Fyra moans in dismay, raising her head feebly. With a gentle hand, Bellator lowers it back down.
“Atseden orain,” she whispers.
She straightens up, and taking a step back, she pulls her bow from her shoulder. “Zure arimaren bakarrik eramango dut, beraz, egun batean itzuli ahal izango duzu.”
“What did you say to her?” I ask, marvelling at how smoothly the ancient syllables roll from her tongue.
Bellator bows her head. “I said goodbye.”
She nocks the string, directing her aim at the dragon’s head.
Alarmed, I grab her arm. “What are you doing?”
She spins around, slapping me across the face. The impact throws me to the soft ground and my face stings. I watch helplessly as she aims again and looses her arrow. It enters the dragon’s ear and buries itself up to the feather in her skull. The creature lets out one last groan and goes still.
Bellator slings her bow back over her shoulder and turns on me, nostrils flaring. “Don’t you ever lay your hands on me again!” she hisses. “Do you hear me? Not ever!”
I nod, mute with terror.
“Good! Now get up!”
I pick myself up off the ground and watch after her as she turns back to the others.
“We travel in darkness,” she announces. “The light is a weapon that we must save for the most dire of circumstances. Hold onto each other. Annalyn, you take my cloak. Redhead, hold hers. Half-wit,” she emphasizes this new insult with disdain, “you bring up the rear. If any one of you lets go, you fend for yourself. I won’t bother to find you.”
As if to punctuate her threat, a horrible guttural bellow rings through the trees from a distance.
“What in hell was that?” Uri exclaims.
“Ezixs,” she hisses, beckoning for us to get in line.
We follow her orders, forgetting in our fear any objections we may have had to the arrangements. As soon as we have hold of one another, she covers up the light.
“Not a sound!” she hisses from the pitch darkness, and we take off at a run.
However quiet her footsteps are, we make up for it as we trample after her. Together, the three of us somehow manage to step on every twig or branch as often and as loudly as possible. But our speed is not hindered by the noise, and soon the sounds of our mysterious pursuers have faded away.
With the danger also goes my panic and I begin to feel the stitch in my side. Annalyn and Uri don’t sound like they are doing all that well either, and our combined gasping is deafening in the still air. Our pace slows almost to walking speed, until at last we are merely stumbling after Bellator as she drags us along after herself. But at last, after what feels like hours of straight running, even she has to stop.
“Finally,” Uri wheezes.
“Shh!” Bellator warns breathlessly, and I can hear the creaking of a bow as the string is pulled back.
I muffle my breathing in the sleeve of my shirt, and listen intently. Besides the puffing and gasping from Uri and Annalyn, the warm air is quiet.
As Bellator uncovers the necklace – I think she called it a firestone – the light blinds us again. I force my eyes to stay open so they will quickly grow accustomed to the light. Even before they have, I can make out the circle of human archers that have us surrounded. Their weapons fall from their hands as they put them up to shield their eyes from the light.
As a whole, their forester attire is ragged and somewhat grubby, but it is uniform in colours of grey and olive. Even so, each one has a unique look to their appearance. Some wear patchwork fur hats and wraps, while others have strips of more ratty fur sewn onto the hems of their cloaks, tunics, and boots. Their faces are dirty, their weapons handmade, and they all have, in some way or another, an almost feral mien.
One man stands out among the rest. For the most part he is dressed in the uniform colours, but his doublet is iron as opposed to leather, and he wears a navy-blue cloak clasped loosely around his shoulders. He looks to be in his late thirties, and his face has sharp, murine-like features. Patches of roughly cut scruff sprout over his chin and muddy-blond hair shoots out in spikes from beneath the hood of his cloak.
He barely flinches at the sudden illumination, and his bow remains trained on Bellator.
“Reevan,” Bellator says to him with a tense nod.
“General,” the man replies, nodding back to her.
The air is tense as they eye each other and Bellator’s hand clasps the handle of one of her knives. Then the corner of Reevan’s mouth twitches and his lips part in a yellow grin.
