* * * * *
Meritza cringed as she heard the screams of death coming from the front of the camp. She hoped that she did not lose any of her guards in the attack. Hopefully the thieves would make a run for it when they realized that this was not going to be an easy caravan to take. Why was Drake so headstrong? Why must he always lead the attack into the oncoming enemy? She knew he would have no trouble beating anyone he faced, but she still wished he would be more careful. At least Traven would be safe guarding the flank. She did not know if she would be able to bear having the sweet, young man’s death on her conscience. She shouldn’t have let him come along, but she had never thought that this many thieves would attack them at once. It was obvious he had not worn a sword for long by the way he walked with it. Oh well, she thought, if everything works out, he won’t have to use his sword. Meritza quit thinking about the boy and turned her attention back to the dark countryside. One of her wagons suddenly burst into flame, illuminating the night.
She gasped as five men suddenly emerged from the bank of the river not far off and headed towards her at a run. Slade saw the men also, and they both jumped down to face them. Jared should have joined them, but he was not at his post between the wagons. Slade rushed forward to meet the men. Meritza yelled for him to come back, but he did not stop. In his eagerness to protect her, he died after only taking down two attackers with him. She quickly let her two knives fly into the remaining attackers as they approached her. Blood suddenly bloomed from a chest as her knife slammed into the leading attacker. Her other knife missed its mark and lodged into the arm of another attacker who howled in pain. Meritza quickly pulled her last knife from her sash and scrambled up the wagon behind her. Where was Jared? She braced herself to fight to the death as the remaining two attackers reached the base of the wagon.
* * * * *
Traven pushed the smelly corpse off of him and wiped the blood from his eyes as he got unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at the dead attacker in amazement as he rubbed his head. He had somehow gotten his sword up in time, and in his rush to kill Traven, the thief had been skewered by it. The whole length of the sword’s blade protruded from the back of the man. Traven looked numbly at the carnage around him and labored for breath. The pain coming from his arm and thigh threatened to bring him back to his knees. Staring down, he watched in shock as his blood ran to the ground mingling with that of the dead. Traven shook with sobs as he realized how close he had been to dying. Screams continued to come from the front of camp and steel rang on steel. He thought about trying to retrieve his sword, but he did not have enough strength. As he slowly made his way into the camp between the two wagons, he heard a woman’s scream. The camp was in turmoil with horses running everywhere with fright. He tried to focus amidst the mayhem. The women who were supposed to be keeping the horses under control were nowhere to be seen.
The woman screamed again, and Traven froze as he realized who the scream had come from. Atop the wagon on the far side of camp, Meritza fought desperately to fend off two attackers, her hair blazing to match the fiery inferno of the wagon at the front of camp. He had to do something. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stumbled towards her. He had not even taken two steps when a horse crashed into his right side, throwing him to the ground. He tried to get up but did not have the strength. He began to crawl towards Meritza with his hand stretched towards her. He had to do something. He had to do something. He had to. He had to!
All of the turmoil around him slowly faded away to nothing as he focused on Meritza’s attackers. Time slowed and disappeared. The air around the motionless attackers seemed to shimmer in Traven’s eyes and grow thicker. Wisps of the very fabric of life began to form into jagged lines from the sky towards the two attackers. All was still but the jagged lines slowly emerging through the air. Traven was suddenly snapped from his calm as he smashed into a solid wall of nothingness. The world rushed back. He grabbed at his burning chest and screamed in pain as his shirt burst into flames. He shot to his feet, filling the cool night air with a blood curdling scream as his flesh burned. He was suddenly thrown into the air as another horse smashed into him. He flew through the dark in agonizing pain for a harrowing moment before he crashed into freezing water, and the world disappeared in blackness.
* * * * *
Wraith spun around looking in every direction. He had just been about to kill another unsuspecting guard when the black stone in his pocket had leaped into life. The stone had suddenly grown warm, but instead of turning solid red as he had been told it would, it stayed black with veins of red lancing across it. He had then heard an agonizing scream from the back of the camp, and the stone returned immediately to normal. It had all happened so fast that he almost didn’t believe that the stone had changed, but he knew what he had seen. Wraith did not believe in coincidences. The rock had returned to normal right after the scream. The scream had been that of a tall, young man. Where that young man was now, he didn’t know. He didn’t see anyone who fit the description, but he had heard enough screams in his career. He would be on the lookout for someone that roughly fit that description.
Wraith turned back to the job at hand. He slowly crept up behind the foolish guard who was completely focused on keeping anyone from breaking between the wagons and into the camp. Wraith silently pulled his metal wire taut between his fists as he stepped up behind the guard. In one quick and practiced motion Wraith took care of him. The guard crumpled to the ground silently. The archers would be next. Wraith hurriedly moved in silence to another wagon and more victims.
