by Franc Ingram
She looked up at Lysander, pain etched into every frown line on her face. She was so young, even younger than him. Lysander wanted to help her but was at a loss for what to say, or do. He just starred at her openmouthed, cursing his brain for not working when he needed it to the most.
Jonathan put his hand gently under the woman's chin, guiding her gaze to his. "What's your name?"
"Elena," she said after another scream tore from her lips.
"Elena, it is going to be okay," Jonathan assured her in a soft, soothing voice. "We're here for you." Jonathan spared a glance at Lysander, who in turn looked to Leith. Lysander nodded, as that was all that was left for him to do. "Just relax, we have you." Jonathan turned to the people around them. "You two start up the fire." He pointed to the couple closest to him. "You four, gather some blankets, as many as you can find. And does anyone know this woman and her husband?" Two people nodded their heads. "Spread out and find him, fast." People darted off to their assigned tasks. Jonathan put his arm around the woman and encouraged Lysander, with a nod, to do the same on the other side. "And somebody please find us a doctor," Jonathan yelled over his shoulder. He looked back to Elena. "Don't worry, we are going to sit you down and have you relax. Everything is going to be okay."
Lysander was amazed at how calm Jonathan was. With everything they'd already been through, Lysander didn't think he could take much more. He was so exhausted he couldn't make his limbs do much more than hang limply at his side, yet Jonathan moved with speed and skill.
A few blankets had been piled up close to the growing fire pit, and they lowered Elena down onto them. She gripped Lysander's hand so tight he was sure something snapped. Luckily, his sword had a one-handed grip.
Jonathan rubbed her shoulders and kept talking to her in a calm voice as they waited for their messengers to come back. Elena relaxed enough to ease her hold on Lysander, which gave him space to breathe. His heart found it easy matching hers and he thought he was doing some good. Then another contraction slammed into them, making Elena go rigid. Her pain passed onto Lysander. He clenched his jaw so tight he heard his teeth grinding in his ears. Elena screamed, and Lysander felt the vibrations against his ribs.
Wade came back into view with the city doctor trailing behind him. Lysander forgot he'd sent the scout to find one for his father earlier. "She said she had time to look at Nadir." Wade looked at them wild-eyed. "Uhmm, what's..." The doctor pushed passed him, nearly knocking him over.
"Everything is going to be okay," the doctor soothed. "I'm here to help."
Elena's husband, who introduced himself as Mackko, arrived shortly after the doctor. Lysander was more than happy to give up his place at the woman's side. Jonathan stayed nearby acting as the doctor's helper.
Lysander watched Jonathan, saw the way people naturally felt more at ease with him in charge. He saw the way the older man didn't lord over people. He guided the husband, comforted the woman. Maybe the jealousy Lysander had spoken of earlier was his own and not Jonathan's.
Paley approached, Mason and Paul on her heels. "What's going on?" she asked looking over at the huddled people. Her jet-black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her hands were scraped up from battle.
"Soon we'll have one more refugee to look after," Lysander nodded toward Elena. He ushered them away from Elena to give her as much privacy as he could. "What news do you have?" he asked once they'd found a quiet and secluded spot to talk.
Mason shook his head. "The count of the injured so far is fifty, fifteen confirmed dead. We have two hundred refugees in tow."
"Where we be?" Leith said looking around.
"We're a hard five days march from Evermore," Lysander said. He knew Caledon's borders, he'd patrolled them enough times.
"That's a lot of people to keep together, safe, and fed," Paley chimed in. "Those five days for you could turn into a week, with them."
Lysander thought about the baby soon to be born behind him. He couldn't push the mother and child at the pace they'd been going so far. He thought about the fragile condition his father was in. "You're right, so we need to plan for eight days at least."
"We send someone ahead, let Evermore know we're coming."
"Yeah," Lysander nodded, "Lorn you should take a couple of your..." he paused realizing he never actually saw Lorn come up. "Where's Lorn?"
Leith shrugged. Mason and Paley both looked around.
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"He was guarding the rear with several of the archers. Maybe they just haven't settled in yet," Paley offered.
