“Well, you seem like yourself now.” He’d intended to brush her off, but she leaned against him, and he couldn’t help but linger.
A stern voice interrupted the moment, “Captain, we need to go.”
He looked up into the eyes of the Huntress, her impatient scowl making him feel like a boy caught mooning. Pulling away from Cara, he reminded himself to stay focused.
It didn’t take long to get everyone moving. The underbrush was green with spring and not yet thick enough to hinder them. But when they stopped midday to rest and eat, his restless anxiety had returned. He drew one of his swords, hefting its comforting weight.
“Archer!” he called, assuming a stance.
The Northerner looked surprised but only for a moment. Then, he handed the waterskin to Cara, wiped his damp lips and drew his own weapon with a smile. “You wanna try me, old man?”
Khoury barked a sharp laugh. “I’ll best you, boy.” He lunged, slashing at Archer with measured power. The clang of metal made Cara squeak in surprise as Archer blocked and parried with a grin.
Khoury had sparred Archer so often, they knew each other’s weaknesses. They pushed each other to the limit and beyond. And as with the morning practice, Khoury’s world narrowed until it was nothing but the dance of steel. Sweat trickled into his beard and his ribs creaked. Nevertheless, here was contentment. His anxiety fled.
After nearly an hour of back and forth, Khoury disarmed the younger man.
“I let you have that one,” Archer taunted with a wide grin, hands on knees and breathing like a bellows.
“No, I took that one,” Khoury retorted, sheathing his blades. He scooped up the huge blade Archer favored and tossed it to him.
“Because I was taking it easy on you,” Archer said, sheathing the blade with a cheeky snap.
“Right.” Khoury took the waterskin Bradan offered and he drank deeply. He had all but forgotten their little group. Cara looked a little pale sitting next to Bradan who fingered his braids in thought. The Huntress’s scrutiny, however, was full of challenge.
“Care for a match, Huntress?”
She smiled at that and he had a moment of eager anticipation when she stood and brushed the dirt from her backside. “Love to, Captain. But we should get moving.”
He had Archer lead them southeast toward the Pass. They’d eventually have to use the road; but if his bearings were correct, they were far enough south that they wouldn’t be on it for more than half a day before reaching the city. The Huntress took up rear guard without question which pleased him. He had to admit she was showing restraint and taking orders well. Then again, he hadn’t asked her to do something she really didn’t want to yet.
The sun hovered low in the sky when the trees finally gave way to meadows and the tops of the mountains could be seen in the south. Named for their perpetually snow-covered peaks, the White Mountains bordered the Tanglewoods along its entire southern and western borders, stretching down into Barakan and northward to the Crown peaks. To the east, the peaks curved northward. The only way through the White Mountain range this far south was the Pass at Iolair, which lay to the east.
They stepped out of the trees into a warm afternoon breeze that foretold the coming of summer. Rolling hills dappled with tiny yellow flowers rose up on either side of them. Khoury hadn’t gone forty feet out onto that meadow when the Huntress shouted.
“Riders!” She pointed up the hill. Almost a dozen armored riders crested the top and galloped toward them, swords aloft.
“Archer, look sharp!” Khoury called to his lieutenant who was still shadowing them from within the trees. He took a quick survey of the others: Bradan was behind him to the right, mace in hand, and the Huntress was dragging Cara back toward the relative safety of the trees on his left. She’d arranged Cara’s hands on the staff so it crossed defensively in front of her body. Then, the Huntress stationed herself directly in front of Cara, dropped her pack, and unslung her bow.
“We meet them here,” he said, scanning the trees for a glimpse of Archer. “Get them off the horses however you can.” He drew his swords and turned to focus on the oncoming threat. Behind him, he heard the shaman begin to mutter.
As soon as the attackers entered shooting range, an arrow whistled from the cover of trees taking the first rider in the throat. Falin fired, catching another rider in the shoulder, making him drop his sword. Unbelievably, a second white-fletched arrow found another rider’s chest before the Huntress had finished setting her second shot. Her next hurried shaft missed its target but lodged in the next horse’s throat, sending the charger to the ground and pinning its rider. Archer stepped out of the trees and felled a third rider, then stowed his bow and drew his sword.