* * * * *
Rodham loosed another bolt into the mass, dropping another of the thieves. He had heard an anguished scream earlier from within the camp, but when he had looked back, all that he saw were the horses running wild. Only four of the guards were still on horses. The other four had lasted for quite a while before falling prey to the crowd. As Rodham looked on, another guard was dragged from his horse. The bowmen on the wagon to his right had quit shooting for some reason. The guards who had been with him had gone to check on the situation moments before, but they never returned. Rodham didn’t know what was going on, but he knew it wasn’t good. He carefully aimed his crossbow and took out another thief. He wasn’t sure how long the horsemen would last. There were only seven thieves left, but they were being very careful to avoid the slashing swords of the guards. He loaded another bolt onto his crossbow and carefully aimed for another of the bandits. He suddenly felt a presence behind him, and then he felt no more.
* * * * *
Wraith threw down the crossbow as the last of the horsemen fell to the ground. That one had killed two more of his thieves before he could put a bolt in him. He was extremely upset. The ground surrounding the camp was heaped with the bodies of his men. He had lost over a hundred thieves fighting a mere twenty guards. These thieves who claimed to be able to fight were pitiful excuses for men. Only two were left standing among the carnage. He leaped from the wagon and joined the two of them. He instructed them to round up as many of the horses as they could and load them up with the most valuable things from the wagons. Wraith busied himself with looking for the body of the young man, but none of the men from the camp were young enough. His search yielded nothing except for a plain sword that was extremely well made. He slipped it behind his sash after pulling it out from one of his best men. He knew that he was not mistaken about the scream but had no idea how the young man had escaped. He would wait around for a day or two and see if the young man returned. With that, he decided that he had worked with the others long enough. He lit the rest of the wagons on fire and then finished up what the merchant guards had begun. A few seconds later, Wraith led the laden horses away from the decimated camp in the company of no one but himself.
10
The large man watched as flames blazed into the night sky from the top of the hill up the river. It looked as though the thieves had struck again. He wished he could do something about the rotten vermin that hid during the day and
struck as cowards during the night. However, there were too many of them for him to do anything. When he had chanced upon them, he had counted over a hundred. He turned from watching the blaze and walked down to the river to get a drink before he settled back down for the rest of the night.
As he bent down and cupped his hands, he was startled to see a body being pulled down the river towards him. Darn thieves littering the water with their victims. He waded into the river and grabbed hold of the body as it came by. He dragged the body out of the river and stopped in surprise. The young man was still alive! He quickly moved the body up the embankment to his camp. What had the thieves done to him! His arm and leg were gashed and his shirt had been burned through to the skin. He was also beginning to show bruises all over his body, including a lump on his head. The poor kid would be in a lot of pain when he woke up, if he woke up. The cold water had luckily stopped the bleeding. The man quickly stripped off the remains of the clothes, dried him, and dressed the wounds of the young man and covered him in warm blankets. He did not want to risk a fire with the thieves so close. He just hoped the boy could hold on until the sun came up in the morning.
* * * * *
Awareness slowly began to creep back into Traven’s battered body. At first, all that he was aware of was a biting pain that seemed to emanate from every inch of his body. Slowly the pain faded away and was replaced by extreme soreness covering most of his body with spots of pain on his upper left arm and right thigh. He opened his eyes and blinked in the brightness of dawn. He squinted against the light and tried to clear his head. What was going on? Suddenly Traven remembered the attack and Meritza. He tried to sit up but fell back down with a groan after only moving up a couple of inches. Next to where he lay, a small fire crackled and the aroma of fish cooking filled the air. He was coverd with a pile of furs and blankets. He felt for his stone and was relieved to find it still around his neck. His chest, left arm, and right thigh were bandaged. How had he ended up here? He looked around slowly, fighting against the pain in his head, to see whose camp this was. Maybe the caravan had finally driven the thieves back.
Traven didn’t see anyone at first but finally saw that someone was down at the edge of the river not far off. He propped himself up with his good arm to see who it was. As soon as he could fully focus on the man, he was filled with disappointment. The man was definitely not a guard from the caravan. As the man made his way back to the fire, Traven stared in amazement. The man was huge! Most of the people he had met were shorter than himself, and he had only met a few that were taller than him. However, this man looked as though he was much taller than him. The man’s height was not the only thing that stunned Traven. He was broad at the shoulders and extremely well-muscled. He looked as strong as several men put together and walked up from the river with fluid grace. Above his mighty shoulders rose the hilts of two swords that crossed one another on his back. He had shoulder length dark, black hair pulled back in a tail by a leather cord. He had a thin goatee framing his mouth and chin and golden hoop earrings. From his face shown piercing green eyes that seemed to be taking in all of his surroundings at once. He had immediately realized that Traven was watching him, and he wore a small smile as he sat down on the other side of the fire.
“So you finally decided to wake up,” the man said in a deep, bass voice. “I rinsed the blood off of your clothes, but I couldn’t really do anything about your shirt. There was only half a shirt left anyway when I pulled you out of the river.” The man chuckled to himself. “I bet you’re feeling great.”
Who was this man? The man reached behind him and pulled out Traven’s clothes, minus his shirt.
“When you’re ready, here are your clothes.”
“Thanks. Did you patch up my wounds?” The man nodded his head. “Thanks for everything. I guess I probably owe my life to you.”
“No probably about it boy. You were barely breathing when I found you. You’re lucky to be alive.” The man then tossed down Traven’s sheath. “I’m not sure what happened to your sword, sorry.”
