Zehava strained his eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. The savages were scrambling all over, pushing each other to the ground, trying to escape the attack. He swore he saw Dahak break from the tree line, dropping a bow and charging into the midst of his terrified enemy.
Zehava felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up and Shania began pulling him away from the battle that was unfolding.
*****
Ursa lifted his arms and powerful arcs of energy escaped, striking another large group of savages who were frantically searching the scene for answers. The arcs tore through their targets, leaving charred, gaping holes in their stunned dying victims. Others stared down in disbelief at the blacken stumps where a limb had once been.
Nicolette stood beside Ursa, dagger gripped tightly in one hand and the small crossbow Adhar had given her in the other. She aimed the small, but powerful, weapon into the scattering enemy, trying to pick a target, but she was shaking hard. Ursa had told her only to fire when she had a sure shot. The string released, sending the deadly bolt flying. It struck an unsuspecting savage in the spine with enough force to sever it. The brute fell to the ground sprawling, no longer in control of his legs. He had not crawled far before Dahak finished him with a downward thrust of his blade.
Ursa summoned another ball of flame, casting it at a small group of archers that were establishing a formation by one of the huts. They had notched their wicked arrows to fire back at the intruders. Their eyes widened with terror when the Wizard's fire closed the gap in a heartbeat. They did not even have time to cry out before the flaming sphere overwhelmed them in a aberrant inferno.
Dahak ran straight ahead into the throng, slashing and hacking the disoriented enemy before they could defend themselves. Blood soaked his arms and legs as he opened a savage's bowel with a fierce swing. He had never been so focused or scared in his entire life. In the army, he had never been in the front lines of an attack. He had always been in the back lines, finishing off the wounded. He had not the nerve or the skill to lead a charge. Now, he did not care, he wanted his friends back.
Dahak swung his sword low, avoiding a barbarian's high shield and biting deeply into his thighs, nicking bone and crippling his target. He turned just in time to see a duo of savages charge him, their spears leveled. Without thinking, he hurled his sword, end over end, at the charge - it embedded with a cracking thud into an attacker's chest ending that threat. He was barely able to sidestep the other's mad thrust for his midsection. Instinctively, he pulled his dagger and stabbed deep into the enemy's exposed side, slipping through ribs and into the lungs.
Dahak pulled his bloody knife out with a twist and gore poured freely from the fatal wound. The savage tried to crawl away between coughing fits as his lungs filled up with blood. He quickly picked up the fallen man's spear and threw it at another charging barbarian. The spear missed its target and the man continued toward him with his axe in hand, yelling a savage war cry. Dahak froze, closing his eyes and held his breath as he realized his time had finally come. Most warriors wanted to see their death coming. Dahak did not.
A lifetime seemed to pass before Dahak had the courage to open his eyes again - the man lay dead a few paces in front of him, a small bolt sticking out of his side. Dahak wasted no time retrieving his sword - he pried it quickly out of the gurgling enemy's chest. His hands gripped it tightly and he drew a deep breath, charging forward again. The enemy was becoming more organized and Dahak realized he was taking more than his fair share of cuts and gashes. His attacks were more forced and labored as he began to tire.
"What is going on out there?" Kinor staggered, gripping the final brand tightly. "Go find out!" he hissed to the large warrior in the room with him. The Shaman snarled at the inconvenient timing of the distraction. He stared at Meath, his chest raising and falling from his deep, labored breaths. Sweat streaked down his weary face and trickled in fat drops from his pointy chin.
Meath's head hung - lack of strength made him kitten-weak. His body tingled and pulsated with strange, unnatural energy. He was not sure if it was death approaching or his Gift preparing to leave him. Either way, he was not able to do anything about it. He thought he heard screams outside, but was not certain he was hearing anything at all.
The warrior rushed in moments later. "The camp is under attack!"
"By whom?" the Shaman cried in shock, almost dropping the metal brand to the ground.
"A powerful Wizard is laying waste to our army - he must be leading an army in retaliation to the river settlement," the warrior cried out, drawing Meath's sword from his hip and guarding the door, expecting an attack.
The Shaman growled in frustration, lifting the last symbol up to Meath's head. He held it there for a long moment, his facial expressions twisting with inner turmoil. He cursed, angrily lowering the symbol. "We need to leave - I am too weak to fight off a powerful Wizard and his army."
When no reply came, he turned his attention to the door, his helper was on his knees gasping for air, his hands trying to grasp the tiny bolt embedded in his chest, but his hands seemed not to want to cooperate. A girl stood in the doorway, fumbling with another bolt as she tried to reload. Her gaze darted toward the Shaman then back to her crossbow.
"You little wench!" the Shaman hissed, finding a new dose of strength, he hurled the metal brand her way. The metal bar smashed into her legs, she cried out and her finger pulled the trigger of her crossbow, the awkwardly placed bolt fired, scoring a deep grazing hit to the Shaman's shoulder, causing him to hiss in pain. Clearing the distance, he backhanded her to the ground. He was about to strangle the life from her when a quake shook the hut - he heard screams of death from outside and knew he did not have a moment to waste. "We will meet again." He promised before disappearing from the doorway.
