Thwack! A narrow tree trunk splintered.

At the last moment, Royce had moved. A crossbow bolt lodged itself in the wood where a second before he had been crouching.

Thranic struggled desperately to crank back the string on his weapon. “Did you think to find me in my bed?” he said. “Did you really think killing me would be that easy—elf?”

He cranked back on the gear.

“You shouldn’t fear me so much. I’m here to help you. It’s my responsibility to help all of you. I’ll cleanse the darkness in your hearts. I’ll free you of the burden of your disgusting, offensive life. You no longer need to be an affront to Maribor. I’ll save you!”

“And who will save you?” Royce replied.

He was just a few feet from where he had been. Thranic glanced down to set the bolt in the track. He lifted the bow, but when he looked up, Royce was gone.

“What do you mean?” Thranic asked, hoping Royce would reveal his position.

“You see awfully well in the dark, Thranic,” Royce said from his right.

Thranic turned and fired, but the bolt merely ripped through an empty thicket.

“Well, but not perfectly,” Royce observed, appearing once more, but much closer. Thranic immediately began ratcheting back his bow.

He had two more bolts.

“You also managed to slip into the trees without me seeing you. And you crept up behind me. That’s indeed remarkable. How old are you, Thranic? I’ll bet you’re older than you look.”

The sentinel loaded the bolt and looked up, but once more Royce was gone.

“What are you driving at, elf?” Thranic asked, holding his crossbow at his hip. Backing against a tree, he peered around the jungle.

“We’re alike, you and I,” Royce said from behind him.

Thranic spun around. He saw movement slipping through the brush and fired. The shot went wide and he cursed. Thranic began cranking back the string once more.

“Is that why you do it?” Royce asked. “Is that why you torture elves? Tell me, are you purging them—or yourself?”

“Shut up!” Thranic’s hand slipped on the gear and the string snapped back, slashing his fingers. He was shaking now.

“You can’t kill the elf inside, so you torture and murder all those you find.”

He was closer.

“I said shut up!”

“How much elven blood does it take to wash away the sin of being one yourself?”

Closer still.

“Damn you!” he screamed, fighting with the bow, which refused to cooperate with his shaking fingers.

He drew the string back again only to have it jump the track and snap free. He put a foot through the loop at the bow’s nose and pulled. Now it was stuck. He pressed desperately on the ratchet handle. It refused to move. Crack! The winch snapped.