The elf approached and she instinctively placed her blade between them. Sure, she had just [s]stupidly[/i] broken him out of his public execution, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had rescued someone and then had them turn on her. Not that she could fight properly. Not with Pan like this. Pan was mumbling into the crook of her neck, a slurry of words she couldn’t even begin to translate. He was sagging against her, drifting off to sleep. She elbowed his ribs again. Chamera was no healer, but she knew enough that she needed to keep him awake.

The jailhouse echoed with shouts and cries. Chamera winced as she scanned her surroundings. To her right, a prisoner had been cleaved in two by an icicle the size of a cow. Several cells had been broken open, grey ribbon of light streaming in through the wounds in the ceiling. A guard, either Zhent or Dalesman she wasn’t sure, was pinned to the shattered wooden floor. The stench of death was thick in the air, all copper and bile. Shouts echoed from every corner, pleas and jeers blending into one another. Another boulder of ice smashed through the roof dead ahead, crushing an empty table. Someone began to scream. The wail of terror pierced through her armor down to her very core, resonating in her bones. Chamera tried not to panic.

The elf had equipped himself. She’d hoped for heavy plate and a towering shield. No such luck; instead, he wore cloth and a cowl that shadowed his face. Shit. Where was a good fleshy meat shield when a woman needed one? [i]Likely dead, after the stunt you just pulled[/i]. Chamera winced. This was not one of her better daring rescues. 

“Leave him. He will slow you down and you will both die.”

Chamera blinked intelligently. The sheer callousness of his words was unbelievable; the stupidity was almost laughable. Pan’s mumbling was indecipherable, but his tone had darkened. Chamera was rather offended. Did Pan think she would abandon him so easily? Probably. Without the promise of payment, Pan would have fled long ago. But she was not Pan. She didn’t leave friends behind. No matter the cost.

“And the odds are good that I’ll die later if I abandon him now,” she snapped, planting her feet more firmly. With a deep breath, she shifted Pan’s weight more favorably across her shoulders. What she wouldn’t do for a proper healer right now. “Not to mention the whole ‘horrible torturous death’ I’d be dooming him to. He’s coming—and you’ll be helping. You owe me at[i] least [/i]that.”

Pan made an irritated sound. Chamera ignored him, swallowing the sting in her throat. Gods, she needed water. It felt as if someone had shoved a red hot iron down her throat. She was familiar enough with the sensation to hazard a guess as to what that would feel like. [i]Focus[/i]. She could complain about all her aches and pains later.

“The woods,” Chamera tossed a bloodied braid out of her face with a sharp jerk of her head. It smacked against Pan’s bald head, streaking dull red against his pale features. “Whatever they did to the Weave, I think it’s focused on the town. There are minimal patrols in the woods south of Harpers’ Hill. If we reach the forrest, fortune may smile on us yet.”

“Your Laaaddyy'ss fortune isss—“ Pan mumbled. Chamera elbowed him again, a little more viciously this time. He cried out in pain. She almost felt guilty.

“Now is [i]not the time for blasphemy[/i], Pan,” she hissed, a note of panic creeping into her voice. Pan lapsed into silence. She could only pray the Lady would not take offence to her faithless companion. Or the Drow. She turned her gaze on him, breathing deep to steel herself.