Rain knelt, her knees sinking silently into the marshy turf as she settled into a comfortable position. She doubted her wait would be too horribly long, but if need be she could remain here, motionless, until daybreak. There was no hurry.

The grass near Rain’s knees rustled as a watersnake slid by, the nocturnal reptile slinking out to hunt. Rain stifled a yawn as she watched it slither away; the warm, soothing darkness of the swamp made drowsiness almost irresistible, now that she had finished with her initial scouting. In a way, she was too at home here—the warm, muggy air, the hum of insects, and the murky blackness relaxed her, tempting her to sleep.

Rain stretched, careful not to make any unnecessary noise, and shook her head to dispel the tiredness. She wouldn’t usually be so sleepy this early into the night, but Raxell’s messenger pixy had roused her before dawn, forcing Rain to stay awake and plan. The message that Raxell would be crossing the swamps had left Rain with no option but to intercept the imprudent elf—before anything else did.

Muffling another yawn, Rain blinked in annoyance. The lanternflies were out in droves tonight, and the glittering lights were playing games with Rain’s vision. Their twinkling vaguely reminded her of the candles used in an Encasing spell…

No! Rain pushed the intruding thought away as quickly as she could. Sorcery seemed to dominate her thoughts now; everything reminded her of sorcery, or casting spells, or Aenira. It made Rain want to scream in helpless fury. She wanted to forget sorcery and focus on training, or on her family, or… anything!

But Aenira’s charm, hidden around her neck, wouldn’t let her forget. The weight of the gold disc grew more hateful and oppressive with each passing day, but she couldn’t remove it for fear of the Master Sorceress’s reaction. Still, Rain longed to take it off, longed to rip it to shreds and burn the remains, for she knew that it only compounded sorcery’s addictive pull on her. She knew that this entanglement with sorcery was undermining her resistance, her personality, even her senses, and it terrified her—but the thought of Aenira’s power always subdued her rebellious inclinations almost instantly.

And yet Rain knew, deep down, that if she couldn’t simply rip the charm off in defiance, welcoming the consequences with reckless abandon, Aenira already had her under control—

A soft, bubbly swish snapped Rain back to the present.

Reproaching herself for letting her mind wander, Rain leaned forward, cautiously peering ahead. She’d hidden in an ideal spot; the path through the marshes lay directly below, running along the base of a tall, cliff-like outcropping of firm ground. The footpath had been carved into smooth, solid stone, which assured that it wouldn’t disappear over time despite the ever-shifting swamp around it. Rain sat a few feet from the brink of the ledge, virtually invisible amidst the swampgrass—but positioned so that nothing could pass her invisibly.

Draxen. Three of them.

The creatures seeped into view like spreading mud as they emerged from the stagnant quagmire. They were flaccid creatures, masses of colorless flesh and slimy tentacles, well-adapted for living in the bogs. Rain watched nonchalantly; she’d seen Draxen often enough that their gruesome appearance no longer revolted her. All part of being born D’Karinae, Rain chuckled silently.

At Rain’s shelf of high ground, the Draxen separated. Two slunk into the rushes by the path, dripping marshwater and slime, and the largest one curled up at the base of the outcrop, where it would be indiscernible to someone on the path—but visible to Rain.

For now, Rain contented herself with watching the Draxen, knowing they’d forewarn her when Raxell approached. The Draxen’s sense of hearing was unsurpassed, even by wyverns or feligres; a Drax could hear a bat pass by in mid-flight, or a snake curling in its burrow, even if the Drax itself was hundreds of yards away. That was probably how they knew Raxell was coming—even if Raxell walked quietly, the Draxen would both feel and hear her footfalls while it rested underwater, despite the miles that separated Raxell from the Draxen. The Draxen wouldn’t act yet, though. They’d wait until their prey was in easy range, then rely on surprise to stun the elf. So, until Raxell put in an appearance, Rain could afford to watch and wait. After that, she’d improvise.

Rain passed the time by idly pondering how she’d dispatch the Draxen. These were standard Draxen, nothing too dangerous; each had six sucker-covered tentacles (Rain had fought a Drax with nine, once—that had been fun), and their tails weren’t spiked with the lethal barbs that she’d occasionally had to deal with during prior clashes with Draxen. She’d avoid their lamprey-like mouths, and she couldn’t touch them since they oozed poisonous slime… but that was what the knife was for.

She waited for several hours—it was almost midnight, Rain guessed, when she heard Raxell’s elfin tread moving swiftly (if loudly) closer. Simultaneously, the Drax below her hissed in warning, alerting its companions to their prey’s approach.

A few moments later, Raxell entered Rain’s field of vision.

Rain winced. The elfin swordsmith wore her regular, thick-soled boots, which accented each step with a thump—giving every Drax within leagues Raxell’s precise location. Not even an old and ailing Drax could fail to pinpoint that sound. Foolish elf, Rain shook her head in disbelief as she lifted her knife.

Raxell had come nearly to Rain’s hiding place when the Drax began hooting.

Rain had heard Draxen hunting calls before, but the haunting sound still sent a shiver tingling down her spine. The lulling, cooing whoom reverberated and echoed in disorienting patterns as each of creatures took up the cry, like a wolf pack pursuing a wounded stag.

Raxell halted, eyeing her surroundings in thinly veiled panic. The elf guardedly drew her dirk, flicking her white-blonde hair out of her face in grim anticipation; but Rain knew that Raxell didn’t have half a chance against Draxen. The elf was glancing around uneasily, betraying her anxiety, her usual composure replaced with taut uncertainty. Rain wasn’t surprised. Confusion was the entire purpose of the Draxen’s calls’—their prey couldn’t know where to run.

Rain still waited. Just a little closer… she didn’t want to establish mental contact with Raxell in case the elf relaxed her vigilance. Move your feet, Rax.

As the Draxen cries heightened in volume, Raxell stepped towards the ledge, subconsciously moving to a more protected place than the open path.

The Drax beneath Rain tensed to spring, and the other two leaped from their hiding place and dove for Raxell.

In one fluid motion, Rain stepped off the ledge, knife bared as she dropped onto the Drax. For one brief instant, Rain glimpsed the Drax’s marsh-gray hide, the squidlike head, the bulbous blue eyes staring hungrily at Raxell with no inkling of Rain’s presence—

The only sound that marked the Drax’s death was the swish of Rain’s knife sliding into the base of its skull, slaying it efficiently and painlessly.

Rain jerked her knife loose without hesitation and sprang forward, bulling Raxell out of the way to confront the other two Draxen, relying on sheer speed to stun them and give her the advantage.

The Draxen were caught unawares. Rain dove beneath the tentacle that reflexively shot towards her neck, turning as she did so, and reached upward to slide her knife across the nearer Drax’s throat as she passed. A quick roll and a spin put Rain back on her feet behind the last surviving Drax, and before it could turn to face her she drove her knife into its back.

The third Drax collapsed with a meaty thud.

Taking a deep breath, Rain paused, partially to get her mindset out of combat mode and partially waiting for the adrenaline rush to dissipate, but also mentally scanning the area again to make sure there were no more assailants. The wind still carried the scent of one live Drax, moving this way, but it wasn’t within a mile of them yet; apart from that one, there were no more sentient (or, as Rain considered Draxen, semi-sentient) beings for miles.

Satisfied now, Rain wiped her knife clean on the grass and turned to Raxell. The elf sat numbly in the path, mouth open, eyes wide in mingled astonishment and realization—and in very obvious relief.

Rain bowed, a smile hovering at her mouth as she sheathed her knife with a flourish. “Good evening, Raxell. Lovely night for traveling, isn’t it?”