by Kim Wedlock
How had he ever let himself ignore this?
'Because it had been for the best.'
His chest sank as a sudden, extinguishing wave of despair crashed over him.
She would not be safe.
His work was dangerous, his orders long and varied. He could be gone for weeks, he could be gone for months; if his quarries discovered her, now or then, whomever they may be, she would be at risk. It couldn't work. There was only one way it could end.
She felt his spirit drop, and she withdrew with a disappointment so fierce it seemed to physically strike him. He opened his eyes as she did, discovering the pained twist to her exquisitely sharp features, and found his head already shaking and his hands grasping her imploringly by the shoulders. But she only looked back at him in helpless confusion, one that ignited both desperation in his eyes and self-loathing in his gut.
She shrugged herself out of his hold. Her voice was whispered torment. "I don't understand. You...Garon, I just...you keep sending me all these mixed signals--"
"No." His hands returned, and he locked her eyes with a mixture of regret and promise so powerful that it could have stood tangibly between them. His jaw hardened, and he shut down the voice in his head, once and for all. "Not anymore." He leaned in and kissed her again, firmer, hungrier, and she moved in to meet it despite herself. His hands ran down her toned back, hers around his waist; the warmth of the other's breath prickled the skin to chills. Both of their minds rolled to a stop, the movements of the other silencing all thought and concern for what could have become eternity.
They remained on the hill beneath the moon for some time, the night quiet but for the hoot of owls, breathy whispers and the occasional rattle of steel as discarded blades were knocked with foot or elbow.
Chapter 46
It was dark; the first grey traces of morning were just beginning to glow in the north-eastern sky. Before long the birds would start to sing, chasing out the insects' layered chorus and heralding the forage of animals within the tangle of trees and undergrowth. But, inside the shack's broken walls, it was still as black as pitch, what holes in the wood offering little entry to the bleak, washed out light. The squatters would sleep longer with no daylight to rouse them. But that was just as well if they couldn't see, as they'd certainly stumble over one another if they were to try to leave - unless, of course, one sat still in the darkness for long enough. A practised eye would adjust, and in time would be able to make out the bodies and blankets and belongings littering the dusty floor. Like the beaten and tired old notebook that lay on the ground just inside the doorway, pulled back into the confines of shadow and out of the path of any beast or deluge that might ruin it. Or the equally weathered satchel that stood on the other side of the sleeping body. The body that lay still and silent beneath the blanket, back turned trustingly to the door, a part of the shadow itself.
A fragment of the darkness broke off towards it.
Anthis opened his eyes, awakened by a rough kick to his shin. He grumbled inwardly, his throat too dry to manage itself, and he peered slowly through the darkness for who or what had been so rude when it was still quite clearly night time. It took a while to adjust to the smothering darkness, and he thought for a sluggish moment that his eyes were still closed until he spotted vague movement in the shrouded doorway.
It still took a gruelling length of time to process it, at which point he concluded that it was a beast, then moved to wake the others. If it was a wildling, it may not attack - but there was no knowing if Hlífrún had spoken to this one or not.
The beast had already vanished by the time he reached out to whomever lay behind him, and only then did it sink in that the beast had been awfully top-heavy. And had had four lifeless, dangling limbs.
It was only as his hand finally found and shook a leg that he spotted the scuffed and empty blanket beside him. The blanket - this, he processed much more quickly - was Eyila's.
The situation crashed down around him like a deafening clap of thunder.
He scrambled to his feet, sleep forgotten, and dug around for his knife while a voice distorted by the grip of slumber answered the rude awakening. He didn't respond, but his haste was enough. As he fled out of the door, only just missing the book on the ground, Rathen roused himself, made sense of the matter as rapidly as he could, and immediately raised the alarm, shaking awake every limb he could find.
