by Philip Blood
“Come on baby, I know it hurts, just a little further,” he whispered to the dying mare, knowing the pain she felt because of the duplicate wound in his shoulder.
Coming over another rise he saw his goal, the soldiers had picketed their horses on a rope tied between two trees, only sixty yards ahead. Just then his horse finally gave up the fight and its front legs buckled. Together horse and rider fell. Hetark was launched over the head of his falling mount. He tried to turn the fall into a roll and partially succeeded. The bolt in his left shoulder was wrenched painfully as he rolled across the forest floor, and suddenly that last sixty yards looked like twenty leagues to the bloody, battered and wounded knight.
Elizabeth looked back to see what was wrong just in time to see Hetark angle away from the group on his wounded horse. She started to turn her horse, but she felt her son in the sling and realized that she could not risk the heir; Hetark would have to survive this one alone.
Tears came from her eyes, but she looked forward and concentrated on staying on her fast moving horse as they galloped through the trees.
Figuring they were passed the trap and out of range of the bows, Elizabeth dropped her shield to conserve her powers. It was then that Major Von Dracek stepped from behind a tree and released an aura attack in a bolt of yellow energy that hit Elizabeth before she even knew what was happening. It was similar to the attack she had used on the vorghoul. The energy wrapped itself around the contours of her body and began to burn and eat away at her aura.
The suddenness of the surprise attack came too close on the shock of the ambush, and Elizabeth’s aura had been overused and weakened from the recent uses. Only her training from her Kirnath School and the strength of a mother protecting her son allowed her to get control of her aura through the burning pain.
With an ear-shattering scream, the enraged Elizabeth brought her aura powers under control again and the energy from Von Dracek’s attack was destroyed by her rigidly controlled aura in a blinding flash of dissipating energy, but there was a cost, that effort damaged her spirit.
By then their galloping mounts carried them past Von Dracek; but Hetark was nowhere to be seen.
Von Dracek leaned heavily against a tree and watched the retreating backs of Elizabeth and her knights. His body was weak from the expenditure of spirit and his mind dumbfounded that she had somehow survived the blast.
He had expended almost every bit of power he had in an effort to destroy the sorceress before she had any chance to resist, but he had expected to get some of that expended energy returned to him once hers had been consumed. Somehow she had turned the tables and destroyed all of the aura power that he had sent, so nothing would be returning. It would be days before his powers healed to their full capacity.
The only consolation was that he had seen the wound to her spirit in her aura colors, and that would mean she would not have her full abilities back for even longer. He could afford to follow her for a few days, recuperate his aura and still attack her while she was wounded.
He turned and looked toward the horse picket and was instantly concerned, two of his men were ahead of him and running in that direction. He remembered that one of Elizabeth’s knights had ridden away from the others. Dredging up what little energy he had left the major began to run toward their horses, his only hope was the scout Mauklar who had been left to guard the mounts.
As the dust settled around Hetark he lifted his head and looked toward the enemy’s horses; he winced as his shoulder informed his body that movement was not in his best interest. An enemy soldier with a drawn blade was running toward him, his fast pace eating up the last forty yards to where Hetark sat nearly helpless.
Hetark looked back at his dead horse and saw his loaded crossbow still miraculously attached to the back of his saddle. He wondered if he had the energy to get to it in time. Finding strength from pure desperation he half crawled and half drug himself to the weapon. It was tied onto the saddle by a leather thong. He didn’t have time to untie it, so he reached down to his boot knife, which he discovered was now missing.
Telling himself not to panic, he quickly pulled his sword and cut the thong. He could hear the footsteps of the approaching man behind him crunching the forest leaves in quick jabbing steps, so he rolled onto his back and fired up at his leaping attacker.
The bolt struck the Tchulian scout on the left side of the chest and spun him around, but his momentum carried him down onto Hetark who watched helplessly as two hundred pounds of man landed on his poorly treated body.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs. After a moment, Hetark gasped in a breath and then mustered up the strength to push the wounded enemy off his chest. The man let out a moan of pain as Hetark pushed him onto the ground. Hetark staggered to his feet and looked toward the horse picket. Everything around him, including the ground, seemed to move in a slow rotating fashion.
His first crazy thought was, How did I get drunk? Then he remembered the crossbow bolt in his shoulder and started into a tilted, staggering run toward the horses. He knew that more enemies would soon show up for a chance to stick something pointy into his already mistreated body.
When he reached the horses they shied away from the smell of blood coming from Hetark’s wounded shoulder. He untied the first horse and reached up to the saddle horn to pull himself up with his good arm. Once there he maneuvered the horse over to one end of the picket line. He leaned down to cut it loose, nearly falling off his horse as pain shot through his shoulder from the embedded crossbow bolt. He took that end of the line and rode to the other side where he cut the other end free and then wound both ends around his saddle pommel. All thirty-two horses were now attached to the loop of rope he had secured to his saddle horn.
Starting slowly he got the whole herd moving into the forest; luckily the horses were skittish and eager to run.
From behind him, he heard the sounds of pursuit, but they were too late, he had the horses going faster than a man could run.
