Richard Knaak: Wolfheart

Without warning, the hippogryph rocked violently, his wings flapping in an awkward, jolting manner. As she clutched tight, the night elf glanced at one of the wings.

Two thick bolts had pierced it, right near the muscle. Blood stained the brilliant plumage and also sprinkled the treetops below.

Aradria looked at the other wing. There, a third bolt had likewise punctured the appendage, and more blood streaked across not only the feathers but the sky behind.

The shots were expert, so much so that the wounds kept the hippogryph from maintaining altitude. Windstorm’s talons and hooves raked against the trees as he struggled to stay aloft. Torn leaves and bits of branches assailed the courier as the mount’s battle against descent faltered more and more with each passing second.

“Ungh!” A stray branch as big as her arm hit the night elf in the chest. Aradria lost her breath, then her balance. She fell back.

Windstorm crashed among the trees. The collision was the final straw for the Sentinel, who tumbled off the saddle.

If not for the thickness of the forest canopy here, Aradria would have been dead. As it was, she slammed through one heavy branch after another, until the accumulation of debris falling with her created a barrier that put an end to her fall. She lay there, stunned, with her head and left arm hanging down.

The wounded hippogryph became tangled in a mass of trees just a short distance ahead. Instinct overwhelming thought, Windstorm twisted and turned in an attempt to free himself. The saddle, caught on some of the branches, held him fast for a moment, until brute fury enabled the mount to rip free of it. The saddle dropped several yards farther down the tree.

Aradria heard the hippogryph’s frustration and caught glimpses of his struggles as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. From her shoulder she removed the bow, broken in the fall. Scratched, bleeding, and with one smaller finger bent at an unlikely angle, the night elf nonetheless thought only about her companion and the pouch. Pausing just to reset the finger in order to better her grip, she moved nimbly toward Windstorm.

She had barely begun when the hippogryph, still turned awkwardly despite having freed himself from the saddle, broke through the stressed limbs holding him. The massive beast let out a squawk as he violently descended through one level of branches after another, finally vanishing from Aradria’s sight.

Her desperate gaze fixed on the saddle some distance below. Though she still wanted to help the hippogryph, Aradria knew that her duty was to retrieve the pouch. With one last glance in search of Windstorm, the night elf leapt toward the saddle.

The branches held her, but barely. Even those not directly near where the hippogryph had crashed had been damaged by the falling limbs. Aradria made a swift calculation as to which would best suit her, then jumped to it.

She landed just a few scant yards from the saddle. Only then did she see that the larger pouch was empty. The small one containing the missive now lay somewhere farther below, perhaps even on the ground.

Aradria retrieved her glaive, slinging it on her gauntlet. After a moment’s consideration, the Sentinel also took the quiver of arrows along.

From far below came Windstorm’s angry cry. The night elf began leaping down from branch to branch. At last she spotted a patch of ground . . . and the pouch.

“Praise Elune!” Aradria murmured. Ignoring the pain in her finger, she grasped another branch and descended farther.

An arrow shot past her ear.

She did not see the archer but estimated his position from the bolt’s flight. Aradria whipped the glaive free and threw it.

It cut through the remaining foliage and briefly vanished from sight.

A gruff voice roared in agony. Seconds later the glaive returned to the night elf’s waiting hand. The blades were stained with fresh blood.

Taking a deep breath, the courier dropped the last distance. She could still see the pouch. It leaned against the trunk of the very tree from which she had just descended. Aradria reached for it—

From around the trunk burst a tusked orc, his huge axe already raised high to cleave the night elf in two. His thick mane of hair, bound tight, swung wildly as he ran at her, and the grin spread across his wide face revealed that, while he still had tusks, several of his other teeth had been broken in past conflicts. The damage did more to enhance his already fearsome appearance.

The courier brought up the glaive just in time to deflect the strike. Her entire arm vibrated from the force of the muscular orc’s blow. Aradria gritted her teeth as she fought not to cede her position near the pouch.

The grinning orc slashed away at her again. Every bone in the already injured night elf’s body screamed, yet she held her place. Still, she knew that the impasse could not last: more orcs would surely join the fight.

When her foe raised his axe for his next swing, Aradria retreated a step. The orc’s grin widened as he took this action as evidence that the duel was tilting more in his favor.

Aradria threw the glaive with all her might. The distance was not much, but her determined effort gave the triple-bladed weapon the force it needed.

One curved blade buried itself deep in the orc’s chest.

The green-skinned warrior stumbled. Although he was not dead, the wound was a grave one. With his free hand, he tried to pull the glaive free.

The night elf barreled into him, pressing the glaive deeper as her opponent staggered back. At the same time she reached up to the quiver and grabbed one of the shafts.

Aradria shoved the arrow through the orc’s throat.

The orc let out a gurgling sound. Despite dying, he clutched the night elf tight. The two fell to the ground.

She struggled to free herself. Not far off, she heard movement that did not sound like a forest creature. Anticipating more orcs, the courier finally managed to shove the body away. Unfortunately, she could not immediately free the glaive.

A rustling of brush made her look over her left shoulder in time to see three more orcs racing toward her from behind the nearby trees. Aradria tugged hard, the glaive finally coming out with a grotesque slurping sound. She whirled to face the trio, already aware that she had little chance against them.

Then . . . two more orcs stepped into the area from the opposite direction, cutting off what little hope she had of still fleeing with the pouch. Aradria surreptitiously glanced at the object. There was still a chance to at least destroy the contents if she could buy herself a few moments.

With a brief murmured oath to Elune, the night elf charged the nearest three. Her audacity served her well: the orcs hesitated, all but certain that she had intended to go against the pair. Aradria threw the glaive as she lunged.

The spinning missile forced the trio to scatter. The glaive soared past the orcs, then arced back, but not to the night elf’s previous position. Rather, both it and she converged on the location where the pouch lay.

But she had underestimated the swiftness of at least one of the other two orcs. Even as Aradria caught the glaive, he reached the pouch. Clutching the prize in one hand, the brutish warrior turned to battle her.

The courier swung the glaive at him, then suddenly kicked. Although the orc outweighed her, the force was still enough to shove the air from his lungs. Aradria pressed her attack, hoping to take him down and retrieve the pouch.

Much to her dismay, the other nearby orc came between them. His intrusion enabled his comrade to recover, and both dueled with the tiring night elf.

Aradria knew that the other three had to be closing. She was trapped.

Suddenly a deep squawk shook the combatants. A huge form shot past the night elf. Mighty talons tore through the torso of one orc.