The next day… Night? Marching period? However time was divided down here in a land without sun or bells. Regardless, it was much the same as the first. March, too short of a break, march again. Repeat until Mah-tok called for a stop. At least the day passed easier knowing why we couldn’t talk. Still was horribly lonely not having people to talk to, but knowing it helped keep us safe made it a lot easier to manage.

  This time the cavern we stopped in wasn’t nearly as high as the one before. In fact, the ceiling was just barely tall enough for the tallest elves to stand up in. Even I could touch the stone above if I just jumped a little. The Quartermaster and I talked over dinner that night again, but only briefly before his duties took precedence once more and he was once again pulled away to manage coin. I didn’t pay it any mind and instead rolled over and went to sleep.

  It wasn’t until the third day that something novel happened. The march thus far had been rather quiet and eventful. Just enough so that I was beginning to wonder if the Darkways weren’t quite as dangerous as everyone had made them out to be. We were moving through a relatively tall and wide cave, maybe three people tall and wide enough for us to walk four across.

  I was in the middle of some spellform practice, focusing on moving from one form to the next quickly, when there was some minor commotion towards the back of the line. Pushing aside my mental self-examination, I turned to find the soldiers towards the back turning around and putting their shields together in an interlocking wall. And once those in the back had started, the rest of the group started to fall in as well, shields rippling like scales to make a wall. I took half a step towards the back to see what was going on when there was a sharp pull on my sleeve and I found the quartermaster pulling me so that our backs were against the stone wall.

  “Combat,” he whispered. I blinked and looked around sharply. I didn’t see any threats, but all of the Dusk Elves were certainly moving with purpose. Mah-tok was near us, rapidly conferring with one of the other elves in their hand speech. His hands were sharply snapping, but his face was sharply marked with worry lines. Eventually he stood and spoke, directing his voice towards the back.

  “Tunnisidi?” he asked.

  Before he could respond, a pair of ebony blades, dark enough I thought them shadows even with my false vision, whipped through the dark. One bounced off the layered shields, but the other snaked over the wall and then through the plate around the neck of a dusk elf. The tip ruptured from the lower back with a sickening squelch and spray of blood before retracting, blade and body, into the dark.

  “Fjarik ne’she queesshala,” Mah-tok cried, brandishing a spear. Elves fell back at the call, layering their lines so that they were two, and then three deep. As they did, the shields of the front lines went down as the shields of the elves behind them went over the top, layering the the shields over the first. The third was laid almost perfectly horizontally across the top making a shield dome. It couldn’t have taken more than a kedu for the dome to be made and in that time three more elves died.

  However, once the dome of shields was made, the spearing limbs went from being lethal to scraping against the shields ineffectually.

  “Ze’alesh!” Mah-tok cried from his space on the wall, “Ze’alesh!”

  There was another set of scraping sounds and then the shields shifted slightly, just barely wide enough for spear heads to be thrust through.

  The shields shifted slightly and small gaps were made for spears to be thrust through. I couldn’t see the other side, but there was an almost hissing sound that came through one of the gaps followed by another set of of scratching at the shields. The sharpness of the sound and the ease with which those limbs had punched through the elves before had me praying to the above for assistance and guidance.

  “Tunnid,” Mah-tok called, his hands steady. At his word, the few of the elves not holding shields removed crossbows from their back and readied them. There were two more sets of scratches at the shield wall before they finished. But once they were cranked, one of them tapped Mah-tok’s shoulder. There wasn’t an immediate response, but right after the next set of scrapes against the wall, Mah-tok cried out again.

  “XINI!!”

  There was a wordless yell of response and the shields pushed back and out. And as they did, small gaps opened in the wall, just barely wider than an eye. The crossbow users took the briefest of moments, sighted through the gaps, and then let loose. Most of the bolts didn’t seem to do anything, but there were a pair of meaty thumps as two of the bolts found their marks followed by a keening wail. As one, the dusk elves stepped back, the gaps between the shields closing and the crossbowists immediately going to reload.

  And not a moment too soon. There was almost immediately another set of scraping sounds on the shields, but thankfully none found gaps. The clawing persisted for several beats, but the elves held, seemingly unconcerned. No one flinched as the scraping grew harsher and some guttural howls started to pull through the cave. Eventually, the frantic scrabbling tapered off.

  “XINI!!” Mah-tok called again.

  And once again, with practiced grace, the shield wall shoved out in response to an attack and the crossbows loosed with their odd twangs. A rasping sound rattled from beyond the wall and a cheer went up through the troop as they closed the wall again.

  This time, the raking was much quieter and slower than before. Hope swelled within my chest that this would be the end, that we would get out of this with no more troubles.

