“Goodbye, Rynsik, and thank you again. Please be safe and return to us again soon,” said Maren.
Serra and the others watched Rynsik part from Maren and her family. A stunned silence now prevailed as they watched Susie wrap her arms around Rynsik. Rynsik allowed her to hug him for a moment before he backed away and continued in his own direction. As he walked, Serra noticed that his legs were still shaky. What had just transpired must have taken a great deal out of him. Those were things she would reflect on later. For now, she was very much like the others in terms of disbelief. “That was. . .amazing.” she said.
“You’re telling me,” said Esmie.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Serra turned finally in the direction of her friends.
Kylynne still watched Rynsik as Esmie turned her head to regard Serra. “In all my years and experiences, never a one, my dear,” she said.
Serra watched as Rynsik sat himself to recover his strength, all the while fighting hard not to let the grip around her heart grow any tighter for the young R’Nihn from Axiter.
For their efforts, Serra and the others were afforded lodging at Wayvred. And they had agreed to share two rooms between the men and women to save space, no one complained about having beds. After much talk about the day’s events, Serra and her friends finally settled down for much needed rest. Even know, Serra could hear their rhythmic breathing as each of her comrades took full advantage of the comforts afforded them.
And once again, sleep did not come easily for Serra, though her body was quick to remind her how exhausted she really was. Every ache was a dull, throbbing chorus that screamed for blissful nothing. All the while her brain raced tirelessly. And when sleep at last arrived she once again found herself within troubled dreams. And again, those dreams were of Norryn Ashener.
In this dream, she felt closer to him than she ever had previously. Not only was the dream more vivid, but this was also the first time Norryn looked his present age. The two friends sat looking at one another under one of their favorite trees. In the distance, Bannar still stood vibrant and alive. Both Serra and Norryn enjoyed the peaceful silence for a while, scared to break the spell or dream.
Serra found herself lost within the sight of him. He still looked like Norryn, but five years had only brought out the accentuations of a handsome young man. His eyes were set ablaze with hazel; the depth had deepened with age. His features contained his boyish charm, while all the while he was deepened with a new found maturity. His creamy blonde hair remained lively as it sat restlessly on his head. Serra found herself taken with an attraction for him that she had never felt before.
Norryn cocked his head as he watched her, a sweet, sad smile never leaving his face. He had always contained a defiance that was, to Serra at least, inspiring. “Serra, you know there will come the time when you are going to have to let me go.”
“Never,” she replied simply, confidence refusing to falter within her voice. It was another trait she had learned from him.
Norryn’s smile diminished then. She hated to see the graveness that was forming. “It’s not much further now, you know. Are you prepared for that? Even if it means the truth is not something you want to hear? It hurts me to know that you will have to go through such a thing.”
“You keep talking like you are already dead. You’re not. I know it, so don’t,” ordered Serra.
Norryn shook his head. The subtleties of a smile reformed gradually. “You’ve grown impossible. If it wasn’t for present circumstances, I’d be proud.”
Serra leaned forward, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his face. “Norryn Ashener, I will find you. You can count on that.”
Norryn stood, still gazing at his long-time friend. He nodded sadly before turning to depart. “Of that I have no doubt whatsoever. But in my heart, I don’t know if you are going to be ready for the truth. I can’t bear to hurt you again, but I fear I am going to do it just the same.” And with that he headed into the distance toward Bannar.
Serra called to him as he walked. With each step that he made the world around him diminished. Bannar became more and more the rubble of its present state. And with each passing moment, Norryn Ashener faded further into nothingness.
“I will find you again.”
Norryn said nothing.
“I promise you that.”
All that replied to her was distant footsteps.
“I love you!”
Before her Norryn Ashener faded completely, as did Bannar. All that was left were ashes.
CHAPTER 6
Enfolding darkness
Serra and her friends arrived in the town of Menkor only to be submerged within complete and utter chaos. It was hard to manage all the details, but the facts were as plain as the day that hovered above them. After another grueling day of travel, Serra and the others had arrived in Menkor in record time. Mere moments within town limits revealed the entire populace within the town square, and their demeanor made the citizens dangerous.
