After riding for a time, John extended his mind out of his body and found himself floating in the air above the party of rangers. Particles of oxygen moving in the wind flashed past, mixed with dust and pollen and particles of other elements. Ignoring the air, John filtered his mind to see the light. It came down like sheets, hitting objects or the ground and reflecting to the eye. Light allowed humans to see the different colors of the spectrum while also carrying heat and radiation. Testing a theory, John stretched out a mental hand to take hold of a stream of light, but as his own energy swept through the stream, it parted like water and he could not touch it. Frustrated, he tried encompassing the light in an orb of energy, but still, the light escaped, experiencing minor distortion by the energy field he created. A shout interrupted him as he prepared another spell.
Snapping his mind back to his body, he looked around.
Captain Hill pointed in the distance, where smoke rose. The wind carried the sound of combat - swords and screams - along with the faint iron smell of human blood. “Come on, we have to help,” he said.
The rangers and John spurred their horses into action, racing down the path toward the village.
As the group neared the village, a cluster of several dozen low round tents the color of earth, smoke billowing from openings near the tops of them, John saw a trio of dark-shaped creatures near the center. Bodies surrounded them. Even as he watched, one of the creatures broke away from the trio and chased down a fleeing woman. Another Krai’kesh warrior rushed toward one of the round tan tents. He recognized them based on the description Dawyn had given them. “Krai’kesh!” he shouted over the wind.
Without slowing, Captain Hill and the other rangers rode toward the creature in the center of the village. They drew their swords as they neared and prepared to strike.
The Krai’kesh, noticing the newcomers, turned its attention from those fleeing toward the riders. It raised its claws in a threatening manner.
Captain Hill was the first to reach the creature. He swung his blade, but a claw of the enemy deflected it. He flashed past and turned his horse, preparing to strike again.
Next came two more rangers. The Krai’kesh was ready for them. It turned its back on one of the rangers, absorbing his sword strike, then lashed out with both of its claws to rip the other ranger from his horse. The man fell to the ground, screaming, and the Krai’kesh set upon him with the pincers surrounding his mouth, ripping the ranger apart. The Krai'kesh in the center blocked the next two strikes.
John cast his mind out of his body once again and used the heat of the air to summon fire. He hurled the fire toward the Krai’kesh and it splashed against its back carapace, causing it to glow. The next wave of rangers moved past the creature and one of their blades struck the glowing carapace section to shatter. When another pair of rangers struck, their blades bit into the soft flesh beneath the carapace, causing the Krai’kesh to roar in pain.
By this time the two other Krai’kesh had heard the commotion and begun to move toward the center creature. The reinforcements intercepted the next wave of rangers. The first ranger lost his horse to decapitation, sending him flying, while the second ranger was bisected by the pincers of the other Krai’kesh, causing his horse to run off. Three rangers down in such a short time.
Captain Hill charged in for a second strike, slashing the initial Krai’kesh from behind. A greenish fluid spurted from the wound. At his side rode the other surviving rangers that had made it past the creature. They struck at the three Krai’kesh, losing one man and a horse in the melee.
John prepared a stream of fire and directed it toward the center warrior Captain Hill just struck. The enemy raised its claws in an attempt to block the flames, but John persisted. He threw more and more heat into the stream of flame until he felt a chill in the air and exhaustion coming over him like a wave. He was running out air temperature to fuel the fire, instead pulling energy from his mind to heat the air. If he didn’t stop he would soon begin drawing heat from his own body, which could cause hypothermia. John released his hold on the stream of fire and slumped in his saddle. Shivering, he pulled out a hard biscuit and began eating it, attempting to regain his energy. He watched as the center enemy collapsed to the ground.
The remaining two Krai’kesh up almost back-to-back over the body of the third Krai’kesh. The remaining eight rangers circled them. John could tell the odds were not in their favor.
John felt the ground shaking. Was it an earthquake? He hadn’t manipulated the earth. He wasn’t as adept as Ashley at manipulating the mineral and soil.
“Draw bows!” Captain Hill said. The men sheathed their swords and drew their bows, stringing them and nocking arrows. “Release!” The rangers released their arrows and watched as they streaked toward the pair of Krai’kesh. The eight arrows slammed into the carapaces of the creatures and all but one bounced off. One of the arrows struck the rear leg of one of the monsters, causing it to stumble, but otherwise, the arrows were useless.
John heard Captain Hill curse. “Bows are useless,” he called. “We’ll have to do this the hard way.” Unstringing his bow and storing it on his back, Captain Hill again drew his sword. The other rangers followed suit. “We will strike as one!”
The shaking had intensified. John looked around and stared as horde of horsemen crested the hill, dust thrown up by the hooves of their horses announcing their number. They thundered across the ground and parted as they passed John, making him feel as though he were a rock in the center of a raging river. As the Rovarkian warriors, for that was what they had to be, passed, John marveled at their appearance. Chain mail covered their horses and bodies and their conical helms with top-knots made of hair protected their heads. Each man carried a small round metal buckler and long spear, with a scabbard at the side. Horse bows poked over the tops of their backs along with quivers full of arrows.
