“Marcus! Michael!” He held his breath.
“Kaden!”
His eyes snapped to the voice and found Marcus stumbling out of the trees. Timothy and Trev were just behind him supporting a more seriously wounded Mick. Kaden rushed to his older brother.
“Where’s Michael?”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know.” His eyes and voice held more fear than Kaden had seen in past situations, and it doubled his concern. Marcus almost never let his emotions show.
Kaden turned, scanning the entire area. “Michael!” He looked everywhere for a glimpse of their brother, at the same time wondering what had befallen the rest of their group. What about King Balen? And Jace?
The king appeared, helping one of the injured ryriks. Kaden breathed out a sigh, but fear took over again in an instant. Marcus called their brother’s name.
A moment later, a voice came from near the river. “Over here!”
Kaden and Marcus both spun toward the river as Michael appeared up over the bank. Blood spattered his sleeve and smeared his jerkin just below his ribs, but he was alive. Kaden’s shoulders sagged, and he thanked Elôm. Yet once again, elation died when Rayad and Holden appeared along with him, carrying a limp form between them. Jace.
Kaden sprinted forward as they set Jace down on the flat ground. He focused on Jace’s arm, which was clearly broken and already swelling. Right above it, a deep gash left a steady blood trail down his bare arm. Rayad and Holden had torn off his sleeve and used it for a tourniquet. Kaden’s gaze lingered on the blood before shifting to Jace’s face. His skin was gray. Was he even breathing?
“Is he alive?”
“Yes, but he’s close to bleeding out,” Rayad said, his voice urgent.
Footsteps rushed up behind Kaden. He glanced over his shoulder. Saul. He took one look at Jace and turned to call out, “Toris!” He then looked back down at Jace. “Toris is our physician.”
Kaden knelt beside Jace. He’d seen him in horrible condition but never so disturbingly close to death. He swallowed with difficulty. “Hang on, Jace.” He clenched his teeth. He couldn’t bear to face Kyrin if Jace died. It would be even worse than facing their mother.
A moment later, one of the ryriks rushed over to them. Grim-faced, he inspected Jace’s arm and said, “We need to get him somewhere I can work on him.”
“Kaden, take Jace back to the cabin,” Darq’s strong voice broke in. “I’ll take Toris.”
Kaden nodded. After making sure the tourniquet was secure, Rayad, Holden, and Saul lifted Jace up again. Kaden rushed ahead and helped them get him into the saddle. Sitting behind him, he wrapped his arm securely around Jace’s chest. Now he could feel the slight rise and fall of each weak breath.
“Keep breathing, Jace. Just keep breathing.”
People were right when they said time healed. Even a week helped Anne recover from the horror of Baron Grey’s execution. Tears still came, though not as often or regularly. Life moved on, somberly most times, but surely. And she refused to let the night of Goler’s party drag her down. Instead, she let her anger with Goler fuel her determination, not paralyze her. She and her father had already begun weighing their options. They couldn’t openly oppose Goler without risking everything.
In the end, they both agreed that, perhaps, they had held out long enough. Perhaps it was finally time to let go of this life and move out to camp. Just the thought of it lifted Anne’s spirits. Such a move, however, required careful planning and preparation. She and her family weren’t the only ones who called this estate home.
While her father and Elian saw to these preparations, Anne kept herself from getting impatient by occupying herself with her spinning. She was starting to get the hang of it, and she enjoyed sharing the activity with her mother. She was also grateful for the quiet afternoon. Her nerves had been wound so tightly for days. She recognized the need to let herself rest from all the turmoil—to give herself moments to recover.
Without warning, the door burst open, and Anne jumped, tangling her yarn. In rushed Sara, who had ridden into Landale with one of the stablehands to visit her family. Tear streaks wet her flushed face. Anne pushed up from her chair to meet her, dread turning her cold.
“Sara, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry!” she choked out, gasping for breath and sobbing at the same time. “I didn’t want to tell him, but he hurt me and threatened my family.”
