The Restorer

by Sharon Hinck

  A wall of Hazorite riders charged forward. Away from the foot of the mountain. Past the men from both sides battling on foot. Into Morsal Plains.

  Toward us.

  I drew my sword and watched them come, keeping the corner of my eye on Tristan. My heart pounded in readiness and terror.

  They thundered up the slight incline where we waited.

  Tristan’s arm came down and our army flew forward with a roar. I didn’t have time to think as Mara bolted forward. Hooves chewed up the ground. My heart rose into my throat. The distance closed with bewildering speed and our cavalries collided.

  A sword arced toward me and I swung, unseating a Hazorite with a blow, though there was no time to absorb that fact before I saw another man heading for Tristan. The guardian was exchanging heavy blows with a mounted Hazorite, and I kicked Mara forward to intercept the second soldier. I sliced downward, then sideways—inelegant, but effective.

  Keep your eyes open. Don’t drop your sword, I coached myself as I cleared a path around us. Mara helped. She kept turning, anticipating attacks. Several times an enemy sword whistled toward my head, but Mara pivoted in time for me to block it. The instincts that had developed in me over the past weeks were fully grown now. The enemy’s blades seemed to move toward me in slow motion, giving me time to react and counter and attack repeatedly.

  I was no longer aware of sounds. The clanging, shouting, screaming, trampling noises all became muted. Even the booming claps of thunder barely registered. My eyes were open, but didn’t fully absorb the sights around me. Faces twisted with hatred and pain. Lehkans reared. Weapons flickered along with the lightning. Bodies fell. The images were a moving painting brushed with blood. Blood on the swords, blood on the men collapsing forward in the saddle, blood on my hands. Everything blurred as if I were seeing it underwater. I lost track of time. I might have been fighting for minutes or hours. Or for an eternity. I was trapped in an eternal nightmare of slashing and turning and shouting.

  I spun and searched for Tristan. He was still nearby. I pulled up closer as his lehkan lowered its head and gored a Hazorite from the side. The soldier fell and the lehkan he had been riding sprang away.

  Tristan spared me a glance, scanning the field around us. We were in a tight knot of Braide Wood cavalry, and had beaten off twice our number of Hazorites. We had a moment to breathe, and Tristan rode closer to me. “You’re hurt.”

  I shook my head, but then followed his gaze. The sleeve of my tunic was sliced open, and blood had poured down my arm. I never felt it. “It healed. What’s next?”

  He wheeled his lehkan and headed partway up the hill and I followed. We still had a large percentage of our cavalry, but our soldiers in the valley were being driven back. More and more Hazorites poured down the side of the mountain. And they were angling their attack toward the forest. Our last line of defense before Braide Wood.

  Tristan shouted over the noise and thunder and moans. He held his sword high and all the riders gathered to follow. We rode hard to the edge of Morsal Plains near the woods, cutting off the advance of some of Hazor’s soldiers. The hacking, spinning, shouting confusion resumed as we held the line. But Hazor kept coming.

  “There’s too many.” Tristan’s face was hard and set, even as he kept swinging, but despair edged his voice.

  I nudged Mara forward and tried to work faster. The battle was like fighting the acid-spewing minitrans. I ignored anything that hit me and just kept whacking.

  My efforts didn’t seem to help. I could drive back soldier after soldier, but more replaced them. Some had already slipped past our line and begun to climb up through the forest toward Braide Wood. Tristan would call a retreat if he could, but there was nowhere to retreat to.

  Several Hazorites on foot targeted him at the same time, and through sheer force of numbers got close enough to impale his lehkan. The animal screamed and its legs buckled. Tristan sprang from its back before he could be crushed and continued fighting on foot.

  I moved closer to get between him and the next rows of Hazorite soldiers that continued to stream forward. Each time I could spare a glimpse back at Tristan, he had collected another wound and was moving a bit slower than the time before. I looked around our cavalry for help, but we were too few and too scattered.

