The Silver Arrow

by Larry Itejere

  The air was getting warmer as the sun edged out of the horizon, and they looked to their rescuers for what to do next. They stopped moving and murmured amongst themselves.

  There were thirty-two people in their band, including Iseac, Elena, Samuel, Faray, the sixteen Ackalans, and a dozen freed prisoners. Within the group of prisoners were three women, a young boy about ten years of age, an older man around sixty-five, and the rest were in their twenties to later thirties.

  Tremay broke away from the pack of Ackalans and made his way to the freed prisoners.

  “How many of you can handle a weapon?” he asked.

  Seven raised their hands, including the oldest man in their group, Faray, and a young girl who said she was good with the bow.

  “Step forward,” Tremay commanded, gesturing to the volunteers. As they did, they were joined by a young boy who ran up a second later.

  “Hildra, take them away,” Tremay instructed. “And young man,” he said to the boy, “you stay with me.” Hildra herded the others toward the Ackalans.

  “Everyone, listen,” Tremay said, drawing the attention of those who remained. “We are going to be splitting into two groups. You will remain here while the rest of us find out what lies ahead. Someone will bring word if it is safe to continue, so do not worry.”

  Tremay turned to look at the boy by his side. His face softened.

  “What is your name?”

  “Jude,” the boy replied.

  “This weapon, Jude,” Tremay said, pulling out a shortsword, “was made by a master craftsman and has been in my family for generations. Only three of its kind were made in the Kingdom. It will protect you like it has me, and those staying here that you will be guarding when we’re gone.” He handed Jude the shortsword.“Will you protect these people?”

  Jude nodded his head, looking at the weapon that seemed to absorb the light. He looked at Tremay, unsure what to say.

  “Go on,” Tremay said, urging him along, and Jude ran back to the others.

  The Ackalans carried more than their fair share of weapons. When the seven prisoners returned a few minutes later, they were armed. Four of them would remain behind with the group, including the girl, who was now armed with a silver bow and arrows that could only have been made by Samuel.

  “As long as I’m alive, this weapon will not fail you until I remove the bond that binds it to me,” he had told her. The other three, including Faray, would come with them to head off whatever was coming.

  “You will be safe here till I return,” Iseac told Elena as they prepared to leave. She hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  “Be careful,” she said, and soon they were off.

  By the time their enemies came into view, they had just moved far enough for the others to be out of sight. Ahead of them, a growing number of armed creatures appeared over the horizon. Their numbers increased as they drew closer, spreading across a large area. From Iseac’s estimation, there were roughly two thousand of these creatures known as Norians. There was no cover on the open plain, just an ocean of sand.

  “Today is going to be the day that I’ll have to put all my training into action, but first I need to level the playing field so we’ll have a fighting chance,” Iseac thought as a gust of warm desert breeze blew around them. He would use the natural resources available to them.

  Iseac could make out the armed Norians, who looked like boulders with their gray skin and massive weapons. Behind them were Golans on horseback, with their faces painted for battle. At the head of the groups was the former Patron, with Rogan by his side, both of them on horseback. Like Thorlak, the former Patron spoke to Iseac telepathically. Even in his head the voice sent a chill down Iseac’s spine.

  “I know he is here,” the former Patron said sinuously. “I can feel him, just like you. If you send him to me, I might let you live and maybe spare your family, too.”

  “I think you must be confused,” Iseac replied, as if he wasn’t just threatened. “You and your master will pay for the innocent lives you’ve destroyed, and it will begin with you.”

  “Ah ha ha…” the former Patron laughed. “I would not suggest you so casually toss away your life, boy! Bring him to me,” he warned in a more venomous tone, “or you will all die, including those that are traveling with you.”

  Instead of cowering, Iseac was calm and resolute.

  “No,” he replied as he looked toward their assailant.

  “Then you are a fool and will die here with them.” With those words, the former Patron raised his hand in the air and the Norians began to advance. The Golans released a volley of arrows ahead of the charging Norians, who had little plumes of dust rising behind them.

  Samuel was hidden by the Ackalans, who were standing just behind Iseac. He could not see them, but could sense the arrows as they drew near. He waved a hand in the air and the arrows suddenly lost their momentum and dropped to the ground.

  The charging Norians were now sixty yards from them, their weapons raised high; the sound of their pounding feet increased.

  Faray’s heart was racing, his palms sweaty as he prepared to meet death. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. They were fifty yards away, then forty, then thirty. Just then, a gust of air shot sand in front of the Norians, blinding their view. As sand and dust filled the air, the Ackalans rushed in, and it began.

  Metal rang and bones snapped, followed by the howling sounds of death as Norians fell.

  Iseac had been watching in deep concentration. When he swung his hands out toward the ground, it sent all the sand and dust into the air in the direction of his wave.

  Samuel could see the clear impression of those in the fog of sand and dust, and he released several volleys of arrows into the chaos. Even with their thick skin and armor, the Norians dropped to the ground like flies from the lightning bolts of Samuel’s silver arrows.