Khoury rushed into the remaining horses, swinging at the legs of the first one to reach him. He sent the animal crashing to the ground with a scream of pain. The rider was tossed into the nearby heather and Khoury rushed to the fallen man, laming another mount with a crude backhanded swing as he went. He slit the fallen rider’s throat and turned to face the lamed horse’s axe-wielding rider.
Terrified neighing echoed across the hills. Khoury and his opponent both turned at the sound. Bradan was calf deep in the yellow heather, a scowl etched on his face, and all around him fog rose from the ground. Khoury’s skin crawled with a supernatural chill as the ghostly smoke writhed like a knot of snakes. Tendrils crept up the shaman’s legs and out along the ground. The horses reared, snorting fear as their riders struggled vainly for control. Two of the warriors fell as their mounts galloped off into the heather. The third man clung to his horse’s mane as it fled.
Khoury planted one sword in the ground and slipped the knife from his boot. Twisting, he heaved the blade after the retreating horseman, then turned back to his opponent just in time to block the swinging axe. The curve of the axe hooked Khoury’s sword and the other warrior jerked it down, trying to disarm him. Following the movement of the locked blades, Khoury grabbed his second blade from the ground and then raised both swords parallel and hooked them into the head of the axe. He lunged sideways, grunting loudly at the tearing cramp in his side. He managed to unbalance the warrior who stumbled to one knee. Khoury untangled his shorter blade from the axe and stabbed the man in the hollow above the collarbone. Blood spurted and the warrior collapsed, catching Khoury’s blade awkwardly beneath it.
Before the captain could shake the body loose, a thin sword pierced the meaty flesh of his upper arm. Pain shot up into Khoury’s shoulder and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. He swung overhand with his other sword, catching his attacker with a glancing slash to the shoulder. The man laughed and twisted his sword making Khoury howl with pain. Leaning away, he lashed out at the man’s knee with a booted foot. The joint crunched sideways under the kick and the man crumpled to the ground, taking his weapon with him. Khoury felt a gush of warm blood down his arm, pounding in time with his heartbeat.
He turned and hacked with his good arm. The blow nearly separated the man’s head from his neck.
“Khoury, watch out!” Cara’s voice rang out just as an arm snaked around his throat. Khoury couldn’t lift his injured arm to break the hold as he was yanked backward off his feet. His throat closed as all his weight hung from the arm around his neck.
“Falin!” Cara cried. “Help him.” But the Huntress had her own troubles, far larger and stronger than she.
The horror in Cara’s face gave him purpose. He struggled to get a foot under him and dropped his sword, reaching behind with his hand, searching for a vulnerability—an eye or a throat, anything. He scanned the area, but Archer was fighting with his back to the captain and Bradan was struggling on the ground with one of the men he’d unhorsed.
Khoury’s attacker jerked him back off his feet again, and he felt the claws of air hunger in his chest. His vision began to darken.
“Sister!” Cara begged.
With a distinctly unfeminine roar, the Huntress shoved her opponent hard enough that he stumbled backwar
d a step. She backed up a step of her own as her hand went for her belt and retrieved a black bolo. In seconds, the spinning stones were only a blur. Then she twisted and hurled the weights at Khoury. He heard them whistle past his ear and strike his attacker in the head with a painful sounding thud. The pressure on his throat instantly released, and Khoury fell to his knees coughing.
He could only watch as the Huntress’s opponent stepped in and leveled her with a punch to the temple.
Why she wasn’t dead, he didn’t know. She’d given the man a perfect opportunity to kill her but he hadn’t. The captain sliced the throat of the man who’d tried to choke him then sized up the rest of the battlefield. Bradan was alone on his knees in the heather, relatively unhurt, and Archer was engaged with one opponent. The only other attacker standing was the one who’d knocked Falin out.
