A branch cracked behind her. She pulled in a quick breath as dread rose in her chest; another Raken rushed at her. She tried to scramble back but her muscles wouldn’t work properly. She cursed her weakness – there was no way to fight it.
A bright flash sped through the air above her. The Raken was driven back off its feet to land with a thud, a two-handed broadsword buried up to the hilt in its chest.
Then Torrin was there, heaving his sword out of the body with a foot placed on the Raken for leverage. As Rowan climbed slowly to her feet again Torrin scooped her up. He carried her back to the others, placing her upon Roanus. “Can you ride Rowan?” His voice was strained and his breathing ragged. Worry etched his face.
Rowan nodded. “I saw Nathel down,” she managed to get out through the pain in her chest.
“A blow to the head. He will be fine, I think. We must be away from here now. Are you well enough to ride?”
“I will be fine soon. I was knocked a little senseless.” Rowan noticed blood trickling down Torrin’s arm. It dripped from his fingertips. “Are you well?”
Torrin followed her gaze to the wound on his shoulder; the worry was replaced by grim menace. “I gave much better than I received.”
He turned from her. “Come, Arynilas, Borlin, Dalemar — we must move.
Dalemar looked up from Nathel’s prone form. “But your brother,” he protested.
“Lay him across the front of my horse. We will see to him when it is safe to stop.”
Dalemar and Borlin lifted the unconscious man. Arynilas trotted back after retrieving as many arrows as he could find.
Torrin reached down and picked something up from the ground. It was Rowan’s sword. He presented it to her hilt first. “It is a shame you never got the chance to use your humming blade, Messenger. The battle would have been over much sooner for it.”
Rowan took the sword and sheathed it over her shoulder. She held his gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”
Torrin nodded, the intensity she had seen in his face was masked now. He turned away to help with his brother.
Rowan scanned the trees around them, thinking of Hathunor. Unease settled around her. There had been something cunning in this attack. Hathunor had been lured away intentionally. And there was something else, something that chilled her to the bone. They had tried to take her alive.
Into Klyssen
They rode as fast as they dared through the trees. Arynilas was scouting ahead for them until Hathunor returned – if he returned. Torrin scanned the surrounding forest. He hoped the big Saa Raken was safe and would rejoin them soon.
The sun was high over head when the trees began to thin. Stands of dark evergreens and leather birch were replaced with fenic, their distinctive white bark turning the surrounding view into white pole fences. The space between the giant broadleaf trees was wider and Torrin was now able to see glimpses of Arynilas through the trunks.
There had been no sign of pursuit. Perhaps it had been just a small group of Raken but Torrin wouldn’t bet on it. It was important to find out how many others there were and how close. He ground his teeth in frustration, feeling blind.
Torrin briefly entertained the idea that the big Saa Raken had led them into the trap willingly. If Hathunor could hear his kin, then perhaps he could communicate with them as well. Torrin shook his head. It sounded logical but felt wrong. Rowan was right. There was no deceit in Hathunor. The Saa Raken had probably led the attackers away from them somehow.
Torrin looked ahead to where Rowan rode on her big gray horse. He frowned as another thought asserted itself — the Raken had tried to take her alive. Why? After so long trying to kill her, why would they want to capture her?
Taking a steadying breath, he let it out slowly as the memory of it flashed through his mind. He saw the Raken crashing into her, dragging her helpless form away. He saw the huge black form trying to smash her with a club as she desperately tried to avoid it. And Torrin, helpless to reach her in time to stop the blows. He gripped his reins until his knuckles turned white.
He had been infuriated to the blinding point, and his own response had shocked him. Losing his reason and mental control in a battle was something he had not done in a very long time. Not since Emma and the girls were taken from him. Torrin closed his eyes and harshly repressed the thought. He didn’t think he could bear that much pain again. Erys help me, he thought. Not again. Never again.
