They had gotten no more than a dozen yards before the creatures appeared. With gnarled bodies and wizened faces, they were vaguely similar to Spider Gnomes. They came out of the shadows like ghosts, creeping toward the Elves on all fours, eyes bright with anticipation. Mouths yawned wide to reveal rows of teeth. Aphenglow could guess at what had drawn them. Not sated by those they had already dispatched, they had returned for something more to eat.
She stood with Cymrian and watched the creatures close in on every side. Their ship was too far away to make a run for it, even assuming they could get past the ring of bodies that was tightening steadily around them.
“What do you want to do?” Cymrian had blades in both hands, but even in the face of such terrible danger, he sounded calm and unhurried.
“Stand behind me,” she said suddenly. The creatures were very close now, easing forward soundlessly, eyes watchful. “Quickly!”
He did as she ordered, still holding the blades ready. “What are you doing?”
“Stand closer,” she said. “Put your arms around me. Do it.”
She felt his arms tighten about her body while leaving her arms free. His blades glinted right next to her face. She took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of me and don’t panic. Trust me.”
She felt his head press to her own, nodding. “Always.”
Then she summoned her magic and lit them both on fire.
She heard Cymrian inhale sharply as they were enveloped in a column of flames that soared forty feet into the air, crackling and burning with such ferocity that the encircling creatures immediately fell back, cringing and ducking away, their interest in pursuing the attack vanished. It was an illusion, of course. But to all outward appearances, Aphenglow and Cymrian appeared to be burning up.
She moved ahead instantly, almost dragging Cymrian with her. To his credit, he kept his feet and stayed close in spite of his shock and the awkwardness of the advance. They appeared to be trying to flee the flames, rushing ahead in a swirl of fire, stumbling now and then as they fought to keep their feet while their bodies were slowly consumed.
By the time their attackers had determined that nothing was actually happening, Aphen and Cymrian had already forged ahead through the disintegrating lines and were in the clear.
“Run!” she screamed as she caught sight of Wend-A-Way resting at anchor amid the stone pillars and damaged trees, and she extinguished the magic and the fire with it.
The creatures were after them instantly, a massed pursuit that fell back only when she turned long enough to sweep their front ranks with real fire and create a momentary barrier between them. Then she was running again, racing to catch up to Cymrian. A pair of the creatures appeared out of the trees before them, but the Elven Hunter cut them down without slowing, his blades quick and deadly. Aphen could hear their attackers coming up behind them, closing the distance rapidly, and she was forced to turn and create a fresh wall of fire before fleeing once more.
The pursuit was gathering momentum now, skirting the ends of the wall of flames and running parallel to them, closing in from both sides. There were many attackers, and they were quick. Aphen stretched her arms wide and sent explosions of Druid Fire into the midst of the tightening pincers; the earth erupted in clots of earth and sparks, and again the attack was momentarily scattered.
Then they were at the rope ladder and she was scrambling up as he held the ropes steady for her, following her a moment later, kicking back at the creatures that leapt at him, snatching at his legs. She could do nothing to help from where she hung, not without risking that the fire would burn him, as well. All she could do was keep climbing as fast as she could, hearing him behind her as she did so—hearing, too, the grunts and snarls of their attackers, feeling their combined weight shake the ladder as they scrambled to catch up.
Hearing the sounds of their breathing.