by J D Abbas
Silvandir turned to the others with a scowl. “They have been running the perimeter, ahead of our men, warning the other Ilqazar of the creatures that are approaching who look like shamari but can stand and fight like men. They call them Zakad, though they have not been seen for over a century. Other Ilqazar said they observed dozens of Zakad circling the village, looking for places to break through. Many had already entered.
“Do you know what direction the creatures are headed?” Tobil asked the stallions.
Qaman whinnied loudly and shoved Silvandir with his muzzle.
“Here? How did they know where to find us?” Silvandir asked.
Fasha pushed at Silvandir too.
“There’s no time for questions,” Tobil said. Facing west, he whistled loudly three times. Turning east, Tobil repeated the trill. In the distance, Silvandir heard the signal being passed on. Straightaway, Guardians appeared from every direction.
Not far behind them, howls broke out. Silvandir no longer mistook it for the shamari. It was a battle cry.
“Mikaelin, Braiden,” Tobil called, assuming command, “take Lavan’s and Braqor’s families to Treymor’s. If the enemy is headed here, they will be safer at their brother’s homestead. Take five of our men with you, in the event you are pursued.”
The men moved quickly. Mikaelin and Braiden lifted up the women to ride behind their men. They gave a child to the remaining Guardians, setting them behind them so the men could still use their swords if necessary. “Hang on tight,” Mikaelin warned the children. He and Braiden put the youngest boys in front of them, and Lavan and Braqor rode alone. Within minutes, they were galloping east toward Treymor’s.
~
Mikaelin and the others had ridden nearly a mile when the Ilqazar suddenly veered north, leaving the road. Howling erupted not far ahead. They had only traveled another half mile before the horses turned sharply again, this time toward the west.
“Th-they’re surrounding us,” Braiden called. “W-we won’t make it t-to Treymor’s.”
“Back to Lavan’s!” Mikaelin said. “Fly!”
The Ilqazar turned and galloped southwest with all their strength. Baying surrounded them on all sides now. The Guardians drew their swords, warning the women and children to hold tightly. Braqor and Lavan seemed to find it difficult to stay astride their Ilqazar. Mikaelin knew the stallions would protect their riders, moving to counter any weight shifts they felt from the brothers.
When the cloud cover shifted, one of the men yelled, “Shamari!”
Moonlight fell on the field in front of them, revealing a wide half-circle of wild dogs just ahead.
“Those aren’t shamari; they’re Zakad!” Mikaelin said as the creatures tightened their ranks in order to block their path. “Ride through! Braqor, follow me. Lavan, follow Braiden.” Mikaelin heard the baying of Zakad closing in behind them.
As the stallions forged ahead, the Zakad rose up on their hind legs, arms extending from muscular chests, to stand nearly six feet in height. They pulled swords from beneath their hairy cloaks, ready for battle.
The Guardians formed a solid line, leaving only enough room to swing their weapons from side to side. The Ilqazar didn’t hesitate but plowed full force into the Zakad, while the swords of the Guardians severed the heads of the vile creatures right and left.
Mikaelin heard a frantic, high-pitched scream and turned to see Lavan’s middle son fall to the ground. Zakad immediately surrounded him.
“Noooooo!” Lavan wailed, flinging himself into the fray, his dagger stabbing blindly. Lavan’s Ilqazar stayed by his side, kicking, stomping.
“Braiden, take the boy.” Mikaelin pulled alongside the healer and handed Braqor’s son to him. “Go to Lavan’s and send help.” When the others slowed, he called, “The rest of you, go!”
Nakara shrieked and looked as if she might leap to the ground. “Get her out of here,” Mikaelin called to her guard. “Hurry!” Nakara screamed and fought as the Guardian urged his Ilqazar to a full gallop. He gripped her arm around his waist to keep her from jumping.
At Mikaelin’s command Lazhur swung around and charged into the fight. With his free hand, Mikaelin pulled his spare sword and leapt to the ground, slashing right and left. His stallion tried to clear a path to the child, but the Zakad just kept coming. The child’s screams stopped just as a spray of blood went up from where he’d been.
