A dark, scaled body came at Rowan. She waited. Its heavy club whistled through the air, descending toward her head; she dodged the arc of the weapon, dropping low. Parrying upward with her dagger, she severed the Raken’s wrist tendons. Then, with a sweep of her right arm, Rowan sliced her sword down into the creature’s chest. It screamed and crumpled forward.
As she jumped back to avoid its fall, the next huge body was upon her, its studded club swinging down. She lunged forward, closing the distance before it could strike. The sword’s hum amplified – as the hum increased, so too did the blade’s sharpness. It would soon cut through skin and bone and leather like butter.
Rowan caught brief glimpses of the companions battling around her. Torrin’s great broadsword scattered the light, glinting red in the rays of the morning sun. Arrows flew through the air, golden fletching gleaming like birds; Raken dropped like stones as the deadly missiles struck.
Peripherally, she saw more blue fire streak out from Dalemar. The fire sent several Raken flying backward, tumbling down the hill.
The Stoneman, flailing about, roared incoherently, using both short sword and targe as weapons.
Another wave of Raken reached the hilltop. Rowan was crushed against Torrin; the big warrior engaged with a foe to his left. A Raken sword sped towards his exposed side but Rowan’s sword was faster, deflecting the blow. The force of impact shivered up her arm, numbing her fingers. She stepped forward with her dagger to slice the creature’s throat. As it went down another beast lunged forward, black scales absorbing the light. Rowan sidestepped quickly. The creature spun, following her movement, and Torrin killed it from behind.
The howls were deafening. The clash of steel, grunts of bodies colliding filled the air.
“Ware, Rowan!” Torrin shouted. She turned to see a black beast flying at her. Her sword and dagger came up in a cross, blocking the Raken’s swing. As its cudgel hit the slot made by her crossed weapons, she twisted, sweeping it down to the side; then she sliced upward. The Raken roared in pain, it’s dying screams adding to the din.
An arrow sped through air over her head to bury itself in the eye of an attacking Raken. The impact pitched the creature away from Rowan and back down the slope. Arynilas had already taken aim at another target. The Tynithian stood calmly amid the turmoil – only a few shafts remained in his quiver.
Movement caught the edge of her vision. Raken had broken through and were coming from behind. Her big stallion reared high into the air, hooves flailing and teeth bared.
“Arynilas!” The Tynithian turned as she pointed at three Raken behind them; and within seconds his arrows halted their advance.
Rowans’ left arm was tiring. Her wound throbbed and she felt the warm wetness of blood sliding across her skin and down her arm.
She looked out over the clearing, her heart sinking. Too many. The five companions were fighting courageously, but being pushed back step by step. Soon they would have no room to move.
Arynilas fired his last arrow; he drew twin short swords, slicing deftly around him. The tall brothers fought back-to-back, and the Rith sent short bursts of blue flame at individual targets. As each Raken fell, its space was immediately filled.
Rowan ducked under a sweeping enemy blade, her sword and dagger slicing into the Raken almost in unison. She landed a kick in its body, sending it stumbling backward.
A great roar echoed suddenly from down at the bottom of the hill. She turned, hope welling as Hathunor smashed into the back of the smaller Raken. They scattered in surprise, turning to meet him as he attacked with a crazed ferocity. Half of the Raken on the hill turned back to meet the new threat, and the companions renewed their attack from above.
Rowan took a glancing blow to the back. She stumbled forward, spinning around. A club-wielding Raken snarled at her, rows of sharp ivory teeth glinting. The beast jumped forward, its club descending. Rowan dodged the studded weapon and stepped in as soon as it cleared her, slicing with her humming sword.
Another Raken lunged. She tried desperately to parry its attack. A hand clamped around her left arm and yanked her back out of the weapon’s range. The pain in her shoulder burst like fire and her vision swam. As it cleared, she turned to see Torrin stepping forward to meet the creature. Nathel closed from the other side – a human wall, giving her a rest. She stepped up behind them, protecting their backs.