  Another flare of light burned my retinas, and a deafening crash shook the air. Some of the Hazorites pulled back, only to be urged forward by their captains. Rain burst from the sky in a torrent. I lifted my head for a second, eager to let the water wash away the sweat and blood that streaked my face. I drove back a few foot soldiers and continued to keep my seat, using my added height to give Tristan some aid. I heard more rumbling, but this time the sound continued on and on. I looked up, confused. It wasn’t thunder. I squinted across the battlefield through the sheets of rain.

  From the far side of the plains, behind the advancing Hazorite army, something was moving. It took a moment for the Hazorite army to notice, but the infantrymen farthest from us began to turn. At the same time, one of the Braide Wood riders finally fought his way close to us and leaped from his lehkan. He shouted to Tristan and offered him his mount. Tristan didn’t argue. I moved in to cover him while he pulled himself into the saddle. From the back of the lehkan, he was able to look out across the Morsal Plains with me and see what was coming.

  It was a cloud of screaming banshees. At least a hundred mounted warriors. They rushed toward the rear lines of the Hazorite army and sliced through without pause. Mud spattered up from the heels of their lehkan. Grim, hardened men faced us over the field of Hazorite soldiers.

  “Who are they?” I shouted over the confusion of the storm and the fighting.

  I saw a flash of white on Tristan’s face when he grinned. “The two lost clans! Forward!” His shout rang out and was echoed by the other cavalry still fighting. The guardians attacked with new energy.

  The Hazorites became compressed between the two forces. They couldn’t pull back, so they retreated to the side, back up the steep slopes of the mountain.

  I stayed close to Tristan as he moved forward, aiming to meet the army that had come to our aid. My sword whirled, faster and faster. Something stabbed my leg, but I ignored it. Hands tried to pull me from the saddle, but I thrust my sword downward and broke free.

  As Hazor began a full-fledged retreat, I scanned the faces of the clans heading our way, curious about these people who had left the Council years before. They looked very much like the men from Rendor or Braide Wood. In fact, one of them looked a little like Mark. I jerked and Mara pulled up short for a second.

  It was Mark. The Rendor emblem covered the front of his tunic. His wavy hair was plastered to his head with rain, and he bounced crazily as his lehkan galloped forward. But if his riding was clumsy, his sword work was virtuosic. His blade flew side to side as he mowed his way through the Hazor army. Wade rode by his side, the Braide Wood emblem on his tunic.

  I kicked Mara’s sides and she jolted forward. I fought with new vigor, clearing a path toward my husband.

  Mark saw me coming and grinned. “I could never get the hang of riding these things,” he shouted. I quickly scanned the area around us. No Hazorites were left standing in the vicinity. They had all pulled back or fallen.

  “We thought you could use a little help,” Wade added with a wink. Tristan nudged his mount toward us, through the mass of riders from various clans. I didn’t know what to do with my arm now that I had nothing to swing at. I rode hard right toward Mark, causing his lehkan to startle and spring to the side, almost unseating my husband. While he struggled to calm his mount, I moved in again, slower this time.

  Tears ran down my face. “How . . . who . . . what did you do?” I couldn’t throw my arms around him from my saddle so I settled for reaching out my free hand.

  He grabbed it. “After I helped Jorgen get the guardians supplied, I convinced him to let me go ask for help
from the two lost tribes. The clans had to unite. Hazor would have targeted them next.” We held on to each other’s hand, struggling to stay together in the sea of moving riders. I kept snapping my head around, finding it hard to accept that we were out of danger. Nearby, Tristan was already greeting the captains of the other clans, giving them his thanks, and pledging his alliance.

  The bulk of our army slowly moved toward the mountains. The Hazorites scrambled up and over the ridgeline like beetles skittering up a cave wall. Tristan ordered one patrol group to pursue, but only to the ridgeline, to assess whether they planned to try again. I strained my hearing and tried to pick up snatches of words from the retreating soldiers. It was hard to make sense of it, but the voices I overheard held terror and confusion. I reassured Tristan that they really were retreating.

  “Susan, Markkel, head up the trails toward the village,” Tristan said. “Some of their men got past us. Be careful.” He didn’t wait for our answer, but turned to snap orders to others among his men.

