by AS Hamilton
'Ah, but this time Malithorn 'forgot' to tell Liacoren,' Colnba said with a grin.
Nisari smiled. 'Then it might not be as problematic as you think, we could get Ko-rayen here without telling anyone. Although you best hope Liacoren does not discover how Malithorn 'forgot'.'
Colnba shrugged. 'It was a risk, I grant that. At the time Malithorn was in a particularly generous mood and I took the chance to get Ko-rayen an easy trip back to Sal-Cirus. By making sure he did not tell Liacoren, I ensured no later objections were raised.'
Nisari made a sound of puzzlement. 'We still cannot bring Ko-rayen here without replacing him and we do not have the mages for that. If I recall, empathic reading requires close proximity.'
'Mmm-hmm, it does. Ko-rayen used to climb to Toormeena's eighth-storey window and meditate on the ledge.'
The memory brought another smile to Nisari's lips. 'Yes, Toormeena had that spontaneous desire to have an indoor herb garden and had the custodian bring those two long planters off the ledge and moved to the solarium. I was always amazed Ko-rayen did not fall and break his neck.'
'The young are prone to foolishness,' Colnba commented, echoing Nisari's wistful smile.
'Toormeena used to leave a blanket out there — wove it herself,' Nisari added. 'I think Ko-rayen still has it. Such sentimentality is quite unusual in the Ko-renti bloodline. Do you think Ko-rayen now knows better than to sleep on the ledges of windows in order to be close to his chosen one?'
Colnba scoffed. 'He's a Ko-renti, he has little enough sense as it is.'
Matching his light-hearted tone, Nisari said, 'Well, he certainly cannot spare any then.'
Colnba leaned against the window. 'Due to the nature of dreams, we cannot take days to organise this. What we need to decide is whether we get Ko-rayen back here or take Leyhera to him. Considering Leyhera's history, whatever he's dreaming is worth knowing.'
Several moments passed as Nisari consulted the paths around Toormeena's present and future. Frowning, she looked up. 'The paths seem clear around Toormeena, but my intuition remains uneasy. Last time we thought it was safe to keep watch through the planes Malithorn almost killed her. Malithorn may be here, but that does not mean she is safe.'
'The question is, who can we afford to lose, should it come to it — Leyhera or Toormeena?'
'Ha! That's easy, neither.'
Colnba agreed, and watching Nisari pace in a small circle, he could feel her apprehension growing as she reviewed the paths. Both prisoners were highly sought by the rebels and any sign on the paths of an opportunity to get them would be paid urgent attention. They reached a decision together: Leyhera would go to Sal-Cirus. If the rebels got hold of Toormeena they would have more than just The Prophecy. Although Malithorn and his cohorts thought all the seer saw was a vision, Colnba and Nisari had discovered that the Saviour had actually spoken to Toormeena from the future. That conversation would have contained much more than just the events that occurred.
'I cannot leave until—'
Nisari stilled in her pacing to meet Colnba's gaze and gave a slight shake of her head. 'Not you. He will miss you. So will Liacoren. Malithorn dismisses me, I am female and elvan, therefore I am useless. I can be explained as being ill, I have the history to support it.'
Her comment drew a huff of objection from Colnba. 'The only reason you have a history to support it is because when Keldon took you hostage, the cursed House of Brynn-a-kai failed to negotiate your return.'
Nisari caressed his cheek. 'But you came. You summoned fire and lightning and you got me back.'
Colnba sighed irritably. 'Too late to save you the injuries that still make you so physically frail. Were you in full health, you would easily out match Liacoren. As it is, you may break a sweat, but you still out match that poor excuse for a mage.'
'That poor excuse for a mage still manages to monitor us on our own planes. She deserves respect,' Nisari reminded him.
Sneering briefly, Colnba closed his eyes. 'I know, I know, but leave me what solace I gain through my unheard insults.'
