And then, cradling the unconscious Julina in his arms, shielding her from the burning cinders and debris with this own body and carrying her to safety, Amrhost watched as the elves of Hollind began to take up the arms of the fallen and fight back for the first time in their lives.
To a large man standing nearby, he said, "She lives! She is breathing yet. Get her back to the lead ship. Though the spirit of battle is upon these people, they are clearly inexperienced, and will be slaughtered unless provided with proper military guidance. And see that Nylandor's body is seen to! He will not lie in this accursed place for the carrion fowl to despoil!"
As she lay semiconscious in Amrhost's arms, Julina frowned at the emotion Amrhost bore on her account. He smelled of smoke; his short beard was singed; his face was streaked with soot. She became aware, then, of an agonizing pain in her leg! She moaned . . . and then she knew no more.
A burly man of Brand caught Amrhost's attention by pointing mutely and urgently at the sky. Something far-off was circling away from the ships and heading straight towards them. He could see smoke and tongues of flame.
"Dragons be damned!" Amrhost spat. "Archers! Archers! To the roofs! We especially need men with longbows. The elven bows have neither the power nor the range."