Roaring, the Stoneman shoved a Raken down the slope to land on others. Rowan caught glimpses of Hathunor down at the bottom of the hill – his shaggy crest, a raised arm, bloodied claws. He was almost completely surrounded by his smaller kin, but a growing number of bodies were piling at his feet.
The last of the fighting was fierce, but the battle ended quickly soon after. The last beast stood amid the bodies of its comrades, its huge head swivelling as it appraised the companions. Its red eyes fastened on Rowan. Snarling, it leaped at her. Torrin’s broadsword found it first, and the Raken threw back its head in a pain-filled howl. Entwined with this last utterance was a human scream that chilled Rowan’s blood. The menacing light faded from the Raken’s red gaze as it slid from Torrin’s blade and collapsed to the ground.
Silence enveloped the hilltop. Rowan became aware of the breathing of her companions; her own ragged gasps. She sank wearily to her knees, soaked with sweat and blood, her left arm completely numb and useless. It was all she could do just to unclench the hand that grasped her blood-covered dagger. She whispered to her sword, and its humming ceased.
“It is the creature that has been following us,” said Arynilas. Rowan looked up and saw the Tynithian stoop to pull one of his arrows from a black scaled body, calmly fit it to his bow and aim down the hill at Hathunor.
She struggled to her feet. “No! Hold Arynilas! Hold!” She stepped between the Tynithian’s drawn bow and her friend.
Torrin moved towards her with a fierce scowl above piercing blue eyes. He raised his gore-covered sword to point down the hill. “It’s the same Raken that came into our camp! If you know why it would help us, speak quickly. You know why it’s been following us, don’t you? Tell us why we should spare it.”
Rowan frowned up at him, standing her ground. “He is no threat to you. He’s my friend. He was the one that warned us this morning.”
“He?”
“Do you think the Raken would have given themselves away like that? They have been tracking me for a long time. They do not howl until they have spotted their quarry.” Rowan looked down the hill at her large friend. “He warned us they were coming, gave us the extra time we needed.”
The rest of the companions gathered to look down at Hathunor. “He did help us fight them off,” said Dalemar.
Hathunor stood at the bottom of the hill watching them warily.
Rowan looked back at Torrin to find him studying her intently. She struggled to pull herself up to her full height, tightening the grip on her sword.
“He is my friend,” she said, “and if you wish to harm him, then you must go through me.”
Torrin sighed, nodding and Arynilas lowered his bow. Rowan turned to look down at Hathunor. She waved to him and he turned, loping back into the trees.
“Where is he going?” Torrin was standing beside her now.
“He is going to scout for any remaining Raken.” Torrin raised his eyebrows in question and Rowan explained. “His senses are keener than ours and he can track and hear his own people better than we can. He will warn us before they get too close.” She was weary beyond belief, and the throbbing pain in her shoulder was sapping what little strength she had left.
The big swordsman looked down at her, shaking his head. Then turned to his brother. “More surprises, hey Nathel?” A chuckle was the only reply.
She began to sit down before her legs gave way entirely. Torrin helped ease her down. He probed her left shoulder. Rowan winced.
“Nathel!” Torrin called. “The wound has reopened.”
Nathel was there quickly, reaching for his healer’s satchel.
“Tell me about your – friend. How long have you known him?”
“About three weeks. He —”
“He’s a great bloody Raken!” exclaimed Nathel to her shoulder.
Rowan tried to ignore the pain as he worked on her. “I rescued him from a group of Raken that were going to kill him.”
“What in the name of Erys would possess you to do such a thing?” asked Torrin in awe.
Nathel looked up at her from his work on her wound, his pale blue eyes full of disbelief.
Rowan shrugged; it was not something she could easily explain. “He has been a good friend to me since. They are quite interesting creatures actually – intelligent, resourceful and fiercely loyal. It takes a little to get passed his appearance, but once I did, I found him to have an engaging personality.”
