The battle between the Elves and the Jarka Ruus raged on through the remainder of the morning. The armies surged up and down the slopes of the cliffs that warded the Rhenn, and back and forth through its eastern pass. At times, it seemed the attackers had gained the advantage they needed to force their way inside the valley, but each time the Elves fought back with such ferocity and determination that the advantage quickly disappeared. Though the creatures from the Forbidding fought on with a furious intensity, it was clear that they were adversely impacted by the failure of the Straken Lord and his dragon to return to the battle, and now lacked the means to counter the damage inflicted by the Elven warships, which were now safely in control of the skies. While they were able to maintain overwhelming numbers on the ground and, under different circumstances, would likely have overrun the Elven defensive positions and claimed both the east pass and the valley before the day was out, they had no real means of protecting themselves from—or fighting back against—their adversary’s airships.
Even so, the damage to the Elven troops was severe enough that Sian Aresh was forced to bring additional reserves forward from the western pass to buttress those fighting in the east. Seersha, too damaged to return to the battle herself, saw some of this from the care station at the western end of the valley as Elven Healers worked to bind her cracked ribs and stop the blood flow from multiple wounds. Salves were applied to ease the pain and provide the beginnings of a healing for her burns. Because she lacked Aphenglow’s skills in this area, she gave herself over to her caregivers and their experience. Oral medications were provided as soon as it was determined where the interior damage had been done, and soon after she became drowsy and fell asleep.
When she woke, she was lying in a bed inside a plain, nondescript room with several other injured, and she could hear the sound of raindrops spattering against the windows from outside. She lay where she was for a time, working hard to come awake, still groggy and weak and trying to determine what had happened to her after the battle with the Straken Lord. Eventually, she regained enough presence of mind to realize she was back in Arborlon and must have been brought there at some point following field treatment for her injuries.
Once she felt ready enough, she forced herself into a sitting position and then out of bed and onto her feet. She hurt everywhere, and the effort would have been too much for a less determined person. But she could not abide not knowing how things stood, and so she gritted her teeth against her agony and weakness, dressed herself in the singed and bloodied clothes that had been removed and placed on a chair, strapped on the weapons that lay on the floor next to them, and stumbled from the room into the corridor beyond.
She was somewhat strengthened by a self-administered infusion of Druid magic meant to deaden pain and accelerate healing—a basic tool of any Druid, though not one she was especially proficient with. But it lent her a certain steadiness as she moved down the corridor, taking her time, peering into rooms filled with injured men and women who had been brought back from the battle, treated, and then bedded down under care from Healers and their assistants. She paused a few times to take in the numbers and watch the efforts of the caregivers before continuing on. No one tried to stop her. No one paid her any attention at all. Everyone was too busy with the needs of other patients to worry about one who was upright and wandering about in a functional condition.
Eventually she reached an area at the front of the building where a handful of Elven Hunters engaged in transporting the injured back from the Valley of Rhenn were taking a short break before heading out again. Normally, there wouldn’t have been time for this effort in the midst of a battle, and it made her wonder anew what had happened in the valley since she had been returned to Arborlon.
She approached a grizzled veteran she recognized from the training field who was standing by the doorway and peering out into the rain. The day—or what was left of it—was dark and gloomy, and the rainfall on the other side of the walls a steady downpour.
The Elf glanced at her and immediately straightened. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be up. In fact, you should be dead.”
“I’m hard to kill,” she answered.
“So it appears. But would you mind not testing that theory? I’m one of those unfortunates who had to haul you back here. You were not in such good condition.”
She nodded. “Thanks for your efforts. Can you tell me how things stand out there?”