She could hear the shouting growing closer now. They were near. Her eyes flashed open and she cursed under her breath.
Turning sharply from the tree, Shiovra cried out as a sword narrowly missed her and managed to catch the hood of her cloak. In one swift movement she ducked down and dodged the blade, heart pounding.
The man in turn brought the blade up to attack once more, shouting his rage.
Yet his attack fell short as an arrow whistled past her head and landed in the man’s chest. With a painful grunt and a moment of stunned sputtering, he fell lifeless to the ground.
Quickly stepping back, she looked around. In the brief illumination from the lightning, she saw a figure stepping back into the shadows.
There was another shout in the distance.
Deciding she would rather not discover if they were friend or foe, Shiovra carefully made her way through the woods. She was greatly aware of her lack of weapons and scolded herself soundly for it. Ducking behind a tree, she hid within the shadows and tried to see any movement through the rain with each blinding flash of lightning. Unable to see anything, she turned swiftly and continued to pick her way quickly through the storm ravaged woods, though her legs had begun to ache and were growing weak from the excretion.
Shiovra glanced behind herself more than once, ignoring the branches which lashed at her face and pulled at her garments. Her mind was set upon one thing only: to get away. Stumbling a few times, she caught herself and continued on in a quicker pace. A branch caught on her clothes and whipped against her skin harshly, bringing her flight to pause. When she tried to push it aside, Shiovra slipped on the wet ground and fell.
“You shall elude me no longer!” said a man’s voice, dangerously close.
Shiovra started and looked up.
A man stalked towards her, with a menacing grin she caught in the brief flashes of light. From what she could see, his hair had been washed with lime, stark and white, and his skin was swarthy. He was followed closely by some other men with similar features. She had not had too much experience with those like him, but enough to know that he was of the Milidh clan; the men who had arrived to the shores of Éire’s ten years ago seeking vengeance for Ith’s death.
“What wonderful prey we have found!” he declared with a malicious laugh. “It is pointless to try and escape…little wench.” The man strode towards her, like a creature stalking its prey.
Shiovra watched him carefully as she rose slowly to her feet, her mind racing for possible means of escape. She could see five of them altogether. She was at a disadvantage, not just by the number of them, but also for her folly of forgetting to bring a weapon of sorts with herself. She thought that, perhaps, if she was quick enough, she could duck around the tree and lose them in the turbulence of the storm.
Before she could act, she was seized from behind as someone wrapped their arm tightly around her waist and a dagger glanced across her cheek, cutting it enough to bleed slightly.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” a harsh male voice breathed in her ear.
Shiovra struggled with him, but the man’s grip upon her was firm. The energies swirling through the air continued to warn and shout at her, but the man’s grip upon her was preventing her from focusing enough to harness them. No matter how much she fought against the man’s hold, she could not free herself.
“Árdal! Look at what I have caught!”
The man, who had spoken first, stepped up. “Well done. You have caught the little wench.” He frowned and looked at Shiovra more closely, an action which sent a chill through the priestess’ body. “Hmmm…” The menacing grin returned and he laughed. “Too clean to been a simple common wench. More likely a chieftain’s child. Lovely little thing she is!” growled the ruffian. “She will make good ransom after I get what I need from her! Sheath your dagger, fool, before you damage the wench further than you already have!”
Shiovra glared at the man, but held her tongue. When she could no longer feel the dagger against her skin, she tried more vigorously to free herself of her captors grip.
Árdal smirked. “Oh, you do not approve?” he scoffed, leaning closer towards her. “What a wild one we have on our hands! And see those pretty markings that she bears upon her skin? It seems to me that we have a High Priestess in our grasp,” laughed the Milidh man. “I should just keep you for myself.” His voice dropped low, tone cold, “The Túath clan have no place here anymore.”
