“Aye and when they shot ye Lass, they might ha’ bin aimin for yer horse,” said Borlin.
The silence stretched. Torrin spoke finally, his voice quiet. “It does tell us one helpful thing about our enemy.” He looked around at them all. “That he is fallible. That he makes mistakes and perhaps does not control the Raken as completely as we thought. If the captive Raken were able to send a message to Hathunor’s homeland, then maybe this Summoner has weaknesses we can exploit.”
*
Rowan shivered, her face was cold and her white breath whipped away as soon as she exhaled. She rode with her cloak pulled tightly around her, one hand clutching the hood to keep it from blowing back, the other molded around the reins of her horse. She frequently exchanged hands to let warmth flow back into the one that had been exposed. The wind seemed to drive right through her doeskin gloves and her heavy cloak. Torrin and Nathel ranged beside her, similarly muffled. The rest of the companions spread out behind them.
They had been riding for two and a half days across Horse Clan lands. Sometime during the freezing morning a dark smudge had grown visible on the distant horizon. They had reached the edge of the great marshland and its low bulk spread past seeing.
The brothers were quiet beside her and she glanced over at their faces. Torrin had been angry with Nathel for telling Rowan about his past, but she sensed no anger between them now. He treated her no differently than he had before and she deemed it wise to do him the same courtesy. She had a hard time envisioning the stern warrior with a family.
Rowan pulled her hood back up yet again. She was thankful now for the heavy garment. Torrin and Nathel both wore heavy winter cloaks as well with leather gloves. Dalemar was wrapped in a fur-trimmed mantle that sat over the shoulders of his long green coat and Borlin almost disappeared under a sheepskin-lined vest that made his barrel chest look even deeper. Arynilas wore a long grey cloak that blended so well with the surrounding landscape that Rowan wouldn’t have been able to spot him from a distance without the dark bulk of his sorrel horse.
The only one of the companions who seemed unaffected by the cold weather was Hathunor. He strode along beside the horses, his gleaming, black scaled skin exposed to the icy wind, his spiky crest of stiff fur waving in the gusts.
Rowan was wondering how he could possibly stand it when he stopped mid-stride and turned his ferocious visage to look behind them. She pulled Roanus in, glancing to Torrin who was also turned to follow the direction of Hathunor’s gaze.
A low growl emitted from deep inside the Saa Raken’s chest. “Draes.” The wind blew his crest flat against his skull.
“How do you know?” Rowan asked.
Hathunor tilted his head. “Hathunor hear them.”
The companions looked at one another in alarm. Borlin worked his sword free in its scabbard and Arynilas reached up and pulled an arrow from his quiver.
“How close are they?” Torrin spun his charger around and squinted into the distance, looking for any sign of the approaching foe.
“Hathunor not know. Wind carries the sound to Hathunor.”
“Arynilas?” Torrin glanced to the Tynithian, but after a moment of scanning the horizon behind them Arynilas shook his head.
Torrin turned to look back at the distant marshes, judging the distance. “If we make it to the bogs we will have a better chance to defend ourselves, but we must not exhaust the horses, or we won’t have a chance to escape.” He looked back to Hathunor. “Can you tell how many Raken approach?”
Hathunor cocked his head. “More than thirty,” he said at last.
“Then we will have to outrun them,” said Nathel grimly. “How fast can Draes run, Hathunor?”
Hathunor reached out a huge, clawed hand and gently patted Roanus on the rump. “Fast as four legs.” Then he puffed out his chest. “Saa Raken faster.”
“Wonderful,” groaned Nathel.
Torrin turned to Dalemar. “Any chance you can slow them down?”
Dalemar shook his head. “Not at this distance, with nothing to aim at.”
“Then we ride!” Torrin launched his big horse towards the marshes, his dark cloak swirling. Roanus jumped forward as Rowan touched his sides and the rest of the group charged after them through the wind-whipped grass. The horses were excited, catching the collective mood of their riders, and they had to be reined in from a crazed gallop.
