by James Fuller
“He is over here.” Zehava took off towards Dahak’s holding cell with Rift in tow.
Several arrows skipped across the dirt by their feet as they cleared the open ground, calls to arm echoing loudly in the dawn air. A man stepped out from around Dahak’s holding cell, his face masked with confusion and his awkward movements giving way his liquor-induced state. He was dead before he even realized what was happening.
Zehava searched the body for the keys to Dahak’s cell and cursed when he found none. He should have known better - only Lance would have the keys to his most prized fighter’s cell.
The sound of steel on steel pulled Zehava from his growing frustrations as he watched Rift take down another attacker.
“I will hold them off; just get him so we can get out of here!” Rift called back, ducking a wild swing.
Zehava threw himself into the door and it buckled under his desperation. “Dahak, prepare yourself!” He cried out, about to rush to his friend’s cell but stopped dead in his tracks.
“So it is a great escape you seek, is it?” Elsrath asked with an eerie calm. His eyes were glazed over and his facial muscles seemed slack. “I was wondering when you would attempt this.”
Zehava raised his blade and made to step forward, when Elsrath’s hand came alive with wizards’ fire.
“That would be very unwise of you,” the wizard said. “I could kill you very easily right now.”
“You are going to kill me either way,” Zehava hissed, stepping forward again.
“I did not want this life, you know!” Elsrath spat back his eyes, flaring alive momentarily before they subsided behind the drug induced placidity. “But you do not understand the grip it has on me now. I am not an evil man... I... I did not want any of this! He lied to me, tricked me... used me!”
“Gonna need help out here,” Rift called from outside as the sound of fighting increased.
Zehava glanced back and knew Rift was in trouble. “If you are not an evil man, then let me save my friends and do not hinder us,” Zehava countered. “Better yet, help us.”
“Lance would kill me if I allowed such a thing,” Elsrath smiled and the flames in his hand wavered out. “At least I would know freedom from this curse he has placed me under.” He tossed Zehava a key, slumped down to the floor and grabbed for his bottle of drugged wine.
Zehava wasted no time thanking his luck and unlocked Dahak’s cell. “We need to get moving, my friend.”
Dahak’s gaze was hard and he pushed Zehava aside. “Where is Shania?”
Elsrath’s laugh was mournful. “I am afraid she will not be well, if even alive at all.”
Dahak grabbed the dangerous wizard without a single thought of his safety and slammed him against the wall. “Where is she?” He screamed. “Who has her?” He slammed the frayed man against the wall again and again. “Start speaking wizard, before I tear you limb from bloody limb!”
Elsrath chuckled - completely unafraid or uncaring, Zehava could not tell. “You know what has become of her. Your little outburst last night condemned her to her fate. Much like your friend here did the first time.”
Dahak’s fist landed deep within the wizard’s gut causing him to choke and sputter as he tried to draw breath. “Who has her?”
“Lance sold her body to Tyjarr for the night,” Elsrath coughed out. “You will find him on the east side of camp.”
Dahak dropped the wizard with a growl and turned for the door.
“We will get her back, Dahak.” Zehava reassured him. A cry sounded out and pulled Zehava from his friend - Rift was losing the fight outside. “Come on! Rift needs our help!”
Zehava barreled into the fray of slavers Rift was desperately losing ground to. His sword and battle prowess quickly began to turn the tide. A bright flash of light and a clashing of thunder almost pulled his vision away from his opponent. Instead, a grin crossed his lips, knowing Ursa had entered the fray.
Zehava parried a spear thrust, his blade quickly reversed, opening his enemy’s middle and ending the immediate threat against them. “Rift, where is everyone? What is the plan?” Zehava turned back to the princess’s champion, he was breathing hard a dozen wounds riddled his powerful frame.
“We need to meet at the entrance,” Rift grimaced.
“Are you okay?” Zehava questioned, seeing Rift holding his side with a bloodied hand.