The horde of riders reached the duo of Krai’kesh and the frenzy of battle commenced. John could not see the details due to the mass of flesh between his position and the Krai’kesh, but he heard the clash of swords hard carapace or claws mingled with the screams of humans in fury or pain. He saw human blood spurt and limbs fly into the air. In the midst of the sea of human flesh was the two Krai’kesh warriors, their heads poking just above the riders on horseback.
After several minutes of heated battle, the first Krai’kesh fell, followed by the second moments later. No cheer came from the Rovarkian warriors, only the cries of the wounded and barked orders for the remaining soldiers to tend to the dead and wounded.
The remaining rangers of Tar Ebon, numbering seven now, stood by as the Rovarkians went about the task of carrying the dead away and tending to the wounded. John wandered over to Captain Hill. “Should we help?” he asked.
Captain Hill shook his head. “No, Rovarkians tend to their own dead and frown upon outsiders.” He nodded forward and John followed his eyes. A group of Rovarkian riders were walking their horses toward the group of rangers. Though they had their weapons drawn, they did not look like they were going to cut them down…yet. “They’ve noticed us it seems.”
“Not quite the way I wanted to make an entrance,” John muttered, but he put on his best smile as the riders pulled up their horses a few yards from them.
“What are southerners doing in our lands?” the leader of the group asked. A large man of a build thicker than those around him, a golden helmet with a golden spike protruding from it distinguished him from the others. An orb sat atop the golden spike. Ornamentation adorned his spaulders. His horse wore not ordinary chain mail but golden plate protecting his head and neck. The man studied the attire of the rangers. “Rangers of Tar Ebon? Here?”
Captain Hill cleared his throat. “We are here on official business at the bidding of the queen of Tar Ebon herself, good sir. We have here a letter of…”
“I am not a ‘sir,’” the man said, cutting Captain Hill off. “I ask again, why are you here?” His tone suggested that he would not be readin
g the letter.
John placed a hand on Captain Hills hand, catching his eye. “I got this,” he said. Shifting his attention, the Rovarkian captain or sergeant or whatever rank he was, John smiled wider. “My name is John Edgerton, what is yours?”
“I am known as Chen Choybalsan. I am the grand captain of the Wind Riders.”
John bowed low. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chen Choybalsan,” John said, struggling not to trip over the pronunciation of his name. “We were on our way to speak with the Rovarkian elders about aiding Tar Ebon when we saw this village under attack by the Krai’kesh. We lent what aid we could, though we are fortunate you and your riders arrived when you did.”
“You and your men killed the first of these demons?” Chen asked.
John was about to correct him to say they were not demon, but held his tongue. Best not to argue semantics around bloodthirsty men with hot tempers. “Yes, we did.”
“Brave men,” Chen said in a ponderous tone, looking into the distance. “We thank you for your aid.” He returned his gaze to John. “Your actions allowed survivors to escape.”
“We did what any honorable man would do,” John said. What group of men could call themselves warriors and not come to the aid of women and children in trouble?
“Not all men are so honorable. You are welcome in our lands, John Edgerton of Tar Ebon. If you ride with us we will take you to our council of elders.”
John looked to Captain Hill and at his slight nod nodded in turn. “We would be honored, Grand Captain.”
Chapter 6
From high above the Gallean Woods, Anwyn surveyed the Gallean capital of Etinvar. The only major settlement of the Galleans, it was home to the druid order and the king of Gallea. Cool wind from the north buffeted her as she flew, but she used it to uplift her wings and give her a break as she drifted.
Anwyn had come alone, declining a detachment of rangers. She argued that having rangers with her would only slow her down. Coryn and Dawyn had reluctantly agreed. Having ridden a horse to the edge of the White Mountains, she had transformed into an eagle and flown through the mountain pass into Gallea.
Perching on a tree, she studied the movement of people down the makeshift roads of the crude city. How would they react to her? Having been exiled many years earlier, would they shun her? Or would they accept the words transcribed in the letter now stored in a small pack clutched in her claws and accept her as an emissary of Tar Ebon? She did not know, but she had to try.
Swooping down, she prepared to face her people - her family.
As she descended toward the ground none of the people below took notice of her. Birds and other animals arriving was not an uncommon sight in the heart of the druid order.
Dropping her pack to the forest floor a few hundred yard from the edge of the city, Anwyn transformed to her human form. She opened her pack and withdrew a spare change of clothes, which included a simple brown tunic and trousers, along with her small clothes, socks, and boots. She dressed and slung her pack over her shoulder before taking a deep breath and moving toward the outskirts of the city.
As she neared the clear space ahead, she felt eyes upon her. Scanning the forest around her, she identified two Gallean watchmen perched high in the trees, bows in hand. The men did not challenge her, for it was likely they had seen her transformation, but they did not make any gesture acknowledging her either.
