The Way to Freedom: The Complete Season One (Books 1-5): An Epic Fantasy Action Adventure (The Way to Freedom Series)

by H. M. Clarke

  They moved back along the trail until they were well out of sight of the outcroppings, then cut across the trail and moved silently through the trees to circle around behind the group of Arranians.

  Dearen ran in a half crouch, one arm held behind her to keep her bow case from slipping from her back, the other arm out in front to help keep her balance. As she ran, the tingling in the back of her mind grew stronger and Dearen had the uncomfortable impression that she was being watched. Impossible! The only ones that could watch were the Arranians and they would have raised the alarm straight away.

  Dearen could now hear the noises of the Arranians as they set up their camp and she quickly slowed her run to a creep. A few quick words from Fasta sent everyone moving to their positions. Dearen headed straight for the horses that had been picketed to one side of the camp near the outcrop. Settling in the closest bushes, she watched as all the Arranians tried to erect a canvas windbreak against the center of the boulders, but the constant wind and rain was making it difficult.

  The horses had turned their tails to the wind and Dearen could smell their thick, wet smell on the breeze. She crinkled her nose in distaste. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a black wool scarf and tied it about her face to try and protect herself from the biting rain and the strong smell of horse. Dearen took a deep breath and grinned. Now all she could smell was wool. The horses were tethered by rope to a string line that was strung between two stout trees. It would be an easy thing to cut. Dearen turned and stared at the brush around her but could not see any of her fellow Dymarki

  The tingling in her mind became more insistent and she had to restrain herself from looking behind her as the feeling of being watched intensified. ‘Don’t be silly no one is watching me. It’s probably just nerves.’ But she did not feel nervous. Chiding herself, Dearen carefully shrugged off the bow case and quickly restrung and loaded it and then rested it ready for use on her right knee. She was within a thick screen of bushes and trees that sheltered her a little from the rain and the leather of her trousers protected her right knee from the sodden ground.

  A wind gust caught at the large sheet of canvas causing it to billow and the Arranians, in a shower of cursing and shouting worked to fix it to the ground. Ghrista suddenly gave his command

  ‘Fire!”

  Within a heartbeat, Dearen had fired her first arrow into the camp and had loaded her second, but this time she sighted and aimed at a man who had jumped away from the canvas to draw his sword. She released it and smiled as the arrow struck the shoulder of the man’s sword arm. The blade slipped from slack fingers and dropped to the wet grass.

  She had fired her two arrows.

  Dropping her bow behind her, Dearen drew her dagger and headed for the horse line. From the corner of her eye, Dearen could see the other Dymarki leaping into the camp with nothing more than their bare claws and falling upon the seven men still standing.

  The horses moved uncertainly around, the noise and the smell of blood making them skittish. One tried to rear but was restrained by its halter line, making it crash into the horse standing next in line. This then started a frantic tugging as the horses along the line tried to free themselves.

  Dearen grabbed at the end of the string line and began to saw at it with her dagger. A sharp whinny warned her and Dearen dropped to the ground as a steel shod fore hoof lashed out at where her head had been a moment before. The horse pawed at the ground snorting and rolling its eyes back in its sockets in fear. Dearen backed away from the beast. She had cut half way through the rope. What was she going to do now? Suddenly the horse bared its teeth and lunged at her. Dearen jumped backwards placing the tree between herself and the frantic horse, the hard click of teeth near her ear told her how close the animal had got.

  But now she was even further away from the line. As the horse went back to puling on its halter rope, Dearen moved around to the front of the line to have another go at the rope from the other side. But as she moved forward the rope suddenly snapped under the tension of the pulling beasts, freeing the halter ropes of the horses who, suddenly sensing their freedom, fled into the rain and disappeared.

  Dearen nearly laughed with glee as she sheathed her dagger. Then the sound of melee caught her attention. She had been so focused on the horses that she had forgotten about the Arranians. Dearen turned to enter the combat but as she started to draw her sword something heavy crashed into her from the side, knocking her to the ground.