  We rode slowly toward the forest. “Let’s go on foot,” Mark said. “I can’t wait to get out of this saddle.”

  I quickly agreed. The steep and narrow trails up through the woods were difficult to navigate on lehkan. We left our mounts in the care of some of the Braide Wood cavalry and paused to hug each other fiercely before trudging toward the trees. Wade held off a discreet distance, but then followed like Mark’s faithful shadow.

  Mark was eager to get away from his lehkan. I was desperate to get away from the site of fallen guardians and bloody Hazorite bodies that littered the plains. I drew a deep, shuddering breath. Relief began to well up inside me. We had done it.

  Mark paused again to turn me toward him. He rested his forehead against mine. “Thank the One you’re still alive. When we came over the ridge all I could see was the Hazor army pouring across Morsal Plains.”

  “You saved us all, Mark. How did you convince—”

  I never got a chance to finish my question. A silent grey shape dropped from a tree branch overhead and knocked Mark to the ground. Another slipped from between the trees and swung a sword at Wade.

  I lifted my blade, but someone grabbed me from behind, and another shape moved in with inhuman speed. A dagger sliced into my sword arm, and I caught a glimpse of it. A venblade. My arm went numb as its poisons seeped into my system, and the sword fell from my hands. Something slammed into the side of my head, and I fell backwards. Masked, hooded faces looked down at me. Kahlareans.

  Chapter

  33

  Mark and Wade wrestled with their attackers in a flurry of sounds out of my line of sight—crackling underbrush, grunts, and thuds.

  I was desperate to help them, but numbness from the venblade was affecting more than my sword arm. One of the Kahlareans dragged me deeper into the trees by my upper arms.

  I couldn’t feel the ground scraping past beneath me. My right arm dangled, useless, and traced a path through the pine needles. The paralysis terrified me. My left hand fumbled toward my belt. I found the signaler Kendra had given me and pressed the thumb-sized panel on it.

  The clear tone shrieked and my captor dropped me. Another assassin found the device and yanked it from my belt. The two of them argued over the noise of the alarm, until one of them ground it under his foot. The sound stopped.

  Had it been enough? The Braide Wood cavalry had been close to the edge of the woods. Help had to be coming.

  “Are you sure it’s her?” said a reedy voice.

  “Just kill her. We have to leave.”

  Nearby, the sounds of fierce struggle continued.

  God, please save Mark. The prayer screamed in my mind. I looked up at the trees. The Kahlareans had been trying for a long time to kill the Restorer. Anger washed through me, that we should come through so much only to have it end like this. It wasn’t fair. I pushed the thoughts away and with effort turned my head slightly. I wanted to see Mark one more time.

  Instead, a grey-masked shape crouched beside me, venblade poised over my heart.

  My right hand twitched. Some sensation was returning, but I couldn’t force my body to move. I couldn’t fight back. Despair tore at me. I didn’t want to die this way.

  A twig cracked and the ground vibrated under my head as pounding feet ran toward us. The Kahlarean near me stiffened and turned. Someone charged toward us, and a sword grazed the Kahlarean’s arm, sending the dagger flying out of his hand. The assassin rolled away and came up with a sword, and immediately swung at the man who had interrupted him.

  The man ducked and parried expertly. Kieran. His clothes were covered with mud and blood. He must have joined the battle after the syncbeam suppressor broke. If death weren’t hovering so nearby, I would have enjoyed watching him fight. He never stopped moving. My eyes could barely follow the rapid strikes. He drew the Kahlarean back away from me, circled him, and blocked every attack with cold efficiency.

  I struggled again to move. This time I could put some weight on my right arm. It felt dead, with the pins-and-needles feeling of a limb getting circulation back. I propped myself up on my right elbow.

  The second Kahlarean ran from behind me to retrieve the venblade that had fallen onto the forest floor. His eyes tracked the duel for a second. Then he turned to advance on me, sword loose in his left hand, venblade raised in his right.

  I pushed back with my hands and barely traveled a few inches.

