by Adrian Juhl
Chapter 4
The silver acorn around Namorn's neck began to glow. Time slowed. Desolation flooded his soul as he rolled his friend onto his back. With every ounce of his being, he called upon the Earth Mother to heal his friend, but his pleas went unanswered. He was not a Druid, privileged with the power to heal. The despair of loss broke him as he cradled his friend's head in his lap. He wanted to stay there, wrapped up in his grief, but knew he had to move on. He removed the curved swords from Garos' belt and attached them to his own, then, picking up his friend's bow, nocked an arrow and aimed.
A small fantail hung suspended above Namorn, almost frozen in time by the power of the silver acorn. Unfettered, Namorn released his arrow. It flew through the undergrowth toward its target, slowing in time as it traveled away from the magical amulet. Again, Namorn drew his bow and fired. Just like its predecessor, the arrow sought out its target with deadly accuracy. As the fifth arrow left the bow, the fantail completed one full beat of its wings.
The silver acorn began to dim. Struggling with the deadweight of his friend across his shoulders, Namorn attempted to put as much distance between them and the attackers as he could. As the power of the acorn subsided, Namorn heard the screams of rage from the pursuing Rabids as their hunting pack lost five of its members without warning.
Stopping to look behind, Namorn reached into a tree and gripped a vine, charging it with magical energy. The vine came to life, twisting and turning itself into a trap. He ignored the scratches of the branches against his face as he ran, the howls of the Rabids closing the distance.
He broke through the tree line and saw the besieged Aazronians. Before he could signal them, a large roar erupted from the bush behind him. He focused his magic once more. With telescopic sight, he zoomed in on the origin of the sound. Three Rabid humanoids and one Were-bear struggled in the vine trap that snaked itself around them. He scanned the surrounding trees for more pursuers, his frown deepening. In the distance, he spied a wild pack closing in on the fatigued refugees.
A large scream shattered the sky above him. Encumbered, Namorn was unable to react as a giant carrion eater plunged from the sky above, snatched Garos from his shoulders and knocked him to the ground.
"No!" Namorn roared in anguish, dropping to his knees in despair. All he could do was watch, helpless, as the bird disappeared with his friend over the jungle canopy.
Devastated, Namorn didn't notice the approaching Rabids, now free from the vine snares, tracking him once again. Exhausted and drained, he struggled to return to his feet. With each step, every muscle in his body burned. The Aazronians struggled with their injured towards the mountain cliffs. Anticipating their direction, he changed course to intercept them.
"Stop! It's a dead end. You'll be trapped!" he shouted, moving forward to cut them off. He yelled at the Aazronians once more, but his warning went unheard.
"Stop!" he called out wearily. He collapsed to the ground, oblivious of the advancing Were-bear, free of the chains the Rabids used to bind it. Rising to his feet, Namorn continued trying to signal the Aazronians.
The blow from the Were-bear struck him hard to the side of his head. Blood poured from the ragged claw marks on his face. It took every ounce of his concentration to avoid rolling onto his backpack, protecting the precious cargo inside. A small growl came from the pack as he landed on his stomach.
The Were-bear towered above him ready to deal the final blow, when the small, silver wolf burst from the backpack and attacked the bear. The Were-bear roared in pain as the silver wolf injected venomous silver-oxide into its bloodstream. It thrashed about trying to locate its new quarry. Namorn acted on instinct and drew his sword. He cut deep into the bear's other hind leg, forcing it back onto all fours. He grabbed the small puppy and ran for the refugees. The air around him began to churn, lifting him from the earth. As he rose into the air, he looked down at the Were-bear writhing on the ground in agony. Its outline began to shimmer as it reverted to its original form. A woman lay, unmoving, in its place.
Infuriated by the loss of their pet, the Rabids sprinted across the field. They shook their blood-tipped spears at the fatigued Ranger. The wind carried Namorn upwards at a gradual pace. Vulnerable, he clutched his acorn, but drained of magic, it failed to respond. Unable to draw his bow as he held the silver wolf, Namorn stroked the animal and sighed, resigned to his fate.
"You're a gutsy little thing. Thank you for saving my life. I guess this is how I go--trapped by a gust of wind and used as target practice."
