by Ty Johnston
“Adara! Randall! Run!” Kron’s voice sounded from nearby.
Adara looked up from the ground to see Darkbow surrounded by four beings dressed much like the one who had hit her with the spear. Kron had his bow in one hand and his sword in the other, whirling the bladed weapon around himself to keep his opponent’s at bay. Adara had no intentions of leaving him or Randall. She tore her dagger from its sheath and launched herself on the back of the man struggling with Randall. She stabbed upward, into the back of his liver. He fought on, however, yelping out as he twisted Randall’s wrist and forced the healer to drop his sword.
Adara stabbed again, and again, but the man in deerskin did not slow. He butted Randall in the face with his forehead, breaking the healer’s nose and splattering blood on Randall’s white robe.
Frustrated, Adara pulled back her dagger and slid its edge across the man’s throat, spraying more red onto the healer. This time the man did not cry out, but rolled away, his arms and legs twitching as his body spasmed.
Randall pushed himself off the ground. Adara saw he was all right and turned her attentions to Kron.
Darkbow had killed one of his assailants as a figure was stretched out unmoving at Kron’s feet, but the other three ruffians still surrounded their foe.
Adara’s eyes searched the ground, finding her whip, and she brought up the leather weapon, snapping its stinging end at one of Kron’s foes.
The man hollered out and jumped away just as Kron stabbed at him with his sword, catching the man in the stomach. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it was painful enough to force the man out of the fight.
The last two of Kron’s opponents still standing rushed forward at that moment, cudgels in their hands swinging for the man in black’s head. Kron dropped to one knee, allowing their swings to go over his head, then kicked off the ground with one boot connecting with a jaw and his sword slicing into the chest of the other man. The one who had been kicked tumbled and fell while the one cut screamed out and grabbed at the wound to his chest.
More arrows rained in, none hitting their target but surrounding Kron and Adara and Randall.
His foes dead or distracted by their wounds, Kron slid his sword onto his back and rushed at Adara, grabbing her by her free hand and pulling her toward his antsy steed.
“Ride!” he yelled as he shoved her toward the horse. “There’s more of them in the woods!”
Randall, his sword retrieved, did not hesitate to climb into his saddle, but he saw Adara did not follow. He held out a hand to Kron. “Hop on,” he said. “We can all get out of here.”
Another arrow flew by overhead, Kron’s eyes darting after it.
“We’re not leaving without you,” Adara said stubbornly, her feet planted between Kron and his horse.
A groan from behind made Kron turn in that direction. The man he had kicked and the one he had slashed were regathering themselves for another attack.
He shoved Adara toward the horse again. “I have to stay behind to slow them down,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll be on you in minutes.”
“They don’t have horses!” Adara screamed.
“But they have bows, gods knows how!” Kron yelled back.
The man who had been kicked was suddenly at Kron’s back. Without looking at him, Kron kicked out and back, shattering the man’s left knee and sending him falling to the ground crying.
Adara whipped out with her leather weapon and sent the other man fleeing for the trees.
Sounds of movement came from where the archers had been.
“The rest will be coming as soon as they climb down. You’ve got to go,” Kron pleaded with Adara.
“We’re not leaving without you,” Adara repeated, folding her arms in front of her chest.
Four stout fellows covered with mud and leaves appeared from the region where the arrows had been shot, each man with a rugged bow on their back and a club or sword in their hands. Opposite them, from among brush on the far side of Adara and Kron, four more individuals emerged from the greenery; some of them were scraggly-looking women with stone knives in their hands. The group of eight seemed in no rush to come forward after they had witnessed what had happened to their fellows, but they also showed no signs of retreating.
“Listen to me, by Ashal,” Kron said to Adara, but the woman appeared unmoving. “Damn it, listen to me!” Kron yelled in her face. “There should be a river a few miles ahead. If you and Randall can get across it, they’ll likely not follow.”
“We’re not leaving without you,” Adara said.
“I grew up in these woods,” Kron said. “I know my way. There’s a thousand places for me to hide. I’ll catch up with you when I can, or Randall can use his magic to find me.”
Even at the mention of magic, the group slowly moving in around them did not appear to shrink. Some of them ground their teeth as if starving, drool picking its way down their chins.
“Adara, let him go,” Randall said. “We haven’t much time.”
The woman glanced at the healer and saw defeat in his eyes.
Adara sighed and grabbed the saddle horn to pull herself onto the back of Kron’s horse. “We’ll be back for you,” she said, turning the animal in the direction they had been going, through the four ruffians ahead.
Kron chuckled. “I’ll probably find you first.”
Then Adara and Randall took off, spurring their horses to as fast a gallop as they could get in the woods. The four armed men in front of them moved out of the way as the two rode through.
Kron found himself alone with the eight who were all looking his way. He took the time to unstring his bow and tie it on his back, then drew out his heavy bastard sword.
“Come on,” he said to the nearest man.
***
Adara and Randall rode hard and fast through the forest, ducking low branches and veering around trees and stumps. Several times they glanced behind themselves, but apparently the Gean family, if that was who their foes had been, were more interested in an easier target, Kron.
