Standing over Ilkar, the foreigner suddenly spoke in Rotian. “Your people never know when to stop fighting and accept your fate.”
Instead of finishing Ilkar, the man suddenly spun and raised his blades, parrying Gorric’s sword as the young rotian tried to surprise him. Behind Gorric, Khir and Kithia were still in the boat, which was bumping against the pier. Khir was trying to steady his aim again but Kithia was scrambling after her brother.
Gorric was too slow to avoid the foreigner’s boot as it caught him in the stomach and pushed him back. However, as the man went to press the attack, Ilkar grabbed his legs in desperation. Before the foreigner could impale the corporal, Gorric gathered all the strength he could and charged into him, sending him reeling to the edge of the dock. Unable to regain his balance, he fell into the water but managed to throw both blades onto the stone floor as he did so.
“Now can we go?” came Varayan’s voice from just beyond the river exit.
Gorric and Kithia grabbed Ilkar, dragging the wounded corporal back to their boat. Behind them, a fully armoured invader appeared in the doorway but, as Gorric went to reach for his sword, an arrow flashed past him and took the invader directly through the visor of his helmet. Without even a scream, the man crumpled to the floor.
“I knew you could do it,” Gorric said to Khir, seeing his friend staring in disbelief at the body of the man he just slew.
As they eased Ilkar into the boat, Kithia saw the foreigner Gorric had knocked into the water dragging himself back up onto the dock.
“Get in the boat,” she screamed at her brother.
Gorric did not hesitate this time and they quickly began rowing after Varayan and Rynn once more, with Kithia cradling Ilkar’s head.
The foreigner calmly retrieved his sword and long knife then walked towards where his crossbow lay on the dock, an expression of suppressed rage on his face. However, as he neared the weapon, he hesitated and turned to face the doorway.
Gorric felt his heart momentarily lift as two Rotian soldiers entered but the invader instantly flung his long knife at one. The blade struck the soldier in the side of the head, impaling him through both cheeks. As his companion fell, the second soldier hesitated and the invader was upon him, slashing with his curved sword. The soldier managed to parry once before the sword sliced his throat.
As their boat moved beneath the portcullis and out of Turambar, Gorric, Khir and Kithia watched the invader turn and stare after them.
“Know that my name is Saroth,” he cried in the Rotian dialect. “The next time you see me, death will swiftly follow.”
Gorric put a hand to his aching stomach and then glanced at Ilkar, who lay unconscious in Kithia’s arms. He had no doubts that this Saroth was not used to his enemies escaping him.
“What do we do once we reach the settlement?” called Varayan.
“Find a man named Cullen,” replied Gorric. “Then we head south.”
As they rowed for the settlement on the southern bank of the Ulmerien, all five of them looked back at Turambar and shivered at the thought of what was happening within its walls.
Saroth watched the boats disappearing into the darkness. The water dripping into his eyes was only adding to his anger. The five Rotians who had managed to escape the doomed fortress were only young but he knew their faces now and would be watching for them on his next visit into the kingdom south of the river.
He turned to look down at the bodies littering the docks and saw that the soldier impaled by the long knife was alive and partially conscious. The rage Saroth felt at being embarrassed by the Rotians was partially released as he twisted the knife and wrenched it free of the soldier’s face. The man’s scream echoed through the tunnels beneath Turambar.
“Until I meet them again, it is you who must suffer for their insolence,” whispered Saroth.
He tortured the Rotian soldier until his rage had diminished, then sliced the man’s throat and headed back up to see how the battle had fared.
Chapter 19
The settlement on the southern bank of the Ulmerien was frantic with activity as the people who had chosen to make their homes there now made preparations to leave.
It had taken them years to build the small community opposite Turambar; families of fishermen and river barge workers mainly occupied the humble abodes.
However, the events of one terrible night meant that they had to flee south, away from the river and their livelihood.
The settlement spokesman, Cullen, strode past his neighbours as they began leaving and headed for his house, shooting a nervous look across the river where Turambar stood silent in the darkness. No lights could be seen at the fortress but the moonlight cast an eerie glow onto it and Cullen compared it now to an enormous gravestone, marking the ground where so many lay dead.
Entering his home, his wife met him at the door.
“The young corporal will not make it through the night I fear,” she stated solemnly. “He cannot be moved.”
“We can’t just leave him here,” Cullen snapped. “What of the others?”
“They have eaten but are exhausted. The young Orgillian has bruising but that is all.”
Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know that this a difficult time but we must prepare to leave too. It is too dangerous for any of us to remain here. I will speak with them about the corporal.”
With that, he moved past his wife and into the back room, swallowing hard as five pairs of young eyes turned to stare at him expectantly.
“Will we leave soon?” Gorric asked.
Cullen nodded then shifted his gaze to Ilkar, who lay on a blanket near the fireplace. The corporal was still unconscious but his body shivered and a fever was upon him.
“We will take you south,” stated Cullen. “Whilst some from the settlement will head off to stay with family elsewhere, I will see you to Vylandor, where you can deliver the message to the king.”