“I have taken worse wounds before you were even a babe in your mothers’ arms lad.” Rift grunted, his features steel. “Worry not about me. Ursa can deal with this little pinprick later. Let us move…we are sitting ducks here in the open.”
Zehava turned around, looking for Dahak, but his friend was nowhere in sight. “Dahak where are you?” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew where his friend had gone.
Rift cursed. “He must have run at first sight of fighting.” Rift grimaced.
Zehava shook his head. “No, he will catch up with us when he finds her.”
Rift offered a confused look but said nothing.
Ursa had held off as long as he could, praying they would be able to make a clean escape from the camp. It had been a slim chance and one could always hope, but when hope failed Ursa reacted with a cold, calculated fury.
A pillar of fire engulfed the side of several large canvas tent and alarmed screams from within followed as the thick material was consumed, quickly blanketing the camp in dark smoke.
Ursa’s turned to see a man barreling towards him, a wicked, tipped axe in hand. Ursa could not suppress his snarl as he released several razor shards that ripped into the slaver’s chest, stopping his pursuit instantly.
Ursa spotted Barnaby and Talena darting off towards a large cluster of tents and wagons - his mind reeling as to why they would not be following the plan. Something must have gone wrong…he did not see Shania with them! He picked up his pace through the back of the camp, wizard’s fire and energy razing everything in his wake.
Barnaby and Talena worked their way along the wagons and tents stealthy, looking for any sign of Shania. Already the camp was fully alive, confusion and fright fuelling everyone’s steps as the sound of battle loomed in the not so far off distance. No one paid the two much mind, fear for their own safety and reputations reigning supreme.
Barnaby used his dagger to cut holes into the sides of each tent they passed, quickly glancing in, hoping to locate Shania before he had to submerge himself further into this growing chaos.
“She is not here!” Barnaby hollered in defeat. They had searched almost all of Tyjarr’s camp, where Nina had been sure they would find her.
“Maybe when Ursa started the attack she was able to free herself and has made a run for it.” Talena offered.
“Well, we cannot stay here any longer,” Barnaby replied, a pang of guilt flooding over him.
“Hey!” An angry voice called out. “Who are you? What are you doing hiding near that tent?” An armed man stepped towards them.
Before either could act, the tip of a sword ripped through the mercenary’s leather armored torso, stealing his life before he could so much as cry out. The blade disappeared and the man’s body crumpled to the dusty earth. Dahak stood, bloodied sword in hand, breathing hard, his blue eyes cold as the steel he held. “Have you seen her?” He asked, his tone distant.
Barnaby was shaking his head already. “No, Dahak, she is no longer here - she must have escaped when everything started.”
Dahak growled, his anger overwhelming him, his sword arcing around, slashing clean through the thick side of a passing merchant. The man screamed out in surprised agony and plummeted to the earth, his fate sealed as his lifeblood poured free. “I have to find her!” He punched the sword tip through the merchant’s chest silencing his pathetic wailing. “I do not care if I have to kill every last person here, I will find her!”
“Dahak, come with us!” Barnaby urged the unhinged man. “She is likely already safe with Ursa or Rift.”
Dahak licked his lips as he scanned the chaos around h
im. “And if she is not?”
“We will have a better chance of finding her together once we meet up with the others!” Barnaby reasoned.
Finally Dahak nodded, some sense returning. “Lead the way. I will cover our backs.”
“Come on Rift, we are almost there!” Zehava urged - most of the large warrior’s weight now rested across his shoulders as he dragged him along. The wound in his side was far worse than he had let on and blood now soaked clean down his leg and left a crimson trail upon the ground.
“Are the others there yet?” Rift mumbled almost too softly for Zehava to hear over the commotion.
“No, not yet.” Zehava searched the area near the entrance to the camp for Ursa.
“They will be here soon, do not worry.” Rift coughed once, weakly, before his legs gave out.