Khoury scooped up his blade, swaying on his feet. The blade had poked through the muscles in his arm without too much damage, but the pain hindered upward movement. The blood that dripped briskly from his elbow, however, hinted at a deeper problem. He had to finish this and fast.
He rushed Falin’s attacker with a flurry of strikes that set the man on his heels. The attacker wasn’t a skilled swordsman and even injured and woozy Khoury had him at a disadvantage. When Archer’s opponent fell, the man flicked a fearful glance in that direction, providing a fatal moment of inattention. Khoury gutted him. Dizziness swarmed around Khoury’s head, but a strangled cry from Cara told him they weren’t done yet.
He and Archer turned to see a warrior with a black-feathered arrow in his shoulder, holding Cara by the root of her braid, his knife at her throat.
“Just a minute.” Khoury took a step closer. “Let’s talk this out.”
“No talk,” the man snapped.
Bradan staggered to his feet but when he tried to approach, the wounded man tugged Cara’s hair back harder, making her whimper. “Don’t move or she dies.”
Khoury could see the indent of the knife in the soft flesh of her throat.
Bradan halted, hands in the air. Khoury surrendered his weapons to the ground and wondered if the shaman had any more ghosts. Just then the Huntress rolled over with a groan and pushed herself to her knees between Khoury and the kidnapper. There was a gash on her temple and a line of blood down her cheek. Sitting back on her heels, she shook her head drunkenly.
“I said don’t move!” the man yelled down at her with desperation.
The Huntress raised her empty hands in surrender as she staggered to her feet.
The nervous warrior squeezed another squeal out of Cara. “I’ll kill her,” he insisted.
The Huntress stared at him for a moment. Then, as her mind cleared, she shifted into familiar nonchalance, stretching her back as if completely at ease. “So, kill her,” she said flippantly. “But you better be sure you’ve got the right girl.”
Khoury’s gut clenched. What did she think she was doing?
The man looked momentarily confused. Then his face clouded with anger. “It’s her. Look at the hair.”
“Then you can’t kill her, can ya?”
The man looked at her then back at Khoury. “I will kill her anyway if you don’t bring me a horse.”
“No, you won’t.” Falin’s blunt skepticism gave the man pause.
There was more desperation than anger in the face that turned to the Huntress, but the knife pressed deeper and a line of crimson appeared between the blade and Cara’s white skin. “Try me,” he hissed.
The Huntress stopped and turned to face him, hands on her hips. “You were told to retrieve her,” she said slowly, “alive.”
The Huntress’s words obviously hit a nerve with the man, but how did the Huntress know what his orders were? Khoury’s mind was fuzzy. He couldn’t take his eyes from the gathering droplet of blood on Cara’s throat. Blood dripped down his arm, too, pooling warmly in the crease of his elbow.
“But…”
“Don’t do it,” Falin warned the man. “You do not want to see him angry.”
Does she know Sidonius? Khoury wondered, feeling edgy and off-balance.
A drop of blood broke loose from the blade at Cara’s throat and trickled down to the neck of her dress, staining the fabric. Crimson soaked into the blue. Where had he seen that before? Khoury’s mind wandered. A memory of fire tickled his nose as the Huntress stepped closer, her hand reaching out for the man, gentle persuasion on her face.
“I’ll kill you, too,” the man threatened weakly. “Even if it is against orders.”
What orders was the man talking about? Suspicion flared in Khoury’s murky brain. Was that why she wasn’t dead yet?
“No, you won’t do that either,” the Huntress said. “Just give her to me.”
Give her to me. The words echoed in the captain’s head.
Give her to me. Dreams and reality clashed, and he felt the echoes of an ancient betrayal.
“What are you playing at?” he growled at the Huntress. “You swore to protect her.”
Falin turned to Khoury, flicked a glance at the kidnapper and then back to Khoury. Then a sly smile flashed across her features, quickly replaced by her usual stony facade. “She’s not worth risking my life for.” Her haughty tone grated on Khoury’s nerves.
“You lying traitor.” He lunged at her, his hands clenched into fists and his head spinning.
