The elves fell in droves before Arn and his companions. Still they kept attacking – they had courage, he had to admit.
And they had numbers to spare. Without Arn and his companions, the village would have fallen for certain. For the dozenth time, Arn wondered if they fought for the right side. All empires must eventually fall, and this one had been staggering for some time, stretching itself thin as it went.
Not to mention, this was the regime that had condemned Arn in a horseshit farce of a trial, sentenced him to death, let him escape, and promptly pardoned him when he returned with a chained-up thief and some papers.
Theywere weak and indecisive.
He would dance to their tune for now, Arn had decided, because those he travelled with fiercely believed that the empire was worth fighting for, and Arn considered them friends – he had no wish to see them dead.
But even with their help, the Empire would not survive for long, he was sure of it. He just hoped he would live long enough to watch its final breath.