“We have no place?” began Shiovra, keeping her voice calm and even. “It would seem to me that you have no place. We, the Túath, brought to this land great wisdom and knowledge. Your foul clan is destructive in your ways with not a care for anything else but your desires and vengeance. You, whose lust for power and control lead you to destroy all that which does not submit.” She narrowed her gaze on the man. “You do not belong here.”
“And yet you shall submit, wench,” spat Árdal. “Just like the Parthalon succumbed to an illness that then spread to the Neimidh. Or the Fomorii who fell to you as just as they had the Fir Bolg…the Túatha Dé Danann will succumb to us!” His voice became deeper, husky as he looked her over and the wet clothing clinging to her body. “Your people killed Ith when he praised this lands beauty. Now…you can submit to me or suffer his fate.”
“You have a distorted mind…” Shiovra muttered. “May you leave without returning.”
Árdal laughed. “That was not very kind of you to say, wench…” he breathed harshly, then a cruel smile spread across his lips. “We were destined to take this land from you the moment Ith’s blood soaked the green earth!” He reached a filthy hand up and, grabbed hold of her chin roughly. “Yes, what a rare find we have stumbled across! When I am done with you…well best not speak of that now.”
Anger washed over Shiovra and she kicked the shins of the man who held her captive with all her strength. With a hissed cruse, the man released her and she was free. Moving quickly, her hand lashed out and struck Árdal full across the face.
Árdal stumbled back from the surprising force of the blow. “Why you little…you’ll pay for that! Seize her!” he bellowed in rage. “We’ll make her learn.” A smug laugh passed his lips despite the anger evident in his voice.
Shiovra dodged the men’s grasps as they reached to seize her once again. She needed to draw upon the energy created by the storm to defend herself, but first she needed to get further away from them. Breaking into a run, Shiovra wove her way through the trees. It took her a moment to realize that the rain had let up and the lightning was becoming less frequent. And, without so much rain, the moon had begun to peak through small breaks in the clouds making it much easier for her to see, but also easier for her pursuers as well.
A voice shouted to her over the wind, “Be a good little wench, and come back here. Your punishment will be less severe if you do as you are told!”
She glanced back over her shoulder to find that Árdal pursued her alone now, his men nowhere to be seen; a matter which began to worry her more. She could hear their shouts as well as those of others coming from off in the woods to her left. There were torch lights behind Árdal, dim but there, and Shiovra knew others aside from his men lurked in the trees.
Suddenly, a chill of warning raced up her spine. Shiovra stumbled over a fallen tree and fell to the ground, rolling and narrowly missing an arrow that Árdal had shot at her. She crouched there for a moment, catching her breath and fearing that any movement would allow him to target her better.
“Dana protect me…” she muttered as she tried to rise to her feet, but pain seared through her body and she feel to her knees. Touching her side, she pulled her hand away to realize that she hadn’t missed the arrow entirely. Shiovra glanced over to see Árdal stalking towards her with the same wicked smile upon his lips.
Shiovra knew she needed to do something, and quickly. She rose unsteadily to her feet and focused on Árdal as she began gathering the energies around her, calling upon the elements of fire in a desperate plea.
Small flames sprang to life around him, small at first then quickly becoming a broad belt of fire. The flames crackled despite the rain and stretched, burning white hot as it encompassed him. They fire leapt at Árdal, reaching for him. It did not burn his flesh, merely held him in place.
Leaving Árdal trapped, Shiovra turned and hastened as quickly as she could away. It grew nearly pitch black as she ran into the deepest parts of the forest where the trees grew tall, their leave thick and branches intertwined. Passing through some thick brush, Shiovra stumbled, feeling weak from the injury she had sustained, and fell to her knees once more.
Breath came painfully hard and her wound stung terribly. Taking a deep breath, she sighed and rested there for a brief moment, a heaviness to her body. She knew she would need to treat the wound and bind it, but first she needed to be sure Árdal and his men would not be able to find her.
“Cousin,” came a soft male voice.
Shiovra let out a startled cry, and looked up.
