Callum travelled at her side, saying nothing, his discomfort almost palpable. She knew he could sense her growing sickness. With every glance in her direction, the concern deepened the lines around his face, taking in an occasional breath as if to speak, thinking better of it at the last second. There was nothing for him to say. She would argue any excuse he posed for why they should stop. The closer they came to Targas, the more insistent she became that they continue. Why stop now when they were right there? A single day away. It would be foolish to waste more time.
The road cut through a wooded patch of land, trees hovering tall on all sides, spread out in every direction, creating a heavier darkness that made visibility more difficult. Callum quickened his pace, giving nothing more than a wave of his hand to indicate Aiva to follow. She gave no hesitation. The area was unnerving. All around they were surrounded by places for anyone to hide which would be unperceivable from the road. Her imagination played tricks on her, strange noises causing her to glance from side-to-side, on edge at the possibility of something being in the woods. Waiting for them. Watching.
A crack echoed through the trees. Quiet at first. She wasn’t convinced it was anything more than her mind until she took notice of Callum’s stiffened form beside her, his head turned in search of what might have caused the sound. She didn’t dare speak. If something was out there, it would expose itself again. They needed to be ready.
It came again. Closer this time. A snap followed by a whoosh of air that reminded Aiva of an arrow being discharged from a bow, though where it was aimed, she couldn’t be sure. There was no sign of it along the road. A warning, perhaps? Or a sign for something else…
The thought had barely formed in her head when she became frighteningly aware of a loud clatter coming their way. Horses. Moving at a run along the road, the sound echoed as if from every direction at once. “Raiders,” Callum exhaled, struggling to maintain control of his horse where it danced nervously across the road at the commotion. “Bring your horse to a gallop, Aiva. We need to cut through them before they surround us.”
Her heart pounded, increasing the lightheadedness that already plagued her. She was in no condition for a fight. Leaned forward in the saddle she pressed the horse faster. The rain had eased somewhat but the road remained mud-covered and slick. All around the thud of hooves grew louder. She could see them now, coming from the trees. The riders were dressed in black, masks pulled over their faces to cover them from view. They were closing in at incredible speed. Fear forced Aiva to push onward. She didn’t want to know what would happen if they were able to catch up.
“Try to get in front of me,” Callum shouted, slowing his pace to allow Aiva into the lead. “Whatever you do, don’t stop, do you hear me? I don’t care what happens to me, you keep going.”
“I’m not going to leave you behind!” Aiva was in a panic. What was he talking about? Nothing was going to happen to him. She wouldn’t let it. Sick or not, these men were not going to separate them. Sparing a glance over her shoulder she could see them getting closer. There were too many of them. In the cover of the night and the trees, they blended into the shadows, an outline the only thing she could see to indicate their whereabouts.
A clash of metal echoed from behind as Callum drew his sword to defend against an attack. They moved faster than she expected. Two more were coming in from the side, cutting off Callum’s horse from hers. Wildly her horse spun under her frantic directions. Callum was on the ground. She needed to get to him.
Sword in hand, she rushed toward the men now coming in strong. She counted at least six or seven, more clattering along the road in the distance. Callum’s voice shouted at her from somewhere. He wanted her to go. Had he lost his mind?
An arrow shot into the ground at her horse’s feet, causing it to rear up, a loud whinny echoing through the trees. Her numb hands failed to keep their grip, fingers sliding from the reins, her body tumbling backward out of the saddle. The men were on her instantly, lifting her from the mud. She could feel them carrying her between two horses, one clutched tightly to her legs while the other maintained control of her arms. Every pull of the animals drifting apart created a sharp pain in her stomach, screams torn from her lips against her will. She hated to give them the satisfaction.
She fought to pull her feet free. Thrusting outward with her legs she kicked futilely at the man holding her. His grip was too firm and without a means of gaining leverage, she was at their mercy. In that instant she found herself wondering if this was what Shaelyn felt when Ireni’s men took her away. The fear of not knowing what was going to happen. What they wanted. These men were no good thieves. They lacked scruples. It meant nothing to them that she was frightened out of her mind. If anything, they enjoyed it. Reveling in the screams that continued to flow from her mouth.