Eventually, cantering around a copse of firs, the two spotted the river Kron had mentioned. It was narrow and shallow enough for their horses to wade across without much trouble. On the other side, Adara pulled them to a halt.
“We can’t leave him,” she said.
Randall glanced back the way they had come and saw no sign of their friend nor their recent enemies. “We need to keep moving,” he said. “We won’t go far, another few miles, but we’ve got to get away from those people. I can find Kron if we have to.”
“There’s something more going on than this Sawney Gean,” Adara said. “Kron seemed surprised they had weapons, and I’m guessing Prisonlanders aren’t allowed to have weapons. There’s also the missing guards and the patrols to think about.”
Randall sighed. “Adara, we left him for a reason,” he said. “If we go back or wait too long, we’ve gone against those reasons. We’ll be safer further away. If he hasn’t returned to us by nightfall, I’ll find Kron with magic. Then, if he needs help, we’ll be in a position to do something about it.”
Adara couldn’t argue with Randall about that. As much as she hated to admit it, the healer was right. She spun her horse away from the river, the Geans and Kron Darkbow, but she did it with a frown.
***
The first one to Kron was a burly man, nearly as big as the mountain folk near Wester’s Edge, and he swung a club over his head that was little more than a tree limb with rusty nails driven through one end. Kron knocked the big man’s clumsy weapon aside with ease, then jabbed out with a hand, driving two hard fingers into the man’s throat and choking him so bad he fell to his knees coughing.
The next attacker was a little smarter. He stepped in, but not too close, and jabbed with a spear. Kron circled the foe while remaining wary of the others who surrounded him. He saw several of the men were growing antsy of the cat and mouse game and looked as if they were willing to charge him at any moment. Kron couldn’t allow that, at least
not until he dealt with the idiot in front of him.
Kron stepped into the spear man’s attack zone, chopping and cutting away the head of the man’s weapon. The man was surprised by Kron’s attack and tried to step back, but Kron spun swiftly, cracking a fist across the man’s jaw and sending him rolling into the bushes.
Then one of the women rushed in, a small ax in one hand and a simple knife in the other, both weapons whirling in her hands. Kron ignored her sex and stepped forward swinging, catching her across the stomach and slicing almost to her spine. She went down, dropping her weapons to grasp Kron’s shirt before she fell.
Screaming and roaring, the rest charged in unison, weapons over their heads. Kron whirled in a full circle, his long sword flashing out around him to create a wide belt of death. His enemies were driven back for another moment, allowing him to catch his breath, but soon enough they were charging again.
Kron knew he couldn’t keep swinging his sword around himself all day. Sooner or later he would tire or one of them would get in a lucky hit. Despite being surrounded, he would have to take the fight to his enemies.
Kron tossed his sword at two of the men rushing in, scaring them enough so they dove out of the flying weapon’s path. By then four of the scoundrels were on the man in black. Kron dove onto one of the men, grappling him and taking him to the ground. Two punches later the man was unconscious and Kron was looking for another opponent.
A heavy ax dropped from above and would have cut Kron in half if he hadn’t rolled to one side, the large weapon descending upon and chopping into the man Kron had knocked out.
A club swung at Kron’s head but he ducked it and kicked out with a leg, connecting with a knee. With a scream, the man with the wounded knee limped backward while his compatriots dove in for the kill.
Kron was on the ground and had enemies on all sides, some still standing and others rolling around with him. He knew he couldn’t last much longer. His only chance was to fight past another couple of them and make a run for it.
He never got the chance. A club and sword descended at the same time. Kron saw both, figured the sword was the deadlier of the weapons, and rolled out of its path. He rolled into another man’s legs, sending the man tumbling to one side, when the wooden club smacked Kron in the back of his head.
The edges of Kron’s vision went black and blurry as he tried to get back to his feet. Groping hands reached for him, gripped him and shoved him to the away to fall to the ground.
Kron’s hands landed on something hard and metallic. He blinked and his vision cleared enough for him to tell his unwitting opponents had tossed him to his own sword.
A scream from behind told the man in black his insane enemies were almost upon him again. Without thinking, without seeing, Kron grabbed the sword and spun around, lashing out blindly. His heavy blade caught one man in the chest, dropping him immediately. Kron closed his eyes and allowed his training to take over. He could hear, could sense, every movement around him. His head was still swimming as he twirled his sword around himself to keep his foes at bay, but he felt stronger on his feet with his eyes shut. At least the swirling colors were no longer a distraction.
Another man stepped in, and he too was chopped nearly in half.
Kron’s sword kept swinging.
Another man cried out, his arm gashed to the bone.
Then there was silence.
Kron stood still and held his sword before him. He slowly turned his head from side to side, but all he could hear of his enemies were a few of them who were still alive continued to cry or moan.
In the distance, Kron heard the brushings of feet on the ground. They were running.
Kron opened his eyes. For a moment he was blinded as the sun poured in from between branches overhead, but his vision had cleared. There was still a sizable lump on his head, but the the dizzy spell had been temporary.
Kron took off at a run after his fleeing opponents. He jumped bodies, some alive and some not, then dodged around a tree.