As he neared the Aazronians, the ground appeared to glow. The Rabids raised their spears, took aim at Namorn, and pitched them. Dark shadows filled the sky as their spears sliced the air toward Namorn. At once, the gust of wind changed course, avoiding the incoming assault. Namorn felt a rush of air caress him as, one by one, the Rabids fled or died under a hail of Summoners spears. Howls of anger filled the air as the confused and terrified Rabids attempted to rally again.
"Conserve your magic! One last volley should do it!" shouted the Magistrate as Namorn landed beside him at the base of the cliff.
The Summoners raised their arms to the sky. The small pouches that hung from their hips glowed in the shadows. With a quick, practiced motion, their arms moved forwards. Magical spears appeared above their heads, summoned from their pouches, and sped towards their targets once more.
Namorn looked down with despair, clutching his friend's belongings and the young wolf. "So you didn't need us after all."
Gwin stepped forward and hugged him close, embracing him for several minutes. "Yes we did. Those creatures broke off their pursuit of us when they caught your scent. They had us pinned. It bought our Summoners time to call down the magic of this world into their Torques. Without it, we were defenseless. We were lucky that young Darius is an Elemental child prodigy, and was able to bring you here."
Namorn fought back his grief, hiding it from the Aazronians. He scrutinized the steep cliff above, searching for a track.
"It's alright, Namorn. We have a way in. It will take a few hours of rest first." Gwin paused, gently lifting Namorn's chin until he met her gaze.
"We're so sorry about your friend. It wasn't your fault he was...scavenged."
Namorn stepped back, alert. "How do you know this? What are you?"
Gwin's laugh was soft and gentle. "I am a Coercer. We specialize in communication."
"You mean invasion! You're one of those mind controllers. A puppet-master, like the ones from the children's books."
"True, we can influence others, and yes, there are those amongst us who abuse their magic. But you can't tell me that all Rangers are as honorable as Garos."
Contrite, Namorn shook his head. "I guess I can't. I'm sorry I was rude. Garos always stops me bef-"
With furious rapidity, he spun on the spot, dropped to his knees, raised his bow, and released the puppy and his burden to the ground. The Rabids fell upon the refugees from the cliff top. Namorn's arrow flew upwards, its arrowhead streaming magical energy. It exploded beside the creatures with deadly force, knocking them against the cliff face and killing them instantly.
"Whatever you need to do, do it now!" he ordered.
"I can do it," a young voice called out from the shadows. "Or we can let this Ranger kill us with a rockslide from his arrows."
Darius stepped up to the cliff face. Before Namorn could reply, the stone shimmered like water, allowing the young teen to walk through it. Namorn's jaw dropped in awe. Marcus grinned at him while they waited.
"You know, he's a good kid. Problem is, he always gets these crazy new ideas. It'll be the death of him."
The rock began to shimmer again, this time arcing upwards to form a tunnel through the middle of the mountain. Marcus waved his people inside.
"Your boy's done well, Titus. A real chip off the old block."
Titus groaned and placed his hand on Marcus' shoulder as he walked past. "
I see what you did there. Perhaps you should stick to the weather."
Marcus smiled. He turned to the tall woman who followed Titus and kissed her on the hand. "Pleased to see you're safe, Rheea. Look after that foolish husband of yours."
"Titus will be fine. I'm more concerned about the Rangers using us as pin cushions on the other side."
Marcus paled at the thought of his people being slaughtered by friendly fire. He ran toward the end of the tunnel shouting for them to stop. Titus looked at his wife who grinned at him.
"Rheea, send a message to Darius. We need to stop him!"
"Why? They have food on the other side."
"What?"
"I never said that's what they were thinking; I just told the Magistrate I was worried."
Titus laughed and hugged his wife, kissing her on the cheek as they walked. Up ahead, Marcus had stopped the procession and was physically holding Darius back.
"You can't go in there yet. It's not safe, Darius."
"Safe? We're in a tunnel, probably filled with dangerous gas, being chased by man-eating mutant animal-humans and pet Werebeasts."
"And we survived it all. Let's not ruin it by rushing forward."
"What are we going to do, wait for the welcome wagon?"
"Unless you think you can wrap yourself in stone to defend against their arrows, yes."
The sound of firm steps behind them interrupted their discussion.
"What are you waiting for? Man-eating mutant animal-humans and their pet Werebeasts are chasing us. I thought you Aazronians didn't fear anything."
Namorn winked at Darius as he passed them, exiting the tunnel into the sunlight.
