“I am hunted.” It was a quiet statement of fact and Torrin could detect only resignation, as if it had been a long association.
“Surely six together are better than one alone.” He did not say one woman alone. She had obviously survived somehow on her own for quite some time.
A brief, wry, smile appeared on her face as if she had heard his unspoken thought. “I cannot ask it of you. Too many have died already.”
She began to step past him back to the camp, but he stopped her, circling his hand about her arm. “Who hunts you?”
She stilled and Torrin realized she was tensing, ready to act. He released his grip and stepped away but in front of her again to wait for an answer.
She frowned. “Why are the men of Eryos so stubborn? Have you never seen a woman who can fend for herself?” She looked hard at him for a moment. “I am being tracked by a trieton of Raken.”
Torrin’s stomach clenched, a cold prickle ran across his scalp. “A full trieton?”
She nodded in the dark.
“For how long?”
“For about a month. Ever since I set foot in this land.”
“These Raken, they have tracked you into the Wilds?”
She cocked her head. “By ‘Wilds,’ do you refer to this forested region?”
“Yes.”
She nodded, looking around at the trees. “I believe they are not far behind me.”
“Then it was you they were after, not us.” Torrin said quietly.
She looked sharply up at him. “You’ve been attacked by Raken?”
Torrin shook his head. “No. We heard a large group of them today behind us, but a very large one has been following us. It came right into our camp last night, but escaped when the alarm was raised.”
She nodded her head thoughtfully but offered no explanation. If she had one, she was keeping it to herself.
Another thought struck Torrin suddenly and he wondered how he had missed it. “They must be immune to the plant,” he said, more to himself.
She frowned. “What plant? Do you speak of Erys’ Bane?”
“Erys’ Bane?”
“The vine that grows through this forest,” she gestured vaguely around them. “It is very poisonous.”
Torrin nodded. “We do not know it by that name, but yes…how did you learn of it?”
“Where I come from there is a very similar vine — different coloured flowers but the leaves are identical. It is found high on the slopes of some volcanoes.”
“And where have you come from?”
She shook her head, dismissing the question. “I am from a place long forgotten to this land and its people.”
“You are Myrian.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I did not think any here knew of us.”
“Arynilas knows of your people,” Torrin replied.
“The Tynithian?”
“Yes.”
A flash of white teeth in the moonlight – he took it for a smile. “You are not like any of the people I have met here,” said Rowan.
“I would be surprised if you had met anyone like us. We are an unusual group. The races of Eryos do not share company.” He glanced up at the stars, then looked back at the woman, Rowan. He couldn’t see the green of her eyes in the darkness but he remembered it well. She was very weak, though trying hard not to show it. She reminded him of some of the young soldiers he’d had under his command in Ren – stubbornly refusing to show weariness and pain.
He supposed he could wait for morning to satisfy his remaining questions. She needed rest. “Come, it is time for me to wake Arynilas for his watch. You should get some sleep to rebuild your strength. We will speak of this further in the morning.”
*
Rowan went to sleep feeling vaguely like a chastised child. The big dark haired swordsman had somehow assumed command of something that was none of his concern. She thought briefly of stealing away in the night, but they had set watch and would see her before she had gone two steps. She doubted she had the strength to do anything on her own at the moment anyway. The short walk in the trees and the time she spent standing talking to Torrin had drained her.
Besides, it was very comforting to be surrounded by people again. It had been so long since she had felt safe, without being constantly on her guard. She had no illusions about these people. She knew nothing about them, where they were going, or why such a motley group traveled together. They seemed easy with one another though, a rapport only gained through long hours spent together in friendship.
She had been in bad shape when she had first met them and her pride still smarted. In her weakened state she would have been in trouble if they had been hostile. When the strangers had finally shown themselves, minutes past when she had first begun to detect them, one glance had revealed how well armed they were.
She couldn’t believe they had spent two and a half days tending her while she was unconscious. Given what she had so far encountered in this land, she would have expected to be robbed and left for dead. Instead this strange group of companions had gone to the trouble of caring not only for her, but her horse as well, taking them along as they traveled.
She knew only that she didn’t want to repay their unexpected kindness by getting them all killed. Hathunor made a fine traveling companion, despite his ferocious appearance. And he was able to detect his people far before she or her big horse Roanus could.
Her huge companion had been waiting for her in the trees at the edge of the clearing when she finally woke from the fever. He had been very worried about her but knew that the people she was with were able to care for her better than he could. When she walked out into the forest in the hopes of finding him, his huge form had materialized out of the dark shadows and he had gently scooped her up into his massive arms. She assured him that she was safe and in no danger but asked him to stay out of sight until she was sure the strangers wouldn’t try to kill him.
She had originally sent the great Raken into the trees to ensure his safety when he had first heard the approaching men. The last thing she wanted was a misunderstanding. The Tynithian, Arynilas, looked very adept with his beautiful re-curved bow, and the two big swordsmen were obviously formidable. She had persuaded Hathunor to wait until morning, until she’d had a chance to explain his presence to the strangers. But she never woke the next morning. Hathunor had been following as closely as he dared for the past two days.
