New shouts joined the battle, and in the corner of his vision Davin saw armed men -- three, four perhaps -- come swinging into the fray, armor glittering by firelight. The sight should have heightened his fear, perhaps, but he felt only a disconnected, morbid sense of relief: surely these strangers would spare the elves the agony of a slow defeat, and death would be granted more quickly.
This brief distraction gave Brethor -- fat, wheezing Brethor -- the opening he needed. The blow he landed was clumsy but surprisingly forceful, sending spirals of pain shooting through Davin’s arm as the heavy weight of the club connected with his shoulder. His fingers loosened around the hilt of his sword, twitching in response to the unfamiliar sensation of pain, and he clumsily struggled to steady the sword with his left hand. No matter how greatly he wanted a quick end, the instinct to survive was stronger.
Davin flailed weakly at Brethor, but the sword met only air as the mountainous merchant was sent crashing down into the dirt.
“In the Queen’s name, lay down your weapons!”
Davin felt certain he had misheard the soldier, that his ringing ears had misled him, and tightened his feeble grip on the sword. But to his amazement, Brethor flung his club into the bloodied dirt. The sounds of battle faded as one by one, both human and elf stilled their weapons. It was all Davin needed to see to drop his own sword, the cursed thing-- what had ever made him think he could use it?
The heady adrenaline that had been pounding through his veins vanished, and he fell to his knees, chest heaving. Brethor’s hate-filled eyes met his.
“You little bastard, I hope you’re pleased…”
In that moment, any relief Davin felt quickly fled. The past weeks had proven Brethor and his companions to be shrewd and manipulative, ever so convincing in their treachery. It would be a trifle for a conniving rat like Brethor to convince the soldiers that the elves had attacked without provocation. Even during the best of times, humans needed little convincing to think that elves were scum.
“Friends,” he rasped, his voice still weak, “Kind sirs, my people are not to blame for what happened here.”