Torrin set a fast pace but a sustainable one and the six horses settled into their stride, hooves pounding hollowly. Rowan fixed her gaze on their distant goal, and its scant offer of salvation. Her eyes watered in the cold wind and the dark blur on the horizon disappeared. Dread settled over her; they could not win against so large a group of Raken out in the open, nor would they be much safer within the cover the mashes offered.
The long grass sped by under the horses and clods of earth flew up from churning hooves. As they came closer to the bogs, Rowan began to make out the distinct shapes of stunted, gnarled trees.
“Aie!” shouted Arynilas. Rowan turned in her saddle to search the grassland behind, but couldn’t see any thing. “They come on quickly!” cried the Tynithian. “We will not out run them at this pace.”
“Dalemar!” shouted Torrin.
“As soon as I can see them, I can send back a nasty surprise,” the Rith called back.
Torrin urged his mount onward. The big black warhorse responded with a surge and they began a headlong flight toward the marshes.
Rowan concentrated on the ground ahead, steering Roanus wide of any potential obstacles. She snatched a look behind and gasped. There were at least three Trietons – a dark, boiling mass. Dalemar was muttering under his breath as he turned in his saddle and stretch forth a hand, fingers extended.
Nothing happened. Rowan was beginning to think perhaps his spell had failed when a great concussion sounded behind them. She looked back to see a large cloud of dust expanding outward from where the Raken had been.
Nathel whooped, and Torrin slowed his horse, pulling him to a plunging stop with the others. “Arynilas, what do you see?” asked Torrin.
The dust was beginning to drift away and even Rowan saw movement as the Raken ran forward through it.
“There are some Raken down, but not enough,” said the Tynithian.
Dalemar raised his hand again and concentrated on the distant creatures. Rowan watched in suspense. Moments later a great spray of earth and dust exploded upwards from the Raken, followed by the loud crack of the explosion.
The horses stood blowing, heads down and nostrils wide. Rowan leaned forward to stroke Roanus’ sweat-slicked neck, watching the distant dust, waiting for it to clear.
Dalemar suddenly swayed in his saddle and Nathel reached out to steady him.
“Tor!” Nathel called.
Dalemar held out a hand. “I am fine, but I will not be able to manage another one of those.”
“They stir!” Arynilas said.
“Can you count them?” Torrin asked.
“At least two Trietons.”
Sixty. Rowan felt her hopes fall; they stood no chance against so many.
Borlin pulled his sword from his belt and prepared to kick his tired horse toward the distant foe.
“Hold Borlin,” called Torrin.
“I’ll not end me life flee’n, Torrin.”
Torrin shook his head. “You will get your chance my friend, but Rowan must get to Pellaris, we will have a better chance in the boglands.” Torrin cast a sidelong glance at Hathunor, who stood looking as fresh as ever. “We certainly won’t outrun them.”
They wheeled around and asked their weary horses for a last effort to take them into the marshes ahead. As they fled, Rowan began to hear the distant calls of the Raken behind them. She leaned low over Roanus’ neck, urging him onward. The big horse was nearing the end of his endurance. The horses were sweat-soaked and covered in flecks of foam from rubbing tack.
The Raken grew louder and she glanced back, shocked at how close they were. As she turned
forward again the first of the stunted trees flashed by. Their pace slowed as the horses began to weave around the new obstructions.
Roanus stumbled suddenly. His head went down, his front legs folding under him. As Rowan pitched forward over his head she tucked herself into a tight ball, somersaulting, and landed with a jarring thud, skidding on the grass. Above her, she saw her horse’s back legs, hooves pointed to the sky, flailing down towards her. Scrambling out of the way, Rowan turned to see Roanus on his back, belly exposed. She gasped, watching in fear as he began to struggle to his feet.
Torrin and Arynilas, who had been racing behind, hauled on their horses, changing direction to intercept her. Before Rowan had a chance to see if Roanus was injured, Torrin’s big charger was upon her. Torrin leaned down out of his saddle, arm extended. She reached up, grasped his outstretched hand and he hauled up behind him.