Her feet suddenly dropped, the man holding them slumping over the saddle, an arrow lodged squarely in his back. She screamed louder out of pure reflex at the sight, her body hoisted onto the saddle with the man still holding her up. Callum was shouting her name. Was he coming? Had he gotten back on his horse? “Callum!” she cried out, desperate for him to say something.
Disarmed of her blade, she had little in the way of weapons to utilize against her captor. Her back was bent at an unnatural angle across the saddle, jerked and strained with every step the horse took. It was excruciating. She tried to sit up but the man held her down, his elbow striking hard against her left eye.
They were breaking from the group. Away from the road, she was struck by low-hanging branches and vines, thorns scraping her skin mercilessly. Something sticky poured over her cheek. Blood. She was cut, though by what, she couldn’t be sure, nor did she care. It meant nothing in that moment. She needed to get off the horse. To find her way back to the road. The further this man took her, the less chance she had of getting to Callum. Gathering her strength, she tensed her abdomen to lift her upper body, hands clasped together tightly, utilizing them like a hammer to the side of the man’s head. The bottoms of her fists made contact though it had little effect. In response to her strike he delivered another elbow to her face, white specks of light filling her vision under the force of the blow. Her head reeled. She couldn’t think. Blood suffocated her, filling her nostrils, forcing her to breathe through her mouth.
Finally she felt the man bring the horse to a stop, dragging her gruffly from where she laid across the saddle. Planted on her feet, she swung her fist at the man, the power of her strike knocking his hat away, exposing long, sandy blond hair overtop a tightly wrapped bandana which covered his mouth. Angered by the successful blow, he tore the fabric from his face, spitting the blood from his mouth into her eyes.
Reaching upward she tried to grab onto the vines, vaguely aware of their rough surface against her palms. Her fingers were numb. It was impossible to know if she was having any luck convincing her body to do the things she commanded it to, but she couldn’t hesitate. Cadell had taught her that a moment of hesitation could mean the difference between life and death. Counting on her muscles to do what she asked, she pulled herself up by the vines, swinging her legs forward, the heels of her boots driving hard into the man’s chest, sending him stumbling into the thick foliage.
It didn’t take long for him to recover. He drew a sword from his waist, slicing wide over Aiva’s head, cutting down the vines to remove them from the trees. She released her hold at the last second, feet firmly rested upon the ground. Her right foot bumped against a thick branch, her hand sweeping low to take it in her grasp. Gripped tightly, she used it as a barrier between her and the sword. He forced her back against a tree, arms coming down hard, the blade of his sword cutting through the wood easily, leaving her defenseless.
She discarded the broken halves of the branch on the ground. She needed to think of something fast. Her dagger. It was better than nothing, although useless against a full-size blade. Fumbling at her thigh she found the sheath there, quickly drawing the weapon. It was larger than she remembered. More suitable for
the fight. The fine craftsmanship made it sturdy. Reliable. Its edge was sharp, unsightly notches left behind with every strike it met against her enemy’s sword. He gave a ferocious growl, tossing his weapon aside to come at her with his hands.
He was a strong man. Tall and muscular. Scars along his face and neck told of the numerous fights he’d been in over the years. He was no stranger to the tactics Aiva used. Pressing her against the tree once more he bent his elbow, digging his forearm into her neck. With a solid blow he punched the underside of Aiva’s wrist, painfully mashing the bones as she cried out, the dagger falling from her grasp where he held her arm, pinned at her side against the uneven bark. Any feeling she thought had been regained to her right hand was gone.
This wasn’t the time to think about the pain. Her knee shot up between the man’s legs in hopes of loosening his grip against her neck. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat contracted, crushed under the pressure of his arm. The blow did nothing to ease his grip. Instead it served only to anger him, his free hand tangling in her hair to slam her head viciously into the tree. Her cries were muffled. Choked.
