Chapter Text
Hysh was warm. Comforting. In the way it washed over Maeleth’s skin when she ran her palms over one another and began to chant softly. In the way it flew about and betwixt her fingers when she gestured, coiled, curled, her digits, and drew the hot wind into herself. In the way it seemed to encompass the entirety of her body when she channeled it, flowing through her limbs, her veins.. Burning upon her tongue and flooding her chest, her arms, hands, fingers, to encompass the injured sword master who now sat before her…
Despite her studies nowadays delving heavily into high magic, having spent decades mastering the other winds, still Maeleth preferred to use light magic when casting. It was familiar, homely, in a way she found she couldn’t describe to Teclis when her mentor had asked.
‘It just feels right,’ she had said, and her mentor had chuckled.
‘Just so long as it doesn’t stop you from tapping into the other winds when necessary.’
Maeleth watched now, as golden-white tinged streams of the wind wrapped themselves around the sword master before her, and slowly but surely travelled towards the man’s crooked and bruised sword arm. Blossoms of red and blue upon his skin grew brown, then yellow, and disappeared. The streams of magic quickened as they coiled and spun round his broken limb, the crooked angle of his bones straightening and his skin growing pink as the heat of the magic warmed it. And then, as if they had never been summoned to her whims at all, the ribbons of magic dissipated, and the sword master let out a soft groan of relief. Before her, his entire frame slackened, and his head drooped ever so slightly as the pain of his injury abated.
“You’re all healed,” Maeleth said with a soft smile, dropping her hands and giving them a gentle rub together.
“Thank you, my lady,” the sword master said with a dip of his head.
Maeleth took a stride backwards then, allowing the man to gather his blade from where it rested and leave her tent, giving her a moment's silence before another soldier stepped in to take his place.
This man’s leg, Maeleth observed, was covered in blood. Deep streaks of crimson and brown ran down from the midst of his thigh, stopping only where his skirt met the ground, and as her eyes trailed up his leg, she spied the tail end of an arrow sticking out from the tattered cloth. It must have punctured quite deep to have caused such bleeding, she noted. No doubt it pained him with each step he took even now.
The man bowed his head briefly as he placed his weaponry to the side and settled himself on the stool before her. Maeleth winced as she stepped gingerly towards him.
“You know I’m going to have to pull it out before I can heal you, right?” she whispered, and the sword master nodded breathlessly.
“I am aware, my lady,” he answered coarsely. “Please do what you must.”
Maeleth nodded then, and swallowed, doing her best to steel her nerves before reaching out towards the feathered end of the arrow.
“On three,” she said softly, watching as the sword master’s eyes slipped shut and his hands moved to grip the edges of the chair.
“One,” she began, watching as his brows furrowed.
“Two…”
The sword master inhaled and tensed, holding his breath.
“Three!!”
With a sharp tug, Maeleth yanked out the arrow, the movement punctuated by a fleshy sound much akin to an overripe melon being crushed underfoot. Before her the entire man’s body gave a jerk, and he let out a visceral scream of pain, the tone of which made Maeleth’s stomach turn uncomfortably. Even though healing in the aftermath was a part of every battle she’d served in, it never seemed to get any easier.
Instantly hot blood started to gush from the wound now that the arrow plugging it had been freed, and just as quickly, Maeleth began to cast, chanting the words that had become second nature as she ran her palms together and began to gesture.
Once more the hot winds of Hysh rushed forth to greet her call, and within seconds twined themselves round the man, round his leg, and round a few other spots of his body where more minor wounds had made their presence.
Slowly but surely the spilling of blood eased, going from a steady flow, to a slow pulse, and eventually to a halt.. And once they had, Maeleth watched, still chanting under her breath, as the edges of the wound knitted themselves together, the raw edges of the skin stitching together in a manner which still filled her with awe.
Once the man’s body abruptly drooped and the streams of magic dissipated, Maeleth reached out towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a moment to catch his breath and regain his composure.
“Thank you,” he said coarsely after several moments, and Maeleth could do nothing more than smile softly.
“It is my pleasure to heal our warriors,” she whispered, and the warrior before her lifted his head to her and gave her a soft smile. It was a half lie, to be fair… She hated that war was an inevitability, that she was bound by honour to serve her people in battle, much preferring to be back at the white tower… But every moment healing warmed her heart, and the knowledge that she was serving her people, helping them, did even more.
“We are ever so lucky to have you on our side, lady white.”