  As if hearing my thoughts, there was a thunderous slam against the shields, causing part of the dome to buckle backwards. The shields didn’t break and no gaps were made, but some of the elves bumped into one another which apparently was enough for a gap to to be pried in the upper wall by a pair of blade arms. Faster than I could blink, a single tendril snaked through that gap and took one of the crossbowists in the throat. There was a gurgle and a sickening squelch before the elf’s blood started to spray, coating all of us with the soldier’s lifeblood.

  The bladed appendage ripped from the elves’ neck. I was gagging, but the rest of the elves didn’t flinch. They braced, shields slamming back together and caught the sword-limb, pinning it in place. There was a degree of flailing, but no injuries. The limb didn’t, and perhaps couldn’t, cut on the sides. So it was just stuck. And on the other side of the wall, scratching increased in both intensity and frequency, but the wall didn’t give.

  With a quiet fury, one of the crossbow men pulled an axe from their back and raised the blade as much as they could in the shield dome. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that when the axe came down, it bit into the blade’s arm, sinking deep. A harrowing screech came from beyond the wall as black blood sprayed everywhere. The blade’s thrashing increased, but the elf ignored all of that and brought the axe down again. And again. And again, eventually severing the blade from the limb completely.

  The screeching grew louder as the arm, free of its ebony blade cap, was now thin enough to retreat through the wall. There was a collective grunt and the wall slammed shut once more.

  And instead of celebration, of praise or recognition, the elf with the axe simply huffed, their smile turning from anger to dedication as they turned back to the crossbow and started drawing it once more.

  That is the moment that stuck with me. Not the death. Not the blood or the wail. The grim determination. They had called me a glass leaf, worried I would be useless. And I had been. Just sitting here trembling.

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  But there was work to do.

  And like that my panic fell away. I might not be able to work a crossbow, but that didn’t mean I was helpless. I reached out and pulled, dragging Energy to me so rapidly that the flow made a small magical whirlpool to support the rate it was rushing through my channels. My spine steeled and I drew myself to my full height. The Energy itched, begged to be used. To be poured into the spell form I wanted in that moment.

  “Quartermaster,” I said. His eyes snapped up, letting his crossbow sit for a second.

  “Starborn?”

  “These creatures, what do you know about them?”

  “Uh, well,” he stammered. Another set of rending scratches raked against the wall, trying to force another hole. His eyes darted to the source of the scratching.

  “Facts,” I commanded, drawing his attention back. “Quickly.”

  He nodded and began complying, his voice surprisingly even despite the stress. “We call them Enstolbii. Long body with two bladed arms they can thrust out. Sharp, limited in direction. Most dangerously, they’re smart enough to learn.”

  “Any weaknesses?” I said, prompting him to continue cranking the bow as he talked.

  He nodded, clearly embarrassed at having stopped, before continuing, “We typically burn the corpses when we go to dispose of them. They go up really quick.”

  “Fire?” I quietly asked myself. I should be able to do that.

  I noticed him still staring at me, his crossbow half-cranked and so I dismissed him with a nod. He scrambled back to preparing while I set about directing Energy. Fire, much like water, was an evocation, a direct translation of Energy to an elemental expression. I had practiced them in theory, but had never actually gone through the spell in reality. The effect was supposed to make a hand-sized ball of fire, but that was for far less Energy than I currently had. I could overcharge the spell, the effect, but I wasn’t sure how that would cause the spellform to change. Bigger, yes of course. But how much?

  There was a chance, a not small one given the magnitude of difference in Energy amounts, that whatever ball I made would not only hit the Enstolbii but some of the people holding the shields. And that was assuming the spell succeeded. There just might be too much energy here that it would overload the spell form and it would rupture centered on me. Alone, I might’ve been willing to take the risk and bet on my skills, but not with other people’s lives on the line. Too many unknowns. So no spell-fire. But that wasn’t the only type of fire I knew of, was it?

  I was a Kitsune. And Kitsunes had foxfire.

  I called the small lights to the surface and opened them to the Energy within. The Flood of held energy left in a torrent, almost eager for a place to go. A spellform might’ve collapsed, but foxfire wasn’t a rigid structure. It was a natural expression, one that could take and grow with no real issues.

  And it came together far faster than a spell ever could, each of the tiny motes rapidly swelling to melon sized orbs. They tried to swing into an orbit, but it was but an errant thought to get the four of them hovering before me instead. The crackled and pulsed with a sweltering heat.

  “Fjarke,” the quartermaster declared face agape in awe.

  I smiled, both pleased with myself and in anticipation of what might come. And though I was sure it wasn’t a pleasant smile, it certainly warmed my heart. “Would you kindly,” I asked the quartermaster, “make a place for me to put these through.”

  Numbly he nodded before stepping shuffling to Mah-tok and tapping him on the shoulder.

  “XINI!” came the cry.

