by M. K. Adams
“Send her away!” One woman called out from the crowd. “She will lead the king’s men right to us,” Another declared with a quaking voice. Glancing across the line of bodies as panic flooded through her veins, Lyvanne caught a wicked grin cross Drystal’s face as the tide turned in his favour.
Oblib spoke up in her defence, his voice deep and commanding. “Lyvanne is one of us, since when have we left our own to fend for themselves?” She could see some faces of sympathy in the crowd, but they were outnumbered by those who were being won over fear. So she took a step forward, bringing herself in line with Turiel, ready to fight her case herself.
“I didn’t ask for all this to happen to me, I didn’t ask to see the things I saw and for the king to see them too. I didn’t want to become a symbol for a movement that I hadn’t even heard about at the time. But all that did happen, and I ended up here with all of you.”
The leaders on either side of her allowed her to continue, this fight was hers to win.
“I like to think that I’ve learned a lot from you all in the time that I’ve been here. But the thing that’s perhaps stuck with me the most is that we don’t leave people to suffer without even trying to help. There are people in Astreya suffering because the king is looking for me, they might not be people you all know, but some of you will. They are still your people, they have struggled through life the same way I am sure many of you have. You’re good people, so why were we just going to let those people suffer?”
It was in that moment, Lyvanne realised two things. The first was that these really were good people, they had risked a lot by allowing her to stay and for that she was grateful. She enjoyed being around them all, learning from them and befriending them. Something she regretted not doing more of in her time here. The second was that these people had likely only found out about the suffering in Astreya mere moments before her arrival in the camp, but she figured her words would still have the wanted impact.
“I am happy to leave you, if that’s what you want, if that’s what keeps you safe. I can lure the king away by letting him in again; I can take him elsewhere -
Drystal interrupted, “And so she should! We aren’t playing games ‘ere, we’re fighting for The Rive, for your children’s future!” He shouted, waving his arms in the air for theatrics and casting a finger of accusation in Lyvanne’s direction.
Turiel made a move to silence him, but a steady had from Kwah stopped him in his tracks.
“Do you really want to risk our future for some clueless little bitc -
Kwah’s hand couldn’t react fast enough. Turiel’s arm was raised quicker than the eye could easily keep up with and a stream of magically energy flew from his fingertips. Lyvanne could tell that it was little more than she had experienced countless times back in Astreya, but the blast met its mark and Drystal seemed to jump five feet in the air from shock before landing flat on his face.
“See, even the magician is corrupted by her! She needs to leave!” Drystal shouted through gritted teeth and red faced, as the crowd erupted into a mix of laughter and shouts of agreement.
This isn’t what I wanted, Lyvanne thought as she watched Turiel prepare for another blast, only to be subdued from either side by Kwah and Tublik. Noise rose from the crowd, but amongst all the commotion she could no longer make out what they were saying. Drystal continued his tirade to anyone around him who would listen, whilst continually rubbing the small of his back where Turiel had hit him.
Everything blurred together, every mistake she had made all piling up on top of one another. So she ran. If all they were going to do was squabble like children then she was going to take the choice out of their hands. She didn’t stop to get her supplies, she didn’t turn and say her goodbyes. Instead, she focused her eyes on the line of trees a few yards away and made her escape.
Turn around, she yelled at herself as she ran. You’re being stupid. The words came and went through her mind the way water flows through a sieve. She wasn’t going back, not when they couldn’t even decide if she was wanted, not when her mere presence resulted in what she had thought was like a family turning on each other with violence.
Chapter 22
She barely made it to the edge of the camp before someone grabbed her by the scruff of her tunic’s neckline.
“Where do you think you’re going?” It was Drystal. The man seemed incensed, his eyes were bloodshot and there was drool forming at the corners of his cheeks.
“Why do you care if I leave?” Lyvanne replied, struggling to get free of his grip. Her eyes darted left and right, she’d gone too far to be seen by the others who she presumed were still arguing around the campfires.