Raken howls intensified from close behind as they spotted the downed horse. Rowan turned back to see her grey stallion struggle to his feet and launch himself after the rest of the fleeing companions. Ears pinned back, he pelted after them, stirrups flying loose.
Rowan wrapped her left arm tightly around Torrin and reached up to draw her sword. Behind them, Arynilas rode with his bow out, an arrow clutched in one hand. She felt Torrin change direction and craned over his shoulder to see where they were headed.
“To me!” he shouted. Now Rowan saw what Torrin was heading for. It was a small knoll with a stand of larger trees gathered around its crown, but what caught Rowan’s attention was the shallow pond that curled around the back of the hill, protecting it.
They galloped up the rise to the top and Rowan threw herself to the ground before Torrin had completely stopped his mount. He jumped down after her and slapped the big black horse on the rump, sending it towards the trees near the lake. He inspected the top of the hill. The others dismounted and drew weapons, gathering. Rowan looked at the Raken – now only a few hundred paces away.
“Erys save us! Look at the monsters!” Nathel stared in dismay at the enemy horde. He glanced wildly around then back at the Raken.
Torrin strode to Dalemar. “Are you well?”
The Rith nodded, his face drawn. “I’ve got enough left for a trick or two.” He turned to Hathunor. “They can’t find what they can’t see.”
The huge Raken bent down to listen to Dalemar’s instructions.
Torrin looked at them all grimly. “Fan out. Protect the Messenger. Erys shelter us.”
Torrin and Nathel flanked Rowan and the rest of the companions placed themselves on ether side: Dalemar and Hathunor to one side, Arynilas and Borlin to the other.
Arynilas began to loose arrows up into the air. They flew in a great arc to land among the on-coming Raken. Rowan drew her long dagger and brought her sword up to her forehead, whispering the spell words. The sword began to hum and the cold in her limbs receded, replaced by the sword’s energy.
“One day you will have to show me how that sword works.” Torrin eyed her weapon.
“If we survive this, you have my word,” she promised.
A seething mass of black bodies rushed toward them. They would be swarmed, overwhelmed. It would be over quickly. At least she would die with her sword in her hand, fighting next to people she cared about.
The Raken were closer now. Rowan could see their red glinting eyes, the jagged ivory of bared teeth, black scaled skin.
Rowan glanced at the grim, determined faces of her friends. They would not give in so easily. But they would still die. Out in the wild where no one would know.
As the Raken approached, they spread out, cutting off escape. One hundred paces, seventy, thirty.
Then the Raken slowed, trotting to a halt. The Draes began to cast about in confusion. Rowan blinked in baffled amazement.
She looked over to Torrin and gasped. Her companions were gone. She was alone on the hilltop. Panic rose in her chest as she spun to look behind her.
“What?” It was Nathel’s voice. It came from right beside her but there was no one there.
“Dalemar!” Torrin on her other side.
She turned quickly to look at the empty air.
Dalemar’s voice came out of nothing. “Can you tie it off Hathunor? So it stays without one of us holding it?”
“What have you done, Rith?” There was true surprise in Arynilas’ voice.
“They can no longer see us, hear us or smell us. It is as though we have disappeared,” said Dalemar.
“We ’ave disappeared, or at least ye ’ave! I can see meself.” Borlin's gruff voice sounded somewhere to the right.
“You said hear and smell as well? If we cannot see each other, then why can we still hear each other?” Arynilas had moved back behind.
“That is an interesting question,” said Dalemar.
“Hathunor needs to hear friends,” rumbled the Saa Raken.
The Raken were advancing cautiously towards the hilltop. One Raken in the center of the line cast his arm out, speaking in a guttural voice. The rest began to fan out, huge heads swivelling from side to side.
“We need to get out of the way. Unless your spell made us formless as well.” Torrin’s voice came from behind Rowan now.
“Hathunor has done a good job!” exclaimed Dalemar, “Each of us is wrapped in a blanket of magic. I’m not quite sure what he has done but I think it has something to do with bending the senses. You are right though, they will eventually stumble into us.”