Meath hung from the beam and forced himself not to black out while he looked down at the female on the ground. He recognized her from somewhere, but he could not place where. He could not keep his thoughts together long enough as his world fazed in and out of blackness. He wished he could go to her and help her up, but he could not move - he could not even feel his body anymore.
"Meath!" she cried weakly, pulling herself off the ground. "What have they done to you?" She ran to him, repulsed by the sight in front of her. His body was battered and limp - bruises and blood covering most of his torso. Cuts and burns riddled his flesh.
Nicolette grabbed his sword the dead warrior had dropped and cut through the leather ropes that had held him to the beam for the last day and a half. He fell to the earth with a crash, and lay there, motionless. Nicolette lifted his head and cradled it in her lap crying, believing he was already dead. Are we too late? She thought to herself.
Ursa and Dahak soon ran into the hut and saw Nicolette holding Meath's limp body. Ursa's eyes focused on the white sand circle that she was lying in and cursed under his breath.
"Are we too late?" Dahak cried, also thinking Meath was already lost. His eyes shot back to the door, making sure the enemy were not aware they had disappeared.
Ursa ran over to Meath, being careful not to go inside the circle, and felt for a pulse. "No, he is still alive, barely. We need to go now - we cannot stay a moment longer."
"What about Zehava?" Dahak cried, turning his attention from the door to Ursa.
Ursa was just about to speak when a savage girl burst into the room, knocking the distracted Dahak to the ground hard. Dahak scrambled backward holding his sword up. Ursa was about to unleash a deadly assault when she spoke.
"No kill me, me help, come with me, me help!" She blurted out, frantically licking her lips, her eyes moistened with fear and uncertainty.
Dahak got to his feet, the tip of his blade not leaving her. "What do I do?"
"Please, other friend is waiting. We have horses," she replied, fearing for her life as she looked outside again. Dahak looked out the door and saw Zehava swaying like a branch in the wind on one of the horses.
"She is not lying, Zehava's out
there!" he assured Ursa and Nicolette with a confused smile.
"We do not have time to question our luck. Grab Meath - we have outstayed our welcome," Ursa ordered as he went outside unleash several more attacks on the burning camp.
They had only been in the village for a few moments and it already looked like two armies had clashed in a full-scale war. Huts and buildings were collapsing under themselves as flames gutted them. Blackened, broken bodies scattered the scene all around them, as most of the enemy still had no idea what was going on. They searched for the enemy army, which they believed to be attacking or fleeing for their lives in the dense jungle.
Dahak used one of the fallen savages as a step to help him throw Meath's limp body onto a horse. Ursa finished another violent attack, then mounted on the horse in front of Nicolette.
The young savage girl was already mounted behind Zehava. He looked just as bloodied and beaten as Meath did. He had no shirt on and Dahak could see the whip marks and bruises that scorned his body.
"Follow me!" the girl yelled, spurring her horse into a full gallop, wasting no time. They did so without question. Dahak rode along with Meath so he could keep him on the horse.
They followed the savage girl down a path that was just wide enough for a horse. Two barbarians rode hard after them in pursuit. They were able to make easy time catching up with less weight on their beasts.
"We have trouble behind us!" Dahak yelled to Ursa, holding on frantically to Meath's bouncing, limp body, almost losing him several times.
Ursa quickly turned and looked back. He was already weak from using a great deal of his Gift; he did not want to waste any more than he had to. He knew he still had to heal Meath and Zehava. He aimed his arm back to the oncoming warriors - they were yards away, weapons ready.
A torrent of solid air tore the first warrior from his horse, a handful of horse's mane thick in his hand. He sailed through the air like a twig into the savage behind him, toppling man and beast into a mangled heap.
*****
"I think we finally lost them," Dahak murmured tiredly, coming back from searching the area. Most of his wounds had closed over with fresh scabs and only a handful would require any attention at all.
The group had almost ridden their horses to death before finding a spot where they could hide safely for the night. Though, they doubted the barbarians would pursue them any longer. They would be busy putting out the fires and organizing what was left of their camp.
The small party sat around the two wounded members while Ursa worked what energy he had left to heal them. He sat between the two young men, his hands placed flat on their chests. His breaths were deep and rigid as he concentrated his mind fully. He knew this would weaken him to a point of self-harm,but he had no choice. The hairs on his neck stood on end as he forced his energy down his arms into the two men. Slowly, the cuts and burns on both men`s bodies began to mend and close before the others' eyes. Ursa's body began quaking uncontrollably as he forced his mind harder to continue, knowing the repercussions. The wounds began to heal slower as his powers weakened. The smaller wounds had closed entirely and the scars now faded. The larger wounds were closed over and dwindling into themselves, slower and slower. Ursa's eyes rolled into the back of his head as his mind wavered in and out of consciousness. The wounds stopped healing and the great Wizard crumbled to the ground.
"Ursa!" Nicolette cried out going to the old Wizard.
Shania eyes widened in panic at the fallen Wizard. "What happened to him?"