“Don’t bother looking girl. They ain’t comin’ for you, and I don’t intend on letting you go so easily for the bother you’ve caused me.” She looked up at her captor. He had a sick grin on his face and a foul stench escaped his toothless gums.
Drystal was not to be considered a strong man by any means, but he was much stronger than Lyvanne and he put that to use by dragging her by her neck out of the camp and into the woods. She tried to scream for help, to somehow make Turiel notice what had happened. But the cracked and dry fingers of Drystal’s hand slid over her mouth and before she knew what was happening it was too late. She didn’t intend on being taken easily; every step of the way as Drystal pulled her through the wet floor of the woods she scratched and clawed at his arms. Satisfaction filled her as her nails pierced his skin and blood appeared over her hands. But it wasn’t enough.
“Ah you bitch!” he said, throwing her across the woodland floor and into the base of a large tree trunk, her head hitting the wood hard and leaving her dazed.
“Screw you,” Lyvanne said before spitting in the man’s direction, an act which only served to entice him, even please him. “You’re deranged!”
Drystal looked down at his arm where Lyvanne had left scratch marks and wiped the small stream of blood on his ragged gambeson. “Aye, maybe, but I had life easy before you showed up didn’t I? King weren’t ever goin’ to find us here,” he said, waving his undamaged arm around the woods. “Even got to have some fun playing with the king’s soldiers from time to time. Then you turn up and change all that.”
Drystal’s hand moved steadily down his gambeson until it rested on a sheath around his waist. Lyvanne’s dazed eyes widened. She hadn’t noticed the knife hung around his belt until now, and suddenly the danger became much more real.
“If you kill me then they’ll kick you out,” Lyvanne argued, trying to make him see sense before he’d gone too far.
“Hah! Too late for that kid. Nah it’s back to the harder life for me now… may as well make you suffer for that before I go.”
He carefully unsheathed the knife. a large serrated blade with a nondescript wooden handle. Lyvanne’s eyes were drawn to it, she tried to scream again but Drystal was prepared and covered her mouth once more, whilst using his forearm to hold her firmly in place against the tree.
“I’ll give you credit, kid. That was some speech you gave back there… shame it won’t matter for ya.”
He raised the knife towards her cheek; she tried to scramble her way free but she was pinned against the tree and there was nothing she could do about it. She tried lashing out with her fists and feet, but Drystal just took everything and the knife kept advancing. Drystal pressed the knife against her cheek and began to apply the pressure, creating a cut the size of her thumb across her right cheek. A thin and steady stream of blood oozed out onto her face and trickled down her cheek.
“You not goin’ to cry, girl?” Drystal said with a genuine look of surprise as Lyvanne sat there, gritting her teeth and accepting the pain. She gave him no answer, telling herself that she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry out in pain. Besides, she’d felt far worse recently.
Drystal raised the knife again, this time moving it away from her cheek and towards her throat. This was going to be it, this would be how she died. Then
she saw movement, out of the corner of her right eye, coming from further in the woods. It was a Hemeti, judging by the feint shimmer of green skin Lyvanne could just about make out as they ran through the woods at a break neck pace. The knife grew closer, and stopped. The person was now close enough that their movements could be heard over the pattering of rain against the canopy of trees above. Drystal heard them too. He balled up his fist and punched Lyvanne hard in the side of the face where moments before he’d cut her with his knife.
“I’ll be back for you,” he said as he rose to his feet, ready to fend off whoever was coming to her aid. The blood from her cheek smeared across his knuckles. But it was too late, by the time he’d rose to his feet they were already on top of him. Lyvanne’s entire face was in pain, and her vision had been blurred, but she could still just about make out what was happening in front of her.
“Jocelyn!” she called out as she slowly regained her senses and recognised her defender.
Jocelyn didn’t react to her call, her eyes were deadlocked on Drystal who had managed to scramble back to his feet after being initially knocked down to the floor. They stood a few feet apart, Jocelyn unarmed facing off against Drystal with his serrated knife in hand.
