"Commander, that's a young nature spirit! We just attacked a child of the Verdant Mother."
Two more archers lowered their bows. An elf in the second row hadn't drawn at all, her green eyes fixed on the tiny figure perched on the Primordial Villain's shoulder with an expression caught between duty and horror.
"She is no spirit!" Aelindra's voice cracked across the line. "She is a weapon of the Necromancer! A minion of evil, nothing more! Reload and fire!"
The archers looked at each other. The hesitation lasted one breath. Then training won over instinct, and twelve bows came back up with fresh arrows nocked.
Their faces said what their hands wouldn't. They reloaded. They didn't believe her.
The dryad on Quinlan's shoulder was breathing harder than she had been a moment ago.
"Elite elven archers are a problem, Father."
"Angle me."