Sickened, Mikaelin turned to find Lavan surrounded. He and Lazhur hacked, stabbed, stomped, and kicked until they reached him. Mikaelin ordered Lavan to mount.
“No, I have to save my son.”
“He’s gone, Lavan. We have to get out of here. There’re too many.” Mikaelin swept both blades outward and lopped off the heads of two Zakad. “The rest of your family needs you.”
Lavan drove his dagger between the eyes of a creature as another rose behind him, ready to pounce. Mikaelin lunged and stabbed it in the belly, twisting the blade. It fell with a thud.
“Now, Lavan!” When he didn’t respond, Mikaelin dropped a sword, grabbed him by the collar, and shoved him face first over the back of his Ilqazar. “Winzod, take him home.” He slapped the Ilqazar on the rump then swung his sword as he stooped to pick up his discarded blade. The half-human creatures pulled back and formed a circle around him, standing on their hind legs and waiting, as if this were a game. Lazhur charged into the ring, trampling those in front of him. Mikaelin grabbed the saddle and swung onto his back even as Zakad lunged for his legs. Lazhur surged forward. A blaze of light and pulsing energy burst from the stallion as he plowed through the wall of Zakad a second time. The creatures flew backward as if they’d been kicked.
Without breaking stride, he continued toward Lavan’s home. “Well done, my friend,” Mikaelin said, leaning into Lazhur’s neck. “I didn’t know you could do that.” The stallion tossed his head and whinnied.
The surviving Zakad dropped to all fours and charged after them, howling fiercely. They were joined from all sides by creatures who had lain in wait.
When Mikaelin rode into Lavan’s yard, he saw Lavan and Nakara clinging to each other, their children hanging onto their legs as Haldor ushered them into the house.
“There are dozens of Zakad headed this way,” Mikaelin called to Tobil as he leapt to the ground. “We killed twenty, at best.”
“Are you hurt?” Tobil asked.
“Just a few bites and scrapes.” Mikaelin pushed aside Tobil’s hand. “The Zakad will be here in less than a minute.”
“Stand ready!” Tobil called. The men immediately moved into position. “Arm your bows!”
The Guardians encircled the house, their backs to it, arrows strung, the Ilqazar behind them. Clouds moved in front of the moon once again, giving cover to the approaching enemy, who crept noiselessly through the brush.
Zhalor, the prince of the Ilqazar, whinnied loudly. Stallions burst from within the circle, pushing the Guardians aside, and charged into the surrounding fields, forcing the enemy from their cover and trampling as many as they could with their mighty hooves. They then darted into the darkness and out of arrow shot.
The Guardians immediately followed their maneuver with a shower of arrows, aiming for the sources of the yelps. Their bows were true, their arrows merciless, rending heart after heart of the Zakad.
Still, dozens more approached, silently, stealthily, waiting until they were just a few feet away before pouncing with the agility of a wolf but the strength of a Rogaran, their full weight nearly twenty stone. Their powerful jaws focused only on Guardians’ throats.
One after another, the Guardians dropped their bows and unsheathed their swords, impaling the beasts that sprang at them. Then, wrenching their blades free, they turned to lop off the heads of those that attacked their brothers, only to stand ready for the next assault.
From across the yard, Mikaelin saw a Zakad lunge at Tobil’s throat while he was busy battling another. “Tobil, watch out!” Mikaelin called as he fought his way toward him. The weapons master
raised his arm and blocked the attack, but the impact knocked him to the ground. The creature latched onto Tobil’s forearm, easily piercing the leather vambrace, embedding its teeth in the flesh and yanking it from the bone. The Zakad tugged as if to rip the limb from Tobil’s body until Haldor’s blade pierced its heart, and it fell limply on top of the weapons master. Haldor grabbed the dead beast’s snout and snapped its jaw in two, releasing Tobil’s arm, just as Mikaelin reached them. Together they carried Tobil into the house, his limb mangled and lifeless.
Dalgo and Braiden were busy at work inside. Several men were being treated for gaping wounds on their faces and arms. The healers were binding the injuries as quickly as possible as men continued to come through the door. Mikaelin caught a glimpse of Lavan and his family huddled in a far corner. He slipped outside before they noticed him. Although he had done the right thing in forcing Lavan to return, he suspected the man might not see it that way.