Thunder rumbled lowly.
In the fleeting flash of lightning, she could see Daire leaning against a tree. He carried a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other.
Slowly, painfully, Shiovra made her way towards her cousin. Standing before him, she offered him a tight smile. “You could have followed me sooner, cousin,” she told him, then winced slightly in pain. “Much sooner…”
Daire frowned. “We were supposed to leave together, if you do not remember,” he scolded. “Instead you go off on your own and left me to face mother’s wrath. Alone.” He shook his head and exhaled. “I must confess. Though I do not wish to see you get hurt, it will only become more dangerous from here. You have been seen and identified. You will be hunted.”
Shiovra glanced away.
“Here.” Daire drew the sword sheathed at his belt and handed it to her. “He comes.” Daire’s face was hard, his eyes on the thick brush behind Shiovra.
“Árdal? Where is he?” she asked softly, trying to see in the darkness.
Daire brought a finger to his lips, demanding silence.
Shiovra obeyed, nodding.
Daire brought up the arrow and pulled the string back, ready to release at any moment.
Shiovra closed her eyes and focused on every little sound. The wind rustled slightly and the rain had dwindled to a soft patter on the leaves above them. Thunder was low and growing distant. Somewhere to her right a bird cried out warning. Then she heard it, the soft crack of a twig breaking. Shiovra’s eyes snapped open and she pointed. “There!”
Daire knocked the arrow loose and it whistled into the brush to their left.
Árdal stumbled through the thick brush, his men nowhere in sight, shaft of Daire’s arrow embedded in his leg. Despite his injury, he lunged for Shiovra.
The Priestess dodged quickly, bringing the blade up into a defensive position.
“Pathetic Milidh man,” muttered Daire. He glanced swiftly at Shiovra, face unreadable. “Ignore your injuries, they will only come to hinder you if you think about them,” he told her firmly in a low voice. “We can tend to them after we deal with this filth.” Daire nodded his head curtly towards Árdal.
Shiovra’s gaze shifted back to Árdal, watching as he clutched his leg in pain and tried to force the arrow out. Her well trained hands tightened on the hilt of the sword and she slowed her breathing, waiting.
A bird called out not far from them, a curious little whistle.
Daire chuckled lightly in response. “Took them long enough,” he muttered under his breath.
An arrow whistled through the trees, coming out of the darkness surrounding them, to land in Árdal’s already injured leg.
The man cursed and growled, breaking the first arrow shaft in half.
“Heh,” laughed Daire with a smirk on his lips.
Árdal turned his attention back to them, the arrow in his leg forgotten.
Daire reached for another arrow.
Growling liked a feral animal, Árdal lunged at Daire and flung him aside with one swift movement.
Shiovra twisted the sword to attack him, but he was too quick and seized her roughly by the wrist with one hand while the other clenched onto her waist. His grip bit into her wound and Shiovra recoiled, her grip on the sword loosening. That moment of weakness was enough for Árdal to force the weapon from her hand and try to drag her away.
“Stop where you are!” shouted a feminine voice, bringing a moment of pause to Árdal.
Shiovra watched as a woman garbed in men’s clothing with a spear in hand, came through the brush. She was followed closely by some men armed and ready.
“I said stay!” ordered the young woman when Árdal began to move again. Her curly honey-brown hair had been tied back and her lightly tanned skin was smudged slightly. Though men’s garb did little to hide her tall and slender form, the manner in which she carried herself demanded obedience. She approached cautiously and cast a quick glance to Daire. “Get up, Daire.”
Shiovra tried to pull out of Árdal’s grasp so the woman could freely attack, but his hand on her wound only tightened and she winced as pain lashed through her body.
“Pathetic,” hissed Árdal in Shiovra’s ear. “What good is a High Priestess who is helpless to defend herself and must rely on the weapons of others? And here I feared what power you might hold at your disposal. Such a pity.” The man laughed cruelly as he glanced over his shoulder. “Look at them. They think they will be able to keep me from taking you surely this must be a jest.”
