by K. C. M.
Getting to her feet was a herculean effort. Even once she was up, remaining standing proved to be terribly difficult. Her breath strained and her body shook, but she steadied herself against a tree, looking around.
Nothing. The forest was still and silent in the morning light.
A feeling of dread swept over her.
Still and silent? Shouldn’t there be birds singing? Bugs humming? Why was it so dratted quiet?
Something was out there. The knowledge struck her with such certainty that it shocked her. Her hands clenched around her pathetic weapons. Fear stole her breath for a moment and then she was breathing hard.
Adrenaline suddenly pumped through her veins.
She scanned the forest intently, waiting for the beast to make its appearance.
Snap.
Holly’s head whipped so quickly towards the sound she was dizzy.
The fellow was watching the ground. He was following her tracks, she realized with a start.
He wasn’t tall; in fact he was shorter than her own five foot seven. The top of his head probably reached to her armpit. He wore brown trousers with a green tunic and a brown, leather vest over top. His tunic was odd, long sleeved and with a hood that he’d pulled up. The hood covered his hair, but she could see his face. He had a sharp face with a pointed nose over thin lips and large eyes…the skin was wrinkled and old, but most distinctive was his coloring. He was the color of rich, fertile soil, so darkly brown that he was nearly black.
Gnome.
And he was tracking her so very easily, following the path she’d made.
All he had to do was look up and he’d see her.
Adrenaline shot a second dose through her veins. It didn’t give her the option to run. Knowing she’d likely die, but suddenly filled with desperation, panic, fear, and a whole slew of other adrenaline pumped emotions, she shot forward like an arrow.
The gnome tracker glanced up in time to see her. His large eyes grew larger. She saw his mouth open and then she was upon him. She threw her entire body against him, not bothering with her useless stick and rock.
Both gnome and human tumbled over the edge of the ridge.
It wasn’t high at this point; perhaps only ten feet, and the gnome underneath her cushioned her somewhat.
Still, she couldn’t catch her breath afterwards.
And then a thick arm wrapped around her.
Holly erupted into a fit, twisting and writhing frantically as the gnome tried to clasp her. She wasn’t sure what panicked her more, the fact that he was trying to grab her or the fact that she still couldn’t breathe.
She was suffocating. Her lungs didn’t work, couldn’t move, the shock of the fall had immobilized them.
And the gnome flipped them, pushing her into the ground. Above her, she noticed that his large eyes were a dark green. Those eyes were narrowed and his lips pulled back. He drew a laboring breath and raised his arm.
I’m going to die, she thought as she saw the wicked glint of a knife in his hand.
In a panic, her left hand jabbed with the stick. Her other hand shot up, hitting him with the rock. She fought once again. A renewed, desperate bid for preservation took over.
The knife slashed. Her throat remained mercifully unharmed, but pain slid slickly across the top of her right shoulder. The frightened adrenaline surging through her decided it was unimportant as the knife rose above her again. Out, she had to get out from under him.
Every move felt like a last ditch attempt at life. Feet and knees kicking, hands scrambling. She’d lost her stick, but her hand curled, the fingers like claws. She targeted his face and her nails raked across his cheek. He fell back slightly, shocked by the vehemence of her attack. Somehow she got out from under him.
She scrambled to her feet and tripped on a ring of stones.
As she fell, she caught a glimpse of red.
She sprang back up to her feet, glancing over her shoulder.
The gnome stood poised, his bloodied knife lifted and teeth bared, but he hadn’t followed her. Instead he watched her with intent eyes.
Thinking he might let her escape, she backed up, only to trip on the other side of the stone ring.
In an instant, he was after her. She flailed wildly as he slammed into her.
There, in that terrible moment, she found her breath and screamed.
Her right hand swung again and this time, she hit his chin with her trusty rock.
The gnome fell to the side.
She scrambled away, again, panting harshly. Her breath was too quick and she couldn’t fill her lungs with the much-needed air. She couldn’t stop, though, didn’t dare.
Flee.
Connor had kept running after getting back in the forest. The dark didn’t bother his vision. He darted among the trees, ducked under branches, and ran over the roots as if he’d been born to it. Perhaps he was born to it.
He’d had to weave around a bit, as the gnomes filtered back into the forest. Several carried bundles of food or herded livestock before them. The humans hadn’t done very well defending themselves against the raid.
He found the fallen tree with its huge, tangled roots. Once there, he turned and swiftly ran eastward. He didn’t stop until about five miles later.
“Saragon,” Connor whispered.
As soon as the name left his lips, the horse appeared. There were times when it seemed to Connor that the animal only flickered to life when he said his name, but Connor knew that wasn’t the truth. Saragon was one of the element horses from the painted plains. No one knew or understood very much about the element horses, not even Connor who believed knowledge was power. All Connor knew was that the horse could disappear, becoming nothing more than the wind, and then flicker back into physical existence. He was faster than any other horse Connor had ever ridden. He was also more finicky than any other horse Connor had met.