Presently, some 700 or so men and women, adults and children, surrounded a wooden platform. Atop of that platform was a man using words to fuel the fires within the masses. It was obvious that the swarming people fed off every single syllable that danced from his lips. Serra would discover that his name was Avon Threlling. And while he held no political title, he was easily the self-appointed spokesperson of the people of Menkor.
Threlling spoke easily to his fellow townsfolk. His voice thundered to all that would listen. “Step forth, all who would know revenge on those that have wronged us for so long,” he boomed, “Come and know glorious vengeance!” The crowd roared hungrily at every ounce of it. He motioned with open hands for anyone ready and willing to take their own opportunity.
With horror, Serra and the others saw finally the four beaten and bloody Thorne soldiers harshly bound and on display. Each dangled on their knees with their arms tied over and behind their heads. The position forced them to hunch forward, each holding on to a different level of consciousness. Serra watched as an enraged villager ventured onto the stage, taking a thin stick from Avon. He struck all four Thorne soldiers repeatedly. Their pain increased the rising storm of the spectators thundered their approval.
Avon was most pleased with what was transpiring. “Yes! Let Thorne know we will not stand for their atrocities any longer!” He let the crowd drive themselves closer to the point of no return. Before continuing, he pulled a large dagger from the sheath on his belt. “And now we will let justice, true justice flow with blood. For I ask you, who of these traitorous monsters shall die first?” To make his point, he placed the blade to the neck of the nearest prisoner.
“You have to do something, Rynsik. We can’t allow this!” stated Serra as she looked pleadingly toward Rynsik. Anger and despair were both heavy upon her face. The situation in her estimate had escalated out of hand, and she hoped beyond all hope that Rynsik and his warriors could intervene. If they could not, death would be the ultimate consequence.
“This is so not good, guys,” said Esmie.
“What’s our move?” Voltaire looked completely at unease.
“We should just keep walking,” said Vonack.
“What?!” Serra looked at him, astonished.
“This is not our fight, Serra,” he replied.
“You can’t be serious!”
Vonack grabbed Serra by the shoulders. “Look around you, Serra. Look at these people. Do you think that they will hear you? Do you think that they will hear us? In this atmosphere, they would tear us apart with those soldiers up there. You have to know that! Rynsik of the Jacoi, we should get the hell out of here now.”
Serra turned her head along with Vonack toward Rynsik, but he was nowhere to be seen. Disgusted, Serra wrenched her way from Vonack’s grip. “Fine,” said Serra as she pushed her way to the front of the mob, making her way to Avon Threlling.
“Oh, dear. This is so not good,” repeated Esmie as she tried to reach her young friend.
>
Serra fought for every single inch as she ventured through the unruly mob. At last, she reached the steps of the platform. As she did so, her friends did their best to follow her. However, the going was dreadfully slow. The crowd was reluctant to give up their spots or their satisfaction at the pain of their captors. Serra approached Avon, a man easily twice her size. Grabbing his wrist, she pulled it and the knife it was holding from the throat of the Thorne prisoner.
The momentary surprise of Avon Threlling diminished quickly. Still Serra held her ground and pressed her case. “That is enough! Free these men at once! Do not disgrace your country any more than you already have. Who in all hells are you to pass such judgment?”
Avon firmly used his free hand to make distance between himself and Serra. He raised his voice again so that he may be easily heard by his townsmen. It was obvious he was playing to them, knowing that while he had their sway, he had the power. “Our country? Our country? Young lady, our country diminishes every day thanks to marauders such as these. Our country pays the price in land and blood while soldiers like these four can roam unchecked.” He motioned again to the populace of Menkor. “Our country as we know it is but a memory, one that lives on in the hearts and breaths of those people who make the choice to fight for those memories. So, I think it is I who should be asking you just who in all hells do you think you are to try and deny us of our justice?”