Anthis bounded through the woods. He ran blind in the heat of panic, loping over the hills, tearing past trees, snapping fallen twigs and dry roots beneath his feet. He had no idea how many minutes had passed since he'd watched her be carried away, nor if he was even running in the right direction, but his mind wouldn't focus long enough to muddle anything out of it until his foot finally caught on some rock or root and he hit the ground hard enough to hear a crack in his wrist. In the time it took him to scramble back up, he'd lost his bearings completely, and logic was finally given opportunity to beat its way in.
'Stop,' he told himself as he panted for breath, 'and think.' There were no tracks to be seen in the darkness, and he could hear nothing over the insects. But these people wouldn't leave tracks, and they wouldn't make a sound. But he didn't need them to. He was a hunter, himself - and he rarely used tracks or sound to find his targets.
He closed his eyes and breathed, concentrating as best he could, wrangling his desperation back under control as he had so many times before.
It took only three racing heartbeats to find them.
There should have been few to no noteworthy souls out in these woods, and those that were, he could account for. There were four behind him - that added up - and two more up ahead, moving quickly away from him. One of the pair had a familiar feel, a radiance he recognised immediately, but the other was much darker, a shadow in comparison, and desolate. He recognised this one, too, if distantly; he'd passed many like it throughout his life. And increasingly often, as of late
His blood ran cold. There was no doubt. It was the Arana, after all.
He needn't have coaxed his feet to move.
Anger rapidly thawed his veins and he set off with honed determination, Rathen and Garon falling in behind him, pounding their way along the kidnapper's trail without a word between them. The sky had begun to lighten - or perhaps there were more frequent breaks in the leaves - when another chill clawed up Anthis's spine.
He stopped abruptly, the others almost tripping behind him, and his eyes grew wide with fear.
There was another presence, a lone individual even darker and more desolate than the first, to the point that he wondered if that soul was a soul at all. It seemed almost empty, and yet so very exquisite at the same time; someone who neither loved nor hated what they did with their lives, but carried it through with the utmost dedication. Someone who lived for it, but did not thrive - couldn't thrive. He'd felt something like this a few times in the past, too, and he liked it even less now. Perhaps because, this time, he understood what it was.
And the pair were making straight for it.
His jaw clenched tightly. "There's a portian out there..."
Garon snarled a vile string of oaths. "Did Taliel lead them here?!"
"Of course not!" The blanching mage hissed in return, then turned to Anthis, forcing control back into his eyes. "How do you know it's a portian?"
"Because I can feel it," he replied impatiently. "We have no hope of winning against it, do we? Then we need hurry up!"
Garon nodded agreement, at which Anthis immediately darted ahead, and sent Rathen a single, instructing glance before rushing on after him, his hands ready at hilt and scabbard.
Rathen stayed where he was and scrutinised the darkness with purpose, beating his thoughts into submission and his efforts onto what he could do. His ears pricked at the two pairs of footsteps approaching quickly from behind, one smaller and slower than the other.
"What is it?" Petra whispered from beside him, but the soft waver in her voice suggested that she already had some ideas.
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br /> Aria gripped his leg tightly, panting from the exertion, and he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. As twisted as it was, he was glad she was there. Even if Petra hadn't guessed the extent of the trouble, she couldn't have left her behind. She wouldn't have had a chance even had it been the Arana's lowest ranks skulking through those hills.
Petra similarly paled when Rathen corrected her assumptions.
"I'm going to locate him so we can keep him at a distance - distract him, delay him, anything I can from here. Anthis and Garon have gone on ahead to intercept the other." His hands were already freed, and while Petra and Aria stared sharply through the woods, his fingers began to twist in a rapid chain of shapes.
He hissed in surprise as he faltered. The pain that immediately seared in his arm was quick to dampen his effort. It was only in that moment that he realised he'd not suffered more than an offhand warmth from the cuff since Rowan's Repentance almost a month ago.
He growled dangerously and heaved it to the back of his mind. As racking as it was, he couldn't afford to think about it. He increased his efforts even as the burning swelled again, and pushed forwards with urgency.