Lady white. It had been a nickname started by her peers at the tower of Hoeth due to her fondness for light magic. She’d channelled it so much more often than any other wind, to the point that her hair and skin had seemed to pale like the human wizards of the light order. No one had been able to say it had with any certainty… After all, elves weren’t known to change in response to channelling magic, unlike their human counterparts… But when standing besides her peers, many couldn’t deny that Maeleth’s skin seemed ghostly pale, and her hair seemed almost white.
“You know you’re not meant to call me that,” she chided jokingly then, giving a chuckle. There was no harm in the name, but many argued that it was poor form not to show respect and formality.
Before her, the sword master cracked a smile, and chuckled in tandem.
“Very well then, my lady Maeleth,” he said with a tip of his head. “My gratitude for your services once again.”
It was just as he stood up that a sharp cry came from outside, the shrill call to arms punctuated by the sounding of a war horn.
An ambush!
‘Of course,’ Maeleth thought bitterly, brows furrowing. ‘We wouldn’t even be allowed one evening’s rest with the Druchii on our tail.’
The sword master she had just healed hissed, gritting his teeth and moving swiftly to pick up his sword once more.
“Looks like the day’s struggle isn’t over just yet,” he muttered, giving Maeleth a nod as she turned to swiftly gather her own blade and staff.
Just moments after he stepped out of her tent, she followed, turning her head in the direction of the fleeing, unarmed Asur who had been forced out of their tents, before turning towards their assailants. She had barely managed to take in the newly forming scene of carnage — darkshards winding round each tent to shoot at fleeing Asur, preceded by bleakswords who cut down aught that stood in their way, many of those being unarmed Asur who had already settled in for the night to come — before the sword master she had just treated jumped in front of her in time to parry an incoming sword blow from her left flank.
“Take care,” he shouted at her, giving her an abrupt shove with his free arm as he shifted to engage her attacker head on. For a moment, it was all Maeleth could do to watch, horrified, as he took a hit to his forearm the moment he turned back to her assailant. The blade dug in through his leather vambrace, a fresh blood stain beginning to form upon his clothes, but within seconds he managed to shift his positioning and swing, allowing both himself and her a moment to gather themselves. And so, muscle memory taking over, Maeleth raised her staff and began to chant.
It took mere moments of ushered words before that familiar heat rushed to her side, and in the air beside her, silver-white streams of light began to accumulate, concentrating themselves into the shape of shards. They hovered there for a moment, glistening and gleaming as their shapes grew more defined. And then, with a swift flick of her wrist, her cane angled towards her would-be attacker, the shards flew forwards and sunk themselves into the man’s body, cleaving through his armour as if it were butter and embedding themselves within his skin as he began to scream.
The sword master took a step back as the bleaksword dropped his blade and fell to his knees in agony, but there was little time to do ought more than that, for within moments the sound of a crossbow bolt embedding itself in the dirt besides the pair made itself known.
Once more the sword master readied himself, turning with his blade held before his body… But just as Maeleth, too, turned to spot the darkshard that had shot at them, the sword master let out a strangled note, the sound tearing her gaze back towards him just in time to see his form crumple forwards. There, in the centre of his back, was a crossbow bolt. One that had hit its mark.
Maeleth swallowed, swearing under her breath. She felt the taste of bile mark its presence on her tongue at the thought that she had just moments ago healed the man, given him hope that he’d live another night… But she didn’t have time to dwell on that thought now. Now, she was alone. While around her small skirmishes still took place, the majority of her brethren were overrun, most of them ill prepared for an ambush. The majority of them had tried to run, and were now dead for it, and those that had still had their armour and weaponry on them were faring little better for having tried to fend off their assailants…
Swallowing hard, Maeleth once more raised her staff, this time closing her eyes. She had to fend for herself now, and she had to do so quickly. With the blade in her right hand, she traced out the arc of a circle, whispering swiftly to herself before giving a swift flick of her wrist upwards. Heat rushed around her, swirling round her form like a hot vortex. Cast this successfully and she’d be nigh on impervious to ranged attacks, the glare of her body impossible to aim towards… Then she could flee, or do her best to aid those who still fought.
Chanting further, Maeleth felt the hot winds of light coalescing around her… With the incantation near finished, she opened her eyes, slowly... and froze.
She should have seen the moats of light as they spun round her… Should have seen them, as they encompassed her frame and caused her to glow like a beacon, so bright her assailants would scarce be able to look at her, let alone attack her…
Instead, her eyes gazed past the gleaming shimmers of light as they wrapped around her, focusing instead upon the swiftly advancing armoured front of a cold one towards her. All she was granted was a moment of panic, a realisation that she had been too slow, that she had been too late…
And then there was naught more than darkness.