Torrin shook his head and shared a glance with his brothers. “We’re talking about the Raken, the same bloodthirsty, mindless monsters that we just fought? Slaughtering entire towns, leaving people to rot in the sun? The same creatures that have been hunting you for a month?” protested Torrin.
The short Stoneman shook his head, staring at her with disbelief. “A month? Ye ’ave been hunted by a trieton for a month?”
“The Raken are not the terrible monsters they appear to be,” said Rowan.
Torrin snorted. “You’ll forgive us our scepticism. We’ve encountered Raken before this, seen first hand the carnage they wreak. They are savage and remorseless.”
“The Raken that we know here in Eryos are not the people Hathunor describes,” she insisted
“Hathunor? It has a name?” Torrin asked in surprise.
Rowan nodded. “Hathunor says the Raken come from a far distant land. They have been brought here against their will, and somehow forced to do these terrible things.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Everything I know about the Raken, I have learned from Hathunor,” said Rowan wearily.
Torrin frowned, his blue eyes intense as he considered her. The morning sun lit his features, creating shadows along the planes of his face. “Why are the Raken hunting you? We have seen nothing from them so far but random slaughter. What would make them track you for a month and die in the attempt to kill you?”
Rowan sighed. “It is a very long story.” She held her breath as Nathel applied pressure to her shoulder to bind it tightly.
Dalemar sat down beside them, looking at Rowan curiously with pale grey eyes. “Your friend, Hathunor? He believes his kin are being controlled somehow?”
“That is the only way they would be doing the things they are,” she replied.
Dalemar turned to look at Torrin, the tip of his pointed ear peeking out from his pale hair. “When the last Raken died, there was another… presence with it. I felt it only briefly and I cannot be certain of what it was but I believe the death of the Raken caused it considerable pain.”
Rowan remembered the unholy scream that had combined with the Raken’s howl.
“I also felt something,” Arynilas said. “It fled when the beast died,” The Tynithian narrowed his sapphire eyes. “It felt similar to the sense of another Tynithian’s true self, but it was powerful and –” Arynilas tilted his head, looking at Torrin. “Wrong, evil – it was focused on the Myrian.”
Rowan stared up into Arynilas’s jewel-like eyes as she registered what he said. The Twilight People were said to live for hundreds of years, accumulating great wisdom. She knew something uncanny must have driven the Raken to pursue her for so long, given Hathunor’s bafflement over the behaviour of his kin. She could only assume that it was somehow tied to her mission.
She shrugged her good shoulder, realizing they were all looking at her. Even Nathel had stopped his ministrations, staring.
“It is apparent we have much to discuss,” Torrin said quietly. “And it would seem our fates might be more closely linked than we realize. Let us leave this place and hope the gear we left behind is unspoiled. Now is not the time for discussion.” His blue eyes locked with hers, an intensity in them that belied his calm expression.
They split up to retrieve their horses and weapons. Only Nathel and the Stoneman remained with Rowan. The Stoneman leaned down and held out a broad, blood-stained hand. “I am Borlin. ’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, lass. Would ye give me the honour of cleaning yer sword for ye?” His voice was low and gruff but it carried a musical lilt, and his face sported deep laugh lines.
Rowan reached out and grasped his rough palm, smiling. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Borlin. As to my blade I thank you, but it is a task that I am well used to; you need not bother yourself.”
The Stoneman released her hand and held his out to receive the weapon. “’Tis no bother lass, but an honour.” His amber brown eyes were completely serious but there was a lurking sorrow that seemed at odds with his friendly manner.
Rowan nodded and held out her sword, certain that Borlin would take no other answer. He bowed his head to her and turned back to their sparse gear with her sword in hand.
Nathel looked up from her shoulder. “That was one of the highest praises anyone could ever expect from a Black Hills Stoneman.”
Rowan raised her eyebrows. “But I’ve done nothing to warrant such praise. In fact, it was my pursuers that you chose to fight today. You would not have had the trouble were it not for me.”