Avon Threlling’s words were met with roaring approval. The rest of Serra’s party found it more and more difficult to make their way forward through the crowd. The situation had become a symphony of malcontent in its most primal form. Avon Threlling, the conductor, smirked secretly as he worked his magic upon his town. He had Menkor within the palm of his hands and he knew it.
A firm voice answered from behind Avon and Serra. Another individual had made his way upon the podium. “She is Serra Landring, under the protection of the Ro'Nihn of Axiter, and it is upon our authority vested by the combined leaders of Vallance and the authority of Esaundra Denore, Regent of our country that will deny you of your injustice.” The voice belonged to Rynsik of the Jacoi.
Threlling turned to face the young man. By his eyes, it was obvious that not only did he know Rynsik, but also disliked him greatly. Threlling looked down at Rynsik, easily towering over him with his athletic frame. He now regarded Rynsik and the situation with the knowledge that he held the upper hand. “Well, well! It is Rynsik of the Jacoi! Fellow citizens of Menkor, hear me! We have a guest in our midst, none other than the heir apparent to Axiter himself! And he has come to rob us of our simple request of justice!” Rynsik was met with an overwhelming disdain, heavy in its chorus. Avon turned to Rynsik and smiled. “Rynsik of the Jacoi, you are not welcome here.”
Rynsik kept his composure easily enough. He looked at Serra and then back toward Avon. “Release them, Threlling.”
Avon turned his head away from Rynsik, appearing to be lost in thought. He quickly turned back to the young warrior, a sleek smile of satisfaction never leaving his face. “Oh, I most definitely think not, little man. As you can plainly see, I am holding all the cards.” Keeping his cool casualness, he motioned to the other end of the crowd. “Besides, if we did not listen to one Ro’Nihn, then why would we change our minds for you?” Rynsik and the others followed to where Avon was pointing.
It was Esmie that saw first. “Westor!”
Westor of the Brytesky, a long-time friend of Esmie and Voltaire, was currently on his knees, both arms restrained by two men. Westor was obviously injured and barely conscious. His abdomen bore a nasty wound, and the pain of it was abundant on his face. Lead by a furious Esmie, Voltaire and the others pushed their way to Westor. As the group surrounding Westor parted, Kylynne and Willem wrenched their comrade from his captors. As Westore stumbled upon the floor, Esmie was next to him, tending to his wounds.
“Oh, Westor,” she said, “how come fate always finds us like this?”
“Luck I guess,” uttered Westor faintly, a weak smile on his face.
Smiling at the scene, Avon Threlling opened his hands toward Rynsik and Serra. “So, you know these soldiers’ captor then. Great job he did in bringing them here, wounded even. Unfortunately, my fellow townsfolk were reluctant to offer the mercy that swayed his intentions. Do you believe they will have a change of heart now?”
About the time Avon was finishing his sentence, the crowd began converging on the disturbance created by the Jozlyn and the Ro’Nihn. Even Vonack who hovered at the outskirts of the circle became a target of their aggression. The crowd started to close the circle, their hands grabbing at anyone within range. Fahn was the first to be subdued. Soon the crowd began pulling her away from the circle and into the masses.
This was enough to take Jozlyn to the boiling point. In a half second both her pistols were in hand. She shot twice at the feet of those threatening her new friends. Quickly the masses scattered, releasing Fahn. Jozlyn kept her guns drawn, poised and ready. The horde around her and her friends were anxious to pounce at any second. It was only a question of time.
“As you can see, Rynsik of the Jacoi,” Avon said Rynsik’s name with a snide confidence, “You are lambs in the lion's den. I do believe your travel companion has pushed them past the breaking point. There’s no stopping them now.”
“They can be stopped,” countered Rynsik. “And you can stop them.”
Threlling ran a finger across his lips in thought. “And why would I wish to do that? Why should I deny them what they want? They crave long-deserved justice and I am going to give that to them. I would have advised you to turn tail and get the hell out of my town, but it is too late for that.” Avon turned from Rynsik, raising his hand, ready to sick his horde upon Serra and her friends.”
