Sharalae gingerly pressed a dampened bit of cloth to her side, low along her right flank, wincing with a soft hiss at the sting. After a moment, she pulled the cloth away, pleased when she saw it was not overly stained with blood. The Siavaedi arrow had just grazed her then, and as far as she could tell, it did not appeared to have been poisoned. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She took stock of her provisions, wondering if she should risk doubling back to see if there was anything she could scavenge from the scene of the recent fracas in which she had inadvertently found herself. Whatever House Sha'nul was up to, they were really in over their heads now! Sharalae didn't know what in the Seven Hells the creature she had seen with the drow raiding party had been, but she suspected it was some sort of outsider, one she was not familiar with. Whatever it was, it, and several others like it, had made short work of the contingent of Siavaedi the raid group had encountered, despite the mages the elves had had with them. One elven wizard, her arcane auras almost blinding Sharalae's magic sight, had abruptly toppled over during the battle mid-cast, apparently struck dead by some tremendous unseen power.
The drider snorted, shaking her head. The drow raiders had been overkill, following behind their strange fearsome allies, taking what scraps were left. She had been following her former people, but lost their trail, and had instead picked up the track of the Siavaedi, only to be caught in the middle when the drow attacked. She was fortunate to have escaped relatively intact, the drow soldiers thinking her to be on their side as they had driders with them, giving her time to scuttle away through their ranks relatively unopposed. But of course, the fool Siavaedi had shot at her as she retreated. A wry smile flickered across Sharalae's lips. She supposed she couldn't blame them.
Resettling her quiver across her slim obsidian shoulders and arranging her cloak comfortably, she picked up her bow. Sharalae decided it would be worthwhile to revisit the battlefield. Raelona would be in a hurry whether she found what she was searching for or not, she reasoned. There was the off chance something of use might have been overlooked and left behind.
*****
A light rain fell as Sharalae prowled about the battleground, deepening the already dark night. She was grateful for the additional cover as well as the cover of sound. However, she knew that particular sword cut both ways and remained alert and watchful for any others who may have for whatever reason chosen to return.
Oddly enough, it was from one of her own people that she acquired something useful. Noticing an unusual glint in the mud, she pressed the tip of one pointed black leg in the trampled muck and uncovered what turned out to be a drow hand apparently severed during the vicious combat. One of its fingers bore a ring, a rather plain band of silver adorned by a single cabochon of hematite. Removing it, Sharalae examined it closely, allowing the rain to wash away the last bits of grit on it as it lay upon her palm.
She slipped the band onto a finger of her left hand and a short phrase whispered through her mind. Startled, she looked down at the ring in amazement, then concentrating a moment, uttered the phrase. Feeling a strange sense of vertigo for one brief second, she realized her perspective had changed. She no longer stood as tall. Looking down, she saw a pair of shapely dark legs descending from her rounded hips, ending in dainty feet standing barefoot in a muddy puddle.
Lifting her hand before her face, she eyed the ring now adorning her slender finger. She smiled. "How interesting," she murmured. "Now all I need is to find some pants and boots that fit."
To be continued...
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