The creaking of cart wheels and clop of hooves on the old dirt road mingled with the sweet sound of birdsong, and of wind rustling through the trees. It was the music of nature, of life, and as always it made Riana smile. Seated at the front of a simple wooden cart, the reins clutched in a slender hand, the young elven woman couldn’t help but appreciate her surroundings.

In the back of the cart were various goods, casks of wine and ale, barrels of salted fish and a few crates of cured meat, all of them the finest that money could buy. It was hardly a typical cargo, but with the festival of Springtide fast approaching it was well worth the cost.

A sudden gust blew through the trees, fluttering Riana’s silvery hair and forcing her to press a hand to her wide-brimmed hat to keep it from blowing away. The air buffeting her face was refreshing, but after a few moments it brought the scent of smoke and char wafting past her, and she crinkled her nose.

“Perhaps the remnants of a hunter’s fire…” She said softly, recognizing the smell of roasting meat as well. Many hunters from the villages nearby hunted this stretch of forest, so the smell was hardly an unusual thing. Still, something about it seemed wrong, and as she continued down the narrow road it became more and more apparent.

The smoky scent was stronger, carrying an acrid, almost nauseating quality that threatened to turn the elf’s stomach. And then, through a break in the canopy overhead, she could finally see the cause. Oily black smoke rose high into the air further down the road, over an area just beyond a sharp bend that obscured the final stretch that passed through the dense woodland.

“Oh, Goddess…” She murmured, a hand covering her mouth, her expression shocked. That was no campfire. She recovered quickly, fear gnawing at her as she spurred her horse on at a faster pace. The cart rattled as it took the sharp bend, and with a loud crack one of the casks tumbled from the back, spilling ale across the road behind her.

Riana winced, but kept going. Only a large fire could produce that much smoke, which meant that someone could be hurt, or worse. What could have caused such a blaze only entered her mind for a moment, and those few dark thoughts of bandits were quickly dismissed. If someone were injured, she’d have to hurry if she was to even hope to help them.

Finally, the stink of burned flesh and wood struck her, like slamming into a wall, making her double over and cough as she tugged on the reins to slow her horse. Through bleary eyes stinging from the lingering smoke, she looked ahead at the scene of destruction that awaited her.

Only a few yards down the road, the green, verdant trees and lush plant life that lined the track stopped abruptly. In their place were charred, twisted trunks, the very ground a burned, ashen grey. It extended for nearly thirty yards in every direction, in an eerily perfect circle, the center of it an even more horrible sight than the burned trees.

Carefully, Riana Stepped down from her cart, hands gripping her skirt tightly. As she crossed into the burned-out circle, the ground cracked, crunching beneath her feet, the very dirt scoured. Her eyes, though, were locked on the scene of carnage ahead. Burned and mangled, at least a score of bodies littered the road, forms still smoldering, stinking horribly.

“Sweet Fianna…” Riana breathed, pressing a sleeve over her mouth and nose to filter out the smell. She had never seen anything like it, so many people dead, burned beyond all recognition. She took another step, toward the largest knot of bodies, but something caught her eye, the deep blue orbs swiveling toward a metallic glint at the center of the charred ring.

Stooping, she reached out toward it, the object a partially melted disc of what resembled gold, and then suddenly withdrew her hand with a sharp hiss of pain. It was hot, and she didn’t dare try and touch it again without risking a nasty burn.

Sighing, the elven woman rose again, turning back toward her cart. There was nothing she could do except continue home and tell the village Elder, who would perhaps send those that could give the dead here a decent burial, at least. She had barely taken a step, though, before something else caught her attention. It was movement this time, and Riana spun around, clutching at a small knife tucked in her belt. She relaxed quickly, though, when she noticed its source, a figure lying among a number of bodies toward the road’s edge.

As she moved closer, it became clear that the figure was still alive, and strangely untouched by whatever conflagration had erupted on the road. He was still wounded, though, his dark clothes stained with blood and torn in several places.

He was an elf; unlike any she had ever seen. His hair was a deep raven hue that matched his clothing, and his skin was pale, almost deathly so. Beside him, the body of another dark-haired elf, this one female, lay slumped on the ground. Though she was untouched by the fire as well, a deep, bloody wound cut across her stomach, her silver eyes open and unseeing.

The male was breathing, if shallowly, but with his wounds there was no way of telling how long he would last. Riana stepped up beside him, kneeling down and tugging one of his arms over her shoulder and guiding the unconscious elf to his feet.

“Come on…” She grunted, dragging him back toward the cart. “I’m going to get you to a healer.” It was just a short trip back to the village, luckily; she only hoped she wasn’t too late.

* * *