“Can you help Corporal Ilkar?” Kithia asked him, kneeling at the soldier’s side to wipe his brow.
“I am afraid that his wounds are too severe. The blades that struck him bit deep and nothing we can do will help.”
Rynn stood from a nearby chair.
“Let me look.”
“With all due respect, even an acolyte of the temple of Ardan cannot save this man,” Cullen said, impatience beginning to show in his voice.
“So we just leave Ilkar here?” growled Kithia. “After he risked his life for us?”
She looked to her brother for support but Gorric was gazing down at the floor.
“We appreciate what he did,” came Varayan’s voice from the corner of the room. “But he is beyond saving.”
Rynn crouched next to Ilkar and reached across his prone form, touching Kithia lightly on her hand.
“Let me look,” he repeated.
Kithia saw something different in Rynn’s eyes; a confidence that had not been present before. She smiled at the acolyte and nodded.
“I will help my wife get ready to leave,” announced Cullen. “Please, gather your belongings and join us as soon as possible.”
With that, the settlement spokesman turned and left the room.
Gorric raised his eyes to look around at the four other escapees. Whilst Varayan was moving to gather his belongings, Kithia and Rynn remained crouched by Ilkar. However, Khir stood with his back to them, looking out of a window towards the river. Gorric realized that his childhood friend had not uttered a word since they left the fortress and, moving alongside him, saw tears in Khir’s eyes.
“What is it?”
“Everything is wrong, Gorric.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Khir snapped. “We have lost our families, our friends, our homes and nearly our lives. First we are caught in the attack on Barentin and now Turambar. I am beginning to think that we are bringing death and destruction on the Rotian Kingdom. These invaders follow us as if we are the harbingers of war.”
Gorric had never seen
his friend like this and reached out to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Khir, this is not our fault. We just have to focus on getting to Vylandor as quickly as possible and telling Afaron what has happened. The Rotian army will retake the north and we will…”
Khir shrugged his hand away. “Do you really think that the army will be a match for these killers? You’ve seen what they are capable of. That one man below Turambar killed two trained Rotian soldiers in seconds and bested Ilkar easily. The other we encountered in Barentin was experienced in the dark arts of magic. This is a war we cannot win.”
“I know that we have witnessed terrible things during the past days, Khir, but we still have each other. I long to see my family again but I am no good to them dead and the only way I have survived is because we have stayed together. We are alive because we have looked out for each other and we need to keep doing so.”
“How did it feel, Gorric?”
“How did what feel?”
“When you killed that foreigner back in the tavern in Barentin.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t really have time to think. Why?”
“Because ever since I shot and killed that soldier below Turambar, I haven’t been able to get the image out of my mind. I am a forester’s son, not a murderer.”
“You shot that man knowing that, if you hadn’t, he would have attacked and possibly killed me and Kithia. Don’t feel guilty about protecting your friends and doing what you had to. These invaders deserve death for what they have done.”
Khir slowly nodded and drew in a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, Gorric. I’m tired and the events of the day have drained me. It is all just so surreal still.”
“Lets just concentrate on the here and now,” smiled Gorric. “Gather your things, my friend.”
As Khir turned away, he could not help but dwell on the life he had taken. He felt remorse for what he had done but he was also glad that he had used his father’s bow to shoot the invader. Somehow that seemed like the first step towards justice for what had happened to his family.
Gorric glanced down at Ilkar and noticed that Rynn’s head was bowed as he knelt beside the corporal. Kithia was looking curiously at the acolyte.
“Rynn, you don’t…”
“Silence,” Rynn hissed, cutting Gorric off mid-sentence and drawing surprised expressions from the others.
As Kithia opened her mouth to speak, Rynn suddenly looked up and she recoiled in shock. His eyes were clear like that of a blind man and the acolyte began speaking in a tongue none of them recognized. They noticed a soft golden shimmer appear beneath his hand as he moved it over Ilkar’s wound and the atmosphere in the small room shifted, making them light-headed.
With a final word, Rynn collapsed next to the corporal.
The others stared down at him in disbelief for a moment before Kithia quickly moved to his side. “Rynn?”
The acolyte’s eyes were his own again but he stared up at the ceiling as if paralyzed.
“Look at this,” said Gorric, pointing down at Ilkar.
There was a moment of stunned silence before Varayan laughed. “Rynn, you are full of surprises.”
Footsteps hurried down the hallway outside the room and the young Rotians looked up at Cullen, who stood in the doorway with a puzzled expression on his face.
“What happened to your acolyte friend?” he asked.
“See for yourself,” grinned Varayan, beckoning him over to where Ilkar lay.
Cullen moved alongside Khir and his jaw dropped as he saw only a scar on the corporal’s thigh, as if the terrible injury he sustained had happened years before. It was no longer bleeding and Ilkar’s breathing was already becoming more relaxed.
“How can this be?” Cullen muttered.
“Divine intervention,” answered Varayan. “Shall we go?”