In a blur of motion he pulled her from the tree, throwing her down on the ground. He wasted no time climbing on top of her, his knees positioned over her legs to keep her from kicking. A new wave of panic crept into Aiva’s mind. No longer was death her only fear at the hands of this man. Callum had warned her about the men in Luquarr. His concerns had never been about the loss of coin or personal belongings. He spoke only of trying to keep them away from her. He knew what they were like. You fool! That was why he told you to keep going! He knew he would be able to handle himself. In turning to go back, she handed herself to them. She was what they wanted. Whether it was to sell her into slavery or simply take advantage of her before killing her, it made no difference. She had always been their target.
With his arm cleared from her neck she began to scream, frantic, shrill cries that echoed on the air, reverberating through the trees. The more noise she made, the easier it would be for Callum to find her. Paying no attention to her frozen and swollen fingers she lashed out with her fists at the man’s abdomen where he knelt, the blows having no effect on him. He laughed, swatting her hands away to tear at the laces of her bodice, a hungry, lustful gleam in his eyes.
From his boot he retrieved a smaller blade, sharp and deadly for what it was. Managing to loosen the laces, he cut across her midsection, easily tearing through the thin fabric of her chemise, blood trickling from a slash that appeared just above her naval. The sight of his weapon reminded her of something. A final glimmer of hope she had in getting away. The bracer. Uttae was a smart man. He knew the importance of having blades stashed which would be otherwise undetected by an unsuspecting enemy. If she could just get it free from its hiding place. It had to be done in a way where the man wouldn’t see. If he became aware of the weapon, he would disarm it, and she would be left helpless.
Lifting her arms above her head she brought her hands together, the left positioned against the top of the bracer adorning her right wrist. To her benefit the man was too focused on her body to care what her hands were doing. He tugged on her skirt to get underneath it, his weight released from atop her legs. In his haste he was making mistakes. Errors that might go unnoticed by any other woman, but she saw them all. They worked to her advantage. Scream. Keep screaming or he’ll know something isn’t right. Raising her voice again, she let the shrill cries ring through the woods. The dagger was almost loose. Although she felt nothing in her right hand, the tips of her fingers on the left retained a slight sensation of touch, slowly inching the weapon into its grasp.
There. She had it. The man’s weight was heavy on top of her, causing her body to sink into the moist soil and grass. He mumbled something, the words not reaching her in any semblance of coherence. She was bordering on hysterics. He was too close to her. His hands were all over her bare skin, maniacal laughter the only sound that cut through her thoughts. She needed to create an opening between their bodies in order to deliver the final strike. Wriggling in the mud she pushed herself back, sliding away from him, forcing him to move with her, somewhat off balance. Dagger clenched in her hand, she let it slip under, twisting her body one final time to create the gap she needed, piercing the blade through the center of his abdomen. His eyes opened wide in pain. Gathering her strength she plunged the tip deeper, the blade angled upward, wrenching it with a harsh jerk.
Blood poured from the wound, creating a grotesque warmth over her numb fingers. She laid there in shock, sobs racking her chest from under the weight of his dead body. Her head reeled at the thought of what happened. What this man almost did. In the frenzy of the moment, reality didn’t have time to sink in until it was over. Anguished cries were all she could muster, trembling uncontrollably. She knew what she needed to do but her body wasn’t listening. Callum needed her. She had to get out from under this man and find her way to the road. Her legs refused to move. The corpse felt as if it grew heavier with every second she laid there.
Someone was coming. They made no effort to conceal their approach, directed to her location by the sound of her breathless sobs. She needed to get away from there. Think! Why couldn’t she concentrate? Her dagger would be by the tree. If another of the men tried to attack, she could go for it. They hadn’t moved far from where it fell.