Why Saragon had chosen to throw his lot in with a man who was destined to die was beyond Connor, but he never ceased to be grateful for his only companion.
The horse shifted and blew out his breath impatiently. Connor made the mistake of glancing into Saragon’s great eyes and for a moment, he was entranced. The hazy blue grey deepened and he saw stars, worlds, and the wind…
Saragon jerked his head up with a disdainful snort. Connor blinked and returned to himself. A flash of impatience with his own weakness taunted him, but he shoved it away. Instead, he grasped the horse’s mane and leapt onto his back.
It was quite a feat, considering that Saragon was easily eighteen hands. Tonight, the horse was ghostly, his coloring grey tinged white, with gleaming blue light that glowed from his mane and tail. The blue light spread along his face, cheeks, down the top his neck and over his back and hindquarters and trailed down his legs in swirling patterns. No matter how often Connor saw the pattern with its symbols, he never could decipher it or even begin to memorize it. It simply was there. One of the few features that never changed about the horse.
Saragon began running, his footsteps as confident as Connor’s had been. Perhaps, like the man on his back, the horse could also see in the dark. Or perhaps, the wind needed no eyes.
Saragon didn’t stop until the cave. Connor slipped down and led the way into the cave. Inside was his bedroll and pack. He took the time to eat and then lay down. Dawn was not many hours away, but both he and Saragon would need the rest if they were to get through the forest quickly.
Connor drifted to sleep and dreamt of eyes. Some of the eyes were familiar; perhaps they all were though not immediately placeable. There were giant horse eyes that glittered with unknown and unknowable wisdom. Those great eyes shrank down and he saw her eyes, their color faded as if leached away by seeing too much. And then those eyes changed. Instead he saw wide eyes of amber brown with a thin circle of green in them. The green grew until it was all he could see. Glowing green eyes that watched, that had watched him, ever since his childhood. The pupils slowly grew. Two black pits, overtaken by darkness. The las
t impression he had was that the black was giving way to…red. Eyes that were red as blood.
The sun was just rising when the two companions left their shelter. Connor paused and checked Saragon’s hooves, which the horse grudgingly allowed. Although Saragon was magical, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get stones in his hooves Connor reasoned.
They traveled along the ridge for a mile, until they reached a large stone shaped like a hunchbacked crone. Then they turned and headed further into the forest. Saragon paused and gave a snort before promptly vanishing. Connor felt a pang and wondered whether the great horse would be back. He quickly gathered in his feelings and schooled his thoughts away from the horse. An assassin didn’t have time for such things.
Besides, he needed his full concentration. In a few miles he’d reach the river and for one such as Connor, the river was the most dangerous place in the forest of all.
A scream cut through the trees and Connor glanced sharply towards the sound.
There were all sorts of creatures in the forest, some of which were more than capable of imitating screams to lure do-gooders in.
So why had the scream sounded so familiar?
His hand went to the familiar, well-worn hilt of his curved dagger.
Opening his senses to the shadows, he swept towards the sound.
Back by the ridge, a gnome was slowly standing. The scream had been female and this gnome was very obviously male. Connor’s sharp eyes took in the gnome’s injuries. A trickle of blood ran down a dark brown chin, and there, up by the gnome’s hairline, was small wound that was slowly swelling. It would be a good-sized goose egg.
The gnome bent and grabbed a knife and then start running. His pace was uneven and slow, likely from the head wounds, but his gaze was fixed ahead of him.
Connor followed behind.
He’d finally placed why the scream sounded so familiar. Just as he’d finally placed why he knew the brown and green ringed eyes from his dream.
The maid from the inn.
She’d rescued him. It was only fair he returned the favor.
The gnome was easy, already weary and wounded. For a tracker, the gnome had very little battle skills.
Connor hesitated over the body, his gaze torn between going back the way he’d come or following the palpable tracks of the maid. He’d stopped the gnome and that surely was repayment enough.
He turned away. He needed to get past the river. As he always did in these situations, he pushed away his emotions and took three steps back the way he’d come. Then he let out a soft hiss and, against all reason, turned back the other direction.
4 We All Go a Little Mad Sometimes
Holly’s stumbling feet paused as something tingled up her spine. She put her hand on a tree, trying to keep her balance as she blinked blearily about. Nothing. And then, as she lingered a moment longer, the shadows underneath an oak tree seemed to meld and move. She squinted and blinked, at first thinking she was imagining it, and then the figure started to take shape. She took in the dark green shadows of his eyes first.
