by Ryan Cahill
For a brief second, Calen’s eyes locked with the soldier’s. His chest swelled as it filled with air, and his heart thumped in his chest. The crash of blades and the droning haze of men shouting grew louder and louder, consuming the space in his eardrums. He snapped back to attention as the soldier pulled his blade back, swinging it again, this time at Calen. Memories of training in the field with his father took over. His arms swung from form to form, blocking each strike as it came. They had names, the forms. Vars always recited them, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what they were called.
The soldier over-reached; he was getting tired. His fingers struggled to grip the handle of his sword as he swung his blade towards Calen’s side. Stepping back onto his left foot, Calen steadied his shoulders and met the soldier’s swing midway through its arc, sending the blade ricocheting away from his body. He was exposed. Digging in his heels and twisting at the waist, Calen took advantage of the opening and thrust his sword forward with all his strength. He felt it sink into the soldier’s belly, the leather armour giving way to the momentum as Calen carried through his strike.
Calen looked into the man’s eyes. He saw surprise. Calen watched as the light in his eyes faded slowly.
Surprise turned to fear, then faded to nothing.
Calen felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach as he pulled his sword free of the soldier’s body, watching as it slumped to the ground. Lifeless. Calen stumbled backwards, a slight tremble setting into his hands.
Without warning, something hard struck him in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. He crashed to the ground. Another soldier stood over him, the black lion of Loria emblazoned across his breastplate, a heavy double-bladed axe held high over his head. He roared as he thrusted the axe downwards but was interrupted by the steel that slid through the side of his throat, cutting the sound off at the source.
Dann stood over Calen, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword that he must have picked up from the corpse of a fallen soldier. His eyes were glazed over, and his chest rose and fell in deep, slow bursts.
“Calen! Are you okay? You need to get up.” Rist’s voice started off as a subdued droning noise in Calen’s ear until it came through sharply as Calen became aware of his surroundings. The fighting was still in full pitch around him. Erik had gotten himself to his feet and was taking on a group of soldiers less than an arm’s reach away.
Calen tried to focus as he steadied himself. “What… what are you two doing here?”
An incredulous look spread across Rist’s face. “What are we doing here? You were gone so long, and then when we got to the door, we heard fighting. What are you doing here?”
Calen didn’t respond. He couldn’t think clearly. He tried to survey what was going on around them. Erik and his companion were being overrun. There were simply too many imperial soldiers. Aeson and Farda were still exchanging vicious strikes back and forth, their faces like stone. A few new trickles of blood decorated them both.
Dann half-stumbled over towards Calen and Rist. As their eyes met, Calen gave him a questioning nod, mouthing, “You okay?”
Dann paused for a second, then gave a half-hearted nod.
A hand gripped Calen's shoulder. “Calen, we need to go. We can’t win this. Your friends too, now. Follow me.” Erik rounded himself almost immediately, carving a path through the soldiers ahead of him, his two blades whistling in the wind. Calen did not have to look back. He knew Dann and Rist were following him.
He felt his heartbeat throughout his body. His hand shook as it held the slightly curved sword that his father had given him. Despite all that was going on around him, he only now noticed the intricate swirls that spouted from the guard up into the blade. The ornamentation seemed ironic on something that was made only to take life.
I just killed a man.
A flash of steel glinted in the corner of his eye. He reacted without thinking, swinging his sword to meet the incoming blow. He followed up with his shoulder, sending the man crashing to the ground.
“Dahlen, cover us!” Erik roared towards his hooded companion.
Dahlen had already reached the cart. He pulled a longbow and quiver from inside.
Whoosh. An arrow shot past Calen’s ear, the familiar thunk signalling its successful flight. “Run!” Dahlen loosed another arrow, and another soldier dropped.
As they reached the cart, Erik stopped. “Get in!” He shoved Calen up and into the cart, then Dann and Rist, before joining them.