Nisari reached up and cupped his cheek. 'We will regain our freedom, ena e-yen sa,' she said, using elvan for my cherished one. Nisari looked down at her pale-gold silk dress and raised her hands to exhibit the draping sleeves. 'I think I should change before I leave, but that will give you time to put Leyhera into a trance.'
Colnba shook his head absently. 'Of course, we need to put him into a trance, especially with Riqumorgia's mages scanning the planes for any sign of those mages he suspects we have captured.' The rebel leader, who often went by Riqu, had been trying to locate where Colnba and Nisari were keeping their prisoners. Colnba rubbed his temples. 'Forgive me, I have not slept for some time and feel a bit witless. I will meet you at the tunnel cross section with Leyhera and your horse.'
Leaning up, Nisari kissed him, letting her lips linger, she hated being away from him. It was the binding that did that, at least in part.
As she departed, Colnba turned back to Leyhera. The journey-walker was soon on his bed, deep in a trance.
Day 2 – Late Morning
Mehani Woods
They must be insane! Sershja thought. No sane creature would follow such a treacherous path. All it'd take was misstep and it could mean anything from a bruised rump to a broken neck. And not just for the horse!
He struggled uphill for a short while and then they were heading downwards again. Sershja found himself making perilous leaps over large boulders that seemed to appear from nowhere. What looked like a harmless bush in the distance often turned out to be a very hard rock. Sershja then found himself wasting precious breath cursing as he launched himself desperately over them.
'Many apples, if we get through this, Brynn. Enough apples to make me sick!' he exclaimed, jumping a fallen tree.
Brynn clung resolutely to his mane. 'A whole fate-cursed bushel of them, Sershja, a whole bushel,' Brynn promised.
'Make it two and I won't be quite so hard to listen to,' Sershja countered.
Brynn found himself choking with mirth despite the seriousness of their situation. 'No, not with your mouth that full!'
The ground started to level out as they came off the mountain and into a valley. Sershja, able to see more clearly now, allowed himself to stretch into a proper gallop instead of the stumbling run induced by the slope of the mountain. The horse's huge chest heaved with the effort of the strenuous run, his flanks wet with sweat.
They were coming up to another stream, probably the same one from further up the mountain. Sershja adjusted his stride to make the jump. He launched himself smoothly, but the stream was too wide. Landing short of the bank, Sershja stumbled. Unable to recover, horse and rider went down in a tumult of water.
Brynn burst through the water and scrambled to the bank just as Sershja surged out of the water. The charger pranced fretfully for a moment before he spotted Brynn and could see he was safely out of the water.
'I'm sorr—'
Brynn cut him off, shaking his head. 'It is not your fault, seeca,' he gasped, hauling himself back into the saddle.
Pausing, Brynn looked towards the men bearing down on them. He groaned inwardly; there were at least twenty of them! Kinsen's patrol must have met up with at least two others and somehow became aware of his presence. Instinct told him to only use his talent when no other options remained, which meant a confrontation. He assessed their surroundings: there was a small hill in front of them and rocky flatlands to the right. He urged Sershja up the incline to its apex. It would give them the advantage of bearing down on their attackers
Brynn patted Sershja on the neck, the gesture both comfort and encouragement. The horse always got nervous in confrontations. Activating the crossbow built into his left armguard, he felt the first bolt shift into place as the arms sprang open. When the first of his pursuers came into range, Brynn fired. Before the bolt reached its target, the next bolt shifted into place. The soldier's horse flinched and reared just as the bolt struck, sending its ride
r to the ground. Brynn reflected that the fall probably injured the soldier more than the bolt in his shoulder.
Sershja shifted restlessly.
'Hold,' Brynn directed, his tone low and tense.
Another rider broke through the trees. If it was indeed three patrols, there would be three more soldiers, unless some had fallen on the upper slopes. Brynn fired again and scored a hit to the chest. He felt a moment of pride, Sarre, who taught him archery, would have praised that shot.
The main body of the patrol was crossing the stream now, some vaulting over like Sershja, others wading through. A long stretch of flat lead to the rise of the hill they were on. He needed to start his charge when they reached the base of the incline for it to be effective.