  Dearen spun around to throw a kick at her attacker but stopped in shock. But in her hesitation the man suddenly leapt at her, pushing her to the ground and held the edge of his sword to her throat. Dearen did not fight back but her wide eyes could not leave the face of the man on top of her. This was a Bareskin? The man had long stringy black hair and an unkempt beard but looked to be the same as herself and Asnar. This was not the monster she imagined. But they are still the enemy.

  Suddenly she began to struggle but her inaction had allowed him to pin her securely to the ground.

  “What have we got here then,” he said as he leaned forward to look into her face. Dearen felt the edge of the blade push through her scarf into her neck. “You look a bit like a woman. What are you doing here?” A quick glimpse showed Dearen that they were a distance away from the fighting. No one could help her. If she was going to die, Dearen was determined to take this man with her.

  She began to struggle again and felt the scarf slip down from her face as it rucked against the sword blade. Suddenly Dearen saw the man’s eyes widen and he sat back in what looked to be fear.

  “You’re Hatar Kalar-.” But the man said no more as a large white shape leapt out from the darkness of the bushes and knocked the man from off of her.

  Dearen turned on her side to see what looked to be a large animal worrying at the neck of the man. It was the size of a small pony and was heavily built. It was covered in a thick white pelt with a short stocky tail and black tipped ears. As it released the man’s neck from its jaws, Dearen could see that he was dead, his throat torn out. The beast then turned to look at her, it’s jaws coated in blood. But strangely Dearen was not afraid. As the ice blue eyes stared at her, she felt the tingling in her mind reach out to reassure her, that this creature would not hurt her, that it was a friend.

  But why was that man afraid of her? And what was a ‘Hatar Kalar’? A scream of pain caught her attention and the man’s words vanished from her mind. Rolling to her feet she drew her sword in one fluid motion and charged across the gap into the melee.

  As Dearen reached the edge of the battle she dropped her shoulder and rammed into the side of an Arranian who was about to attack a Dymarki warrior from behind. With a grunt of surprise the man fell to the ground but rolled immediately into a crouch, sword held ready before him.

  Then with a cry of rage he charged forward and Dearen swung her blade to knock aside her opponents sword. She then slipped down the sword blade and grabbed his arm with her free hand and clamped it tight against her body. Dearen then stepped in, stabbing forward with the slim point of her broadsword. She was surprised at how easily the blade penetrated the man’s stomach and watched as the face that was a moment before eager for a kill, slack in shock. She pulled her blade back and released the man’s arm, letting him fall to a heap on the ground.

  Not giving the man a second thought, Dearen spun around only to find that there were no more Arranians left to fight. They all lay at odd angles across the campsite, open eyes staring at nothing. Bodies lay tangled amongst the canvas windbreak and Dearen saw two of the Dymarki pulling the body of a third from under it.

  Breathing deeply, she turned to look back at where the horses had been but all that was there was the ruined body of the man who called her Hatar Kalar. There was no sign of the creature that saved her and she could no longer feel the tingling in her head. Was it a figment of her imagination? No, it could not have been. The body of the man proved that. So what was it? Dearen peered carefully into the trees around them bu
t could see nothing of the beast. Maybe one of the others would know. But something inside of Dearen stopped her from telling the others about her experience. Sighing she turned and went to help the others with the dead and wounded.

  Chapter Six

  Down by the River

  Dearen lay huddled in her cloak unable to sleep. She could feel the comforting warmth of Hauga’s body against her back but the cold of the high mountains still chilled her. Not for the first time did Dearen wish her skin grew the same thick pelt as the Dymarki.

  Tonight was the seventh since the meeting with the Arranian patrol and twice a day at dawn and dusk, Dearen felt the tingling in her mind that she now recognized as announcing the presence of her new found furry guardian. She never saw the creature but Dearen just knew it was there. The Dymarki knew nothing of its presence and she was content to leave it that way.

