Q urrah!” Harruq shouted when his brother finally opened his eyes.

“How long?” Qurrah asked as he pushed himself to a stand.

“Not long,” Harruq said, holding Qurrah’s shoulder to steady him. “The orcs are almost here.”

As if on cue, they heard a collective roar from the south. Harruq glanced at the stairs back up the wall but Qurrah saw this and shook his head.

“We need to get closer to the fight,” Qurrah said, his words slurred. “I need to see him.”

“Sure thing,” Harruq said. “Come on. I have an idea.”

He grabbed Qurrah’s arm and hooked his elbow around it. Qurrah was too weak to complain, so together they ran down the streets. They passed closed homes filled with people praying for safety and victory. Looming ahead of them was the southern gate. Hundreds of soldiers stacked against it, their shields braced and ready. All along the walls, archers released arrow after arrow into the darkness.

“How are we to get closer?” Qurrah asked.

“Ignore them,” Harruq said. “I know what I’m doing.”

He led them into an alley in between several worn buildings made of stone. He stopped just before the next set of homes, for he heard talking. Holding Qurrah back with his arm, he peered around the corner. A soldier dressed in finely polished armor stood with his sword raised in salute. At first Harruq did not see whom he saluted, and then the elf fell from the roof and landed before the soldier.

“An elf,” Harruq whispered, which managed to grab Qurrah’s attention. Now both peered around the corner, curious why such an exotic creature had arrived mere seconds before war.

“Greetings, Dieredon,” the soldier said, pulling off his helmet. He was a middle-aged man with long blond hair and numerous scars on his face.

“Greetings to you as well, guard captain Antonil,” Dieredon said, taking a step back and kneeling. “Though I fear greetings is all I may offer you.”