It caught like an oiled rag. His shoulder, neck and skull were set aflame, his eyes saw white, and agony rampaged through his body along every nerve from his spine. He arched, convulsed, hit the ground as hard as had he thrown himself down. And it didn't stop with his casting.
"Rathen?!" Petra whispered sharply, but he didn't reply beyond involuntary grunts between spasms. She tried again, and Aria beside her, eyes as big as saucers, but he curled only tighter into a ball. Intense torment deepened every line in his face. His eyes and jaw were clamped shut.
A curse slipped from the duelist's lips. She dropped her sword and knelt beside him to shake him out of his fit instead, but the moment her fingers touched him, she hissed and withdrew, stung by a spark of light. She frowned in confusion, shook her head and tried again, but was rewarded with another bite from a sudden tendril of lightning.
"Do something, Petra," Aria begged in a heart-wrenching panic, "please!"
But there was nothing she could. A shield enveloped him, cast from some kind of magic, though she hadn't seen him weave it - assuming it was his doing at all. Perhaps the portian had done this to him - Rathen was the greatest threat in their company, and now he had been removed.
She caught Aria before she could try to shake him, and fired her eyes back into the trees while the child thrashed and wailed in her arms, both of their hearts breaking.
They were moving fast. Too fast. Eyila and her captor would reach the portian in minutes, or the portian would break away and come to them. Urgency set a fire beneath Anthis's feet, and he stalked even further ahead of the inquisitor. He could feel they were close - but they must have known they would pursue. They had a plan, he was sure of it. And he was likely charging right into it.
Shouts from ahead shattered the encroaching dawn. Thoughtlessly, Anthis broke into a run. He barrelled through the trees, grunts and growls and snapping twigs leading his way, until he came upon two figures grappling in the dirt. A shaft of moonlight illuminated Eyila's hair and glinted from the blade in the hand of the man pinning her down. They were both bloodied, but it was impossible to tell who it belonged to in that single moment he granted himself to gather his bearings.
Garon didn't stop beside him to assess, but Anthis was still faster.
He closed the space in three bounds and in a single, powerful leap, threw himself into the phidipan and ripped him clear off of her. Garon was there in an instant, pulling Eyila away to safety, but the young woman fought him in a vehement attempt to move back in, her visage a mask of ferocity. Garon restrained her easily enough, but her relentless strength and venom surprised him.
Securing his grip, his attention fell immediately back to the others. Anthis wrestled with the kidnapper in equal fury; they grunted, kicked and punched, drawing injury on the other with every third strike while the moonlight bounced indifferently off of blades and smears of fresh blood.
He saw the look in Anthis's eyes.
Garon turned Eyila away from the skirmish, but she spun back immediately. He turned her again and she replied with a new unreadable look, but one that could only have been frustration. "I need to help him," she declared in a tone just petulant enough to muddy courage into foolishness.
"He doesn't need any help. Do not turn back around." He fixed her with a firm, dark look, which she challenged with eyes of icy fire. But she obeyed.
Her body turned rigid under tension even as she shaped a flame at Garon's command, and despite the sounds of struggle just paces away from them, he began calmly checking her over for injuries. She soon began to shake, which was to be expected, but the swaying and crumpling were not. He caught her as her knees gave out beneath her and sat her down on the dirt, looking into her drowsy face which only a moment ago had been so alive and enraged. This was more than shock.
"You've been drugged," he surmised, straining against the thin dawn light to examine her eyes, and she nodded sluggishly.
"Er...raani..."
Eraani. A numbing solution of alcohol and poisonous plant extracts from the mountains. She'd recognised it even in her disorientation. That had probably saved her life. Rather than the temporary paralysis that would come with the heat of panic, she would only suffer from lethargy and heavy limbs. It was fortunate that it didn't react to adrenaline.