Outside, when the spray of arrows had ceased, the Ilqazar returned, trampling the grass once again, forcing the Zakad to expose themselves. Mikaelin joined the other Guardians as they moved in and slew beast after beast, relishing the plunge of his sword into fur-covered flesh, whooping with delight as the massive wolf-like creatures fell. They battled on until the field was littered with half-human corpses. By then, the Ilqazar had pulled back, galloping in an ever-widening circle, preventing the escape of any foe.
When there was no more movement in the grass, the Guardians gathered and burned the carcasses of the Zakad: two hundred and fifty-two in the final count. All creatures of the field and sky stayed far from Rhamal that night as the foul stench filled the air.
The wounded among the Guardians, too many to care for in the house, overflowed into the yard. The Jhadhela was not with Braiden or Mikaelin to heal, so the men had to depend on the skills of those who could bind and stitch. There was not enough cordial for all the injured.
Men cursed the Zakad as they cried out in pain.
Chapter 25
Haldor, taking over command for the injured Tobil, sent Silvandir and Mikaelin, along with two others, to make sure all was well at Treymor’s. Along the way, Mikaelin was wary, but this time they encountered no obstacles and found the house quiet and dark. As Silvandir dismounted and approached, Shatur, who had stayed there earlier, opened the door.
“Is everything all right?” Treymor called from behind Shatur. “We heard howling and the sounds of fighting.”
“We were attacked at Lavan’s home, and a fierce battle ensued,” Silvandir replied.
“Attacked? By whom?” Shatur asked.
“Silvandir, watch out!” Mikaelin said as a large shadow fell from the roof, knocking Silvandir to the ground; another followed. Mikaelin leapt from his horse, drawing his sword midair, and thrust it into the chest of a third creature springing from the roof. The impact threw him to the dirt with a painful thud. “Close the door,” Mikaelin called to Shatur as he yanked his sword free and turned toward Silvandir.
One creature had his jaw locked around Silvandir’s face; the other was tearing at his leg. Mikaelin dropped his sword and pulled his dagger. He plunged it into the throat of the Zakad who had Silvandir’s thigh and yanked it to the side. The creature fell. Leaping across the carcass, Mikaelin lunged at the Zakad attacking Silvandir’s face. He drove the blade into the creature’s chest and twisted it with a growl of his own. The Zakad’s jaw remained locked even as he collapsed onto Silvandir.
The other Guardians dismounted and charged as two more Zakad pounced from the roof and sprang toward the entrance to the house. The Guardians’ swords fell strong and sure cleaving the creatures’ heads from their bodies, their noses lying at the threshold of the door. They dragged the carcasses away, tossing the heads into the night, and searched the grounds for any other beasts that might be hiding.
Mikaelin knelt next to Silvandir, who was frantically trying to free his face from the creature’s bite. “Hold still; you’re tearing the skin,” Mikaelin said as he pulled the enormous jaw apart, removing the teeth from Silvandir’s flesh, being careful not to do more damage. The upper teeth were imbedded near his left eye, the lower under his right jaw. The skin on both sides of his face was mangled and bleeding profusely.
“Thorndon, give me something to press against the wounds.”
The man ran to his satchel, pulled out a shirt, and handed it to Mikaelin.
“Graedon, see what you can do with his leg,” Mikaelin said as he tore the shirt in two. He handed half to Thorndon. “You take the neck.” Mikaelin worked on the facial wounds.
Graedon snapped the jaw on the other creature and released Silvandir’s leg. The teeth had torn into the muscle on his right hip and thigh, nearly ripping the flesh from the bone at one point.
Mikaelin heard the door to the house open. Shatur ran up behind him and stopped cold when he saw Silvandir’s condition.
“Bring him inside,” Treymor called from the doorway. His wife hurried to get water and towels as the men carried Silvandir to the main room and laid him on the wood floor. Puddles of blood formed too quickly around him. Mikaelin was amazed his friend didn’t cry out; he had to be in excruciating pain.