In a heartbeat, Rynsik’s staff was in his hands, and with a twist of his wrists at the base of the staff, it separated into two equal parts. He spun the part in his right hand, as he did a five-inch blade protruded from the base. In another heartbeat that blade was at Threlling’s neck. The tactic had its desired effect as the crowd’s relentless attention refocused back to Avon and Rynsik and away from the others.
“Then I am afraid we have reached an impasse,” said Rynsik coolly.
The crowd now offered hesitation as their anger seethed. Any second could be the last of reason. Avon Threlling paused, looking at Rynsik with dual parts astonishment and anger. Jozlyn and the others in the circle readied themselves for the worse. Serra knew that the wrong word or action could now get them all killed.
Avon’s fury swelled as his skin reddened. “You misbegotten fool. How dare you try to steal my thunder.” Avon hissed his words at Rynsik before raising his voice to the crowd. “Do you see these actions from the appointed peace keepers of our country? Do you see how they regard our attempts at justice with scorn and contempt?” He grinned at Rynsik as he looked upon the crowd. “And how, pray tell, do you intend on stopping all of us?” This last comment was met with rousing approval of the bloodthirsty masses.
“Throw them out!” came a resounding scream from the crowd.
“Punish them!” was another.
“Let’s teach the bastards!” was yet another.
Rynsik was unmoved by the threats as he spoke to Threlling. “You use words like truth and justice as if they were your play things. If you think this is justice, then you are far more stupid than even I had you pegged you for.” Rynsik looked at the crowd as he spoke. “What we require here is a solution, and for this I will make you a proposition.” As he ended his sentence, Rynsik pressed the blade a bit further into Avon’s throat for emphasis.
Avon swallowed firmly, sneering as he spoke. “I’m listening,” he said.
Rynsik released the pressure of the blade slightly. “Menkor has always been a proud town, willing to fight for its ideals and beliefs. So now I will give you the chance.”
“Go on,” said Threlling.
Rynsik motioned to the crowd. “Select from your midst six of your finest. If th
ey can best a Ro’Nihn of your choosing in hand to hand combat, then we shall leave your town in peace to do what you will. But if we win, the handling of these prisoners falls into our hands. If your victory is the case, then you will have your justice. And I will throw my staff into the deal, so that everyone will know that your story is true. And forever will it be burned upon my name.”
Avon considered this and smiled. “Well, Rynsik of the Jacoi, you may have just given me an offer that I cannot refuse. But let me get this straight: six on one. No rules. It will be six of my choosing against one of yours again of my choosing. And when we win we gain our justice and your staff to commemorate the occasion?”
Rynsik nodded in affirmation. “That’s about it. You’ve wanted to make a name for yourself and your town. Well now’s your chance,” he said.
Avon smiled deeply as he raised his hand and pulled down the blade at his throat. “I have to admit you have made this too easy for me,” said Threlling. He turned his focus to the men and woman who adored him. “Citizens of Menkor, hear me. We have not only been given a chance at our overdue justice, but also to prove ourselves once and for all.” He spoke again so that only Serra and Rynsik could hear. “And I want your mask too, you little whelp. I want everyone to see what hides under it, so that they may laugh at you for your wretchedness.”
“Done,” said Rynsik. “Though I must say I look forward to seeing you eat your words. A fool and his pride are soon bested.”
Avon spat on the platform in disgust. “Young, spoiled, revolting scum. I’ve waited a long time to see you fall on your sorry, scarred face.” Avon turned to the crowd. “Widen the circle! We have been given our chance to prove the fallacy of these so-called Ro’Nihn of Axiter. The challenge has been given. Six of our best against one of their own. Winner shall take all. Clear the circle, I say!” He smiled with calculated satisfaction. “Rynsik of the Jacoi, when this is over, I’ll have you dragged across the streets of Menkor, so all my laugh upon your gross misfortune.”
Echoes of Ashener Page 25