Rowan seemed to have recovered from the blow she had taken. She was moving more carefully though, more slowly. Torrin would have to make sure Nathel looked at her, providing that Nathel himself was fine. Torrin looked down at his brother, draped across his lap. Worry haunted his thoughts but Nathel was strong. He had sustained worse before, far worse.
Nathel groaned then, as if in response to his brother’s attention, and tried to lift his head. “What am I? A sac of potatoes?” The words were groggy, but lucid.
Torrin exhaled in relief and reined his mount in. The others stopped and Borlin hopped down to help. Torrin dismounted and grasped his brother by the shoulders to ease him off the horse. Nathel stumbled slightly but he seemed to suffer no other ill effects. A large red lump had formed over his left eyebrow and he tested its tenderness with his fingertips, wincing. Borlin led Nathel’s horse forward and Dalemar handed him a waterskin.
“Are you well enough to ride, Nathel?” Torrin gripped his brother by the shoulder.
Nathel chuckled, “It’s just a wee lump, Tor. I’ll survive.” He glanced quickly around then and relaxed visibly when he found Rowan unharmed. Torrin realized the last thing his brother must have seen was Rowan being dragged away. “Arynilas, Hathunor?” Nathel asked.
Torrin pointed ahead with his chin. “Arynilas scouts, and we’ve not seen Hathunor since he engaged the Draes at the outset of the ambush.”
Nathel nodded and climbed up onto his horse. “He’ll be fine, a Raken that huge doesn’t get into trouble. He brings it to those who decide to bother him.” His words were meant for Rowan, and Torrin said a silent thanks to his brother. The worry on her face was clear.
“You can tell me all about the battle and how I valiantly passed out as we ride,” said Nathel as he turned his horse around. He re-corked the waterskin and tossed it over to Torrin.
Torrin caught the skin in one hand and threw it straight back at Nathel. “You need it more than I do right now, oh valiant one.” He swung his leg up over Black and settled once more in the saddle.
Nathel snorted and grinned, taking another swig of water.
They traveled through the thinning trees of the northern edge of the Wilds for the rest of the day. The sun was setting when the trees finally gave way to the open, rolling grassland of Klyssen. From the edge of the Wilds, the vast plains spread out before them — a sea of grasses rippling with wind. It blew through the stems and nodding heads of the ripened stalks in waves that rolled endlessly into the shore of the forest.
The small company plunged into the dry sea, setting out towards a distant outcrop of rock which perched on the plain like a small fortress. It loomed close as the last of the red sun sank below the horizon. The top of the hill contained a shallow bowl and Torrin was pleased to see that it was defensible and offered sheltered from the blowing wind.
Worry and Wait
Torrin sat with his armour and shirt off and his hands loosely clasped around his knees. Nathel was stitching the gash in his shoulder and Torrin, clenching his teeth, was trying to concentrate on anything but the sharp needle poking him. “You’re getting better at this Nathel. It only feels a little worse than getting it cut open in the first place.” His brother replied with a sharp prick of the needle.
Torrin watched Rowan in the gathering darkness. She was seated on the rim of the outcrop facing back toward the forest, waiting for Hathunor. She had been very quiet since the attack.
During a fight things happen very quickly, with little time to react. Knowing that, though, did not make him feel any less responsible.
Nathel finished the dressing on Torrin’s shoulder and handed him his shirt.
“Thanks, Nathel.”
“Never a pleasure to see to a wound, brother,” said Nathel as he began to pack away his precious medics. He had seen to Rowan first at Torrin’s insistence. She was bruised and sore but no bones were broken.
Torrin strode to where Rowan sat, pulling his shirt carefully over his head as he walked. The evening was chilly now that the sun had set. Torrin stopped just behind her. “Hathunor will be fine,” he said.
Rowan looked up at him, nodded and turned back to face the distant forest.
Torrin squatted down beside her, his fingertips grasping at long blades of grass.
“How is your shoulder?” asked Rowan.
“It is fine, thank you. Nathel could have been a tailor had he wanted to.”