Lyvanne wanted to help, she tried to stand using the tree as leverage, but her vision turned fuzzy, her body turned suddenly light and seconds later she had collapsed back by the side of the trunk.
• • •
“Better go back to wherever you’ve been hiding Hemeti, this ain’t your concern,” Drystal spat with venom in his words as he tried to circle Jocelyn.
“Yes it is,” Jocelyn replied, matching his steps but making sure that at all times she was stood between him and Lyvanne.
Drystal lunged. The trees didn’t give very much room to manoeuvre, but it was enough that Jocelyn had to think on her feet to avoid being out-stepped in this dance of life and death.
Fortunately, she found Drystal was very much the kind of fighter who relied on berserk rage and wild swings to win the fight, something that in the confines of the woods wasn’t going to help his cause.
She easily dodged the first lunge, and using the space created on his open side she threw a stiff punch to his rib cage. The encircling trees had worked against her, preventing her from putting any real power behind her fist. It was far from a fight-ending blow, but it was enough to tell him that she meant business.
Drystal rocked back a few steps, placing his free hand on what was sure to be a bruised mid-section. He gritted his teeth, grunted and lunged again. This attack came closer to the mark and Jocelyn had to use her left hand to forcibly hold back the knife. The two were entwined and Jocelyn took advantage, slamming the man’s head into the trunk of a nearby tree, before following it up with a swift knee to his mid-rift and releasing her hold of his arm.
She wasn’t going to win a contest of strength for long, she knew, so her attacks had to be mobile, in and out quickly before he had a chance to react.
She chanced a glance back towards Lyvanne as Drystal recovered from the two-hit combo. The girl was dazed, but it appeared as though she’d be alright. Good, Jocelyn thought, she could afford to focus solely on her opponent.
This time Jocelyn moved first, acting before Drystal had the time to move away from the tree which had limited his range of movement. She feigned an attack to his armed side, waited for him to lunge in retaliation and swirled in the opposite direction. Cutting into the open space she delivered three swift punches, the first two to the same spot on his rib-cage that she had hit previously, the third a vicious uppercut to his jaw which sent him rebounding into the tree.
Drystal staggered, his legs growing wobbly beneath him. She doubted that he had expected this much of a fight from a woman, let alone a Hemeti. It was an underestimation that she planned on taking full advantage of.
Seeing the weakness in his legs Jocelyn saw her opportunity to finish the fight. She kicked out, hitting his left kneecap hard, forcing the man down to one knee as his yelled out in pain. She was pretty certain she had broken something in his leg, but just to be safe she stamped down on the other kneecap, immobilising him on the woodland floor. Next she grabbed the hand he was using to hold the knife, still firmly grasped between his fingers, and swung it back into the tree trunk, breaking his wrist and sending the knife flying in the process.
Drystal yelled out in pain. Jocelyn had heard enough and brought her knee up, smashing it onto the bridge of his nose. Drystal’s head whipped backwards as blood spurted out of his nose and onto the forest floor. The trunk of the tree behind him was waiting and the double impact of knee and trunk left him unconscious on the floor.
The fight was won. Jocelyn turned her attention back to Lyvanne who was lying still against a nearby tree, her eyes wide and her jaw agape.
“I didn’t know you could fight like that,” Lyvanne stammered as Jocelyn made her way over to her.
“You should see me with swords. Are you okay?” she asked, leaning down towards her friend and running a thumb across the cut on her cheek.
“I think so, banged my head on the tree,” Lyvanne replied, motioning to the back of her skull.
Jocelyn checked, there was a small amount of blood but nothing too bad.
“Come on, let’s get you back to camp,” she said, pulling all of Lyvanne’s weight up and onto her shoulders.
“What about him?” Lyvanne asked, nodding her head in the direction of Drystal who still lay silent on the floor, covered in an unflattering mix of mud, leaves and blood.