“Dahlen!” Erik nodded toward Aeson, who was still locked in his duel with Farda.
“Father!” Dahlen screamed, loosing an arrow. Aeson turned his head just as the arrow slammed into Farda’s shoulder. Only a grunt escaped the man’s lips, which seemed more from annoyance than pain. Aeson leapt away from the wounded Farda, sprinting towards the cart.
Dahlen passed the bow to Erik, then made his way around to the front of the cart and started the horses into motion. Erik loosed arrow after arrow into the thick crowd of soldiers, attempting to clear a path.
Aeson fought his way towards the cart, dipping in and out of Calen’s field of vision as he weaved through the soldiers. There was no way he was going to make it. There were simply too many men.
A loud, deep whoosh filled Calen’s ears. It ended with an almighty thump, like an immense gust of wind cracking head-on into a tree, or a powerful wave crashing into the side of a cliff. With it, several soldiers between Aeson and the cart were thrown through the air, hurtling in all directions like rag dolls. Rist almost leapt over the rail of the cart when he saw what had happened, his eyes glistening.
Aeson charged through the gap that was created. An arrow whizzed past his head and through a soldier’s eye as he leapt up into the back of the cart. “Go! Go!”
With a crack of the reins, the cart took off like lightning escaping the clouds. The sudden jerk nearly sent Calen spinning over the back rail. As he peeked over the rim of the rail, an arrow sliced through the air near his face, tearing straight through the canvas canopy that arched over the cart.
Thinking better of another attempted look, Calen flipped himself, letting his back thump against the wooden rail. He slowly slid down until his ass hit the wooden base of the cart. The vibrations shook up through his bones as the wheels battered against the cobblestones. He let his eyes close for a second.
“Calen?” Rist’s hand rested on his shoulder. “What in the name of the gods just happened?”
Calen looked at Rist with a blank stare, then tracked his eyes over towards Aeson and Erik, who were similarly propped up against the wooden rails of the cart.
Erik counted the arrows remaining in the quiver, while Aeson sat with his eyes closed. His chest rose high, held for a moment, and then dropped low. Dann sat in silence, his eyes fixed on his blood-covered hands.
“Dann?”
Dann did not even so much as blink. He held his hands out in front of himself, fingers outstretched.
Calen held out his own hands. They were caked in dried blood, congealed and cracked. “I don’t know, Rist… I don’t know,” Calen said in response to Rist’s question.
He looked up from his hands. His eyes met Erik’s, who gave him a weak smile before returning to counting his arrows.
I killed a man.
A tingly chill ran down Ella’s back as she stepped out into the night air. The newfound warmth of the summer days had not yet seeped into the nights. The sun had dropped over the horizon hours ago. Both Vars and Freis had retired for the night around the same time, and Calen was off in Milltown. Most likely drinking himself stupid if he was with Dann. It is as good a night as any.
Ella pulled up the hood of her long brown mantle. Her hands fidgeted as she adjusted the drawstrings, ensuring it was tied tight around her. She hesitated for a moment, refusing to check the contents of her bag for a fifth time. She took in a deep breath of crisp air and held it for a moment, letting the cold flow through her lungs. She released it in a heavy sigh
, watching as it plumed out and upwards like smoke from a chimney.
The streets were mostly deserted. It had been a long few weeks. With The Proving and the celebrations, most people were tired enough to sleep for days. That suited her fine.
The silvery glow of moonlight splashed down over the streets, providing just enough light for Ella to see the way ahead of her. Not that it would have mattered; she could have found any door in the village with her eyes closed. The dirt crunched under her feet as she made her way through the village, the sound accompanied only by the crickets in the nearby fields and the occasional cough of someone turning in their bed.
Rhett was exactly where he said he would be; by the broken signpost at the south of the village, beside the low wall. Even by the faded light of the moon, he was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. She picked up her pace, slightly skipping as she walked. A warm smile spread across his face, the corners of his mouth almost stretching to touch his ears. She loved that smile.
