Raigar should have noticed, but the Horselord was too busy scouting the rest of the camp to prevent the swift movements of the brigand. He heard Eruviel get snagged and was up on his feet immediately, bowstring pulled taut with a lone arrow nocked.
“Let her go,” he growled.
Eruviel moved to retaliate but stopped when her knife was pressed to her back. Wincing, she glared over her shoulder, her off hand drifting down to the quiver that hung from her hip.
“You shoot and she’s dead anyways,” the brigand growled back. “Boss ain’t wantin’ visitors at the moment.”
Raigar remained unflinching, a solid rock against the gentle breeze that occasionally blew through the trees, bringing with it the woodland’s leaves. “Let her go,” he echoes, cool and calm. His eyes gave a fleeting glance to Eruviel, catching her gaze. There was a subtle twitch, barely noticeable, but enough to get his message across. “Last chance.”
Eruviel pursed her lips and she returned the slightest of nods. She slowly changed her footing, careful not to anger the man pressing a blade against her back.
“Last chance nuthin,” the bridand smirked, unintimidated. He took another step back with the Elf and opened his mouth to to call for aid.
The arrow released at an incredible rate of speed, striking the man somewhere between the bottom of his nose and the top of his upper lip, all before Raigar’s bowstring could even reverberate from the draw of the bow. The arrowhead, fashioned to pierce the thick skin of great beasts, had little trouble in piercing the flesh, teeth, and bone that it encountered.
The arrow hit true, driving deep into the brigand’s skull. Almost as quick as the arrow, Eruviel spun, one hand grabbing the wide-eye’d man to keep him from falling too loudly, and her other clamping over his mouth to muffle the sounds he tried to utter as his life expired. Her dagger dropped from the brigand’s lifeless hand, and the Elf ever so carefully lowered the his body down to the ground.