  The assassin took another silent step toward me. Protruding, relentless eyes targeted me through his grey mask. Beyond the man’s shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Kieran as he struck a lethal blow to his opponent. Kieran didn’t stop to breathe. He raced at the second Kahlarean. The man heard him coming, and spun away from me. He threw his venblade at Kieran, who sidestepped. The dagger flew past him, just grazing his shoulder. The Kahlarean switched his sword to his right hand and ran forward to meet Kieran’s attack. Swords clashed as the men circled each other.

  Hope and adrenaline filled my veins. It would be over in a minute, and then we could go help Mark and Wade. I was already able to move the upper half of my body again. I managed to sit up, but couldn’t get my legs to work yet.

  Kieran again maneuvered his opponent away from me. He took a step back, drawing the Kahlarean forward, and swung a killing blow.

  But the assassin was fast, and spun under the strike. He came in tight and cut Kieran across the torso. Kieran stumbled back.

  I couldn’t see how bad the wound was. Footsteps were approaching, and I prayed it wasn’t more Kahlareans.

  Kieran swung again, and the Kahlarean blocked him.

  Movement flickered in the dense forest. Mark and Wade dodged around the trees at a run, getting closer to us.

  The Kahlarean saw them coming, too. He backed toward me.

  Kieran tried to stop him. He launched himself forward.

  The Kahlarean was ready for him, and dodged past, slicing as he crossed Kieran’s path. Kieran gasped, made a half turn toward the assassin, and fell to one knee. The Kahlarean thrust his sword straight into Kieran and pulled it out. Kieran collapsed onto the ground just as Mark and Wade reached us.

  The hooded assassin ran. Wade immediately gave chase, while Mark paused beside me. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Get him.”

  Mark followed Wade.

  My legs still wouldn’t support me, so I crawled the short distance over to Kieran. He had fallen forward, and I pulled on his shoulder, turning him. I was already mentally reviewing every Red Cross class I’d ever taken. Pressure on the wounds to stop the bleeding. Keep the victim warm to prevent shock. His body rolled back; blood covered him.

  “Kieran. Stay with me. Help is coming.”

  His eyes were vacant, staring past me at nothing. He was already gone.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. If I didn’t move this wouldn’t be real. Time wouldn’t mo
ve forward. This wouldn’t have really happened.

  Mark and Wade ran back through the trees toward me.

  “We got him,” Wade said. He and Mark skidded to a stop. “Is he . . . ?”

  I closed my eyes and dropped my head. I couldn’t speak. Mark was beside me in a second, his arm around me. My shoulders started shaking.

  “He died because of me,” I whispered.

  “No,” Mark murmured against my face. “No. A lot of people died today. It wasn’t because of you.” I heard more footfalls on the pine needles.

  “What happened?” Tristan asked. “I heard the alarm.”

  “Kahlareans attacked us,” Wade said. “They’re all dead.”

  Tristan wasn’t listening. He walked forward to look at the body next to where I was huddled. He hissed a sharp breath in, but when I looked up at him, his face was a hard mask of control.

  Tears ran down my face. “He saved my life.”

  The guardian didn’t look at me. Mark gently pulled me back to give Tristan room.

  For the next hour, I had no strength or desire to move. Mark sat with me, quietly reminding me that Braide Wood was safe, that many lives had been saved, that we had done what we were meant to do. I tried to feel something besides the shock and pain, but couldn’t. We had won, but it didn’t feel the way I thought it would.

  Tristan had showed no emotion since the moment he knelt and closed Kieran’s eyes. He sent Wade for two guardians to carry his friend’s body. He continued directing troops in the final search of the woods for Hazorite stragglers. He organized help for the wounded. He made sure I had recovered from the paralysis of the venblade. But not once did he meet my eyes.

  Later, when Wade and Tristan returned with two men and lifted Kieran’s body onto a blanket to carry him up to the village, Mark rubbed my back. “We should go.”

  I nodded, but still couldn’t muster the energy to rise. I picked up a twig and twisted it in my hands.