She still puzzled over the huge Raken and why he was able to resist the power that controlled his kin. The night she had found him bound, surrounded by Raken, was still vivid in her memory.
She had been surprised at how much bigger he was than the others. Even doubled over and tied, she was aware of his enormous stature. Her mind had screamed at her to quickly leave the scene she’d stumbled upon within the small copse of trees. It had looked a likely place to camp but she had almost walked into the midst of a group of Raken milling about the clearing. They were not the ones hunting her. She knew she was ahead of the Trieton tracking her. This group was different, smaller.
Before silently retreating, she looked again at the huge Raken on the ground – something made her hesitate. To her dying day she would not understand what it was that made her stay. Some inner guidance, she supposed.
The bound Raken was torn, bleeding from a multitude of cuts and scratches. Dead Raken were on the ground – a testament to the battle. Things were about to end badly for the captive. As the drama unfolded it became clear that the huge Raken was about to be executed.
From her hiding place, Rowan had inexplicably wanted to help him. The captive Raken seemed different from the others: more alive, more intelligent, and gentler somehow. She had wondered wildly at the time why she would ever ascribe those particular attributes to a Raken, but they fit.
As she watched, the urge to help the huge captive took hold of her. She looked back with amazement now at her actions – she couldn’t explain it. Since the horrible day in Dendor, just after she arrived i
n Eryos, she had been running from the Raken, always only a step ahead of the huge beasts. But the day she met Hathunor she did the exact opposite – she attacked them.
The momentary surprise caused by her charge gave her the time she needed to free the captive. Rowan had darted among the giant black bodies, her sword humming. The rescue was successful, mainly because of the great beast she had freed. Slick with blood, huge taloned hands rending, the freed Raken had balanced the odds considerably.
Standing in the aftermath, bloody sword in hand, stunned at her own actions, Rowan stared up at the creature she had risked her life to save. Then the Raken had stepped towards her, a snarl on its monstrous face. Rowan had raised her sword and stepped back. The Raken, appearing confused by her reaction, lost its snarl and tentatively reached out one huge hand, palm open.
She remembered well the first time she had touched Hathunor. His giant hand had engulfed her own, the touch as gentle as a child’s. The snarl reappeared and Rowan realized it wasn’t a snarl but a smile. She’d found an unbelievably gentle soul in the body of a ferocious monster.
Hathunor was the primary reason she had been able to survive so long and stay ahead of the Raken trieton pursuing her. He guided her unerringly past Raken patrols and kept watch when exhaustion overcame her. He became a friend in a dangerous and otherwise friendless place.
Her mission depended on stealth and speed and, despite Hathunor’s aid, she feared the Raken were closing in again. The arrow wound she sustained a week ago before entering this wilderness had caused her to lose precious time. She had been attacked by bandits on the road wanting to steal her horse — a trieton of Raken wasn’t enough to contend with, it seemed. She had to be wary of the people of Eryos also.
She felt her shoulder again, the almost healed wound was still tender but nothing compared to the wrenching pain that gripped her two days ago. She shook her head in amazement. It would have taken two weeks, keeping very still, for it to heal as much on its own. She whispered quiet thanks to the sleeping Rith and the healer, and to the big swordsman who so far had helped her without asking for anything in return.
With her mind turning over the best way to separate herself from her new companions, the weariness in Rowan’s body slowly asserted itself, and she fell asleep.
A Desperate Battle
Rowan awoke to the sound of a very distinctive howl. It was Hathunor. His voice was like the peal of a deep clear bell compared with the mindless snarls of the Raken trieton. Rowan was on her feet in an instant. The five companions around her were up also. Torrin already had a great sword in his hand and the Tynithian, Arynilas, had an arrow nocked and drawn as he scanned the trees in the direction of Hathunor’s warning call. The Stoneman carried a short sword and round buckler and the other large man, whom she took to be Nathel, the healer, had a sword and round shield. The only member of the five that was without a weapon was the one she assumed to be the Rith, Dalemar.
Rowan walked quickly to Torrin. He glanced down at her and then went back to scanning the trees. “Your hunting party has arrived,” he said grimly.
Rowan took an anxious breath. “We still have a few minutes before they get here. You should leave now. You won’t have time to take your gear but at least you will have your lives. They will only follow my scent.”
Torrin dropped his gaze to look at her, an inscrutable expression in his eyes.
The other big swordsman stepped forward. “I didn’t spend two and a half days healing you, just so you could go off and get yourself killed!”
Rowan turned to him. “There is almost a full trieton of Raken out there. Six are better than one but it is still no contest. We will be overrun.”
The healer’s eyes widened. “A trieton! You have a trieton chasing —”
Rowan cut him off with a wave of her hand, ignoring his look of surprise. She focused on Torrin. “Please, I cannot let you be killed in return for your kindness.”
Torrin was silent for a moment, searching her face, then he shook his head. “I will not leave you to be hunted down and killed.”
Rowan growled under her breath. “Then let us fly together; at the least we can find a more defensible spot to make a stand. If we survive, we can come back for the gear.”