Lysander didn't like it. From the pinched look on Leith's face, he was getting the same sinking feeling in his gut. Lorn had been talking about going after Oleana for months now. Maybe he took the chaos of the battle as his chance. Or worse yet, he got caught up by the Gaeth warriors.
"I get the runners," Leith volunteered. "You...,"
"Find Lorn," Lysander finished. "The rest of you get an inventory of what we have, and a list of what we need." He moved back through the crowd of people. Most were pulling out blankets and gathering up leaves and sticks for fires. Others were tending to the few horses and cart animals they had.
As Lysander picked up speed, he searched their faces for those familiar features. Green eyes, curly brown hair, the semblance of a mustache Lorn was insisting on growing in an attempt to come off as more mature. Lysander tried to tell the boy the spattering of brown hair above his lip didn't cover the baby fat in his cheeks, or the youthful glow of his skin, but there was no convincing Lorn to shave it.
Lorn wouldn't have left them without saying something. He wouldn't have gone off on his own with the woods crawling with Failsea troops. He wasn't that reckless. Lysander tried to convince himself of that, but his heart insisted that the only thing on Lorn's mind was finding Oleana and that would drive him to do stupid things.
Lysander had to have looked at over a hundred faces before the fact that Lorn was gone started to settle in. The thought of the boy out there on his own was too much for Lysander to handle. How could he have taken his eye off him? Lorn was no defenseless child. He happened to be one of the best fighters Lysander had ever seen, but that wouldn't keep him safe from an army.
"Lorn!" Lysander cried out, his eyes darted back and forth through the crowd, desperate to spot his brother's face. "Lorn please, where are you? Lorn. Has anyone seen Lorn?"
Faceless people shook their heads. A lump of rage was building in Lysander’s stomach as his search continued with no results. This was not the time to go on selfish errands. They'd lost ground to Cornelius, ground they would be hard pressed to regain. Lysander knew the three of them hadn't been in harmony for a while. He was partly to blame, worried more about showing his own worth as king than working with his fellows to be good kings together.
"Sire."
Lysander nearly ran into the man; his attention was so focused on finding Lorn. Lysander looked twice. The soldier had the dragon scale armor on, but no rank from the Rangers. He was one of the adoptees from Darten that came in with Jonathan and was on Lorn's archery squad. "Sorry. Yes?" The man was inches shorter than Lysander, with deep-set brown eyes, a lean build, and a bow-legged stance.
"A while back the Master of Skies said he was going to hang back and make sure they weren't following us. I tried to insist that he let me go with him, but he said he would be safer alone, easier to stay hidden. I haven't seen him since. Do you think something happened to him?"
Lysander swore in frustration.
The archer looked down at his feet. "Sire, I'm so sorry. I should have stayed with him. He just seemed so sure and I didn't want to question him."
Lysander rubbed at his face. He was going to strangle Lorn when they caught up with him. "He's an idiot," Lysander grumbled.
"Uhmm,"
Lysander looked at the archer. "Never mind. Sorry, what's your name?" Lysander saw so many soldiers in the last few weeks they were all running together.
"Paxis, sire."<
br />
"Paxis, thanks. Trust you did nothing wrong. I'm sure Lorn's fine. He's had a lot of experience with taking care of himself. Do me a favor and gather your squad. Meet me at the head of the line; I have work for you."
Paxis nodded before turning to leave. Leith wasn't going to be happy to hear the news. The last thing they needed was to be one king down.
01101110
The city doctor said Nadir was stable, so Lysander let him rest. Lysander plopped down on a turned over log, resting for the first time since dawn broke. As soon as he was down he felt the aches and pains the day had given him. The side of his face that had connected with the butt end of a war staff throbbed from his eye socket to the bottom of his jaw. The wound at his side pulsated with the beat of his terrified heart. His hands were stiff and aching from holding a sword too long. His feet burned, and he wanted nothing more than to strip his boots off and throw them into the fire, never to be worn again.