She smiled softly in amusement but when she spoke again her voice was very sober. “I thought I was going to die today. The sight of that last Raken coming at me was terrifying. I had nothing left. No way to fight it.”
“I noticed your dagger was put to good use. You never stopped fighting, even though you were hurt,” Torrin replied.
A cool breeze stirred around the top of the hill. Once the sun had set the wind had died considerably. The last of the blue twilight was almost gone and the clear sky was sparkling with stars. The expanse of sky was a little unsettling after the cover of the forest.
“The Raken were trying to take me alive today, weren’t they?” Rowan hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms. “This attack was different from all the others.”
Torrin studied her shadowy form. “It appeared that way,” he said quietly. “It was all calculated to get Hathunor away from us and make it possible for them to take you.”
The silence stretched and Torrin scanned the distant tree line. They had set a cold camp; a fire would be seen for leagues in the open plains. The others were talking in the hollow, their voices low and muted. They were all worried about Hathunor. Torrin was surprised at his own feelings about their giant companion. He had not realized how fond he had become of Hathunor.
Then Rowan spoke so softly that Torrin had to strain to hear. “I’m so tired of running.”
Torrin felt a powerful urge to gather her into his arms. It alarmed him and he held himself rigid as the memory of her being dragged away by the Raken flashed through his mind again. He struggled to control the rush of emotions it summoned. Instead he offered the only comfort he could. “I made you a promise and I intend to keep it. I will get you safely to Pellaris.”
Hathunor's Gift
Rowan woke with a start. She had fallen asleep on the edge of the hill. A blanket had been draped over her and it slipped down from her shoulders as she sat up. She stifled a groan as a sharp pain lanced through her side. A dark form was close by, leaning against a boulder. “How long have I slept?” she asked.
Torrin’s voice came from the darkness. “Not long. A few candle marks.”
She hugged herself, feeling again the hot rush of shame and anger that had burned in her all afternoon. The man sitting near her had saved her life today. She had been unequal to the task herself. She had desperately needed the help and she berated herself for letting the Raken surprise her. She should have seen it coming; been able to avoid it before it smashed into her. All her skills and training had become useless after she had taken such a blow. With the titanic force of the impact, Rowan was amazed that she hadn’t passed out completely or had her ribs shattered and her back broken. The Raken must not have hit her squarely.
Rowan pulled the blanket around her shoulders and the pain in her side spread up into her back and shoulder blade. She had not come away from the encounter totally unscathed. She gazed at the glittering expanse above. The skies of Myris Dar were much the same. She turned quickly away from the thought of home – it only served to hinder her here. Rowan sighed. Once again her new companions had been placed in danger because of her mission.
Arynilas appeared beside them. “Someone comes,” he said quietly, pointing down the slope into the darkness.
It took Rowan a while to make out the huge black shadow that moved slowly toward the base of the hill. As it drew closer, she caught a glimpse of a spiky crest. “Hathunor,” she breathed.
The figure stumbled and fell near the base of the hill where it lay unmoving. Rowan was on her feet in an instant, the pain in her ribs forgotten as she ran down the hill toward the prone figure with Torrin and Arynilas close behind. When they reached the huge Saa Raken he did not respond to their voices.
Torrin pulled his shirt off and wrapped it around his hands and forearms before reaching down to grip Hathunor under the arms. Rowan thanked him silently for his presence of mind – in her concern for her friend she had forgotten Erys’s bane.
Torrin heaved and the muscles of his back and shoulders stood out in the starlight. Hathunor barely lifted from the grass. Arynilas strapped his bow over his shoulder and bent to help. But even two of them couldn’t move the giant far. The job was made that much more difficult because the great Saa Raken was slicked with something wet and their grasp on him kept sliding. Rowan dashed back up to wake the others for help.
They rolled the Saa Raken onto a blanket and dragged him up to the center of the shallow bowl of the hilltop. Nathel was already searching through his healer’s satchel for remedies. Borlin lit a small lantern and unhooded it. They gasped at what they saw.