Traven remembered what had happened to his sword, but the thought of it made him sick. He reached for his clothes and groaned with the effort.
“Here,” the man said, handing Traven some of the fish. “You need to eat so your body has enough fuel to repair itself. The gashes on your arm and thigh really weren’t that deep. They should heal without any problems given a little time. However, even though the gashes weren’t too deep, you still lost a lot of blood. A few of your ribs might be cracked too, but I don’t think they are. You’d be having a harder time breathing if they were. I put some salve on the burns on your chest. The salve will keep the pain down and allow them to heal quickly. All you need is a little rest and some time for the wounds to heal.”
Traven quickly gobbled up the fish offered to him and then sank back down. He closed his eyes for just a second. He just needed a little rest, and he’d be able to get up. He would go back to the caravan when he got up and . . .
Traven opened his eyes and was shocked to see the sun on the other side of the sky. He bolted up into a sitting position but almost fell right back down as pain rippled through his body. He noticed that the fire had burned out already and looked around for the man who had saved his life. He was amazed by what he saw when he finally located the man in the moist dirt next to the river. The man had a sword in either hand and was poised on the balls of his feet. He suddenly sprang into action, the swords becoming only a blur as they swept around the man’s body. He spun and leaped, a mass of metal death spinning around him. He changed positions and motions fluidly as the swords never slowed. Traven watched mesmerized as the man continued practicing. He flowed through the different forms so smoothly that it reminded Traven of a dance. Traven lost track of time as he hypnotically watched the man endlessly slice through the still air. The man finally slowed and then stopped. In a practiced, quick motion the blades were suddenly sheathed once again on his back. He trotted over to Traven.
“How are you feeling?” Traven tried to answer but began coughing, causing waves of pain through his body. His throat was parched dry. “You should have had some water before deciding to sleep away the day,” the man said as he tossed Traven a full waterskin.
Traven took it and drank the cool water from it immediately. He didn’t know if water had ever tasted so wonderful and sweet. After he had drained a large portion of the skin, he set it down and once again tried to talk.
“You are amazing.” he blurted out. “How did you learn how to do all of that? I bet you could face a hundred guys without any problem!”
“Calm down there boy. I could definitely face a hundred guys, but I’m sure it would be a big problem. I guess you must not be all better yet.” Traven cringed at his foolishness. “Don’t worry about it. I at one time thought I was invincible too.” The man’s eyes took on a sad cast as he quietly stared off at nothing. After a few seconds he shook his head and turned back to Traven. “Oh well. We can’t do anything about our mistakes but learn from them. You do look a lot better than you did earlier. I’ll make some stew and then you can get some more rest. Hopefully by the morning you’ll be well enough to travel.”
As the man started the fire back up, Traven dragged himself out from under the blankets and pulled on his clothes slowly and carefully. When he had finally gotten dressed, he just sat and watched the man as he made the stew. Traven’s stomach growled as the aroma of the stew began to permeate the air. He was starving. The man had known what he was talking about when he said that Traven’s body needed food for it to repair itself. He then realized that he still didn’t know the man’s name, and he hadn’t told the man his name either.
“My name’s Traven.”
The man looked up from the stew with confussion and then started laughing.
“Sorry about that. My name’s Blaize. I usually introduce myself when I meet someone, but you weren’t in the mood for talking when I found you.” Traven smiled as Blaize went back to stirring
the stew. “So Traven, how did you happen to end up floating down the river half dead?”
Traven related how he had joined with the caravan and everything had been fine until night fell. He then explained that over a hundred thieves had attacked them in the night, but they had been ready for them. Five men had come against him and the other two guarding the right flank, and he had gotten the gashes on his thigh and arm but was the only one of the three to survive. He had then been heading across the camp to help the leader of the caravan but had been struck by a horse and fell into the river. When Traven finished his story, Blaize gave him a thoughtful look and then spooned him some stew which he gratefully ate.
“I can believe your story except for one thing. How did your shirt happen to catch on fire? Your chest has some pretty nasty burns on it. Do you care to explain that?”
Traven paused in eating the stew. That was something he had not even wanted to think about himself. He had no idea what had happened. He seemed to foggily remember everything slowing down and him becoming extremely calm until the world suddenly burst into fiery pain. Other than that, he had no idea as to what had happened. His shirt could not have just burst into flames. Something had to have caused it, but what he did not know. Traven shook his head and tried to clear the incident from his memory.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. I don’t really care. I was just curious,” Blaize said in between mouthfuls of the stew. “There’s something else I’ve been wondering about though. What significance does that stone around your neck have? I’ve never seen another one like it. It almost seems to glow in the dark.”
A nightmare from what seemed like years ago crashed into Traven’s memory as he glanced down and realized he was clenching the stone in his hand. He could feel the warmth of the stone, but what had happened in his dream was impossible! There was no way that a stone could spontaneously burst forth with heat. Yet he forced himself to remember that the stone had spontaneously changed from blue to amber. He knew that he hadn’t imagined that. He began to tremble with the thought that maybe what had happened in his dream could be true.
Wielder's Awakening Page 11