Now, he thought, if only I can keep from falling off until I get far enough away, I should be fine, but the world kept spinning.
Major Von Dracek was livid. He paced up and down by Mauklar’s mortally wounded body occasionally kicking him as he passed to punctuate each sentence. Mauklar had stopped moaning after about the fourth kick, the pain had shocked him into unconsciousness.
“Vorg take you all! I want to know who let that bastard get through to the horses, it was only one man, there are eleven,” he paused long enough to kick Mauklar again, “make that ten of you brave, tough, mean and girlish simpletons!” He kicked the body at his feet again, then he continued to rant and pace. “I’d make you carry me to Lindankar on your filthy backs if I wasn’t too embarrassed to return!” He gave the still body of Mauklar another boot and then added, “Big tough Tchulian soldiers, the best in the world, soldiers who can’t even stop one man from taking your horses, let alone a Kirnath sorceress!”
Mauklar, who was now dead, received one last kick as Von Dracek finally walked away from his cowering men. Just as they started to relax he suddenly turned and spoke again, the men jumped, having thought he was finished. “Make camp here, obviously, we aren’t going anywhere for a few days,” then he turned his back and walked away, still fuming.
Bante waited what he considered a sufficient time for his commander to cool down before approaching the major to say, “We have a horse, Sir.”
Von Dracek looked up from the log on which he sat and frowned up at Bante.
“Oh, did our quarry feel sorry for us and drop one by?”
“No sir, it was one of that knight’s two spare mounts, it wasn’t hurt badly when it fell, perhaps a few bruises. Did you wish to take the horse and follow them alone?”
“Of course not, but I will use it to go for more competent help. Where is the beast?”
“The men have it over there,” Bante said gesturing with his hand toward a nearby stream. “What should we do in the meantime, Sir?”
&nb
sp; “Have you considered suicide?” the major asked viciously.
“No, sir,” the corporal replied quietly.
“Maybe you should, you let your men be ambushed and killed, and then ran like a coward, and now you have let our quarry escape with our horses. If by some chance you don’t decide to kill yourself, then, start walking,” he commanded.
“Should we follow the sorceress?”
Von Dracek closed his eyes as if counting to ten before he said, “No, you imbecile, do you think that if they can wipe out a mounted group of our soldiers without losing a single man, that they can’t do it again when the men are on foot? Bante, pretend not to be the fool you actually are, it would be such a pleasant change. Head back to the city, I will send new mounts for you and the men, it wouldn’t do for the citizenry of Lindankar to see ten Tchulian mercs returning from being whipped like common weffs by three boys, a woman and a child. May Vorg defile our souls if the story ever gets out that they killed ten Tchulians before making fools of the rest. Try not to get lost or fall in any holes on your way back, understand, imbecile?”
“Yes sir,” replied Bante in a tightly controlled voice. He was fuming inside at having to take the insults Von Dracek was dealing out, but he feared the man too much to show his anger, so he just took the abuse and dreamed of the day he would kill his commander, slowly.
Von Dracek watched his corporal’s eyes carefully as he responded to make sure the proper fear was still keeping him in line. After a moment of study he was satisfied, so he added in a more calm voice, “Now, fetch me that nag. I can’t wait to degrade myself before that slimy necromancer. I’ll have to tell him about the awesome exploits of the crack Tchulian soldiers I recommended we send to kill a woman!”
The corporal happily left his angry commander to go and order the horse made ready.
Meanwhile, Von Dracek was thinking, If only I could choose the men who become officers, but I have to take imbeciles like Bante just because they have the auras necessary to learn the art, it’s a sad world.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let that corporal get away,” Drake said wistfully. The sorry looking group was walking their horses along the forest. They were hoping that Hetark would catch up to them, but with each passing moment, that hope dwindled.
Gustin looked at the hunched over body of Elizabeth who rode with both hands clenched around the saddle horn to keep herself from falling. Then he spoke softly to Drake, “Who would have thought that the corporal would double around us and meet up with his commander in time to warn him and set up that ambush?”
“He is half rodent, or more than half, he must have ridden through the bush.”
“Well, I think I owe the rodent for this,” Gustin said, pointing to the crossbow bolt which projected from his thigh. He had a piece of cloth tied around it to slow the bleeding, there had not yet been time to attempt any further medical aid.
Drake nudged his horse until it moved up next to Elizabeth’s mount and then he said, “Milady, what’s the matter, are you wounded?”
Looking up tiredly Elizabeth gave the concerned young knight a wan smile through the strands of hair that hung down around her weary face and her answer came in a whisper. “I am indeed injured, but not in the physical sense. We suspected, but weren’t sure that the Tchulians had sorcerers with enough training and power to deliver that strong an attack. If I had been ready for it I could have defeated it without damage, but I wasn’t and it caught me at a bad time. I'm sure he planned it that way, he meant to destroy my aura and kill me, and he nearly succeeded, I barely managed to get control of myself and destroy the attacking energy. He lost a lot of power in that attack, but I damaged my spirit and that is much worse than just losing aura power,” she explained.
“What does it mean when you say your spirit was damaged, is there something we can do to heal it?” the small knight asked hopefully.