Anne stiffened, and her mother rushed to the stairs to call her father. He hurried down as Anne asked her maid, “Who hurt you?”
“Captain Dagren.” Her face contorted. “He knows.”
“Knows what?” Anne’s father asked gently, but urgently.
“He knows you believe in Elôm.” Sara sobbed hard. “I told him. I’m sorry! I ran back as fast as I could.”
Ice formed in Anne’s body, freezing her to the spot. Doom pressed down on her as if an invisible sword already rested against her neck. He knows. Their secret was out.
Sara blubbered another apology, snapping Anne from the grip of dread. She looked to her father, who rushed to the door and shouted for Elian. He then turned back to them. Though his face was taut, he spoke calmly as he instructed Sara. “Go to the kitchen and tell everyone to leave immediately. Do not take time to gather anything.”
Sara nodded and ran to the kitchen.
A second later, Elian burst through the door. Anne’s father spun to face him.
“We need to leave. Get the horses, but do not take time to saddle them. Tell everyone to leave now. They can use whatever horses they need.”
Understanding registered in Elian’s expression. Without a word in question, he left the house. Anne’s father then turned to face them. “Wait for me outside.”
He rushed upstairs. His words prompted Anne to act. She grabbed her mother, who looked about the house as if unable to believe what was happening, and guided her outside. Elanor followed. They stopped in the yard and looked back. They were leaving everything. Anything that carried any sentimental value. Yet Anne didn’t even care. She was ready to run.
Her father joined them, sword in hand. He ushered them toward the stables, where the servants gathered. Elian led out the family horses. They hadn’t made it ten feet before the sound of hooves pounded the soft ground. Soldiers burst from the forest into the yard. Anne gasped, and her mother released a fearful cry.
“Run!” Her father pushed them toward the forest behind the house.
Soldiers appeared there too, cutting off their escape. They closed in and surrounded them. Anne clung to her mother and Elanor as her father and Elian faced the men with their swords drawn. Doom thumped inside Anne’s chest. They would never be a match for the soldiers.
The ring of mounted men parted and Goler rode up. “Drop your swords, unless you want to die in front of the women, in which case I’ll happily oblige you.”
A moment of thick, pressing silence passed before Anne’s father let his sword fall into the mud. Elian’s joined it. Goler dismounted and marched up to them, sneering in her father’s face.
“John Wyland, you and your household are under arrest for treason against the emperor and the gods.” He offered a challenging look. “Unless you can prove otherwise.”
Anne’s father didn’t say a word. He only drew himself up taller and faced Goler straight on. Anne followed his example. If Baron Grey and so many others could die so courageously for their faith, so could she.
Goler motioned to the soldiers. “Bind the men.”
The soldiers promptly obeyed. Then they gathered everyone in front of the house, and Goler ordered them all to kneel. Anne sank slowly to her knees in the soggy grass beside her parents. Would it all end here, or did he have some other cruel torture in mind first? Despite kneeling, Anne held herself stiffly. She would not cower before the fiend for one second.
To one of his men, Goler ordered, “Go inside and bring me a comfortable chair. This could take a while.”
The younger soldier hesit
ated. “I thought Captain Dagren said to bring them straight back to the village.”
Goler glared at him. “Are you questioning my orders? I am baron of Landale.”
The soldier ducked his head and rushed to obey.
To a few of the others, Goler said, “Sweep the house and bring out anything of value.”
As they strode past, Anne looked to the forest and then to the sky, praying Trask had scouts or dragons nearby. Her attention snapped back to Goler as he stood over them, glaring down at her father.
“I should have known you were with the rebels.”
Anne bit back the urge to insult his intelligence.
Her father stared up at him. “Do what you will with me, but surely you can show leniency to the women. Lady Elanor is merely our guest. I’d beware of her father if you do not treat her with respect.”
Goler focused on Elanor. “Get up.”
