Kestrel felt guilty for Chestnut’s fatal injury, the one that had necessitated his unhappy act of mercy. The two were riding on an empty road in an empty sector of northern Hydrotaz, and the road was visible for miles and miles ahead in the gently rolling prairie they were crossing. It was evident that the road took a great, looping curve to the north and then cut back to the south, and it was evident that they could cut a fair amount of distance off their journey by leaving the road and cutting due west across the rolling hills. So with a tug on his reins, Kestrel had pulled Chestnut away from the road, and they had started to take a shortcut across the empty countryside.
Halfway along Kestrel’s shortcut, as they galloped with fulfilling pleasure, both of them enjoying the feel of the wonderful, reckless freedom of uninhibited movement, the breeze blowing in their faces, Chestnut’s hoof had plunged deep into a gopher hole, and the bones of his leg had instantly, sickeningly snapped, sending Kestrel flying through the air as Chestnut flipped in the air in the other direction and landed on his back. Chestnut had thrashed and screamed in pain; Kestrel had risen from the ground in a daze, until Chestnut’s agony had penetrated his addled brain.
Kestrel had sprinted over to Chestnut and stroked his horse’s head and neck, trying to calm his friend, as he watched the foreleg bend and twist in an unnatural way that made his stomach turn, regretting what it meant for Chestnut.
And so he sat next to the finally peaceful animal, knowing that the pain was at an end, and he cried. The wind felt chilly, and the sunshine was weak, so that his tears left cool tracks along his cheek. He sat on the grass for several pensive minutes, then took a deep breath, wiped his face, and set about preparing to move on. He unbuckled the saddle straps to set Chestnut’s body free of encumbrance, then pulled his saddlebags away, and knelt again by Chestnut’s head.
“Please take Chestnut’s spirit to green pastures and sunny skies, where he can be lord of his herd with many mares,” Kestrel prayed to Kai. He didn’t know that horses’ spirits went to an afterlife, but it was worth seeking any possible favor for his friend.
With a sigh, Kestrel opened the saddlebags and sorted through them, reducing their contents to the most basic and necessary items. With the load lightened, he hefted the saddlebags up onto his shoulders, then began running across the open prairie, trying not to think about the horse he left behind as he headed towards the road to the north. He ran cautiously; he would not risk injuring himself upon the untamed prairie surface, he decided, belatedly aware of the risk of freakish injury that the land held.
Nightfall came just a few hours later. Kestrel was back upon the road, and just pulling up to stop for the night where the road crossed a deep swale, where a ribbon of dwarfish trees were strung out in a line along the bottom of the dip in the land, when he heard the howl of a wolf, very nearby. Seconds later another wolf called in answer from a different location, just as close. Either the first wolf responded, or a third one added its throaty call to the chorus. Kestrel decided that the small trees in the swale provided far too little opportunity for safety, so he set his tired legs in motion, and began to run again. He told himself that he would run for hours more, if necessary, to get beyond the range of the pack of wolves that apparently lived in that sector of the northern plains, though he hoped that only a short distance would suffice to place him clear of the wolves’ territory.
As he began to run he heard the sound of paws nearby, and as he glanced back he was disturbed to see the two wolves he had heard were only the vocal members of a pack that was much larger in size, and that was in pursuit of him. Wolves were easily loping along at a pace no slower than his own; there were wolves closing in from the right and left, as well as those directly behind him on the road. There were none in front of him however, and so he redoubled his speed, pushing his legs to propel him faster so that he could open up space between himself and the wolves.
He wished there were tall trees, trees he could climb into as safe harbors, the way elves always relied on their trees for safety. The trees would be a welcome refuge, because despite his increased speed, he was unable to pull away from the pursuing wolves. The sound of their loping paws striding through the long grass, and the occasional howl or yip of an excited hunter stayed close on his heels. His legs, worn from his long journey already during the day, grew weary and painful as the minutes of flight stretched into hours. The crescent moon rose behind him in the east, and still the wolves followed him.