  Faray had joined the charge with squinted eyes inside the fog of sand. He could hear the clashing sound of weapons ringing around him as he made out the impression of the massive creature that could only be a Norian. It was almost upon him when he heard a swooshing sound. The Norian−twice his size, with arms the size of a horse’s hind legs−fell straight toward him. Before he could react, it fell on him, knocking the wind out of Faray’s lungs.

  The massive head of the Norian rested over his shoulder with a hole in it, leaking blood, while the rest of his body was buried under the beast.

  It was hard to breathe with sand and dust everywhere, but Faray made himself take slow breaths, coughing in between. With a considerable amount of effort, he managed to push himself out from under the Norian. He could still hear some fighting going on, but it was ahead of him.

  What was going on, he wondered as he covered his nose with his left arm. The dust was beginning to die down when he heard the galloping sound of something approaching. He froze, watching as a brown mare galloped past him with the lifeless body of a Golan dragging along beside it.

  Faray listened for anything else before continuing toward the sound of the fight. The farther along he went, the more clear the air became. When he was beyond the dust, he could see men fighting with the Norians and Golans, and it wasn’t just the Ackalans.

  *****************

  The former Patron and Rogan rode into the dust storm, impressed with Iseac’s futile attempt to create cover. “The Anamerian is going to die regardless,” the former Patron thought as his horse moved in a trot, with Golans riding on both sides of him. The Golans had their arrows notched.

  A spear suddenly appeared through the chest of one of the Golans and he dropped to the ground. The others turned to see what was behind them, and to their surprise they saw men dressed in cloaks the color of the desert running toward them. Their cloaks made it hard to focus on them, as they appeared to mingle with the sand.

  “Rogan, take care of it,” the former Patron said. “I will deal with the Anamerian and get the boy.”

  Rogan turned his horse around, taki
ng with him some of the Golans and the Norians, and they rode off to meet the people of the desert.

  ****************

  The edge of Tremay’s shortsword was stained with blood as dust settled around the body of a fallen Norian. The ground was beginning to absorb the orange pool that had begun to build around its neck when Tremay sensed something close by. He turned just as the dust in front of him suddenly parted, revealing men on horseback.

  “Bollan,” Tremay said to himself, recognizing the former Patron. Just as the words left his lips, several arrows were launched at him. He deflected some while evading the others as he ran toward Bollan, moving with incredible speed. His feet barely touched the ground, like a cat in full stride, before he leaped into the air, crossing his arm mid-flight. The sun reflected off the razor edge of his blade on his descent.

  He was suddenly seized in the air, frozen in place and unable to move as he stared at Bollan, who looked at Tremay with the same contempt one gave to a bug, as if saying, ‘Did you think you were going to get anywhere with that charade?’

  He waved his hand in the air and it sent Tremay flying, far enough that no one saw where he ended up.

  As if following a beacon, Bollan led the Golans toward Samuel. Iseac appeared in front of them with his quarterstaff held planted on the ground by his side as if blocking the way.

  “Don’t kill him,” Bollan said as the Golans moved into a semicircle. They aimed for nonvital organs and fired. The arrows all dropped to the ground a few feet from Iseac as Samuel waved his hand. As the Golans reached for more arrows, they were brought down by silver ones that flew from behind Iseac. Bollan made no attempt to deflect the arrow meant for him as he watched it skid past him.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at his men that had fallen. He stepped off his horse and started walking toward Iseac, a broadsword suddenly appearing in his hand. The blade was wide with a red edge, as if pulled out of a forge fire.

  Iseac spread his legs apart in a ready stance with one hand holding his quarterstaff at a fifty-degree angle, ready to pounce.

  “I am going to enjoy this,” Bollan thought as Iseac positioned himself for an attack. With a yard between them, they charged each other.

  Bollan sent the first blow, which Iseac deflected with his quarterstaff and, on his retraction, spun his quarterstaff toward Bollan’s head. Bollan shifted his head to the left, with the quarterstaff swooshed past him, the force tossing his hair.

  He hadn’t expected such force from someone he thought was weak. He shifted back as Iseac brought the quarterstaff to a stop with one of the tips pointed at him. He looked at Iseac; this time he would not hold back, he vowed, and he sent several deadly blows in rapid succession, which Iseac manage to evade or deflect.

  Bollan moved his weapon with ease as he shifted from right to left. One of his blows came with such power that it pushed Iseac to the ground.

  Iseac spun his legs in the air in a cartwheel motion, using his quarterstaff to spring back to his feet in a single motion as Bollan came to meet him. Bollan did not charge, but walked, this time, with his robe swaying as he approached.

  Bollan showed no sign of exhaustion from all his effort, with the heat appearing to have no effect on him. He even seemed to grow stronger with every attack. Iseac noticed that Bollan’s ring got redder as the fight continued.

  Bollan’s confidence grew from the power he was receiving from his ring. With each attack, he could see Iseac getting slower with exhaustion as beads of sweat ran down his face. He went in again and again, picking Iseac apart with every second or third blow: first on his chest as it ripped through his garment, then his upper thigh, and a few seconds later, another to his right arm. Unable to hold on any longer, Iseac dropped to one knee, his quarterstaff holding him up. His arm felt like lead and his chest was on fire, unable to breathe. Bollan seized Iseac with an invisible claw, raising him into the air. He pulled Iseac toward him so they were standing face to face.

