The Ratfolk were too scattered, and the Legion could not venture too deep into the wilderness. They might as well give the idle cavalry something to do and put a little pressure on them.
Those men had not sunk into depravity, but after so long without supervision, they had surely grown complacent. It was time they realized how far they were from true Rangers.
Jack doubted an Elf could take on ten soldiers. Three or five, perhaps, but coming through unscathed was absurd—no, it was possible. This was a sparring match, after all. They could hardly let the soldiers use Magic Muskets.
But the Elf instructor appointed by Fendora Silverdew said, "I'll fight ten Professionals. They may use those weapons that spit fire."
"Magic Muskets can do a lot of damage..." Jack began.
"So can magic and sword techniques, but they're useless if they can't hit the enemy." The Elf instructor ran her slender fingers across her bowstring as though caressing a lover's hand.
Even so, Jack worried those rough young men would put holes in Lord Annan's beloved Elf. He chose ten cavalrymen who were Professionals but not Centurions, then reminded them to avoid vital spots.
Outside the makeshift camp, one Elf and ten soldiers faced off a hundred Yards apart. A large ring of cavalrymen had gathered to watch, whispering among themselves.
"It really looks like..."
"Like what?"
"The plots in those underground Magic Films..."
"What plots?"
"You know, an Elf getting caught by several humans and a few Orcs..."
The Elf instructor drew arrows from her quiver one by one and shaved off their tips with a dagger.
That put her at something of a disadvantage. Besides taking away their killing power, it slowed the arrows down.
She prepared ten arrows in all and returned them to