Hathunor was covered in gashes and cuts. Every inch of his dark scaled skin was smeared with blood.
“Sweet Erys!” Nathel breathed. It was the first time Rowan had seen him at a loss. He turned helplessly to Dalemar. “I don’t know anything about Raken. He has scales instead of skin. How do you stitch scales? And that is only the outside – what if he has damage inside? He looks to have lost a great deal of blood.” Nathel sat back on his heels and stared at the mess before him. He looked at Dalemar again. “I need your help, my friend.”
Dalemar rose and stepped around to kneel at Hathunor’s head. He placed his hands on either side of the Raken’s face and closed his eyes. His palms began to glow with a soft blue light. It seemed as though nothing was happening. Then suddenly the great black body before them arched up violently, every muscle tensing. Dalemar’s eyes flew open in shock and he gasped in a great breath. Despite the cool night, beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.
Rowan reached out to Dalemar but Torrin stopped her hand. When she turned to look at him, he shook his head.
Long moments went by. Everyone was frozen, watching in amazement as Dalemar worked his craft. Finally, Hathunor slumped to the ground. Dalemar released his grasp slowly on the Raken and crumpled sideways onto the ground in utter exhaustion.
Nathel helped him to sit up and held a waterskin to his lips. The Rith took a long drink and then sagged back against Nathel. His hands were shaking and he gasped for breath.
The Saa Raken lay utterly still before them. Rowan reached out with a cloth and wiped some of the blood from Hathunor’s chest. She gasped in amazement. The scaled skin underneath gleamed smoothly in the lantern light. The wounds were gone.
She looked at Dalemar. “You’ve healed him!” She wiped more of the blood away, finding more undamaged skin.
Dalemar blinked in astonishment at Hathunor. “That was a most interesting experience – dangerous and a bit frightening, but fascinating.”
“You’ve never healed anyone completely before,” Torrin said. “Well done, Dalemar.”
The Rith shook his head. “It wasn’t me, Torrin, I had nothing to do with it.”
“If you had nothing to do with it Rith, then how is he healed?” Arynilas asked with humour in his tilted eyes.
“I don’t know. It was like being seized by an immense hand. My power was drawn without my control. I watched the work being done without directing it and was quite powerless to stop it. I learned a great deal actually.”
“If you couldn’t stop it, how did y
ou break the connection?” Torrin asked.
Dalemar shrugged, his gaze fixed on Hathunor. “It simply let go when the work was done.”
“Do you suppose it was Hathunor himself controlling the magic?” asked Rowan.
“It is the only explanation that I can think of,” Dalemar said.
“Shouldn’t e be wak’n up now at e’s healed?” asked Borlin.
Dalemar shook his head. “It may be a while before he regains consciousness. I am always exhausted after working magic. I can’t imagine he would be any different.”
“More threads unravel in this mystery and our Raken friend seems to be at its heart,” Arynilas said quietly.
“Indeed,” replied Dalemar, still staring in wonder at the blood-covered body before him. “And I have so many more questions.” Arynilas moved to help Dalemar to his sleeping roll.
Rowan began to clean the blood from her giant friend. She felt tears of relief sliding down her cheeks as she found him completely whole. Nathel reached out and began to help as well, then Torrin and Borlin. Together they gently removed all the blood from the great Raken by the light of the lantern.
Of Raken and Magic
Rowan opened her eyes to a lead gray sky. A chill wind whistled around the top of the hill. She was cold and a terrible stiffness had settled into her body during the night. Her right side throbbed painfully as she moved to sit up. A groan escaped her as she slowly unbuckled her leather breastplate, pulled up her shirt and looked at her ribs with morbid curiosity. They were black and blue, with the subtle shades of yellow filling in between the darker bruising. It hadn’t hurt this much yesterday. She groaned again, this time in anticipation of the long, painful ride ahead.
She re-buckled the leather straps of her armour and looked around to find Hathunor seated on the ground in animated conversation with Dalemar. Joy flooded through her, bringing warmth for a moment.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 14