  “I told you your decision was foolish,” he said before pushing him to the ground.

  Iseac tried to stand as Bollan walked toward him, dragging his blade on the ground. Bollan had raised his hand to deliver the final blow when something zipped past Iseac. He looked up to see several silver arrows sticking out of Bollan.

  Distracted by his confidence, Bollan had let his guard down, forgetting about his real target. The arrows protruded from his hands and head as his weapon slipped from his fingers and he dropped to his knees. Mustering his remaining strength, Iseac stood up.

  “And I told you the same,” he said, looking down at Bollan.

  As death came for him, he began to laugh, a terrible, choking laugh that spewed blood. He was still on his knees with his cloak swaying on his side from the wind.

  “It’s all over, and no one can stop him,” Bollan muttered as he drowned in his own blood. There was silence, and he dropped to the ground. As he did, Iseac lost consciousness and dropped to the ground also.

  Chapter 29

  Stain of Death

  “Is he going to be all right?” Samuel asked as Annora stepped out of Iseac’s room with two other maids.

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Samuel asked.

  “His condition is something I’ve not seen before,” Annora said, not pleased that she didn’t understand it herself. “He doesn’t have a fever, but something is inside him that is not part of him. A strange toxin is the only way I can describe it, that only he can fight. The remedies I’ve given will help strengthen and heal his body. There isn’t much else we can do but wait and see.”

  Samuel was unsure what to make of the news. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but Annora cut in. “You need to get some ointment on your burns and get some rest yourself. We’ll talk more later. Right now, I need to attend to your other friend,” she said, referring to Tremay, who was badly injured and should have died from being tossed wildly into the air.

  “Angela,” she said to one of the women by her side, “please take care of this young man and see that he gets something to eat.”

  *****************

  Light flooded his eyes when he opened them and Iseac squinted until he slowly adjusted. He stared briefly at the yellow roof that was illuminated by the light dangling from it. In disbelief, he wondered how he was still alive. Groaning under his breath, Iseac turned his head and saw Elena sitting next to his bed. She smiled at him and he tried to reassure her he was okay.

  While it was subtle, Iseac couldn’t help noticing her nervous twitch; something about it that pricked his thought, but why did it matter, he wondered and as he was about to brush it aside, he remembered. It was the same look she had on her face when Perry, a friend of theirs, lost most of the fingers from an accident in the field, and when her cousin Chadrum’s wife died in childbirth. It was the look of wanting to be brave when something bad has happened.

  So what was wrong? Did he want to know? Maybe she didn’t think he was going to make it.

  His head felt like a reverberating bucket, even with the little attempt he made to move, but he needed her to see that he was okay. He looked at her reassuringly.

  “Help me up,” he said, and she did, even though every part of him ached.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Somewhere safe,” Elena replied. “Right now we are all under strict orders that you get your rest. I was allowed to stay with you under strict condition that a Council member be notified immediately when you woke up. I better go let them know.”

  “Wait,” Iseac said. “How is Samuel?”

  “He’s fine and worried about you, like everyone else,” she replied before closing the door behind her. He relaxed.

  Stripped of his clothes except for a simple robe, he looked around the room, trying to figure out where they were, when someone opened the door. It was a woman dressed in a white gown.

  “I’m Annora,” she said in a voice as clear as water and soft as silk. “How do you fe
el?”

  “I…I’m fine,” Iseac stammered as he stared at her.

  Annora possessed an elegance and grace that held his gaze.

  She was around forty-five, which was just past her middle years, if he was to guess. Her eyes were dark brown with pure silvery gray hair. As she stepped close to him, she placed two of her fingers on his chest as if listening for something, long enough for Iseac to take two breaths.

  He did not try to pull back, but looked at her.

  “It is a privilege, young Anamerian, to meet you,” she said.

  She wasn’t the first one to have made this observation. Iseac remembered his meeting with Gabram when he was twelve and he made a similar remark, but how did she... He disregarded the thought; it did not matter.

  “Where are we?” he asked changing the conversation.

  “You are in Olinar cave, which is to the south of Amito-Mountain.”

  “Amito-Mountain was several hours away from where the fighting had taken place,” Iseac thought as Annora was speaking.

  “You and your friends were brought here by Elwin and his men three days ago, and it was a good thing they were there to help.

  “Several of the people that came with you were badly injured, but they are fine now, so there is no need to worry. We were more concerned about you.”

  “Three days,” Iseac thought to himself. Had he been out for that long? That might explain why Elena looked at him the way she did.

  The last thing he remembered was the former Patron dropping to the ground.

  “We have much to talk about, but not now,” Annora said as several dozen questions ran through Iseac’s head. “I will send your friends in and have someone bring you something warm to eat; make your visit brief this time, if you can.”

  “Thank you,” Iseac said. It seemed inadequate, but that was all he could think of.