It was not long before he spotted the last of the group not far ahead. They too were familiar with these woods, as Kron soon found he could no longer close the distance between them.
Then they were gone, disappearing as if by magic.
Kron grabbed a tree limb to stunt his forward movement. He knelt and waited. After several minutes, none of his foes appeared nor did they make any more sounds.
Kron stood again and eased forward slowly, watching for ambushes from the trees while trying to follow his foes’ tracks left in the soft forest dirt.
The tracks ended at a group of bushes. Kron stuck his sword forward to knock branches aside and found himself staring into a small opening in the ground, barely big enough for a man to slide into.
He hesitated, staring around and listening intently. There were no noises of an ambush. The forest seemed at ease. Only the distant cries of the wounded were carried to him on the wind.
Kron eased away from the hole and squatted. He would wait. He would be patient and wait out his opponents. He didn’t dare enter the small cave not knowing what awaited him, but he didn’t want to give up the chase just yet.
Kron Darkbow’s patience lasted ten minutes. Then, when nothing happened except the wounded went quiet, the man in black moved forward. He sheathed his sword and stared down at the hole. He would fit, but just barely.
He jumped in.
Chapter Nineteen
Randall and Adara found a low den with bedding of smashed branches, likely once the home to some woods animal, to serve as their camp for the night. The place was between two hills with its back to a natural wall of stone, and provided protection from the elements as well as prying eyes. They decided against a fire, and suffered a dinner of smoked meat and crusty bread.
As the sun went low beneath the western hill, Adara produced a small mirror from Kron’s saddlebags and offered it to the healer. Randall wasted no time conjuring an image in the glass, seeking Kron.
“It’s dark wherever he is,” the healer said.
Adara leaned over his shoulder to stare into the mirror. herself. She guessed Kron must be in some kind of cave. She could just make out the rocky surface the man in the mirror walked upon and the walls near to him were of rough stone.
Shadows upon a wall near Kron shifted and Randall and Adara realized there must be a fire somewhere in Kron’s vicinity. Shifting orange light played upon the wall behind the man.
“Is there any way you can pinpoint his location?” Adara said.
“I can try,” Randall said, waving a hand over the mirror as the image turned to gray smoke.
After a few moments, the image cleared again showing a wide entrance to a cave, moss and weeds hanging from above to cover much of the opening. Two of the woods people who had attacked them appeared to be on sentry duty at the cave’s mouth.
“That still doesn’t tell us where he is,” Adara said.
“Let me try something else,” Randall said, waving his hand over the mirror again and watching its image once more turn to smoke. “We should be able to find him in a few seconds.”
“Find who?” a voice said.
Adara and Randall glanced up the side of the hill and saw a large man wearing heavy padded armor staring down at them. On his head was a leather helmet that covered his face like a mask. Hanging from one of his hands was a sword.
Adara spun away from Randall and ripped her rapier from its sheath, pointing the blade at the man.
“You’re obviously not a member of the Gean family,” the man in leather said, “but I suggest you point that pig sticker somewhere else.”
With those words, dozens of burly figures in leather armor materialized among the brush around the camp, each man carrying a weapon.
“I think you should do what he says, Adara,” Randall said.
***
Kron found himself in near darkness, the only light flames dancing on a wall of jumbled granite. He did not move, allowing his senses to soak in his environmen
t while he put together a plan of action. He was surprised no ambush had been laid for him, but figured those he had chased in the woods must believe they had escaped him. His head continued to throb from the clubbing and he smelled the rot of flesh decaying and burning, a sting to the nostrils he associated with graveyards and temples. Kron could hear little, other than a noise in the distance that sounded like rats gnawing meat from a bone, and upon further thought he decided that’s probably what it was, the rats of Sawney Gean’s family chewing away the meat from a human bone.
The orange lights dancing on the walls told him there was a fire near, behind a pile of rocks. He saw no shadows of a person and surmised whomever was chewing must be on the other side of the fire. He glanced up and could see no ceiling, only darkness.
Kron told himself he was in a cave somewhere, probably the Gean’s cave within the Prisonlands. The heavy weight of his sword in his hands was the only comfort he had.
For a brief time Kron’s thoughts turned to Randall and Adara. Had they escaped? Were they safe in hiding? He hoped his friends had moved on without him, trusting that he would find his way to them eventually.
Forgetting his own safety, he decided he would have to return to Adara and Randall. They needed him. Otherwise they would probably not survive the Prisonlands.
Kron decided he had stood still long enough. He turned so he faced the direction from which the flames came. He could see nothing right away as a pile of rocks was in his way, but he lifted his head to see a small fire a dozen yards away. Far to the other side of the flames was a dark tunnel that curved away to the right. Between the fire and the tunnel squatted a man and two women, all of them dressed in rough animal skins with stringy, muddy hair hanging around their deformed faces. The man was missing an eye, an empty socket staring into nothingness, and scaly flesh drooped beneath his chin. The women were as hideous, one with the right side of her face sagging so much it appeared as if it were melting, while the other had no lips, her bared teeth showing through the slit of her mouth.