The next shot was wide, missing completely. Brynn did not dwell on it. He followed through with a hit to a soldier's collarbone. Running out of time, he fired his remaining bolts less carefully. He scored another shoulder shot. Sarre always said to aim for the chest on their sword arm side, even if you missed the chest, their fighting arm would be weakened. One bolt struck a rider in the throat, ironically, he slumped over but retained his seat. The next was a shoulder hit and the last missed, but made the rider jerk the reins hard, yanking the horse's head and bringing them both down.
Unclipping a new cartridge of bolts, he replaced the empty one with a shake in his hands. It was not quite like his practice on the planes, for one thing, this was really happening, not a scenario where all players were illusion, but this was not his first fight, either. At least his parents had been there those other times, with Sarre and Kassan guarding him too.
After a deep, steadying breath, Brynn dug his heels into Sershja's flanks.
Sershja lunged forward with a leap. The jab of heels into his sides was a little harder than he would have recommended... The boy was nervous. So was he. Their attackers were just starting up the hill, the long slope causing them to slow. Sershja barrelled into them, crashing midway through the group before the bodies of the other horses brought him to a stop. Three men fell under Brynn's short sword. Between strikes, Brynn fired two more bolts, taking down two others. Then it was too crowded to use the crossbow effectively, indeed, Sershja could hardly move. The charger rose to his hind legs and kicked out with deadly force. Lashing out with his teeth, he gripped a man by the arm and jerked his head back, pulling the mercenary off balance until he fell from his mount.
Brynn now attacked with his short sword, occasionally using a boot to shove an assailant away while dealing with another. He grabbed one man and shoved him into the strike of another and then took the opportunity to fire from the still open crossbow as they momentarily blocked the other soldiers on that side from getting at him. Another man approached from behind bringing his horse alongside Sershja. He grabbed Brynn's braid and tried to drag him off. Brynn tried to yank himself free while attempting to fend off strikes with his sword and stay in the saddle. Growling in frustration, he realised there was no easy way to get free. At that moment, Sershja reared again, knocking back the attackers from the front. Taking advantage of the brief reprieve and the better position, Brynn reached back and placed his fist under the chin of the soldier beside him and fired a bolt.
Many of Sershja's attacking movements were well-trained responses to signals Brynn gave him through talent. One type of signal and he would make a quick thrust forward, carrying his rider away from an attacker. Another, and he would grip the closest man and jerk him from his seat. Yet a third kind, and he would lunge forward or make a half turn and strike at whichever unfortunate soldier was in his path, depending on which way Brynn indicated at the time. From this training he learned when to make an attack on his own, depending on what was happening, but the link to Brynn meant they fought as one unit, sharing each other's senses and knowledge.
The taste of blood filled Sershja's mouth. He had bitten a rider and received a thump on his nose. Sershja knew this was no time to think they would die, for such thoughts would bring doubt and doubt would bring death, for it led to hesitation. That was why they had practiced it hundreds of times, again and again, until Sershja no longer hesitated, but performed the movements automatically, making decisions in instants and acting on them.
It hadn't been easy at first; Sershja's will unconsciously battled against Brynn's intrusion into his mind. Then Brynn found a way to work with Sershja's will, instead of overpowering it, allowing them to reach a new level of harmony.
A fallen man rolled away from Sershja's stamping hooves as the horse swung tightly around to allow Brynn to meet the next threat. Through his bond with Brynn, Sershja knew his rider was wounded and hard-put to defend himself.
Sershja stumbled and as he regained his footing he risked a glance downward. The fallen man was slashing at his legs. Sershja dodged, almost sending Brynn tumbling to the ground, and then brought a hoof squarely down onto the man's chest.
There seemed to be no fewer men than when they'd first started. The attackers were now working as a team, too, having recovered from Sershja's initial charge. They kept the charger hemmed in, harassing Brynn from all sides. Sershja rose, screaming in defiance as he kicked out.