“They will be easier to kill,” growled Borlin.
“It would still be risky with that many Raken,” said Torrin from behind Rowan. “Eventually they would close in on us, regardless of whether we are invisible.” She felt a light touch on her back – Torrin had been trying to locate her. His fingertips skimmed leftward to her arm and then down her sleeve until he grasped her hand in his. Rowan sheathed her dagger and properly gripped his hand in return. It felt good to have more contact than an eerily disembodied voice.
“The spell only extends to the edge of the hill to hide us and the horses,” said Dalemar. “We cannot leave it or the Raken will see us.”
“We need a diversion,” said Rowan. “Something to lead them away.”
“Hathunor, do you think you can out run them?” asked Torrin.
The Saa Raken’s gravelly laughter rumbled from their left. “Hathunor will lead them far away.”
“We will make due north,” said Torrin. “Once you have lost them, head back that way. Our progress will be slow.”
The searching Drae Raken approached the foot of the knoll. There was silence on the hill top except for the whistling wind. Were it not for Torrin’s warm hand holding hers, she would have believed she stood utterly alone. Rowan tightened her grip on his hand and received a strong squeeze in return. She felt the roughness of the back of his hand with her fingertips and the steady rhythm of his pulse. For a moment the beat of her own heart matched his and she could feel the energy of his presence next to her.
Suddenly there was a splash to the far left, down by the vegetation along the water’s edge. Rowan turned to look for Hathunor, but the trees screened the water from view.
The searching Raken whipped their heads around to look for their quarry. Most of the Draes launched themselves as one toward the water, howling, in pursuit of Hathunor. The few that remained began to scour the area from which the companions had vanished
Torrin pulled on Rowan’s hand. “We need to back up. Let’s hope they don’t run into any of the horses before their mates are out of hearing.”
Stepping carefully backward, Rowan watched the Raken slowly advance on the hilltop. They snuffled the air, red eyes darting around. Two Raken were getting close to them. Torrin’s grip tugged her insistently back. They were going to run out of room soon.
A horse nickered from the left. Rowan turned towards the sound. A Raken bumped into the invisible animal and slashed at it with long claws. A squeal of pain sounded. The horse must have kicked out with its hind legs bec
ause the aggressor was sent flying backward to tumble heavily to the bottom of the hill. The remaining Raken watched confounded as their brother rolled past them down the slope.
“That’s it!” Torrin said beside her. He released her hand and she felt him brush past.
Arynilas’s bow hummed from thin air to the right. Arrows thudded into black bodies. The Raken scattered, diving for cover. When they rushed to the place the arrows had come from, they found nothing.
Confused and questing around the hilltop, the Raken died swiftly. The companions called continually to one another to ensure they didn’t hurt each other by accident.
“Is anyone hurt?” asked Torrin.
As the others called out around her, Rowan noted their positions. “I’m well.”
“Why didn’t the Raken disappear when they got to the top of the hill?” Torrin had moved back toward the trees.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps because they were not on the hill when Hathunor cast the spell,” said Dalemar from the right.
Whatever the reason, Rowan was relieved the Draes had remained visible. She envisioned a frightening picture of stumbling into Raken she could not see. Hopefully Hathunor was able to lead the main group of Draes far away. “Do you think the Draes chasing Hathunor heard the battle?”
“I doubt they could hear much above the racket they were making themselves,” replied Nathel from somewhere behind Rowan.
Rowan’s sword was still humming in her hand and she stilled it with the spell words. The battle left her feeling weak, but no longer cold. She could hardly believe they were still alive.
“We need to get off this hill so we can see each other,” she called.
“That would be wise; I do not know how long the spell will last.” Dalemar’s tired voice was right beside her but it came from low down. Rowan reached out, groping through the air. Her hand touched the soft leather of his coat.
“Are you alright, Dalemar?”
He sighed. “I am very weak is all.”
Rowan reached up to re-sheathed her sword, then bent to find the Rith again. “Come rest your weight on me.” She felt for his hand and helped him to his feet.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 23