Shiovra narrowed her eyes on Árdal. She would not let cruelly whispered words get to her. Instead, she would bide her time and focus on gathering the energies in the earth and trees around them. From the corner of her eye, Shiovra noticed her cousin rise slowly to his feet and draw and arrow.
“Have you forget about me so easily, Árdal?” Daire spat, knocking his readied arrow loose.
Árdal jerked towards Daire’s voice in surprise, loosening his grip on Shiovra. The priestess jerked herself free from his grasp.
“Shiovra! Stand back!” Daire yelled.
Shiovra easily dodged Árdal’s grasp.
Daire muttered something under his breath and released another arrow to speed towards Árdal. From the fletching sprang a silvery web that glittered and wrapped tightly around the man.
Árdal struggled briefly and then broke free of the web.
Daire cursed under his breath.
She focused all the energy she had gathered into a strong wind that began to whip violently around them.
The men who had come to their aid brought their arms up to shield their eyes.
Shiovra stood calmly in the center of it all, her hair and garments whipping frantically in the wind. Raising an arm, she created a protective barrier around the men and her cousin. The air grew utterly still near them, the turbulent wind blocked by a shimmering wall that surrounded them.
The summoned gale shrieked through the forest, ripping with the force of hundreds of swords. Trees clashed and rattled, branches lashed out. The priestess had turned the air and earth itself against the man who threatened her.
A branch broke from a tree and struck Árdal in the face, leaving a wide wound which blood trickled down from. But that did not bring halt to his advance upon the priestess. Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a dagger and threw it at Shiovra, aiming for her heart.
The priestess did not move, instead she stood her ground, eyes narrowed coldly on Árdal. Shiovra brought her hand up then quickly cast it aside in a smooth gesture. The dagger followed the movement of her hand to land blade embedded deeply in the ground.
“Is that all you have? So much for the power of a Túath High Priestess!” Árdal spat as he continued towards her, the winds dwindling down around him. “If you give yourself up to me, perhaps I shall spare their lives.”
Shiovra couldn’t help the short laugh that passed her lips. “Dare not step closer, Árdal, lest it be your last,” she warned.
The woods had grown calm once m
ore.
Daire knocked another arrow ready while the men cautiously approached.
Unfazed that he was clearly outnumbered, Árdal continued to advance upon Shiovra. “Don’t be coy with me, girl,” laughed the man. “I know very well that a priestess is not allowed to kill.” He grinned brutally and reached out with filthy hands for Shiovra.
She took a step back. “I said, do not step closer,” she warned firmly, keeping her calm.
“Shiovra!” Daire shouted.
From the corner of her eye, Shiovra could see the curly haired woman holding her arm out, keeping Daire at bay.
“Stay put, Daire, lest you get yourself hurt as well,” she ordered.
“I can help her!” Daire growled.
“Do not be a fool!” retorted the woman.
Árdal loomed closer to the priestess and she met his gaze steadily. His grin spread wildly as he reached his hand out to grab for her.
A triumphant smile touched Shiovra’s lips. The energy that had gathered around her prickled her skin and, as his hand neared, the air rippled suddenly and a blinding bolt of lightning crackled out at him.
Árdal cried out in rage and pain, flung away by the force of strong power. It would not kill him, only stun him.
Summoning the elements in such a form was exhausting and to have summoned more than one had taken a great deal out of her. Feeling drained, Shiovra fell back.
“Shiovra!” Daire caught her before she hit the ground. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously, steadying her.
“I am but a bit tired,” she reassured him, holding tightly onto his arms to keep from sinking to the ground. She took a deep breath, focusing on regaining her strength.
Crazed laughter swelled from Árdal as he rose unsteadily to his feet. Though his body shook from the lingering tremors caused by the lighting, the intensity of his laughter only grew and brought hesitation to the advance of the men.
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 5