"I sent four men from Fire Squad ahead to warn Evermore," Leith took a seat on the makeshift bench. He tugged at the straps keeping his chest plate on with the frantic movements that mirrored Lysander's need to be free of all that weighed him down.
The silence stretched between them and Lysander refused to say the words that needed to be out in the open. His belly rumbled. The fire felt warm, keeping the growing cold at bay. There was no reason to ruin the moment of peace with such awfulness.
"He left?" Leith asked, his eyes focused intently on the fire.
Lysander nodded.
"Who?" Jonathan asked, joining them.
The sound of the older man's voice irritated Lysander. He wasn't sure why, but the fact that he was always there hovering nearby made Lysander feel like a caged animal, afraid to break free.
"Lorn, gone," Leith repeated.
"How could this happen?" Jonathan shouted, his voice grating on Lysander's nerve. "Where did he go?"
"He went after Oleana. He's been talking about it for a while now. Of course, he left. Six months we've been without her and things aren't working out." Lysander stood, anger banishing his fatigue to some dark corner of his mind. He didn't like Jonathan standing over him. He liked even less being questioned by the outsider. "The Heirs aren't complete without her, that's a fact we've been trying to ignore, but this loss just serves as proof. We should've made finding her our first priority, and now look at the mess we've gotten ourselves in," Lysander said pointing to the huddled, worn down masses around him.
"We didn't go after her because she's dead," Jonathan chided, his unbridled contempt hovering in the air between them like a dark cloud.
"No!" Lysander and Leith shouted in unison, sharing a look of understanding. No one besides the three of them really comprehended how deeply entrenched the certainty was. Oleana was a part of them. Ever since they first met in the library the day Lysander's life changed, he felt connected to the others. The feeling only increased after they shared minds in the garden behind the Residence.
Oleana was a part of them. Lysander knew he could tell if she was gone. Like a lost limb, the pain would be constant. Except Oleana wasn't a limb, she was the heart of them, and Lysander didn't think the three of them could survive without her. Six months without her near them had fractured them in ways that may never heal. He couldn't live the rest of his life knowing she wouldn't be in it.
"Oleana isn't dead," Lysander insisted. He balled his fist so tight he could feel his fingers digging into his palms. "Why I let you and the others try to convince me otherwise, I don't know. Trust my instincts, my father taught me. Oleana reinforced it, and when it mattered most, I abandoned the advice." Lysander heard his voice rising, felt himself losing control. He could feel the plant life around him responding to his emotional turmoil. Flowers sprouted and bloomed out of season, filling the air with their rich aromas. "I'm done listening to you. Lorn was the only one of us with the courage to do what he knew was right. Now he's out there alone, searching for someone we should have rescued months ago."
Lysander sucked in a deep breath, trying to get a handle on the rage burning at the back of his throat. He blinked against the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "Lorn's out there alone, we're here beaten and tired, and my father is laying on a stretcher dying."
"Lysander, come on, you're being dramatic,” Jonathan scolded.
"No," Lysander cut him off, getting within inches of Jonathan's face. "I'm done with things continuing this way. I'm done with you hovering over my shoulder like I can't manage to have a single thought without your help. I tired of people looking to you for help instead of the three kings they agreed to let rule them. You should've stayed back in Evermore with Daycia, then maybe I would have had room to breathe. Why don't you just go away and leave us alone?"
Jonathan's eyes drooped. His face was stone still, giving nothing away. Lysander got the uneasy feeling that he'd pushed back too hard.
"All I wanted to do was to help. I refuse to be talked to like that. I'll take up the rear guard." Jonathan stomped off leaving a void in the air behind. Lysander looked at Leith, who as usual had no words to share.
"He thinks he needs to baby us, and I'm sick of it. They crowned us kings. We have to act like it." Lysander said trying to convince himself as much as Leith.
Leith shrugged in his nonchalant way that sometimes infuriated Lysander. One of the villagers, a middle-aged woman the shape of a potato and graying blond hair halfway down her back, came by with a basket filled with breads and pastries. Lysander took one and thanked her, appreciative of the food and the distraction. He would have been happy to eat in silence then crawl into some dark hole and sleep. Tomorrow had too many problems for his overworked mind to even wrap around.