He moved forward on silent feet, she noticed enviously. How was it even possible for someone walk silently in a forest? As he drew closer, she could see how his hand rested close to the hilt of his curved knife. A small sliver of fear slipped through her, sharpening her gaze momentarily.
“Are you going to kill me?” She asked.
He didn’t reply immediately and she had to tilt her head back to see his face, but at least now she could make out his features. Once again the high cheekbones and sharply angled brows over a perfectly straight nose gave the impression of a fox or a wolf. Her delirious mind caught on that perfectly straight nose and she glared at it. Her own nose was slightly upturned and she’d often been teased by the others for how “cute” it was. It wasn’t fair that his nose should be so perfectly straight.
Her eyes shut and she swayed unsteadily, wondering why he hadn’t killed her or at least answered her question. Her anger gave her tone the bite she thought he deserved. “Well?”
“I already told you. You’re not important enough for me to kill.”
Her eyes fluttered open. His stony face looked suspiciously amused. The slightest upturn to his lips and his eyes gleaming in the shadows.
“Oh.” Just standing there was starting to take a toll. If she’d been moving, she would have been concentrated on a goal, on reaching somewhere, putting one foot in front of the other but standing and staring at the man in front of her just made her feel confused. She leaned more heavily against the tree and then let her knees give out, sliding unsteadily to the ground, where she could rest her head against the tree as she looked up at him. “I don’t suppose…” She had to draw a shaky breath before continuing. “That you’d be willing to point me…in the right direction, then?” She closed her eyes, struggling to find the words. “Towards Myre, I mean.” She murmured, managing to finish her thought, before she passed out.
Much later, her mind struggled to wake up. She blinked wearily up at a leafy roof. Confused panic darted through her when she realized she didn’t know where she was. Her breathing hitched and her eyes widened. She tried to move but her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive and after a failed attempt to sit up, she realized she was too exhausted to feel panicked. She settled for confusion and rolled onto her side.
She was in a forest and that jogged her memory. The assassin and the attack. Running into the forest, getting lost…the gnome…and then a vague memory of green eyes…the assassin had found her. She rolled the rest of the way and pressed her forehead wearily against the ground. He hadn’t killed her was the good news.
Slowly, her neck creaking, she raised her head and tried looking around again. She’d been nestled between two trees, hidden away in a sort of…well, almost like a crib, with the roots and trunks rising up around her. She blinked and pushed herself up unsteadily onto her hands. The wrist she’d fallen on the day before protested vehemently and she winced. Something slid from her shoulders. She turned onto her hip and looked down at herself.
She’d been wrapped like a child in a long black cloak. Her mind stuttered, unsure what to feel about this. She was pretty sure she knew whose cloak it was.
She caught an edge and drew it close to her nose, breathing in deeply. It smelled like travel, layered in the scent of smoke, forest, and the earth. She dropped the edge with a sigh. It really couldn’t be anyone else’s. But why? Why would the assassin help her?
She sat up the rest of the way and paused, her head feeling oddly light. She took a moment, analyzing herself. The gnome had injured her. She glanced down and saw that the wound had been cleaned. It didn’t hurt. She suspected it wasn’t serious. Then she inspected her surroundings. As far as she could tell, there was no one around. Had he moved her here and then left to continue his journey? Perhaps the cloak was a spare…
She moved to kneel and had to pause again, her hand on the trunk of one of the trees.
A hand appeared so suddenly in front of her that she started back and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed and steadied her.
Gasping, she looked up into the face of the assassin. “You…you scared me!”
If she wasn’t mistaken, that amused him, although it was hard to tell because his face didn’t really change. Just a glimmer in his green eyes. “When have you not been scared of me?” His voice was completely devoid of emotion, but something inside her lightened
A giggle escaped and she tried to catch it only to dissolve into giggles. They were probably as much from hysteria as from humor. She covered her face with her hands. The assassin’s grip loosened and then released once he was sure she wouldn’t fall over.
She finally regained enough control to look at him only to discover he’d moved away. He was rolling his cloak up and putting it into his pack. He must have felt her eyes because he looked over at her. “We can’t stay here. These woods are too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than you?” She quipped, half meaning it.
&
nbsp; His eyes darkened though. “Nothing’s more dangerous than me.”
He said it so seriously that all her amusement died. When he stood up, he towered over her and she gazed up at him with large eyes. If he noticed the change, he didn’t comment, just held his hand out to help her to her feet.
She took his hand and he helped her up easily, his grip strong and firm. Once on her feet, she took two steps back so she could look at him without having to tilt her head back. “Are you going to help me go home?” She asked, feeling safer now that there was some distance between them.
“No. If you want to go back to your village, it’s that way.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Follow the rising sun.”
She hesitated as he turned to walk the other direction, confused. “Where are you going?”