  Once again, the shield shoved back and crossbows stepped forward to fire through the gaps. One of the crossbow men was skewered by a blade that snaked through the wall and then through the gap in his visor, but in the fox light I could now see the creature. It was a snake-like thing, latched to the ceiling with two coiled appendages that almost looked like chicken legs with dark blades attached to them. The foxfire wanted to go, wanted to find something to burn. SO it was less a thought that directed them, but I stopped holding them back. And the moment the restraint was gone, all four balls of foxfire whipped through the hole and then towards the Enstolbii. The first missed, splashing on the ceiling to no notable effect and the enstolblii dodged the second. But it hadn’t dodged far enough letting the third and fourth foxfires slam into its side. The skin immediately caught and flared like it was rice paper and not a moment passed before the flames started to spread. By the time the shields were stepping back and sealing the temporary holes in their wall, the creature had fallen to the floor completely engulfed. It screeched and wailed, but this time it wasn’t intimidating in the least. This creature was in pain and its cry reflected that

  The shield wall came down and the horror of the dark had been reduced to the slowly dying creature we could all plainly see. Soldiers were assigned to look for other enstolbii, but it was clearly done out of form rather than a real concern.

  I know I wouldn’t want to fight a group that could burn me alive once, let alone again.

  *****************************************************************************************************

  I had been expecting that we’d be leaving this stretch of cave as quickly as possible, but the Quartermaster informed me otherwise.

  “The battle might be done, but the work is just beginning”

  First issue was the blood. While it had been a bit annoying during the battle, leaving it was not acceptable, and not just for sanitary reasons. The smell of blood would be a potent lure lure for other predators of the Darkways. Liquids and rags were produced from the Quartermaster’s bags which I supplemented with some conjured water, and the living elves were cleaned down as completely as possible, with elves often partnering up to help reach difficult nooks and crannies. I had somehow avoided the worst of the sprays, so I didn’t need much help in cleaning myself, but I spent a lot of time helping those around me.

  It was weird how grateful the people were for my help. It didn’t feel like much, cleaning off blood, but the heartfelt and genuine thank yous that I received, mostly translated but occasionally in broken Runna, were nice.

  However, as nice as that was, the feelings quickly gave way to a somber air.

  Back home, funerals were long drawn out affairs involving specially made funerary kimonos, flowers, and multiple days of mourning. That might’ve been because we were such a small village, where everyone knew everyone else and each loss was keenly felt. Or, I thought looking around the worn cave walls and foreboding shadows, perhaps it was because we just had the time for ceremony.

  Whatever the reason, the dusk elves' funeral wasn’t long. The corpses, picked of all their valuables and supplies, were set shoulder to shoulder. There were four of them. I hadn’t even seen four elves die. I was trying to figure out where they had died and who they were before giving up. I didn’t know these people, stupid language barrier, well enough to even attempt that.

  Their supplies were divided amongst those who might use them, the valuables were packed aside so they might be returned to kin. Mah-tok said a few words, traditional ones that the quartermaster struggled to translate, and then the crossbowist who had cut off the enstolbii’s sword arm went along the line, cleaving heads from the bodies one at a time.

  It was very efficiently done. Four necks, four cuts. Each head was removed in a single chop and caught before they rolled too far. The heads were placed into a special sack while the bodies were rolled into a nearby pit of foul smelling liquid. Aghast was too tame of a word to describe how I felt watching their funeral rites.

  “Ichnid pools, Starborn,” the quartermaster explained when he saw my blanched face, “They’ll dissolve the bodies so nothing can eat them and no one can reanimate them.”

  “No one can rea…? Does someone live down here?” I asked, rapidly pushing my disgust aside for curiosity. I doubt my curiosity was appropriate, but it was certainly more comfortable than the disgust I felt for how they had treated their dead. Funeral rites, I had been told by one of the Elders back home, were partially to bless the remains so that the bodies couldn’t be raised. Though, given that I how much energy making water had taken, I couldn’t imagine that the rites had done anything that I couldn’t easily undo. I imagined that if someone wanted to raise the corpses of the People, it would be more a cultural taboo at this point than a magical barrier.

  The Quartermaster shook his head slightly, “Not as far as we can tell, but old fears are slow to die. The Drow might be gone, but our memories are long.”

  He had a long stare after that, the same one that I saw when Elder Takashi got when he talked about changelings. I wondered what it meant about our cultures that their boogeymen were long gone but still feared, while ours were still active. My contemplation couldn’t last long, because once the last of the bodies sunk, we were on the move again. It was only then that I realized I had never asked about what happened to the heads. I spared a look around, but there wasn’t a bloodstained sack just sitting around that I could find. Curious, but for once I managed to set the question aside.

  We didn’t stay long after that. Just barely long enough for a few elves, sometimes alone and sometimes in groups of two or three, to stand by the pool for a bit and say some words. And then we gathered up and left.