A sickening sound of flesh tearing accompanied the movement of her hand drawing the smaller blade from the man’s body. His weight was lifted from her in a sudden motion, tossed aside with nothing more than a strained groan from whoever had arrived. The action held no malice. She blinked to clear her vision, recognizing Callum’s face hovering over her, his hands urging her to her feet, frantically calling her name. In the back of her mind she heard his voice. For some reason it didn’t register. All she knew was that he was there. He was alive. But they weren’t safe yet. This man’s friends were all over the woods. She and Callum would have to fight through them before they could get on the road to the nearest town.
“Aiva! Gods, Aiva, talk to me!” he gasped, brushing the hair from her face to stare into her eyes. She could see him there, her gaze unfocused. He was looking her over for injuries, immediately taking notice of the blood-covered dagger in her hand. It answered his questions about what killed her assailant, though it spoke nothing of her condition beyond the obvious shock which had settled over her.
He pried her stiff fingers from the handle of the dagger, wiping the blood from the blade before securing it in the sheath of her bracer. The air was filled with the sound of cracking twigs, Callum’s motions becoming more frantic in his attempts to get her on her feet. “Aiva, they’re coming. I need you to stand. Can you do that for me? Please? Sweet Sarid, tell me you can hear me?”
Saying nothing, she pulled away from his grasp. Her dagger. She needed the other dagger. He was trying to give her something. A sword. Her sword? Had he found it? No – that wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t leave the dagger behind. Crawling on her hands and knees she searched through the grass until she caught sight of the blade embedded in the rich soil. There. She leaned back, struggling to fit it into the sheath at her thigh. Callum rushed to her side to help guide the blade into place, holding the sword out to her again.
The footsteps were coming closer. Heart pounding, she could feel the shock quickly shifting to anger. These men were scoundrels. Worse than scoundrels! They deserved the same fate she had dreamed of bestowing upon the men responsible for taking Shaelyn. Whatever pain she felt no longer registered to her senses. Filled with rage, she grabbed the sword from Callum’s outstretched hands. In a fluid motion she was on her feet, stance ready, eyes set on the trees in the direction of the road. Let them come. She wouldn’t be taken so easily a second time.
As the men stormed through the trees she made no attempt to count their numbers. They would fall easily enough. Clutching her sword tightly she charged forward, a loud battle cry splitting through the air. She wasn’t sure it had come from her un
til it faded away, the sound resonating in her head. Her blade met every sword, the clash of metal against metal followed by agonized groans with every mark she hit. Vaguely she was aware of Callum fighting at her side, their offense strong, cutting through the men with far greater ease than they had before. Determination flashed in her eyes. Parry. Thrust. The men were no match for them. No longer did she hold any hesitation to bring death upon these miscreants. Some people simply deserved to die.
In the back of her mind she wondered if this was what it had been like for her parents during the war. It had always been difficult for her to picture her mother and father so willing to strike down their opponent without thought of the life they took. She understood now. Although these men weren’t Ven’shal, they were evil. There was no guilt in destroying something so heartless. So vile! It almost brought her pleasure to see these men fall at her hands.
The road was in front of them. Somehow they had found their way through the trees. Callum bent over one of the bodies, retrieving a bow from the corpse, an empty quiver already strapped around his back. She recalled the arrow that struck one of her assailants before. The blow had been fired by one of their own weapons at Callum’s hand. He sought more ammunition, gathering what he could find. One of the horses left by the men stood in the road, prancing back and forth fearfully at the sound of battle. Callum grabbed onto the bridle, mounting the animal in a single leap, his hand extended to Aiva. She accepted without thought, sheathing her sword and allowing him to lift her into the saddle, positioning her to the front. His hands snapped the reins hard, the horse jerking swiftly into motion at a smooth gallop.
A mist was all that remained of the rain, washing over Aiva’s face as they ran, full-speed from the bodies left behind in their wake. It was refreshing. For the first time since leaving Dackdyn she could feel something. The rest of her body was numb but the rain – she could feel it, a reminder that she was still alive. They were victorious.
The Myatheira Chronicles: Volume Two: Beyond the Veil Page 72