“You’re here,” she said, feeling a warmth spread through her body. She threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around him so that her hands clasped together at his back. He waited a moment, then wrapped his arms around her in return, pulling her in closer, sharing the warmth of his chest.
“Of course, I’m here,” Rhett said. He craned his neck slightly to place a kiss on the top of her head, lingering for a second or two before pulling his lips away. “I would follow you to the pits of Mar Dorul. I sincerely hope I never have to, but I would.”
She tilted her head upwards, resting her chin on the flat of his chest. “I know you would, as I would for you. Are you ready? Did you leave your letter?”
She saw the hesitation in his face. Rhett loved The Glade. It meant everything to him, but if they remained there, then there would be blood between Rhett and Vars. They could not be together if they remained. Maybe one day, they could return. If they were married, with children, that may soften her father’s heart. Time heals all wounds.
“Aye, I left my letter. I think my parents will understand. Did you leave yours?”
“I did. Mother will understand. Father, I think maybe in time. I did not tell them where we were going. I felt that was probably for the best. We can come back, in time.”
Rhett nodded. Ella knew his smile was more forced than natural, and she understood. She loved him, and she hoped that she would never have to ask him to do something like this again.
CHAPTER 12
Myth and Legend
Calen had lost track of how much time had passed since they left Milltown, but the sky was still as black as jet. The only light came from the pearlescent glow of the moon as it floated into the cart through the openings in the canopy.
Aeson sat on the driver’s bench, steering the horses somewhere. He and Dahlen had switched over a short while after leaving Milltown.
Calen had no idea where they were going. He had tried asking a couple of times. Dahlen responded with nothing but a blank stare, then returned to cradling the large leather rucksack he had nestled on his lap. Erik said he wasn’t sure, but that his father knew, and they could all rest soon.
Dann hadn’t spoken since they left Milltown. Calen wasn’t sure if he had even blinked. He just stared at his hands, occasionally giving his eyes a break to stare into the emptiness of the night sky out the back of the cart.
The only actual conversation Calen had was with Rist. He explained everything that had happened before he and Dann had stepped out into the courtyard. Rist let out a short gasp when Calen told him of how he had killed the soldier only moments before. He noticed Dann looking over towards him when he got to that part, but as soon as Calen met his gaze, he went back to staring at his hands again. So, he just sat there. What else was there to do? They had to stop eventually, and then they would answer his questions.
After a while, more and more trees passed by through the opening at the back of the cart. Calen knew they had reached rolling hills when the cart swayed to and fro, tipping back and forth when they hit slopes. He was about to ask where they were when he heard neighing, echoing in the empty night. It was close by, and there was more than one horse, by the sounds of it.
“We get out here. We’re leaving the cart,” Aeson called back. He pulled the cart to an abrupt stop, causing all of them to jerk forward slightly. Erik nodded at Calen as he heaved himself to his feet. It was a sombre nod; there was tiredness set in his eyes.
One by one, they all piled out of the cart and into the night. Calen’s breath misted in front of him as he hopped down into the open fields set on rolling hills as far as the eye could see. A light blanket of frost swept across every blade of grass, dressing them in white; rigid and crisp. It crunched under the weight of his boots. The adrenaline from earlier had worn off, and there was a slight chill setting into his bones. Calen pulled his coat tighter around himself. About twenty feet away, beside a thicket of trees, three horses were tied to a small post that appeared to have been hastily planted in the ground not too long ago. It seemed as good a time as any to ask his questions. “Why are there horses here? Why are we here?”
“Because we arranged for them to be here. We can’t take the cart into the woods. We didn’t expect you three boys, so there are only three. We will have to go two to a horse.” Aeson walked towards the horses, not waiting for a response. Erik and Dahlen followed him without hesitation, Dahlen throwing the large satchel over his shoulder.