Kestrel’s mind tried to fathom what would cause such unusual behavior by the wolves. They had chased him far beyond the typical range through which a pack would pursue quarry, and he wasn’t large enough to warrant such attention in any event – there wasn’t enough meat on him to feed many of the canines, not like an elk or a buffalo would have. Yet there were perhaps a score of the wolves not only following after him mile after mile, but they had even managed to reduce the lead he held in the race.
He stumbled suddenly, as the character of the ground changed dramatically from one step to another, changing from springy turf to hard, uneven, rocky soil. He began to lose his balance, and flailed his arms as his legs strode wildly, searching for equilibrium while his momentum flung him forward, and his face dropped closer to the ground as he tried with all his efforts to remain upright.
Just as he began to realize that he was going to pitch forward onto the ground, making himself vulnerable to the fangs of his followers, he heard a series of yelps and squeals from the pursuing wolves; the cries were full of genuine pain and surprise. He heard the sounds of the cries go on and on and on, for several seconds, before he heard them no longer as he crashed to the ground and rolled forward in the stony dirt through several somersaults, then scrambled up in panic as one hand went to his belt to grab his knife.
His eyes looked around wildly as he stood. They registered the scene that surrounded him, and his jaw dropped in astonishment, as his feet shuffled on the pebbly surface while he slowly turned a full rotation to observe the full circle of his predicament.
The wolves were stopped, ranged around him in a wide arc. An unseen circle seemed to follow the border of the changed surface of the plain; the wolves stood on the grass and looked inward at the barren soil upon which Kestrel stood. The wolves stood upon the springy, grassy turf that extended for miles in all directions, while he stood on the ground that, even in the dim light cast by the crescent moon that was crossing the sky, was noticeably lighter than the turf, as well as harder, stonier, and littered with boulders, potholes, and other irregularities across its surface.
The animals watched him looking at them, their tongues hanging from grinning mouths as they all stood and examined him from their various positions. Some continued to move slowly along the perimeter of the stony circle, pressing against the unseen barrier that that was the only thing protecting Kestrel from being devoured by the two dozen animals that had inexplicably pursued him so diligently. The size of the arc the wolves were lining indicated to Kestrel the likely size of his refuge, apparently a full circle that, if it went the full width of the way around him, must be over a quarter of a mile wide.
Kestrel began to move away from the near side, the side he had stumbled into, heading towards the center of the safe harbor, and he noticed that the pack of wolves split apart, half going around on either side of the inexplicably protected circle to watch his progress, some moving faster, while others lagged, so that they began to establish themselves as sentinels that were spaced apart around the full perimeter of his domain.
When he reached the center of the circle Kestrel stopped and looked all about him. The wolves were widely spread, leaving gaps between themselves, gaps that tempted him to consider dashing away. But he intuitively recognized that in the time it would take him to move from the center of his sphere to any spot along the edge that he chose to breach, many of the wolves would be able to congregate upon his location. And even if by some miracle he were able to spring past the pack, he would only be thrown back into the
situation he had just escaped, a long-running marathon of pursuit by claws and fangs that would stay on his trail without pause.
Kestrel looked up at the stars in the sky above. He was one day too late, one miserable, stupid day too late to call upon the sprites for help. The previous day had been the winter solstice, which meant that no sprite would be able to travel by their extraordinary means; they were grounded for the next quarter of the year due to some solar phenomena that blocked their travels, and so he could not look forward to that easy means of rescue. Kestrel hadn’t talked to Reasion or any sprite since their help in Center Trunk, when they had rescued Princess Elwean and him from attack along the riverside, and he suddenly felt conscious of how much he would miss the small blue people for the next few months. Not just at the present moment because of the potential escape they offered, but he missed Reasion’s quiet, faithful affection, and most of all he missed Dewberry’s infectious, boisterous love of life and friendship.