"He must have used all he could," Nicolette replied, pushing the Wizard over so he was on his back. He looked weak and fragile - sweat drenched his long white hair. His facial lines seemed to be much more defined than she remembered. His eyes were sunken into his skull and his lips were ashen. She looked over to Meath - most of his wounds had healed completely, and only one remained. A deep, fleshy burn above his heart - it was still blistered and fresh and had not been healed in any way. "What were they doing to him?" Tears welled up in her eyes.
Shania looked up at her. "The Divine Shaman, Kinor, was stealing his magic." She reached into her leather pack and pulled out a small clay container and started applying a white paste to Zehava's few remaining wounds. None of them were bad anymore, but one could never be too careful in the jungle - infections and parasites could fester the smallest wound.
"Are they going to be all right?" Dahak knelt down beside the three downed companions. "They look like they are going to…" He cut himself off not wanting to say the word, but he finished in his head, …die.
"I do not know," Nicolette sobbed, fear shading her face at the possibility that everything might not be okay.
Dahak saw the worry on her face. He wished he could think of something positive to say in reassurance, but he could not think of anything. In truth, he was just as worried. He retrieved the horse blankets and covered the three unconscious companions. Before he sat down again, he scanned the area thoroughly. If they were ambushed now, they were dead.
"Why did you help us?" Nicolette asked, her glistening eyes searching Shania's.
"I…I…do not know," she confessed, meeting Nicolette's eyes with confusion. "Something inside soul said to."
Dahak and Nicolette exchanged glances full of uncertainly. Neither knew what to make of this strange new companion.
They all sat silently for several long moments, a certain awkwardness in the air. Dahak could tell she was a half-breed and had to guess her life with her people had not been an easy one. Her accent was there, but her English was surprisingly good. Dahak rubbed his arms flaking off the dried blood. He noticed many of his wounds were still bleeding slowly and were deep.
"Highness, you should get some sleep," Dahak said. "I will stand watch tonight."
Nicolette could hardly keep her eyes open anymore. They had only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before. Ursa had insisted, knowing they would not be of any help to Meath and Zehava if they were not alert.
She smiled tiredly at him and nodded. "I guess you are right."
Dahak and Shania sat there, an awkward silence hovering in the air. Dahak fidgeted around, flaking more dried blood off his body, finding all his serious wounds. He could not help but steal quick glimpses of the savage girl. She was surprisingly attractive. Her features were smooth and soft and her frame was petite but toned. Unlike other barbarian women, whose features were hard and sharp and their build bulky like a man, she had a touch of the ethereal and a softness about her. Even in the faint light of the moon through the canopy of trees, he could see her striking sapphire eyes. They pierced through the obscurity almost like that of a jungle cat.
"Me can help with wounds," Shania said timidly, noticing him staring at her.
Dahak's eyes shot to the ground and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I…um…. I would…um…thanks," he stuttered.
Shania poured some water from one of the skins onto a rag and began wiping the dirt and blood off him. Most of his wounds were nicks and small cuts, but he also had some deep lacerations across his arms and back.
"Ouch! Damn it," Dahak growled as she cleaned out the deepest wounds.
"Almost done," Shania told him. Once she had finished cleaning them, she applied the same white paste that she had on Zehava, to help stop infections and to help ease the pain.
"Thank you. I had better go stand guard. You should get some sleep too," his eyes trying their best to avoid hers.
Dahak watched the camp from a distance. He realized though, that if they were attacked during the night, they would all likely be killed. He stood with his back against a large tree staring off into the night, thoughts of the battle flooded back to him. He could not believe it had all happened, and that he had survived, that any of them had. It was all so much, so intense, so alive and so fulfilling. As he remembered the night's events, his adrenaline began pumping into his system again, helping him stay alert and awake.
7
Two hardened riders rode past the group of arme
d soldiers with a nod. They were piling bodies in two separate heaps - the Sheeva camp defenders in one, the enemy in the other. Draco's soldiers refused to burn the bodies of their enemies with those of their own. The defender's bodies would be cremated first - in belief that the dead enemy would have to watch them ascend to the afterlife before them.
The riders passed under the still smoldering, blackened gateway. Their horse's hooves already tainted with thick blood and gore from the soiled earth. Once they were inside the walls, the smell of death was no longer just a lingering odor in the air, but an overwhelming stench that made even the veteran soldier's stomachs queasy.
The small contingent of soldiers had not been there long. Already cleanup was well under way. The remaining fires had been quenched, the unstable buildings were being torn down and the bodies were being collected.
"What happened here?" Rift jumped down from his tanned stallion.
The firm faced Captain turned to meet his questioner. His eyes lightening a little from their impassive state. "Rift, what brings you out here?" the Captain asked. "No matter - that is none of my business. What does it look like happened? The encampment was slaughtered. How, we do not really know. Looks like they simply were overrun, by wave after wave of enemy warriors. From the bodies we have found, it was a collective effort from a handful of tribes." The Captain sighed in frustration. "Their weapon reserves were low. A new consignment was on its way; it must have gotten here too late." He pointed over to the supply wagon that rested in the middle of the encampment.
"The supplies were here?" Rift asked.
"They were here when we arrived." The Captain ran his dirt-stained hands through his damp hair.
The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Page 17