Rist didn’t move. “Wait – what in the gods is going on here? Where are we going? Why are we even here? Calen, we should be in bed, heading back to The Glade in the morning. This is madness.”
Aeson stopped and turned to face Rist. A sigh escaped his lips. There was a melancholy in his eyes. “Look, regardless of the why or how, after what happened back there, those soldiers are going to be looking for you. Going back would be stupider than coming with us. We are due to meet some friends at a small camp in the forest. Come with us, rest for the night, and then decide on a clear head in the morning. Does that sound agreeable? I won’t force you. In fact, I’m happy to leave you here, but the offer stands.”
“We’ll go with you.” Dann’s voice was hoarse, croaking, as if he had just awoken from a long sleep.
Rist stared at Dann, his eyebrows raised in shock. “Dann, are you seriously—”
“Rist, we have nowhere else to go. He is right. They will be looking for us. We killed people, Rist. I killed someone. Do you think the empire is just going to let that lie? ‘Carry on, young sirs. All is forgiven?’ Don’t be stupid, Rist.”
“He’s right,” Calen said, sighing. “We don’t have much of a choice.”
Disbelief set into Rist’s face. His stare flitted between Dann and Calen, searching desperately for the magic words that would change their mind. In the end, he shrugged and sighed. “Who am I riding with?”
When they were all mounted, Aeson slapped the flank of the cart horse, sending it charging off into the night, towing the cart along behind it. “That should send them the wrong way,” he said, giving his bay a brisk kick in the side.
Dann rode with Dahlen, and Rist with Aeson. Not much conversation arose from either group.
Erik broke the silence first. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
The question sat in Calen’s mind, and a knot twisted in his stomach. Two years had passed since Haem’s death. Had it actually been that long? The pain was as fresh as if it happened only that morning. It was like there was a hole in his chest. “I have a sister, Ella. And you?”
“It’s just me and Dahlen. And Dad, of course.”
“What about your mother?” There was a silence that hung in the air.
“She passed away when we were young. Consumption. It took her too fast for the healers to understand what it was.”
“I’m… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” Erik cast his eyes ahead into the dark of the fast-approaching forest. There was an awkward silence as the
horse trotted along. Calen didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He knew what that loss felt like – it was not something words could heal.
It didn’t take long before the trees swallowed them. Ölm Forest. Calen often forgot just how immensely large it was, stretching all along the western foothills of Wolfpine Ridge. It seemed to him that he simply could not get away from the place. His legs tightened around Ildarya’s ribcage as the horse stumbled over a hole in the ground. Guess you don’t like the dark either, boy.
Ildarya meant “Wind Rider” in the old tongue, so Erik said. Calen didn’t doubt the name fit the horse; they moved at a fair pace considering they were riding double, yet Calen got the impression that Ildarya was not even close to pushing himself. The horse was a beast; its legs were thick as tree trunks, and its neck was sturdier than a bear’s.
“Ölm Forest – not this damned place again. Are we really going in here after last time?” Rist posed his question aloud, but clearly meant it for Dann and Calen.
“Last time?” Erik said, turning his head slightly.
“Well, last time we were in Ölm Forest, we ran into a few problems.” If nearly being killed by a bear, and then two Uraks could be considered “a few problems”.
Erik’s head turned a bit more. “A few problems?”
“Well…” Calen paused for a second, wondering how much he should tell. “We had a close call with some Uraks.”
Erik tugged on the reins. Ildarya came to a sudden halt, sending Calen jerking forward, slamming hard into Erik’s back. “Uraks? You three fought Uraks?”
“I wouldn’t say we fought them. Truth is, I don’t really know how we’re all still alive, but we are.”
Erik nodded, turning back to face the forest. He took in a deep breath, as if about to say something, then stopped himself. He gave Ildarya a light tap in the ribs with his heel. The horse started into motion again, picking up pace a bit to catch up to the others. “You’ll need to tell us that story around the fire later while we eat.”