“He won’t be going anywhere any time soon. I’ll send someone to come and collect him,” Jocelyn said, her face stone cold as she considered the felled man.
Thankfully Drystal hadn’t taken Lyvanne too far out into the woods, and Jocelyn found that the girl’s weight wasn’t too taxing as they slowly approached the border of the camp.
“Lyvanne?” Jocelyn heard a familiar voice call out.
“Over here,” she replied.
Moments later, Turiel appeared at the edge of the trees. Upon seeing Jocelyn with Lyvanne hoisted up, her arms draped over the back of her shoulders, he came running over.
“Take that arm,” Jocelyn said as he ran up by her side.
Turiel did as he was asked and helped Jocelyn carry her the rest of the way.
“What happened?!” he asked, his eyes filled with terror and a complete lack of understanding.
“Some prick had a knife to her throat. Turiel, you nearly lost her,” Jocelyn replied, her voice cold and unforgiving.
“I’m fine,” Lyvanne tried to intervene, but her voice was weak and barely audible. Her entire body was drained of energy, but in a manner that it never had before. She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep.
“Drystal,” Turiel said as he slowly began to realise what must have happened. “I’ll kill him, where is he?”
“Already dealt with him, few hundred yards back that way,” Jocelyn replied as Turiel stole a glance back over his shoulder.
“Is he dead?”
Jocelyn shook her head as they entered the camp proper. It didn’t take long before others noticed their arrival. Two men whom Jocelyn didn’t know ran over.
“Drystal did this,” he told them as he motioned into the woods. “If he hasn’t taken his last breath already… make sure he does.”
Chapter 23
When Lyvanne awoke to find herself in what passed for a medic’s hut, Tyler, The Spring’s resident medic, informed her that she probably had what was likely to be the “world’s worst hangover.” She had never experienced a hangover before, but it was certainly not something she ever wished to have again. Her head throbbed in multiple locations, sending constant waves of pain from back to front across her scalp, perfectly accompanying the constant dull ache that was growing outwards from a large lump under her right eye.
Raising a finger to her right cheek Lyvanne found a number of stitches where Drystal’s knife had pierced her skin, and just above those was the swe
lling caused by his fist.
“Try not to touch,” Tyler said as he passed her a small goblet of water. “Not the best work I’ve ever done, but then again I don’t have the same kind of equipment out here.”
Lyvanne studied him, the camp’s resident medic. He was middle aged with slightly greying hair at the fringes. He was quite tall, taller than Turiel but not quite the same height as Shri’ook or Kwah. He had a certain charm that was rarely found in men younger than him. Lyvanne tried to hold it back but as butterflies tumbled in her stomach a hot red flush grew in her cheeks.
“Thank you for your help,” she said, before realising that the swelling was somewhat impairing her voice.
“No need to thank me, it’s my job. Just try not to talk too much, and definitely don’t put any strain on that head of yours for the next few days okay?”
Lyvanne nodded, sending another wave of pain wracking around her brain that made Tyler slightly chuckle when he realised.
“How about you just do a thumbs up or down for the rest of the day, eh?”
Lyvanne gave him a thumbs up. “Okay.”
She was asked to remain in bed for the rest of the day, over which she was visited by a handful of people. Jocelyn and Turiel came first, they pandered to her, making sure she was okay and that Tyler was treating her okay. Lyvanne had so many questions that she wanted to ask both of them, but she was still tired and struggling to keep her eyes open at times, so decided they could wait until later. Kwah was her next, albeit brief, visitor.
“I’m so sorry for what he did to you Lyvanne,” he said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I long suspected him of having ulterior motives, of using us to fulfil his lust for… well, you don’t need me to tell you. To his credit there was no better thief when you needed one, but I should have seen that he was using us sooner. No man should find joy in stealing, or hurting others. I was blinded by his usefulness, as were we all,” Kwah appeared downtrodden by his own poor judgement. “I promise you that someone like him won’t be welcome into our family again… speaking of which, I look forward to discussing her future when she felt fit enough.”