His plans to rest were interrupted when Paxis approached with a team in tow. "Sire, reporting as ordered."
Leith raised an eyebrow. Lysander rubbed at his temples trying to work out the headache pounding away there. He'd failed to explain his plans to Leith, the fight with Jonathan taking all of his attention.
"Paxis, thank you. You should know that the Master of Skies went in search of Oleana. If you're willing, I task you and your team with following him and rendering what assistance he needs." If Leith objected he said nothing, made no move to intervene.
Paxis didn't hesitate. "We would be honored. Where should we start?"
"Mount Remorse," Leith said.
CHAPTER SEVEN: MOUNTAIN TREK
It was afternoon on his second day alone and Lorn was deep into mountain territory, having to make sure of each step for fear of taking a fatal fall. The views on the other hand were breathtaking. He could see over the tops of tall trees, their multicolored leaves peppering the landscape with orange, red, and yellow. On the other side of the vista he saw snowcapped mountains. Being alone with the world stretching out before him, Lorn realized how very small he was, and it scared him. He didn't know how he was going to accomplish the extraordinary task of finding and rescuing his mother.
Yet the sound of his own stomach seemed bigger. He couldn't stop and have the leisurely lunch he wanted, but that was all for the best, given what he had to eat.
"Fish for dinner. Fish for breakfast. I bet I can guess what's for lunch." Lorn reached into his pack pulling out the pouch that once held granola bars and jerky. All he had left was a cold dead fish. "Oh look, its fish again!" he exclaimed with false cheer. "Goodness. My lucky day."
Lorn's walk was uphill, nestled between two foothills facing the highest mountain in the range. He was following a rough path. Lorn hoped it was the path to Cornelius and not a route through the mountain range, or some path cut by thrill seekers who liked to test their limits against nature.
Lorn munched on his cold, charred fish as the wind kicked up around him, chilling him clear to the bone. He didn't understand why he was both sweating and shivering. If he had felt any stronger he would have quieted the wind, but enough of his strength was expended just moving forward. He didn't have enough energy to spend on his Heir ability. In
stead, he begged for a yeti to come into view so he could kill it, skin it, and wear its fur for a coat.
"If not a yeti," Lorn yelled to the mountain in front of him, "at least a moose, or a small bear, something furry and easy to kill. Otherwise I'm going to freeze up here."
The mountain responded by kicking up the wind until Lorn had to turn his back to it and ride it out. His exposed hands and cheeks burned at the slightest touch.
"Well, you didn't have to be a jerk about it," he grumbled.
"I'll quit complaining if that's what you want." Lorn pressed his chin down against his chest. "I really should have at least grabbed a blanket off one of the horses," Lorn moaned to himself. The wind eased up and Lorn nearly cried, he was so grateful. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he said gratefully to the 'powers that be,' straightening out from being bent over against the wind. Then he saw what was coming toward him and wanted to take back all his gratitude.
A group of ten Failsea warriors, in their signature green uniform and armed to the teeth, stood atop the hill. They were led by two yetis that looked big enough to eat him for a snack. The group of them were like wide eyed statues, staring at Lorn as if he were some celestial being that had just fallen out of the sky. Lorn smiled at them like a fool, at a loss for what else to do.
How could he have been so stupid? He was following a path that would likely lead to a Failsea outpost and he'd been shouting in the wind the whole way, probably alerting everyone within fifty miles that he was coming.
A minute passed while the two groups stood there in silence waiting for the other to make the first move. Lorn knew he couldn't take them all in a direct fight and didn't have enough in his tank to call on his Heir abilities for anything more than a stiff breeze. They must have been wondering if Lorn being out there alone was a trap. After all, no rational person would storm an enemy stronghold alone with no plan and only a few weapons.
Using the confusion to his advantage, Lorn leapt off the ridge they were walking up onto the grassy slope, tucking and rolling to lessen the jarring impact. His roll got out of control in a hurry, and he ended up flopping over on his side, losing the few arrows he had in his quiver as he went.