Treymor’s wife stifled a scream when the light fell on Silvandir’s face. There was so much blood, it looked as if one side had been torn off. They cleaned and bound his wounds as quickly as possible.
“We need to get him to Dalgo,” Mikaelin said.
“He can’t ride, not with his leg like that,” Thorndon pointed out.
“Then he will ride with me. I’ll hold him.”
“I’m too big, Mikaelin. It won’t work,” Silvandir rasped.
“I have a cart,” Treymor said. “I’ll bring it around.”
“No,” Mikaelin snapped. “Thorndon and Graedon will do it. Tell them where. You stay in the house.”
The men had the cart ready to go in a short time. Mikaelin and Shatur wrapped Silvandir in a blanket and carried him outside. It took all four Rogaran to lift him into the cart.
“Treymor, get your family into the wagon; it’s not safe here,” Mikaelin said.
They were on the road within minutes and arrived at Lavan’s with no further trouble.
“What happened?” Tobil called as they approached. He was back at work though his pale arm hung limply in its sling.
“Zakad attacked us at Treymor’s,” Mikaelin replied. “Silvandir’s wounded.”
Men rushed forward and helped to carry Silvandir into the yard, where Dalgo and Braiden were busy working by lantern light.
“There were five,” Mikaelin told Tobil, his words spewing with venom. “Three of them pounced on Silvandir from Treymor’s roof, two more headed for the house. The vermin are all dead now.” He would gladly have slain a hundred more of the vile creatures, if given the opportunity.
Dalgo immediately set to work on Silvandir, doing all he could—which, looking at the damage, Mikaelin feared might not be enough.
~
Mikaelin woke with a start when he heard Silvandir groaning. He had fallen asleep lying on the ground next to him. Mikaelin sat up. “How are you this morning?”
“I’ve had better days.” Silvandir tried to smile, but his mouth barely moved. “I could use some water.”
Mikaelin cradled his head and put the water pouch to his lips. Silvandir’s jaw was so swollen and bruised he couldn’t open his mouth. Mikaelin parted his lips and let the water fall between them, a little at a time. Much of it ended up spilling over his chin and onto his neck and chest.
“I didn’t ask for a bath,” Silvandir rasped.
“Though you are badly in need of one, my friend.” Mikaelin tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow.
In the light of day, he was able to see the true extent of the damage. Silvandir had so many stitches on the left side of his face, he looked like a tailor’s project. The tissue on his cheek had swollen into the eye, pressing it shut. His nose was torn down both sides. The right jaw and neck were also
patched together. Had the beast bit an inch farther to the right, Silvandir would have bled to death within moments. Mikaelin’s eyes burned at the thought.
“Do I look that bad?” Silvandir asked, through tight lips.
“Not as bad as after your youthful nights of drinking and carousing.”
Silvandir scowled. “You never saw me like that.”
“That’s true, but your reputation was the stuff of legend among the young men in the valley, so I can well imagine.”
Silvandir grabbed his arm and gazed up at him with sudden intensity. “Mikaelin, I did terrible things.”
“We’ve all done things we deeply regret,” Mikaelin said, more serious now. “That was years ago, my friend, and you have proven yourself a man of honor and valor many times over.”
“But I can’t atone for what I took from those girls,” he added, his voice filled with grief. “I was as bad as those who hurt Elena.”
“You were never as bad as those who destroyed Elena’s life.” Mikaelin’s words snapped with anger. He knew what she’d endured, and there was no comparison. “You were young and foolish, not evil. Now enough of this death-bed confessional. You are going to get well and have many more years to redeem yourself,” he added with more confidence than he felt.
Silvandir gave him a troubled look but stopped. “How… how is my leg?” He tried to raise his head enough to see it but couldn’t. Mikaelin didn’t offer to help him; better he not see it. “I don’t feel much pain.”
Mikaelin tugged at his beard. “Dalgo had to stitch the flesh back onto your hipbone and thigh. It’s probably good that it’s numb.”
“Will I lose it?”
“I believe it’s too early to tell.” Though in his heart he knew it was futile to hope.