“I hear Zeldek’s put out a warrant for your arrest,” he says, lowering his bow. “Finally drove him mad, did you?”
Bellator relaxes her grip on the knife. “In a manner of speaking. I am kidnapping three of his prisoners.”
“I see it’s all going according to plan.”
Bellator’s brow darkens. “He killed Fyra.”
A hint of concern passes through his hazel eyes. “I’m sorry. I know how much that creature meant to you.”
“This is no time for sympathy,” Bellator snaps. “We are being hunted by at least one squadron of ezixs – although I suspect that more are on their way.”
He tugs his whiskers uncomfortably. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“I expect you to honour your word.”
He chuckles, handing his bow to the woman beside him. “Honour my word,” he echoes, coming to stand in front of her. “You would rely on the word of an outlaw for your security?”
“Perhaps,” Bellator replies, stiffening.
“Perhaps?” he mimics, and throws back his head, laughing harshly. “Then you have learned nothing!”
“I know only what you taught me,” Bellator says. “You know what game I’m playing.”
“Aye,” he agrees, looking down at her with superiority. “But you should know that flattery won’t work on me.”
“It was worth a try,” she says with a shrug.
Her attempt to lighten the mood passes unnoticed. Reevan’s disposition turns to brooding. He begins to pace around her, his body language confrontational.
“Tell me, Bellator,” he says, stopping before her once he’s made a full circle. “Why shouldn’t I turn you in? I can guarantee that the Master will pay a pretty price for your capture and safe return to him. He’d restore me to my position, being no longer able to trust you, and it would cost me nothing. If I help you and Zeldek finds out, it will be the end for me. You know that we only stay in these woods by his generosity.” He sounds faintly sardonic as he forms the last word.
Bellator raises her chin, glowering at him.
He commences pacing. “I can sense your fear. You’ll never admit to it, I know. But behind your eyes, I can still see that weak, whimpering child given into my care so many years ago. You have every right to be afraid. Your plan has failed. The Master will not take your betrayal lightly. You know the pain he’ll inflict upon you in punishment for your disloyalty.”
“It isn’t that,” she growls. “I am afraid – yes, I will admit it. But it isn’t pain that I fear. Oh no. I can withstand a world of physical pain, and he knows it. But he doesn’t intend to torture me. Not this time. This time, he intends to break me.”
Reevan stops in front of her once more, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’ll try, but I’m not convinced he’ll succeed.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she spits. “You asked me to convince you to keep your word, and although I had hoped to find more honour in you, I’ll humour your request.”
He gestures for her to continue.
“When I was brought here, everyone thought that I was useless, that I wouldn’t amount to anything. You were the only one who believed in me. You have taught me everything I know now – that has kept me alive all this time – and I respect you for that. But ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been trapped serving a cruel tyrant whom you despise. I don’t want to waste my life like that. I am willing to pay the price f
or my freedom.”
“I can understand that. But what’s in it for me?”
“Whether I’m captured or whether I escape, you’ll get your old position as general back. And if I succeed with my quest, I will be able to get you out from under Zeldek’s control.”
Reevan ponders this for a moment. “Alright. Say you did get what you’re after; what of these others? I know the Master would pay an even bigger price for that one.” He jerks his head toward me.
She moves defensively between us. “I need him.”
“Hear that, Ealdred? She needs you,” Uri whispers, jabbing me with his elbow.
I don’t find it as amusing as he does.
“Silence, Uriah!” Bellator snaps.
“And the other two?” Reevan asks.
“It’s all of us or none of us,” I say, coming to stand by Bellator.
She glances at me and her scorn noticeably returns. “Yes, yes, useless though they may be, they have to come too.”
Reevan strokes his chin thoughtfully.
“I need you to make your decision quickly!” she snaps. “You may take your time, but the ezixs won’t.”
He throws up his hands. “Fine. Let’s get moving, then. I’ll take you as far as the Plains of Beldir, but after that, you’re on your own.”