Draliak paced the battlements of Turambar, shooting glances down into the courtyard where those Rotian soldiers who were captured alive during the attack were being lined up and chained together, ready to be moved to Boraila as Sephonis ordered.
He passed two of his own soldiers who were in conversation as they moved the body of one of their fallen comrades.
“This land has produced poor warriors,” remarked one. “We nearly killed all of them and they only took a handful of us.”
“Twenty seven Shada-Kavielians dead,” Draliak snarled at them. “Another twenty three wounded. You shame me with your lack of respect.”
The soldier looked stunned.
“That’s twenty seven more men under my command not returning home,” continued Draliak. “These Rotians were trapped inside this fortress and fought for their lives. Never be so arrogant as to assume each battle from now will be like this.”
“I apologize, commander.”
“I am going to leave some men here when I return to Boraila. However, you have earned yourself pride of place in the front lines when we meet these Rotians in true battle. Now get moving.”
Draliak continued his walk along the battlements and crossed to the south eastern corner, staring out over the river below. He could see the tiny settlement on the south bank but did not dwell on it and moved his gaze out to the expansive woodland beyond it that was so verdant in this region. Trees swayed in the cool breeze which often accompanied the early darkness hours of morning in the Rotian Kingdom.
“Another glorious success, commander.”
Draliak grimaced at the mocking voice behind him.
“Success, yes. Glorious, no. Perhaps you should not make light of battles you are not involved in, Balthus.”
“I learnt my lesson back in the trade town,” stated the invoker. “I was not going to get too close to the fighting this time, especially in such a limited space.”
Draliak turned slowly and was surprised to find Saroth standing next to Balthus, his usual calm visage betrayed by the burning embers of rage in his eyes.
“What troubles you?” Draliak asked him.
“Six escaped,” replied Saroth. “They fled via the river exit below the fortress.”
“Officers I assume?”
“Only one was a soldier. The others were young Rotians, including one who wore similar robes to those at the temple in Boraila, and there was a female with them.”
“This robed Rotian,” began Balthus, suddenly taking an interest. “Were he and his companions all roughly the same age?”
“Yes.”
“One who was more well-built and stronger than the rest, who looked as though he could handle a sword?”
Saroth shot a dark look at the invoker. “Yes. Did you see them too during the battle?”
Without realizing he was doing so, Balthus put a hand to the scar he had received in Barentin. “They were here and they got away again.”
“What is it?” Draliak was growing impatient. “Who were they?”
Balthus momentarily saw the face of the young Rotian who had slashed his face and recalled the robed men lying in the mud of the tavern courtyard. Anger welled up inside the invoker.
“It cannot be a simple coincidence,” he said through gritted teeth. “The young Rotians who escaped me in Barentin were here.”
“They managed to evade me and took an injured soldier with them,” growled Saroth bitterly.
Draliak frowned. “How is it then that a group of young Rotians have twice managed to slip through our grasp?”
“I underestimated them,” Saroth admitted.
“We must go after them now,” cried Balthus. “By now, they will be away on the south side of the river but we could easily find them.”
“It is of no consequence,” Draliak remarked. “There is no point chasing them down when they hold no threat to us.”
“No threat?” Balthus was growing increasingly agitated. “They will take word of our invasion to the southern regions and the Rotian army will know of our presence on their shores.”
“That is inevitable. We are not moving men south of the river yet. Sepho
nis knows that the Rotians will become aware of us soon and he will sit back to watch their reaction. Do not let your thoughts of revenge dictate your actions, invoker. Otherwise, that scar will be the least of your problems.”
Balthus shook his head and moved away to stand glaring out towards the river.
“The invoker has not yet learnt to keep his emotions in check,” Saroth said to Draliak as the commander stepped close to him.
“He does not have your resilience, my friend. Still, how did these young Rotians manage to evade you? I cannot recall anyone managing to do so before.”
“Nobody will do so again. I do know that two of their number were called Gorric and Khir. I will be listening out for those names in the future.”
“I would be interested in knowing who they are and why they have been at two of the locations we have attacked recently. Still, I doubt that they are significant.”
“If you no longer have need of me then, commander, I will take my leave and begin my journey back to the Rotian capital.”
Draliak studied Saroth’s face for a moment, trying to work out whether he was keen to be away so as to try to find those who escaped him or whether he genuinely planned on heading straight to Vylandor.
“How long will you stay there?”
“I will need to be there until they learn of the invasion. Then I can find out what they plan to do through my contact.”
“Most likely they will send a large force north aiming to cross the river but we will be watching the coast too for any Rotian ships.”
“I agree. My experience with the Rotians leads me to believe that they will react in a direct manner. Their king will lead as large an army as he can muster but he will not be so stupid as to try to take back Turambar. They will cross the river further to the east.”
Draliak nodded and drew in a deep breath. “If so, then that is where our two forces will meet in battle. I tire of the brief skirmishes and of fighting during the hours of darkness.”
Severed Destinies Page 17