Torrin glanced at the others and received nods in return. The five suddenly launched into action. Two went to get the horses; the other three grabbed the remaining weapons and the few packs that they could carry. There was no time to properly saddle the horses.
Rowan raised her fingers to her lips and blew a short whistle blast. Roanus came hurtling towards her and slid to a stop, his lead rope whipping around his neck like a snake. She threw one of her saddlebags across his withers and then jumped up, swinging a leg over to gain a seat on his broad back. Around her the five companions were mounting as well. A silent look passed between Torrin and Arynilas, an unspoken question in the big swordsman’s eyes.
The Tynithian nodded and amid the chaos, Torrin said to Rowan. “There is a cleft in a rock face a few leagues back that we passed yesterday. It is defensible.”
“Lead the way.” Rowan pressed her heels to the sides of her horse, launching him after the others as they fled into the grey early morning light, the howls of a Raken trieton in pursuit.
*
It had been a while since Rowan had been up on Roanus without a saddle and the powerful muscles of her big horse surged under her. She had not nearly recovered all her strength and her limbs shook as she clung to his back. They raced single file through the trees, back the way the five had come the previous day. Rowan found herself led by Borlin and Dalemar, and followed by Nathel and Torrin with Arynilas as rearguard, an arrow nocked and ready to send at approaching foe.
Branches and tree limbs flashed past. Hathunor, I hoping you are safe, my friend. She had to duck suddenly as a heavy branch loomed ahead. She raced under it, shouting a warning back to the others. The thunder of their passage shook the forest around them while the gentle morning light filtering through the canopy to mock their dire circumstances.
They finally exploded into a clearing. It was partially circled by a cliff, rearing upwards some 40 paces, forming a small amphitheatre; a gentle slope rose up against the cliff with a flat top. At the top of the slope a notch in the cliff funnelled back into a tight crevice. They galloped to the top, dismounted and sent the horses to the back of the cleft. The animals milled in fear but stayed near the rock face.
The companions spread out in a semi-circle to defend the hill top. Arynilas stood to the left where he would be unhindered by the fighting, commanding a good view of the rising slope below to aim his arrows. The short Stoneman stood clear of the Tynithian and slightly forward. He was balanced on the balls of his feet, lightly tapping his short sword against the bronze edge of his round targe. Rowan thought she could hear the burly fellow muttering under his breath. She was near the center of the semi-circle between Torrin and Nathel, flanked by the two large men. Dalemar stood to Nathel’s right, the Rith’s eyes closed in concentration. There was enough space to fight, but not enough room for the enemy to get through and attack from the rear.
The sounds of Raken increased through the surrounding trees. Rowan expected to see their huge dark forms come hurtling into the clearing at any moment.
So it was finally time to stand and fight. These Raken had pursued her since her arrival in Eryos. She almost welcomed the battle; either way it would end the constant running.
Nathel looked over, noticing her. “You should stand back. I’ll not let you stay where you will be re-injured. You will be safer with the horses. I suggest you make your way back there now.” His tone was polite but dismissive.
“I will do well enough here, thank you,” Rowan said.
The healer-swordsman frowned, then looked past her to his brother. “Tor.”
Torrin glanced at his brother, then at her. “He is right. Please get to where you will not be hurt.”
Rowan would have laughed if she had not been s
o tightly wound. There was no time for this. She looked him in the eye. “I will guard your back if you will guard mine.”
Torrin’s eyes widened in surprise. They were a deep blue she noticed, contrasting with his dark hair and brows. It must have been her calm tone of voice he reacted to; her words had been unimpressive — a simple soldier’s oath.
Heart pounding, Rowan reached up and pulled her sword free of its baldric. She raised the blade to her forehead and whispered the words: “Dyrn Mithian Irnis Mor Lanyar.” The sword began to hum softly in response and she felt its power spread through her arm, lending her strength. Torrin and Nathel were both staring at the sword in wonder, but there was no time to question.
Below them the Raken erupted from the trees. They spotted their quarry and a collective howl echoed from the rock cliff.
Rowan drew her long dagger as well. She pulled in a deep breath – noting the pain in her shoulder. Familiar words came unbidden and Rowan whispered them. The words calmed her, helped to focus her mind. “On this day when blood is to be shed, let this sword be true, let this arm be strong in the defence of my land, my people and myself. On this day when blood is to be shed…”
Time slowed. As the Raken came, the ground began to shake. A horse squealed in fear; a golden arrow flashed from the left. One of the Raken to the fore suddenly slumped and rolled back, colliding with another from behind. The howling changed in pitch as more arrows rained down into the swarming Raken.
Rowan turned, watching in amazement as the Tynithian nocked and fired so fluidly that she had trouble following his movements. She turned back to face the advancing Raken just in time to see a blast of brilliant blue light explode into them and from the right, sent from Dalemar’s outstretched hand. The huge creatures scattered around their dying brethren but continued to charge.
The first huge beast to reach them hurled into Torrin, a black streak. The big swordsman grunted under the power of the charge. He stepped sideways, twisting, letting the Raken’s momentum take it past him, then drove his sword through the beast’s back. The Raken dropped with a bellow.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 6
