. Come daylight, they can help us find the others.”

Daine nodded and took a deep breath, struggling with his beating heart. “I won’t say no to a bed and a meal. Here.” Gerrion’s arms were still bound behind his back, and Daine cut the vines.

“My thanks, and for your efforts earlier.”

Daine shrugged. “You saved me before. I guess this makes us even.”

People were approaching, and from the noise it was clear they weren’t the silent stalkers they had fought in the clearing. There was flickering light, most likely from a torch.

It wasn’t a torch—and when the soldiers finally reached them, Daine was in for another surprise.

They were drow.

The soldiers wore leather jerkins studded with bronze scales and conical bronze helmets with chunks of black glass embedded around the rim. Beneath the helmets, their eyes were large and white, with no iris or pupil. Their skin was jet black, as black as the obsidian chunks decorating their armor, and tattooed with brilliant patterns of flame—designs much like those Gerrion wore. The “torch” turned out to be the weapon of the leader—a short spear with a long, blackened head that was wreathed in crackling flames.

Daine put himself on guard, and only then did he realize—My sword! He’d reclaimed his dagger from Shen’kar, but he’d left his grandfather’s sword behind. Elves! He cursed.

“Daine! Stop! They aren’t going to hurt us!” Gerrion jumped between Daine and the soldier, speaking rapidly in Elvish. The soldiers lowered their weapons, and the captain with the flaming spear spoke with Gerrion.

They recognize Gerrion. Lakashtai’s thoughts drifted into Daine’s mind. He says that he has brought us to see the high priest, a man named Holuar. The warrior seems suspicious—something to do with thin blood—but he is going to show us the way.

So … not all of these dark elves are vicious scorpion killers?

It would appear that way.

“My apologies,” Gerrion said, turning back to them. “I should have made that more clear. These are my father’s people—the Sulatar. Comparing them to the savages we met earlier … oh, it’s like