She exchanged a quick glance with Anne, but everything about her hardened as she rose to her feet and tipped her chin. Anne wished to cheer her on for not backing down either. Goler leered over her, yet she didn’t waver in her stance.
“You will go to wherever it is you rebels like to hide and get Trask. I want him here in one hour. If he fails to show up in time, I’ll kill Sir John. And for every ten minutes he keeps me waiting after that, I’ll kill one of the servants, starting with your bodyguard.” He leaned closer, his face menacing. “And you let him know he is to come alone. If I even suspect he’s brought extra men or dragons, I will kill everyone, including Anne. Do you understand?”
Elanor swallowed and looked down at them. A little of the fire had gone out of her eyes, and Anne didn’t know how to react. Everything inside her screamed not to draw Trask into danger.
Finally, Elanor looked back up at Goler. “All right, but I will need a horse otherwise I’ll never reach him in time.”
Goler gestured to the horses milling near the stable. “You’d better get riding. Time’s wasting.”
Gathering up her skirt, Elanor dashed across the yard to the horses. She grabbed her mare’s bridle and led her to the porch where she could hoist herself up onto the horse’s back. With a fearful glance at Anne, Elanor pointed the horse toward the forest road and took off at a canter.
Just as she left the yard, Goler ordered two of his men, “Follow her. Find where their camp is.”
Anne barely bit back a cry as the men mounted and rode off. Elôm, no! Don’t let them find it. Her attention jerked back to Goler. He reached down, locking his hand around her wrist, and hauled her up. She pulled against him, and her father pushed to his feet. One of Goler’s men intercepted him and punched him hard in the gut. He stumbled, and the man hit him again, this time across the face, which sent him back to his knees.
“No!” Anne fought to get to him, but Goler yanked her arm hard.
“Then quit squirming,” he snapped.
Anne stilled, locking eyes with her father. He was breathing heavily and blood welled from his lip, but he didn’t appear to be in significant pain.
With another tug, Goler turned her around to face him. “Now, right here, you will accept my offer to become my wife.”
Anne gritted her teeth. “You think I would ever marry you after this? I would never marry a beast like you.”
Goler leaned close, his hot, unpleasant breath striking her face. “I think you’ll reconsider after a bit of persuasion.”
Anne refused to shrink away. “I will die before I marry you. And if you force me to, I will make every day of your life miserable.”
Goler reached for her arm again and squeezed it viciously. “Not if you want your mother to be treated well.”
The glare disappeared from Anne’s face.
“Make no mistake about it, your father will die for his treason, but I’m inclined to show your mother mercy if you cooperate.”
A heavy weight settled inside Anne. How could she not do anything she could to save her mother’s life?
“Don’t agree to this, Anne,” her mother cut in.
In response, Goler motioned to one of the soldiers, who backhanded her mother across the cheek.
Anne cried out and fought to pull away from Goler. “Monstrous pig!”
She struggled until he squeezed her wrist so tightly that pain shot up her arm. A whimper escaped her throat, and she stopped fighting.
“That is no way to address your lord and fiancé,” he growled near her ear. “Now, will you marry me willingly and spare your mother?”
Tears burned Anne’s eyes, wavering her vision. She ground her teeth, every fiber of her being fighting against the idea. Finally, she nodded. “Yes.”
She could hardly stomach the horror of living as his wife, but she couldn’t condemn her mother. She had to save at least one member of her family.
Goler’s grip loosened a little. “Good.”
He dragged her to the padded chair one of the soldiers had brought out and sat down before pulling her down to sit on his lap. He hooked his arm around her, and Anne had to fight every impulse to escape his hold.
“Now we wait for Trask to show up so we can settle this permanently.”
Elanor had never pushed a horse so hard. Her mare panted loudly, but she would not let up. She couldn’t let up—not when everyone’s life depended on it. She had to reach Trask in time, even if it meant sacrificing her beloved mare. Tears blurred her eyes, but she fought to keep them at bay. She could not lose her head now.