A bright green shooting star suddenly pulled his thoughts back to the present moment, as he watch the flash of light cross much of the sky in a brief fraction of a second, and then he heard the wolves yip and cry out from every location they patrolled. He stared in disbelief and fear, as the entire collection of predators began to creep forward cautiously, breaching the boundary of Kestrel’s safety. He pulled out his knife, aware that he was once again at the mercy of and surrounded by over two dozen wolves.
He picked a wolf at random, then threw his enchanted knife at the chosen animal, and watched the starlight glint off the twirling blade as it flew on a sure line towards his target. The knife struck the animal in the chest, and the wolf cried a short, moaning howl, then collapsed to the ground, as the rest of the pack charged closer to Kestrel.
“Lucretia, return,” Kestrel called immediately, as he saw the dead wolf’s momentum carry its body forward, rolling upon the dusty ground and scant grass for a few feet, while Kestrel’s weapon freed itself and began to soar back to Kestrel.
He waited impatiently as he saw the wolves draw closer to him on all sides, until the knife reached his hand. It had flown at the same sure, quick pace it always used, but in Kestrel’s dire circumstances it seemed as though the knife was traveling through molasses, not crisp, night-time air.
He reared back to throw the knife again, when he stopped in astonishment and held the knife in his hand behind his head.
The wolves had stopped again. Every one of them had reached a point, all the points equidistant from Kestrel, at which they had stopped again. His protected circle of territory still existed, but it appeared to have shrunk to only half the width it had previously possessed.
Kestrel was still safe, for some unknown period of time. The wolves still encircled him, and now were far closer together to one another, as well as closer to him. There were no tempting gaps around his perimeter now, no open spots that he could contemplate to use as an escape hatch. And now, even worse, he couldn’t feel confident that the circle would continue to protect him. The sudden, discomforting collapse of the inexplicable barrier created a disquieting sensation in Kestrel that he couldn’t imagine feeling any worse.
He tossed the knife, releasing it from its position behind his ear, and watched in satisfaction as one of the wolves fell to the blade. “Lucretia,” he called, while idly struck by the notion that maybe the blade shouldn’t keep the name of the woman who turned out to be alive after all.
“Pay attention,” he berated himself, as the knife handle struck his palm unexpectedly. He looked at another wolf, and tossed the knife again. The wolf howled in pain as it too sank to the ground when struck by Lucretia, and suddenly Kestrel saw that he had the beginning of an opening forming among the guardians that surrounded and imprisoned him. He recalled the knife and tossed it again, felling a fourth member of the pack, the third in one section of the circle around him, and suddenly he felt confident that he could open up a hole to dart through before the next time the circle shrunk.
“Lucretia, come back,” he called again, and grabbed the knife as it flew back to his hand. The sky above seemed to brighten, and he looked up to see another of the bright green falling stars flashing across the heavens, only, as he watched, the green trail didn’t disappear after a fraction of a second, but it grew shorter while continuing to flare. Kestrel had a brief impression that the green line was fore-shortening as it changed direction in the sky and began to fall straight downward, rather than streaking towards the horizon.
The green light continued to hang in the sky for seconds, growing brighter and shorter, until Kestrel realized it was falling directly towards him. After several moments of standing in stunned disbelief, he watched the silent green light fragment into four small streaks of light that each plunged to the earth immediately around him. They landed without noise or explosions or apparent impact, but each landed on the bodies of the wolves he had already slain with Lucretia. The bodies were illuminated in a blaze of verdant light, then darkness returned to the empty plain, while Kestrel blinked his eyes to try to restore his night vision.
He noticed a peculiar movement several yards beyond the boundary of his safe spot, then realized with horror that it was the first wolf he had slain, its body rising and beginning to stagger towards him with a jerky, rambling motion. Shocked, startled, and fearful, Kestrel observed the wolf walking towards the protective circle that he stood within, its eyes glowing with the same unearthly green glow that had dropped from the sky.