She nods, which I am sure is the closest she will ever get to saying thank you.
“However,” Reevan continues, “I’ll need to make this believable to avoid any blame.”
“Do what you must,” Bellator says.
Reevan steps back, and pointing at us, he calls out to his men, “Secure them.”
Bellator turns to us hurriedly. “Come quietly,” she whispers, “but be on your guard. This may yet be a trap.”
Uri frowns. “How come we didn’t take the ocean way out? Then we wouldn’t have to deal with no outlaws.”
“So says the pirate,” she says with an exasperated sigh. “Did you not notice that the balcony Zeldek was on overlooked the ocean for miles? He would have shot us down in an instant, and then where would we be? Think next time before you decide to contradict me, Uriah!”
“I told you, it’s Uri, not Uriah!” he grumbles, but she turns away without another word.
Rough hands seize me, and my arms are jerked behind my back. The familiar coarse twine of a rope is forced around my wrists, and wound tightly at that. Another outlaw tries to force Bellator’s hands behind her back, but she gives Reevan a sharp look, and he orders them to stop.
“No ropes,” he says. “Rogue or not, Bellator was our general.”
Bellator pulls her hands free. The outlaw backs away from her and rejoins the others. Reevan orders for torches to be lit while Bellator puts out the firestone and tucks it away under her cloak.
Once the new arrangements have been made, the party sets off. Annalyn, Uri, and I are kept close together in the middle of the throng, and no one bothers to speak to us. Bellator, however, is allowed to walk up by Reevan. All is silent save for the occasional grumblings of the outlaws around us, and the low tones in which Reevan and Bellator converse.
It is only as daylight begins to brighten the smoky sky that the woods thin out, and we reach our destination. An even larger group of outlaws is waiting for us in a makeshift camp in a small clearing.
A scout runs to meet us as we approach. “Sir, have you captured them?” he asks.
“Aye,” Reevan replies, glancing warily at Bellator. “Fetch some horses. I’ll be taking them back to Gaiztoak straightaway.”
“I’ll give the order right away... General,” the scout says, bowing his head respectfully to Reevan.
Reevan then turns to the party who captured us. “You may disperse. I’ll take them from here.”
A chorus of ‘yes, General’, and his orders are quickly followed.
“I could get used to this,” he says as they all hurry away.
Bellator glares at him. “Don’t.”
In a few moments, two stallions are brought forward. The first is pure white, while the other is a glossy black.
“Here you are, sir,” says the groom. “Majax,” here he nods to the white horse, “and Nimro are the fastest horses that we have.”
“Fool! There are five of us, not two!” Reevan says, irritated. “Fetch three more horses at once!”
The groom ducks his head. “Sorry, General. Only, I assumed—”
“What did you assume?” Reevan interrupts challengingly.
“I just thought that the Master would only want the general back alive—”
“Fetch three more horses, now!”
The groom nods. “Yes Gen—”
But his words are lost in a long, guttural bellow that rises from the woods nearby.
Bellator stiffens, glancing over her shoulder into the woods from which we just came. Leaping forward, she snatches the reins of the horses from the groom. The poor man staggers backward, terror etched into his face, and throws up his hands in a plea for mercy. But Reevan knocks him out from behind with a swift jab to the back of his neck.
Spinning around, Bellator jerks out a knife and cuts our bonds. “Half-wit, you’ll ride with the girl. Redhead, you’re with me. Quick!”
She thrusts the reins of the white horse into my hands and swings herself up onto Nimro with ease.
“Up, Uriah!” she orders.
I hold the white horse still while Annalyn scrambles up onto its back.
“Be careful with this one,” Reevan says, coming up behind me. “Majax is young and has a mind of his own. He’s swift, but he hates being ridden.”
I glance up at him, and have the feeling that he is trying to intimidate me.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll remember that.”
He takes the reins from me and holds them while I climb up behind Annalyn. I have handled many horses during my time as a slave, having been a stable boy in more than one of my many masters’ estates. But I have never actually ridden a horse before.