Her horse slipped in the mud. Elanor lurched sideways and almost lost her seat but clung to her horse’s mane and managed to right herself. Now at a standstill, the mare’s gasping breaths echoed through the forest.
“I’m sorry,” Elanor cried, “but we must keep going.”
She urged the horse on. At first, the mare wouldn’t move, but after a little more prodding, she worked her back into a steady canter. Please Elôm, let us make it.
Ten minutes later, they rode up to a towering oak tree where a thick red rope hung from one of the outstretched branches over the road. She looked over her shoulder. The road appeared empty, but she did not go any farther. Instead, she raised her voice and called out as loud as she could.
“Help! Please help!”
Over and over again, she called until her voice grew hoarse. Just when she thought she would have to go on, two men appeared from the trees.
“Lady Elanor?” one said in surprise, and she recognized him from camp.
She slid down and rushed up to him. “I have to get to Trask right away, but I think I was followed.”
The man turned to his companion. “I’ll take her to camp. You make sure no one follows us.” He then faced Elanor. “Come on.”
He guided her deeper into the woods where he had his horse hidden. He swung up into the saddle and then reached down to pull her up behind him.
“Please, hurry,” she urged him.
He turned his horse in the direction of camp. Elanor’s heart beat to the steady cadence of the horse’s hooves. Tears assaulted her again, and now that she didn’t need to see where she was going, they spilled over and ran down her cheeks. What if Trask didn’t reach Marlton in time? And what if he did? Goler would surely kill him. Oh, Elôm, please do something! Would she be the only one to come out of this nightmare alive?
At last, they rode into camp. Elanor shouted Trask’s name before they even stopped. The door to his cabin ripped open just as they reached it, and he rushed out, his eyes wide.
“What happened?”
“Goler is at Marlton.” Elanor slid down from the horse. “He knows we’re all believers. He is going to kill Sir John and all the servants if you don’t come. He only gave you an hour starting from when I left.”
Before she could finish, he turned back to the cabin and grabbed his sword from just inside the door. Immediately, he set off for where the dragons rested, but Elanor grabbed his arm.
“Wait! He said you had to come alone. If he suspects you have dragons or men with you, he’ll
kill everyone, including Anne.”
This stopped him in his tracks. Indecision warred on his face, but then he changed course and set off for the stable. Warin and Elanor followed.
“What do you want us to do?” Warin asked.
Trask shook his head. “I don’t know.” He rushed into the corral and grabbed his horse, not bothering to do more than tie the lead rope to the halter as a pair of reins. He swung up onto the horse’s back. The only thing that stopped him from taking off was Warin standing in his way.
“If you go alone Goler will kill you and you won’t be any help to anyone.”
“I know,” Trask said, the struggle clear in his voice, “but if I don’t get there right now, Sir John and everyone else will be dead too. I won’t let that happen.” He gave Warin a dire look. “Whatever you do, don’t bring the dragons.”
With those final words, he took off. Elanor stood beside Warin and watched him disappear, an awful churning in the pit of her stomach.
Anne didn’t know what was worse—watching the soldiers loot her home or the stickiness of Goler’s hot breath on her neck. She leaned away from him, but he only pulled her more firmly against his chest. Every muscle in her body drew tense in protest, and she could think of so many ways to hurt him if only she could.
“You know,” he said, his bearded chin tugging at her hair, “it wouldn’t have had to be this way. I asked you nicely and you refused. You chose the hard way.”
“I refused because I knew exactly what kind of man you are,” Anne replied through her teeth. “The kind who would force a woman to comply with his wishes instead of respecting and cherishing her.”
Goler simply shrugged. “I’m an ambitious man, and if I can’t get what I want one way, I’ll get it another.”
“By destroying anyone who gets in your way?”
One of the soldiers walked up to him. “We’ve cleared the house of valuables, my lord.”
“Good. Now torch it.”
“What?” Anne gasped.
Exiles (Ilyon Chronicles Book 4) Page 36