And then, in a moment, it was done. A decisive plunge of a knife, a string of murmurs, an alarmed gurgle that faded into a final breath, and then a single sigh of relief.
Eyila held her dizzy breath. She didn't dare to look around. Her only spark of hope came from Garon's lack of concern.
It took a long while for footsteps to sound behind them, but Anthis said nothing when he returned, as composed as he could be, and Garon still didn't look up from searching the blood on her legs. Only then did she begin to notice her own state.
There were streaks all over her, some thin and dark, others wide and vague, and her dirty, forest-mottled clothes were torn. But her injuries were minimal - a few cuts and scratches, a few marks that would bruise green, others purple, and for the most part, the blood was not her own. Garon noted with approval the bloodied rock on the ground as he rose, then turned his attention to Anthis.
Her drowsy eyes landed on him at last, and her heart dropped instantly. He was as bloody as she was and yet had suffered worse, but while Garon searched out the young man's wounds through his equally torn clothes, and one notable cut down the inside length of his forearm, she frowned sadly at the strange quality in his eyes. Elation, perhaps, mixed with shame. Then she felt the hum of magic that surrounded him.
Much too late, she understood what had happened, and why he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. So she took care of it herself.
He blinked in astonishment when she pushed herself up and slipped her shaking arms around him, and thanked him in a breath from the very depths of her heart. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her in return, and he held her as she teetered.
"We're not done yet," Garon reminded them ominously, stepping back from the historian, satisfied that none of his wounds were too serious for his arcane payment to fix, "there's another. We have to be away from here now--"
It was as slight as a whisper, and yet it oppressed all thought and function; a rustle of movement, a twig snapping as if by courtesy to inform them of their impending annihilation. All three of them froze. And in one immediate, offensive moment, the situation unravelled.
The air shook with a blast of power, deflected from the darkness as quickly as Anthis had loosed it to ricochet back through the trees, towards and past them, trailing heat and static to end with a crack and a grunt. They followed it, and found a form caught within a tree trunk, crashed with force into the hold of the bark. At that fleeting glimpse, he appeared, to their horror, as a common traveller.
A dark shape surged past them, faster than the wind. A rasp, a choke;
the dazed traveller's hands rose sluggishly to his throat where the figure had suddenly snatched him, and his body lifted from the indented bark, raised as if he weighed nothing. Then, an unholy snap. His head rolled to one side, what little resistance he'd offered gone.
His body dropped heavily to the ground.
"Well done, Mister Karth," spoke a familiar voice, but there was none of its characteristic warmth. There was only steel.
Garon's hand stilled in its reach for his sword, and Anthis paled as the figure turned around, realising much too late who he had fired at. She bore no humour. Her eyes were frightfully dark.
"Come," she commanded, but before any could turn or take a step, the forest shifted, the darkness deepened, and the air chilled. And a desperate, heart-rending sob reverberated all around them.
"Thank Vastal," they heard Petra breathe beneath it.
Without a word, Kienza summoned a warm ball of light and dove to her knees beside a form huddled in the dirt. The others moved around beneath a silent cloud of dread. Rathen lay as still as death.
Kienza reached towards him despite Petra's sharp warning, and began probing meticulously every six inches along his body. Small sparks of light fired around her fingertips with each contact, but nothing roused him. They looked on in horror as Aria spun helplessly into Petra's arms, burying her face in her chest and bawling uncontrollably. "Eyila," Kienza said firmly as she busied herself, "what happened?"
"S-someone grabbed me," she managed, shaking even more as she watched the cold sparks while Anthis sat her gently on the ground, suddenly too dazed and frightened to think to offer any help. "Hit me at the back of the head, I-I think...and a cloth, eraani...and carried me out..." She swallowed hard, unable to pull her eyes away from the body beneath with sorceress's passing hands even when Garon moved around to check the back of her head again. "B-but it wasn't me, he wanted Anthis."