“No, it’s something only time can heal. Think of it as a wine skin, it’s easy to replenish the wine when it was used up, but if the sack itself is damaged it must be glued and mended before it will hold the wine again,” she said to explain in terms he would understand.
“Can you use any of your powers before it is healed?” asked the concerned Drake.
“Yes, but every use of power diminishes my reservoir and what is used will not come back swiftly until my spirit heals,” was her bleak response.
Gustin spoke in a sharp tone, “Quiet, I think I hear horses. Yes, we must run, milady; there are many horses coming, ride swiftly, ride!”
They urged their horses into a gallop. Gustin looked back for signs of pursuit and spotted a single rider coming around the bend. He swayed wildly in the saddle and then suddenly tumbled off his horse to fall on the ground. Gustin reined in and watched as a large group of riderless horses appeared around the bend.
“It’s Hetark!” Gustin called loudly to Drake and Elizabeth.
Drake heard him and galloped forward until he could lean down and grab the reins of Elizabeth’s horse and bring it to a halt.
Gustin swiftly rode back to the fallen body of Hetark. When he arrived he dismounted without regard for the pain in his wounded leg. He knelt by the fallen knight where he lay on his back covered in dirt, caked with dried blood. Gustin propped him up and gave him a drink from his belt skin. After a moment, Hetark cracked his eyes open slightly and managed a bit of a smile in thanks to the big man. “Have I taken the River to heaven?” he jokingly asked with a croaking voice.
“No, my friend,” Gustin responded quietly, “you have a few things yet to do in this world before you ride the River; besides, I’m too ugly to be your Greeter.”
Hetark looked back at the pack of horses that had come to a stop a few yards away. “I brought you a new horse.”
“I can see that Hetark, quite a few, actually. How did you ever manage that?” Gustin asked with a gentle voice and a simple smile.
“I got a good deal; all I had to trade them was one healthy Knight Protector for a half dead one and the horses. It seemed like a bargain at the time,” the wounded knight explained.
Drake and Elizabeth arrived and dismounted, Elizabeth immediately knelt by the fallen knight. “Is being mortally wounded becoming a habit, Hetark?” She asked, but she smiled at him to take the sting out of her words.
He looked up at her and replied in a weak deadpan voice, “I’m not positive, but I think someone may be trying to kill me, can you imagine that?”
“They’re probably after you for assaulting your poor friends with your odd sense of humor,” answered Drake from where he stood nearby.
Elizabeth rubbed her forehead with the fingers of her right hand and tried to concentrate on focusing her weak powers to heal the wounded aura of the knight. She was so tired and weak that she could not get herself into that calm center she needed to project her aura and heal. Reverting to her earliest classes in healing at the Kirnath School, Elizabeth began to use the words that she had not needed in years to focus her power. In a soft chanting voice, Elizabeth spoke a few words that were strange to the ears of the knights,
“Aleir nu sien, E’ dir lih brees.
Aleir nu sien, E’ dir lih brees.
Aleir nu sien, E’ dir lih brees, A’ Terelat.”
As she finished her chant she took hold of Hetark’s shoulder gently, sweat began to seep from the pores of her face as she concentrated with her eyes closed and then spoke softly, “Drake, pull the bolt from his shoulder, slowly.”
Drake reached over and gently pulled on the barbed bolt. He expected resistance as the barbs dug into Hetark’s flesh, but the bolt came out easily as if the tissues were moving out of the way. When the end of the bolt came out of Hetark’s shoulder Drake saw the wound quickly seal over and then heal.
Without breaking her concentration Elizabeth moved her hand over to Gustin’s leg and a moment later she instructed Drake to pull the bolt from his leg the same way.
When he was healed she opened her tired eyes, but when Hetark sta
rted to speak she held one of her slim fingers to his lips to quiet him, and then asked in a barely audible voice, “You managed to take all of their horses?”
He nodded.
“Thank you, Hetark,” she whispered, her strength weakening, “this means that they can’t catch us for a few bells.” She turned to Drake and said, “I must rest, will you please watch over Michael?”
He nodded and with the last of her strength Elizabeth handed the young heir to the small knight, but when she tried to stand her body finally gave up and the world went dark as she lost consciousness. Gustin caught her before she could hit the ground and the three knights shared a look of woe at the sight of her unconscious body.
Gustin carefully lifted her up and cradled her against his huge chest and then carried her off the road towards a shady glen. Once there he gently lay her down in the soft pine needles. He sat down beside the unconscious lady and placed her tired head on the pillow of his lap.
It was dusk, so Drake began building a fire nearby while Hetark worked on picketing the horses. Gustin pulled his sword out and lay it near his reach. He prepared himself to stay awake and guard their courageous lady until she woke refreshed or he died of old age.
Two nobles sat together in a private room within the Lindankar palace. One of the two men had made sure no one else was around or had seen them enter.
They were sharing a bottle of dark red wine poured into slender elegant glasses; a loaf of thick crusted bread and a crock of, butter were also on the table.
Confident that they were alone one noble held his glass up to the light while gazing into the depths of the wine; the beam of sunlight from the single window reflected blood-red bands of light across his face.