She took a step back. And he advanced. Crimson-soaked blue silk. Broken feathers of gold. A burned-out house. His mind flitted with fragments of dreams.
The Huntress stopped retreating, chin tilted up and challenge in her eyes. “How many more will die for her, your little pet?”
And then it happened. The fury inside him broke through, overwhelming his flagging mind, dulling his pains and his fear. His hand was around Falin’s throat before he knew it. Her eyes flew open in surprise and the rage delighted in it. He couldn’t stop his fingers from tightening. She clawed at his hand. Blood thundered in his head drowning out the soft sound of an arrow strike. The man behind Cara gurgled as she shrieked in panic, shocking the captain back to his senses.
Archer and Bradan rushed him, each one taking an arm. His fingers unclenched as the anger faded. The Huntress fell to her knees in a crumpled heap.
It had been a ruse, all of it.
To give Archer time.
Cold shame snuffed the last of the madness out as Cara rushed to him. She pressed her face to his chest and his good arm closed around her shaking frame without thought.
Archer gripped the captain’s shoulder tightly, his eyes boring into Khoury’s. “Captain,” he whispered urgently, “are you back?”
Khoury nodded, dropping his gaze. ‘It’s passed.”
He heard Archer’s soft breath of relief, and the hand that gripped his shoulder tightened briefly and then let go.
“Are you hurt?” Khoury whispered to Cara as Archer moved to where Falin crouched, her hand massaging her throat.
Cara shook her head.
“But you are,” Bradan said, grabbing Khoury’s arm. “We need to staunch that. And quickly.” He tore a strip from his shirt and bound it tightly around the wound. “Cara, you’ll need to tend this.”
At the mention of healing work, Cara pulled back and stared into Khoury’s face. There was something she wanted to say, he could see it. But a rough hand whirled him around before she could.
“You thornless son of a rat! You tried to kill me!” Falin’s eyes blazed. “What’s the matter with you?” Her throat was just beginning to show the purple badge of his anger.
Then a voice from behind them interrupted. “I see your new friends don’t like you any more than we did.”
Falin blanched, and Khoury turned to see the rider who’d been pinned in the initial attack walking toward them. He’d forgotten about that one. Then the rider reached up and removed his dented helmet. Only it wasn’t a man at all; it was a woman. A woman with long black hair.
“Hello, Sister,” Rebeka said.
YOU
ALMOST MADE it.” Rebeka drew her sword, twirling it lazily. “But you never win this game, do you? I always find you.”
Falin clenched her jaw until her teeth creaked. With the Final Gate behind her, she thought she’d finally escaped Rebeka.
“I haven’t lost yet.” Her voice was hoarse as she drew her blade.
“Yes, you have.” Rebeka stalked closer, her eyes never leaving Falin’s. “I’m here to finish this.”
Khoury stepped up next to Falin, blade in hand. His bandage was soaked already, his left hip and leg darkly wet. With all that blood lost, no wonder he’d snapped.
“Stay out of this,” she snarled at them. “This is personal. Take the others and go. I’ll catch up.”
“So sure of yourself, dandelion.” Rebeka laughed, then she winked at Khoury. “Don’t worry, Outsider. I’ll save you a dance.”
“Leave them be.” Falin rushed Rebeka with a slashing attack, trying to keep the scout’s attention off the captain and Cara who stood behind him, clinging to his arm.
Rebeka parried the strike easily. “I can’t do that, Sister. The stain must be purged.” The two Huntresses circled each other.
“What stain?”
“You and your kind. Bad enough an Outsider like you lived in Haven, now men have soiled our Mothers’ sacred forest.”
“That wasn’t my idea. I’d have killed them in the Thorns. You took them to Sorchia.”
“I had to honor the girl’s request for safety,” Rebeka sneered, “not that I wanted to.”
“So you took them to Sorchia in hopes of a Culling. That didn’t go as planned, did it?”
Anger reddened Rebeka’s cheeks. “No, but bringing you back, dead or alive, will get me on the Council.” She lunged, and Falin deflected the blow.
“You’ll never be an Elder.”
Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1) Page 25