[center][b][u]Itzli[/u][/b][/center]
The early afternoon sun filtered down through the canopy of trees around them, leaving a few bright spots here and there, but far more shadows. Itzli and the others that followed Lucien were scattered among the trees in strategic locations. A few of the men were fidgeting with gear, checking and rechecking to ensure that they were ready, while some of the others kept a vigilant watch of their surroundings.

Itzli, standing in shadows to keep the sun from gleaming on her armor and therefore giving away her position, remained motionless, contemplating Lucien’s plan again. It was fairly straightforward, with the group she was with serving only to stop the Gorgon force from following if Lucien and his men were forced to retreat. Her only concern would be that Lucien would get himself killed in his quest for revenge against the one who usurped his father and took the throne. He had a tendency to be rather brave, and therefore stupid, when it came to that throne.

Almost as if thinking of him had been a summons, the sound of men crashing through the forest could be heard from down the path, if such an overgrown stretch of ground could be called a path accurately. Before too much longer, the first of Lucien’s force passed through the checkpoint, heading back to the hidden camp to lick their wounds, both literal and figurative. Lucien himself, as usual, took up the rear, though it appeared that he was injured, as two of his men were holding him up, at least until one was taken in the back with an arrow.

As two of the Rangers walked up to Lucien’s prone form, Itzli smacked her arm against her leg, the sharp sound of steel clanging on steel serving as the signal for the men to begin their counterattack. She stepped out of the shadows to intercept the Ranger whose sword was being held over Lucien’s body while an arrow took the second. A few more Rangers stepped carelessly forward before they realized that it was an ambush and were shot down, but Itzli was only vaguely aware of that, as her focus was on the Ranger with the sword.

The sound of steel striking steel echoed throughout the forest as her sword, Wolf-Fang, intercepted that of the Ranger. He snarled with frustration as he realized that he had been stopped from killing the leader of the rebels. Incidentally, the man was very skilled in the use of a sword, and Itzli found herself enjoying the challenge of facing him over the uneven ground while a few of the other rebels came out of the shadows to grab Lucien and carry him to safety.

Once she was sure that Lucien was safe, having stalled for quite some time with the tiring Ranger, Itzli cursed the man by fusing his foot to the ground, interrupting his movement and allowing her to slide her sword into his chest. His death was quick, and Itzli pulled her sword from his body, taking the time to wipe it with his cloak before leaving to follow the rest of the force, cursing the ground to create a trap for any who wished to follow her. Most of them had fled once it was discovered that there was a counter-ambush, but a few might have been brave enough to try and follow.

As usual, a few of the rebels were to stay behind just in case, but the majority of them went with her back towards the camp, slapping one another on the back and otherwise celebrating the fact that they were still alive. From what Itzli could understand, it was a very uncertain life that they lived following whom they believed to be the rightful king.
The camp wasn’t really all that far from the point of the ambush, though the route was quite twisty and covered with illusions to prevent people from chancing upon it by accident. The sight was a welcome one to the men who were with her, as they saw their friends and, in a way, family again, everyone going off to recover and relax after another harrowing day. Several fires dotted the camp for just such a purpose it seemed, as groups of rebels gathered around them to warm their spirits as well as their bodies.

As for Lucien, he should have been taken to the medical tent, a large, dark green thing off to one side of the camp to avoid disheartening the other rebels of the camp, and so that’s where Itzli went, bending her head down to fit through the narrow opening and into the dimly lit interior of the tent. The smell of sickness filled the air of the tent, men suffering a variety of conditions, from an injury gained while fighting for their king to a simple disease caught from being out in the woods in cold air. Though spring was upon them, the nights still had a tendency to grow chilly.

The “doctor,” a short, stocky man with thinning black hair, was muttering over how careless Lucien had been this time, pouring his liege a mug of ale to dull the pain while he prepared to pull the arrow from his leg. The doctor took a deep breath to steady himself and then yanked the arrow from the leg. Then he held his hands over the wound and concentrated, his magic accelerating the healing and causing the tissue to knit itself together, first at the deepest level and then moving to shallower and shallower tissue. After a moment, he relaxed, sweat beading his brow.

“My apologies, my Lord,” he began, “but I am unable to heal it further than that with my level of skill. I’m afraid that the wound will scar, though it won’t take your life.” Itzli stepped forward and clapped the doctor on the shoulder to let him know that he had done a good job, pouring him a glass of ale. The man seemed to greatly appreciate the offer, but turned it down.

“Sorry, m’Lord,” he replied, “but I’ve got others to attend to besides the King here.” Itzli nodded her understanding and set the mug aside, letting the man get to his work elsewhere in the tent, the sound of moaning serving as a good reminder that not everyone was lucky enough to get away with nothing in the service of their king. As for her, she stepped over to Lucien’s side to see if he was still conscious. It wouldn’t hurt for her to remind him that he couldn’t always go risking his life like he had a penchant for doing if he wanted to actually sit on the throne someday.