  Flipping to her back, Dearen gazed up at the stars. Up here in the mountains, the night sky was ablaze with starlight so bright that they tried to block out the black velvet of the sky. Thrista died in that ambush against the Arranians and before the coming of the next dawn, the Dymarki patrol had sent Thrista’s spirit on its way to the stars from the top of a funeral pyre. Ghrista told her that their spirits will live among the stars until the time when they are needed back amongst the living. Maybe her Guardian was the spirit of the Ancient Dymarki Queen, come to protect her namesake?

  The stars twinkled and danced as if showing off their ethereal beauty. They reminded Dearen of the soft blue glint of Asnar’s eyes. Oh why did she have to think of Asnar? She fought down the tears that threatened to come and growled angrily at herself to stop being a fool. The familiar tingling started in the back of her mind but she ignored it. Dearen flipped back to her side getting a sleepy protest from Hauga to stop elbowing him in the back.

  It was then that she heard the snap of a twig. Dearen froze, not daring to move and focused on where she heard the sound. Under her cloak, her hand slipped to the pommel of her dagger. After what seemed an age, she heard the unmistakable crunch of a boot on gravel and it sounded just behind her.

  Quickly, she rolled to her right and came up in a fighting couch, her dagger ready in her hand. In the starlight she could see a figure frozen in the act of reaching a hand out to where her shoulder would have been. As he moved his head to look at her, Dearen heard the tinkling of bells.

  “Asnar?”

  “Dearen.”

  Hauga rolled back and looked sleepily at the two.

  ‘Please, I’m trying to sleep. Could you two talk elsewhere?’

  Asnar nodded silently towards the campfire and Dearen reluctantly agreed to follow. She did not feel up to this. Not now.

  Once seated by the fire, Dearen said nothing; just flicked her dagger up and down in her hand. Asnar did not seem eager to talk either, preferring to add more wood to the fire and holding his hands out to the warmth.

  “Thanks for the cloak and hat.”

  Asnar nodded but said nothing. Dearen looked askance at the Pydarki. If she did not know any better it looked as if he was nervous. At the back of her mind, she felt the tingling and Dearen looked up at the darkness around the camp in hope of catching a glimpse of her Guardian. But she saw nothing and Asnar did not look to be in a great hurry to talk.

  Finally, Dearen could stand the silence no longer and asked the question that was now burning a hole in her thoughts.

  “What are you doing here?”

  As he turned to look at her, Asnar’s blue eyes looked to glow orange in the firelight. Keeping his eyes on her, he threw the last piece of wood on the fire. Dearen watched as the explosion of sparks soared up on the heated smoke and winked out against the night sky. Around her Dearen could feel the sleeping forms of the Dymarki and far to her right was the mental humming of the lone watch. She scratched at an itch on her cheek but said nothing, waiting for Asnar to speak.

  But instead of answering her question, he asked one.

  “How goes it?”

  “Huh.” Dearen frowned and scratched at her face again. She could really do with a bath, she will have to see to it when the opportunity arises. Five weeks of grime made her feel as if she was wearing a second skin. What does he want? And why seek her out from all the people in this camp?

  “Thrista is dead.” Dearen stared into the fire, not wanting to look at him as it reminded her of that look of revulsion. “We ambushed a group of Arranians,” she said by way of explanation. But Dearen did not expand on it. She did not want to talk about what happened that day.

  Dearen heard the tingle of bells as he shifted on his log. She cast a sideways glance at him.

  “Thrista was young. This was his first time out on patrol. His mother will take it hard.”

  “Do you want me to wake Ghrista?”

  “No. He already knows I’m here.”

  “He does?” Dearen sat back in surprise. So, he is avoiding her.

  “We spoke earlier this evening. He saw my marker and called me in. I have been waiting in the area for nearly three days for you to show up. We are just over two days away from the main camp.”

  “Marker? What is a marker?” She leaned forward curiously as Asnar lifted a stick from the left over kindling pile and cleared a small patch of dirt in front of them. He then scratched a few quick lines into the ground.