The warrior studied the scene below as the hawk circled above. The lone elvan was an amazing sight; his long braid whipped about almost as fiercely as the powerful strokes, neat and well delivered. The efficiency of his fighting style was exceptional; no move was wasted.
He was young though, and did not have the height and reach of an adult elvan. She'd been right about the crossbow; it worked as smoothly as designed. He still didn't have a chance. So far, they had killed seven men, after cutting down six before their charge. It was an impressive feat for a lone fighter, but now he was just delaying his own death.
Their teamwork was a beauty to behold. Not only had the charger brought down soldiers, he hindered numerous attacks by turning or kicking when least expected.
That short sword was a waste of time, she thought. He could do more damage if he had a real sword. She guessed that the elvan had some sort of back-up plan, a way out. This was more of an intuition. Yet she felt compelled to intervene.
To aid him would mean a delay to her search.
She should let him fend for himself...
The warrior muttered a curse — they were Abbarane's men down there.
Brynn heard a blood-chilling war cry ring out moments before a huge, black dwarven charger ploughed through the attackers using her horns to sweep men out of the way or slash them. He knew it was a properly trained warrior horse from the sharp steel tips on the end of her horns. The horse's rider wielded two swords, and even as she drove one through the middle of a soldier, she kicked another so hard he fell to the ground, giving her horse the opportunity to crush him. Then, without even glancing in his direction, she tossed one of her blades towards him.
And just in time.
Dropping his short sword, Brynn caught it and in the same movement brought it about to prevent a soldier’s blade from finishing its swing towards his neck. Turning the soldier's sword aside, he stabbed him in his abdomen, because of the longer reach of the sword the warrior had given him, it was a killing strike rather than critical wound. The dead man slumped from his horse and tumbled to the ground even as another soldier closed in. With the warrior's arrival, Brynn found he was only being attacked from one side now, which allowed him to be more effective. He slashed at the next attacker's arm and then, as he flinched, Sershja carried Brynn forward enough for him to pierce the man's chest. Sershja stumbled as the warrior's horse bumped into him. The black charger leapt forward, using her horns drive back their opponents. Brynn could not afford to focus on the warrior though, as two more soldiers engaged him, one coming in from behind. Sershja turned so Brynn could better defend himself.
They fought on for what seemed like only a short while more before Brynn suddenly found himself unopposed. Hoof beats sounded off to his left. Sershja turned as Brynn reloaded his crossbow with a new cartridge. He took careful
aim at each of the three men riding away at a headlong gallop, before firing five bolts with deadly effect. He then turned towards the clanging of swords and the sound of horses clashing.
It was not just any rebel who had come to his aid, but a warrior in the full regalia of her profession. She quickly dealt with one man and then raced off after a retreating one; several more lay in the vicinity of her attack. Having dispatched the runner with lethal precision, she sheathed her sword and turned her charger towards him. Brynn took in the armour and the helm that was reminiscent of a hawk's head. The face beneath the helm appeared mature with experience rather than age. She was tall with a black and red-gold braid emerging from beneath the helm. Definitely elvan — Ko-renti, at that. A hawk, with feathers of an astonishingly similar colour to her hair, landed on her shoulder, its talons gripping a leather piece incorporated into the shoulder plate.
The style of her armour intrigued him. He had only seen the black-plated skirt and upper body armour once before, as with the knee-high armoured boots. There should be two other pieces to protect her arms, but she did not seem to possess these. The armour belonged to members of the fenjo; once the justice keepers of the Elvan nation. That was before former Crown Hasdeen replaced them with her own authorities. When they fought Keldon, House of Tiengara had fitted out their forces with more sophisticated armour. Brynn had never seen the newer version; Keldon had gone to a lot of trouble to get every last scrap. The armour had been controlled by mind-will, useless to his soldiers, but it made elvan much harder to kill. So after every battle, he collected it. A majority of the rebel ranks were made up of fenjo officers, but not many wore armour these days, not even the older style. This warrior seemed not to care if a patrol caught her wearing the armour. But then, he did not think they would live through the experience, in any case.