Moments later, he saw another movement out of the corner of his eye, and whirled to see the other dead wolves also rise from the spots where they had died after his knife had stabbed each of them. Their eyes also took on the unearthly glow, and Kestrel tried to swallow his fear as he realized that the pursuit by the wolves was even more sinister than he had realized, aided by a frighteningly powerful force. Just as the realization dawned on him, there was another green fireball that streaked across the sky, and suddenly the wolves began to close in upon his position again, as his protective circle collapsed; the animals ran with vigor, even the re-animated dead ones, closing rapidly upon his position.
Kestrel felt himself break out in a fearful sweat, and he hurled his knife at the first wolf his eyes spotted, determined to take as many of them to the grave with him as possible, even if their visit was only temporary, unlike his was likely to be. “Lucretia, return,” he called, and felt the knife land back in his hand, just as he saw the circle of wolves screech to a halt once again, each only about fifty yards away from where he stood.
The green falling stars were a part of the entrapment, that was clear. Each time the emerald light had flashed through the sky, something had happened – the protective circle had been reduced in half, then roughly cut in half again, going from almost a quarter mile in width to about one hundred yards wide. And the dead wolves had come back to life; they were still evident now with their eerie green eyes that glowed as they sat in their respective spots among the circle of wolves that closely surrounded him. Every green falling star brought his demise closer, and it was only a matter of time before the star would fall that would either remove his protection entirely, or at least shrink it to the point that the wolves would be able to sink their teeth into him.
There was still a great deal of darkness left before the dawn broke, if dawn could even be hoped to provide some relief from his predicament. As he considered the possibility that the dawn would somehow scatter the wolves and save his life, another green star fell lazily through the sky for a long second, and the wolves closed in towards him again, the circle shrinking by half once again. The wolves were disturbingly close now, all of them, so close together now that Kestrel could hear them panting, could see starlight gleam off of individual fangs in the mouths of some wolves.
He began to calculate how to run for a desperate escape. With the next green falling star, the distance from him to the wolves would shrink to about twenty five yards in every direction. He could attempt to run directly at the wolves,
then hurdle over them, hoping to lift himself high enough above the heads of the animals to safely jump over them cleanly; afterwards, if he landed safely, he would just have to run with every ounce of energy and effort he had – run as though his life depended on it, as his life literally would.
There was another bright flash of light in the sky, and Kestrel crouched reflexively as he looked up, expecting to see another green falling star streak across the field of sparkling lights in the sky. Instead, to his complete shock, he saw a small, bright red round circle flaming steadily in the sky overhead, seeming to grow in size. As it grew, it developed into a ring, a narrow ring of red flames with a wide opening in the middle, and Kestrel was unable to tell if the phenomena was growing in the night sky, or dropping down, appearing to grow larger as it fell closer to the earth.
Then, with a sudden rush the ring of fire ceased to be a celestial phenomenon, high overhead, and became a part of the landscape of Kestrel’s prairie, as the flames dropped instantaneously down to ground level, surrounding the uncomprehending elf with intense heat and light that caused him to close his eyes, cover his face, and crouch down into a ball on the ground. He heard a momentary chorus of yelps, and then the only sound he heard was the crackling roar of the flames that surrounded him.
The fire roared mightily, and Kestrel felt its heat baking his body, broiling his flesh as it poured its energies out upon him from every direction, until it instantly disappeared.
Kestrel stayed crouched down, and cautiously drew a breath of air, air that no longer burned the insides of his cheeks as he inhaled. There was a strong odor of burnt flesh hanging around him, and he started to gag.
“Stand up, Kestrel. You can bow down to me later, in gratitude for saving your life,” a man’s voice spoke to him, in a tone that was a raspy, deep rumble. Shocked by the thought of any man being present in such circumstances, in such a place, at such a time, Kestrel straightened up and opened his eyes, looking around and turning his body to look for the speaker.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 03 - Road of Shadows Page 2