Zehava could not support the large man’s full weight and had to lay him down. “Rift, stay strong, I will find Ursa,” he reassured the veteran warrior as he scanned the area for any sign of Ursa. He was about to stand when Rift’s hand grabbed his arm with more strength than Zehava would have thought possible.
“Do not make me die alone lad,” Rift said his voice weak.
“No, you are not going to die; Ursa will be here shortly. He will heal you, just hold on” Zehava countered, looking into the Champion’s dimming eyes. He knew within himself it was already too late, Rift had lost too much blood.
Rift grinned up at him. “No need to lie to me, I know well my time has come. But before I can go I need something of you.”
Zehava gripped the warrior’s hand tightly. “What do you need of me?”
“You are strong of mind and spirit and I can see within you much honor.” Rift broke off in a coughing fit, his face etched with pain. Finally when the coughing subsided and he was able to continue. “The Queen needs an able Champion, one who will not fail her as I have. You are that Champion Zehava, I can see it.”
Zehava stared down at the great warrior, speechless as the request sunk in. “I... I am not sure...”
“You are,” Rift countered his eyelids drifting down further. “Promise me you will protect her… Promise me you will keep her safe and guard her, always.”
Zehava nodded.
“Promise me!” Rift growled a spark of his vigor coming life.
“I promise! I will protect the Queen with my life.” Zehava replied.
Rift smiled. “Good.”
Movement caught Zehava eye and he looked up to see Ursa, Barnaby, Talena and Dahak running towards them. “Ursa help!” He cried out. “It is going to be okay, Rift…” He looked down at the old warrior - the man’s features were still, his eyes closed. “No, Rift! Just hold on a little longer!” He shook the man, but knew he was already gone.
“What happened?” Ursa asked, stopping by Zehava’s side. Zehava stood, shaking his head to the wizard. Ursa heart ached as he looked down at another of his friends. “We must be away from this place.”
“Where is Shania?” Dahak asked.
“Did you not find her?” Ursa asked concerned.
Talena was shaking her head. “We could not find her… we were hoping you might have.”
“I will not leave without her!” Dahak growled and turned back to the burning camp, armed men were congregating together to mount a ragged defense.
Zehava grabbed his friends shoulder and spun him around. “We will find her! I promise you, but we cannot stay here.”
Dahak pulled himself away, his features betraying his inner turmoil.
“We have no time for this.” Ursa scolded as he took off down the pathway, Barnaby, Talena in tow.
“Dahak, please come with us.” Zehava pleaded. “We will find her, together. I promise you.”
Dahak did not even look back at his friend as he charged like a mad man back into the burning camp, leaving a trail of dead in his wake.
Night had long ago covered the small trader town and a light fog had begun to rise. Most of the town’s citizens had found their beds…or their stools within the tavern.
Nicolette paced the small room anxiously, stopping at the small, filmy window at every pass, praying she would see them entering the town. When she saw nothing, she continued her pacing, her lips moving as she whispered silent prayers for their safety.
Pavilion sat in a wooden chair, tilted back against the wall. His eyes trained on the small gap between the floorboards and the door, watching the shadows that passed by, his hands ever at the ready. His ears were trained to the wall behind him, for in the other room rested Nina and the other two slave girls they had rescued.
“They should be here by now,” Keisha said from the small bed in the center of the room. “Maybe something happened and they need our help!”
Nicolette stopped in her tracks, her eyes betraying her similar thoughts.
“We were told to wait for them until morning,” Pavilion replied calmly, though that very thought had played in his mind as well.
“But what if they need us?” Keisha got from the bed.
“We will wait,” Pavilion said flatly.
“And if they are not here by morning,” Keisha pushed, “then what?”
Pavilion hid the grimace that ran through him. Ursa had given him strict orders that if they had not returned by morning, he was to take the Queen to Draco Castle, no matter what. “We will cross that road if it arrives,” He replied, not wanting to start an argument that would end in futility.