Exiting the forest, Anwyn found herself near the center of Etinvar. She stopped, reveling in her return. Many years had passed since her exile from Gallea in accordance with prophecy, and it felt good to return to her place of birth.
To her left sat the druid temple - a place she would need to go if she had any hope of gaining Gallean aid. Although the druids did not rule the land of Gallea, their opinions carried great weight and kings were considered fools if they did not heed their words.
Anwyn did not proceed to the temple, but instead turned to her right and headed toward the druid conclave on the other end of the city. The druid conclave, built opposite the druid temple, housed all the druid families in Gallea. As a child, Anwyn had attended school in the conclave and rarely ventured outside of the boundary into the wider kingdom.
There were no gates to the druid conclave, with the entrance marked only by an archway formed by bent branches. Passing beneath the arch, Anwyn sought out the hut that belonged to her parents. As she walked memories floated up. Memories of her playing in the dirt paths around her home as a child, the first time she kissed a boy under the old oak tree, the first time she transformed into an animal, a dog.
A basket of flowers still hung in front of the hut that Anwyn halted in front of. The home which her parents lived in had not seemed to change in the seven years Anwyn had been gone. Anwyn approached the door and knocked.
For several moments there was no sign of movement in the hut, but at last, she heard muffled voices within. The door creaked open and Anwyn’s mother peaked out with her brown eyes, streaks of gray in her brown hair. Her eyes went wide with shock as she looked Anwyn up and down. “Anwyn?” she asked.
Anwyn smiled. “Hello, mother.”
“What are you…how did you…why have you,” she stammered the phrases, not knowing which question to ask first. “Darryn,” she called, “come here please.”
“What is it, Deidra?” Anwyn heard her father say from deeper in the hut.
“Just come here,” Anwyn’s mother said.
Moments later Anwyn’s father came to stand beside Deidra. His recognition, while not as fast as her mother’s, was intense. “You!” he exclaimed. “How dare you return here?” he bellowed.
Anwyn took a step back, surprised by the intense reaction her father was exhibiting. “Father, I…”
“You were exiled,” he said, stepping toward her and moving her mother back with a hand on her chest. “The law forbids you to return. Were we not clear on that? Why have you returned?” Hatred burned in his eyes.
The ferocity of his reaction had muddled Anwyn’s mind. The words she had memorized regarding her purpose fled and she stammered, trying to gather her thoughts. Her father had a way about him, perhaps attributed to his hulking figure or strong personality, that could make even the strongest man lose his nerve, let alone his daughter.
“Father…I,” she stammered.
“Speak!” he roared.
Anwyn swallowed. She looked to her mother, but the woman who had given birth to her averted her eyes. “I was sent by the queen of Tar Ebon on a mission of dire importance. I have come to speak with the druid council and wanted to see my parents first.” She looked down. “I am sorry that I upset you.”
“How do we know the truth of your words?” her father asked.
“I have a letter, in my pack,” Anwyn reached back to touch the pack on her back. “The queen herself signed it.”
“Why did the king not sign it?”
“The king is dead.” Memories of the horrific experience the queen described during the battle with the Krai’kesh that took the king’s life arose in Anwyn’s mind, but she banished them. She did not need such distraction right then.
“How did he die?” He held up his hand. “No, wait, save your explanation for the council. You should go to the temple immediately. I will follow shortly.”
Anwyn nodded. “As you say, father.” She turned without further words and almost ran from her parents’ home. She blinked rapidly to slow the onset of tears as she attempted to calm herself. What had she expected? That her mother and father would just welcome her back with open arms, no questions asked? She had been naive and felt angrier at herself than her parents. She had been stripped of all familial ties when she left. She was no longer their daughter in any sense, a fact she had forgotten in the heat of the moment.
She slowed her pace to a rapid walk and considered her options. She could turn into a bird and flee, pretend she was never there. All she wanted was the warmth of Dawyn’s embrace. But if she fled, any chance of bringing the peo
ple of Gallea to the aid of Tar Ebon would be forfeit. Now was not the time to be weak. The nation she had adopted as her own was in peril, so she would hide her emotions and do what was necessary to obtain aid.
She approached the steps leading up to the temple, an expansive multi-level building with a massive oak tree at the center, halted and looked behind her.
Her father strode through the crowd toward her. He wore plain brown robes with a gold pendant hanging from his neck. People in the crowd moved away from him out of respect for his rank as he passed. The druid council was the closest the druids of Gallea had to nobles. He glared at her as he passed but did not speak. He ascended the stairs and entered the temple.
Anwyn sighed and followed. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter 7
Bridgette studied the city of Shar’Hai through the eye slit in her veil from atop a sand dune. Spires and rounded rooftops peaked over tall black walls. Guards patrolled the walls, while a steady stream of travelers proceeded into the city carrying food or merchandise. Bridgette knew little of Shar’Hai, other than the fact that they were legendary for their skill with the blade and their martial traditions. Based on the rumors she had heard of the city from her time with Lord Garik, the soldiers of Shar’Hai were desert samurai. She hoped she would not have to kill any of their fabled warriors.
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