Reevan hands Annalyn the reins, offering her a reassuring smile. Then he grabs my arm, pulling me down so that his mouth is next to my ear. “I am not risking everything for this to fail, half-breed,” he hisses. “Break that spell, and make sure that no harm comes to Bellator. Do you understand me?”
I nod.
He releases me with a savage glare as Bellator and Uri approach on Nimro. He turns to them. “Any last orders, general?”
She shakes her head, looking worried for the first time since leaving Gaiztoak. Taking a knife from her belt, she hands it to him. “Thank you, Reevan. You’ve done enough.”
He smiles faintly, accepting the knife, and opens his mouth to make a reply. But his voice is drowned out by an ear-splitting bellow, and our pursuers charge into view.
Chapter Fifteen
F or a moment I am paralyzed with terror as I watch an army of hideous, human-like creatures gallop toward us. Each beast is at least seven feet tall, with dark grey slug-like skin, and wearing spiked armour painted black and red. One small, red, sunken eye peers out from beneath each iron helmet, and two large sabre-like fangs protrude from the bottom jaw of every snarling mouth. As if their looks aren’t dangerous enough, the creatures are armed with massive longbows and crossbows, and long scimitars with jagged spikes along the blades.
“Ezixs!” Bellator’s shout jerks me back to my senses. “Ride!”
Annalyn clutches the reins and kicks her heels into the horse’s sides. “Hold on!” she cries as Majax rears and dashes after the others.
We zigzag through the remainder of the woodland, arrows firing around us, and burst out into a vast plain that opens suddenly before us. I glance back in time to see Reevan thrust Bellator’s knife into his own leg. Grasping it, he staggers out of the way of the charging ezixs and collapses against a tree. The ezixs close ranks around him, blocking him from view.
An arrow whips past my shoulder, cutting through both my cloak and tunic, nicking my skin. I gasp and lean forward, locking my knees more tightly around
Majax’s sides.
The landscape before us is dry and barren, sweeping down into a narrow valley before it slopes back up into another rocky hilltop. We thunder down the first slope, arrows striking the ground around us. The ezixs are smart enough to see their advantage, and stop at the top of the hill, directing all of their attention and effort to shooting at us. It’s clear that their aim isn’t as accurate as Bellator’s, but the arrows still fall too close for comfort.
An arrow hits the tip Majax’s ear, barely missing his head. He whinnies, putting on a burst of speed, and we are quickly gaining on Uri and Bellator. As we approach, I see an arrow graze Bellator’s elbow. She reacts at once, grasping the injury with her opposite hand, and thrusts the reins into Uri’s fists. With an angry roar, she flips over his head, landing on her feet on the horse’s flanks. Drawing her bow, she lets loose a volley of arrows at our attackers. Each arrow finds its target in the centre of a little red eye.
An uproar rises among the remaining ezixs, and they direct their aim only at her. It is a matter of seconds before an arrow finds its mark in her shoulder. She topples off of Nimro’s back, tumbling down the rest of the hill in the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves. Unaware, Uri keeps on riding into the valley.
There is a guttural whoop among our hideous assailants, and a group of them start down the hill toward her.
“Keep riding!” I order Annalyn as we approach Bellator’s prone body. “I’m going to see if I can help.”
“Ealdred, no!” she shouts, reaching back to stop me.
But she’s too late. I launch myself backward from the horse. I hit the ground on my back, and the wind is knocked out of my lungs. Struggling to breathe, I pick myself up and stumble toward where Bellator lies. She is sprawled on her back, unmoving. The shaft of the arrow in her shoulder was broken in half during her fall and a jagged end sticks out at a different angle than it entered.
Suddenly, a ball of fire strikes the ground between us, exploding into a raging fury. I jump back as the heat scorches my face.
Laughter issues from the flames. “You fool!” Zeldek’s voice scoffs. “Did you really think it would be that easy to get away from me?”
Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1) Page 11