Nicolette was about to push the topic further when the light of a torch outside pulled her attention. “It is them!” She cried, before collapsing in a sobbing, relieved heap.
Ursa and the others filed into the small room. Though they had achieved what they had sought out to do, their demeanor was solemn and still.
“You made it!” Keisha jumped from the bed and hugged her brother tightly. “I knew you would.”
Barnaby smiled grimly at his sister. “I am a hard one to kill.”
Nicolette eyed them as they all came in and sensed their turmoil. “What is it? What happened?” The door closed behind Zehava and Nicolette’s eyes widened. “Where is Rift?”
Ursa stepped forward and pulled Nicolette into a tight embrace. “I am so sorry, your Highness.”
“No!” Nicolette pushed away. “No impossible! Rift was...” her voice cracked as tears began to escape. “... he was... no, he cannot be!” She threw herself back into Ursa’s arms, his grey robes soaking her tears.
Chapter 18
The trio rode through the barren city where the barbarian army had camped during the siege. The city was close to utter ruin; not a door remained on its hinges, nor did it look like a single window had escaped unbroken. Many of the structures were beyond repair and would likely collapse under their own weight at any time. Debris and carnage lined the streets and the smell of death and human excrement was almost overwhelming. It totally overpowered the smell coming from the leather bag attached to her saddle.
Vashina rolled her eyes at the senseless destruction of lands the tribes planned to keep. They had laid waste to a perfect city that would have housed them in comfort, but not only that, that land itself was ruined. The landscape for miles was ravished and would not sustain new growth for a score of years. They might have won back their lands, but they had destroyed it in the process.
She looked back at Astaroth - he was pale, his brow glistened with sweat as he swayed with little control in his saddle, hardly able to keep upright anymore. She wondered if he was even aware of his surroundings.
They had made good time after they had ambushed a group of refugees and taken their horses. The beasts were of poor breeding but served their purpose; however, as she looked back, she wondered if it was already too late.
Vashina stopped her mount near a double-story stone house that seemed to have taken less damage than those around it. It would work for what she needed it for.
“Why are we stopping?” Keithen asked worried. “We are almost there. He needs help, we cannot stop here now
.”
Vashina ignored the annoying wizard. “Help me get him into the house.”
Keithen knew better than to argue with her. This woman was dangerous and he did not want to end up on her bad side while Astaroth was incapacitated. He quickly helped her carry Astaroth up to the second story and laid him down upon a filthy, bug-riddled straw bed.
“Do not leave his side. I will be back as soon as I can,” Vashina ordered him. “If anyone but me enters this room, kill them, for they surely will be here to do just that to the both of you.”
“What do you mean, you will be back?” Keithen asked. “He needs help now. We need to get him to the castle!” Her closing words finally hit him. “What do you mean they would kill us? No one would dare attack him.”
Vashina turned a sharp glare at the annoying boy. “They cannot know he is here,” Vashina hissed. “If they knew he was not within Draco walls, pretending to be the Zandorian Prince, they would butcher us all like pigs. Now do as I say, or I will rid this world of your presence.” With that she departed, leaving Keithen wide-eyed.
She exited the rundown house, mounted her horse and started off for the castle. She had no idea how she would get Valka to give her the cure, but she knew she did not have time to waste or Astaroth would die and all she had endured would be for nothing.
Vashina rode under the burned out gates of the castle. The carnage around it told of what had happened. Tribesmen were working hard to remove all the debris and bodies from the area as new gates were being built within the yard. At least they are preparing for a counterattack, she thought, sneaking around and flitting in and out of shadows.
Few looked up from their tasks to pay her any mind. Most knew her face and those who did not knew her name and the authority it carried. She often wondered if it was fear or respect that they showed her, not that it truly mattered.
She climbed down from the tired old mare and patted the beast’s neck. It had served its purpose and managed the entire way, a feat she had first doubted.