  “That is my marker, though it is not normally viewed in this fashion.”

  “How is it normally seen then? Do you cut it into the trunk of a tree instead?” Dearen frowned at the scratching. Idly, she picked up a small stick and began to scratch it against the dirt near her feet.

  “Normally a marker is not seen through your eyes at all. It is seen with the mind. But not just any mind, the marker will only show itself when the person it is placed for comes within its range.”

  “So. It’s like the way the Dymarki speak but with pictures instead of words.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” He sounded pleased.

  “Does that mean you can speak as they do? With your mind?”

  “Yes I can. You can as well Dearen. You just need a little practice.”

  Dearen said nothing to this but continued her idle scratching. She had just finished the tail on a stick figure cat but the picture only lasted long enough for her to place her boot on it and scrape it out. She knew what a cat looked like but could not remember seeing one before. She then took the stick and began scratching again. Dearen tried to calm herself, she could feel her anger brewing. Is he here just to humiliate her again?

  “Would you like me to teach you?” His voice was soft and gentle and the smile that came to his lips looked genuine. If Asnar had asked in any other way she would not have reacted the way she did. She did not need pity.

  She leapt up from her seat and stalked a few steps from the fire, determined to leave him sitting there, but something stopped her. Dearen’s feet dragged to a stop and she stood, staring into the darkness. Out of the glow of the fire, the cold suddenly hit her and she tugged the black cloak closer around her to trap in what little heat remained. Was her white coated friend out there watching her?

  “Why are you here? You could have waited at the main camp for our return.” She did not turn back to look at him but heard a scraping noise as he rose from his log.

  ‘Why do you think I am here?’ Dearen stiffened as Asnar’s voice sounded inside her head. She could feel the cool blue eyes boring into her shoulder blades. Dearen glanced back over her shoulder at the man. He stood with his hands loose at his sides. Asnar’s face was in darkness with his back to the fire but the tiny bells in his hair caught the light, shining bright like stars against the darkness of his hair.

  A run of emotions churned through her, anger, love, shame… Dearen did not know what she felt.

  “I don’t know.” She took another step forward and halted. “What about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Dearen smiled at Asnar’s confusion.

  “Teaching me. What about sta
rting tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  Dearen then walked off into the night. Reaching Hauga’s side, she stood a moment in thought. Her emotions still roiled inside of her and the buzzing in her head relaxed down to a low murmur. The tingling felt odd now – different. Slowly she lowered herself onto the blanket and flipped onto her side, wrapping her cloak tightly about her. Teaching her to mind talk will make the Pydarki spend more time with her. Perhaps they will get to know each other better.

  Sighing, Dearen closed her eyes willing sleep to come to her.

  ***

  Dearen awoke just before dawn, she could feel the comforting warmth of Hauga’s back pressed against her side. Yawning quietly so as not to wake him, she sat up and knuckled the sleep out of her eyes before looking about her. It was then that she saw the black clad figure laying not two feet away from her.

  Asnar had his back to her but he was wrapped in a cloak similar to the one he gifted her, except that his was hooded. Dearen leaned towards him wondering if he was awake. She hoped so. As she watched she noticed that his breathing was soft and rhythmic. The Pydarki was still asleep.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Dearen quietly left her spot and headed for the edge of the camp. As she passed by the fire she and Asnar had sat by last night, she paused. The pre-dawn light made the clear ground around the softly crackling embers of the fire look exotic, the undulations took on many shades of grey. What caught her eye was the scratchings she had made as she sat with Asnar. What was left in the dirt made her blood run cold and Dearen stepped back in a panic.

  She recognized that Mark but did not know what it meant. Dearen could not remember ever seeing it before this morning but somehow she knew it was relevant to her. Dearen stood motionless, staring at it a moment before stepping forward and rubbing it out with the toe of her boot. She would think on it later. First she wanted some time alone in the woods.