“True,” said Torrin, leading her big grey horse towards them. “but you accorded yourself well in battle and to a Stoneman, that is the most important thing. We have all taken note of your skill with a sword.”
“Where I come from, skill in battle is second nature, for both men and woman,” she said.
He stopped, looking down at her. “You are a long way from home, Rowan.”
Nathel, having finished binding her wound, tucked away his healer’s satchel and offered her his hand. “In case you had not already discovered, I am Nathel, Torrin’s younger and better looking brother.” He winked at her and an infectious smile spread across his face. He exuded an light-hearted charm, very different from Torrin’s dark intensity. In fact, the only similarity between the brothers was their size and build. Even the color of their hair was opposite, Nathel’s fair and Torrin’s dark. Their eyes were the same blue, though Nathel’s were paler. He looked to be five or so years younger than Torrin. They were clean-shaven with close-cropped hair. Both of their breastplates were embellished with identical crests – an eagle with outstretched wings over a round shield.
As she took Nathel’s hand in greeting, the rest of the companions gathered around and Rowan was properly introduced to Dalemar and Arynilas as well. Dalemar she found open and friendly. Arynilas was almost as inscrutable as Torrin, but he took her hand respectfully and bowed his dark head to her.
Nathel helped her to her feet and gave her a boost up onto Roanus. As the others mounted up, Rowan surveyed the carnage littering the hilltop. The dead faces of the Raken now looked much like Hathunor and her chest ached for the loss of so many lives.
They retraced the route of their wild flight through the woods and came eventually to the previous night’s camp. It was lucky that their path had very little Erys’ Bane and they had been able to avoid running through it. Their gear was as it had been left during their hurried departure, although some things were trampled as if the Raken had charged through the site without stopping.
They took the time to make a hot meal after packing up the gear and making ready to leave. Nathel tended to the cuts and wounds taken in the fighting.
Finally, Torrin set his cup aside. “Now, please tell us Rowan, how did you come to be here in the Wilds, alone save for the unlikely companionship of an enormous Raken, with a trieton of the beasts hunting you down?”
The Messenger
Torrin waited with the others for the answers to all his
questions.
Rowan flipped her long braid over her shoulder and took a deep breath. She began haltingly, but then continued with more confidence. “My name is Rowan Mor Lanyar – I have traveled to Eryos from my homeland of Myris Dar. I am a messenger and an emissary for my people and I bear a warning for this land. I am on my way north following the only clue I have to deliver that message. I search for a city, a grand city that sits on the northern edge of Eryos with its back to the sea and high cliffs that plunge into the waters of the ocean. That city must not fall in the struggle that is to come.”
“This city you seek,” Torrin interrupted, his pulse quickening. “What is its name?”
“I know this city only as Kathorn, but that name is thousands of years old and those I have ventured to ask about it have not recognized it. I fear the city may have been lost centuries ago.”
Torrin glanced at his friends; only Arynilas was unreadable. The others shared his amazement. There could be no mistaking the description. Rowan was searching for Pellaris. What were the odds that they should meet someone out here in the wilderness, duty bound like them to reach Cerebus in Pellaris? Torrin focused his attention back on Rowan as she continued, noting again the strange accent in her speech.
“The land I come from is an isolated island lying deep in the southern Ocean. We have been cut off from the rest of Eryos for centuries, but our knowledge of the rest of the world is ever present to the Seers of Danum. They are a small group of holy men and women who have made it their responsibility to guard against the return of the Wyoraith.”
Torrin frowned. “The Wyoraith?” Rowan turned to gaze at him. But before she could speak, Dalemar supplied the answer.
“The Wyoraith is a very powerful force of evil. Rithkind legend has it that the Wyoraith, in seeking to control the free worlds, will ultimately destroy them all. Most of the Riths in Eryos scoff at such a tale, it is told now only to frighten children into obeying their mothers. I had not realized that men still knew of the legend.”
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 7