by Marcus Lee
Daleth laughed. ‘I’m certainly not afraid of this girl or her gift, and I can reassure you that all my Rangers are wide awake. You won’t find them abroad this night, spirit travelling to bother you, so you needn’t fear them, for most are up to more physical pursuits. I give you my word. Have you realised there’s nothing you and your king can do to stop me?’
‘Is that why we’re just talking?’ asked Astren. ‘For you to tell me we have already lost?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Daleth, ‘or maybe I’m assessing whether I'm exchanging words with someone who might be a great deal of use to me alive if he could see the benefit of changing sides? This could be a fortuitous meeting for us both!’
Astren shook his head.
Daleth nodded. ‘You might be weak of body, but you have a strong sense of duty, I appreciate that.’
‘You know, to start with, my interest was to have her brought to me alive,’ mused Daleth. ‘Imagine if she could heal the land as I drained it. We could have made quite the happy couple!’ and he laughed, a deep resounding laugh. ‘But our gifts were not compatible, more’s the pity. So now she has to die, especially as she’s doing her best to escape toward imagined salvation within the Freestates. However, now I expect them to get no further if I’m honest.’
Daleth stood and stretched his arms, then reached down to his waist, slowly drawing his sword. Astren prepared to fly. However, Daleth didn’t look at Astren as he moved over to stand above the sleeping Maya. He flexed his muscles and raised his sword high above his head, before plunging it down through her inert body into the ground below.
Astren cried out, but Maya continued her sleep untroubled as Daleth withdrew his astral blade. ‘If only I had the power to kill my enemies so easily,’ he chuckled. ‘However, where this failed, perhaps the real blades of my Rangers might do a better job!’ and he started to laugh again.
Astren immediately became aware of movement, but not in the night sky above him. Instead, it was from behind him within the woods, and he realised the conversation had been a distraction this whole time, to stop him from seeing the danger that closed in on the three fugitives, and now it was likely too late.
Daleth suddenly flew at Astren, sword raised, yet Astren quickly projected himself so the man keeping watch could see him. ‘FLEE!’ he screamed, then followed his own advice and flew into the sky. Daleth didn’t bother to follow, but his laughter did, as Astren sped back toward the Freestates and Tristan.
Astren’s thoughts were full of sadness. The girl Maya, who had seemed such an innocent soul, would shortly be dead, and the citadel would soon feel the full might of Daleth’s army.
Then a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, for perhaps next time he’d be the one laughing at Daleth. The might of Tristan’s Folly awaited, and Daleth might find that his defeat or death was not far away either.
-----
Chapter XIV
Rakan sat on a log, eyes sweeping the shadows as the pale moon painted everything it looked upon with a silvery hue.
Taran and Maya lay close to one another, on the other side of the fire that they’d put out a while ago, even though with the chill night air it would have been welcomed.
Rakan was exhausted, and tonight he would hand over the watch to Taran, but not for a little while yet. He looked down at them both and felt a warmth spread through him. For so long he’d only thought about himself, and yet now he wanted to keep them safe too, for they were … he shook his head and smiled ruefully. They were indeed becoming like family.
It had been several days since Rakan had killed the two hunters, and instead of feeling relaxed, having succeeded in their escape, he felt a sense of foreboding. He knew the safer you believed yourself to be, the more vulnerable you became. He also worried about the danger they were headed toward. Laska wasn’t Rakan’s friend and still owed his existence to the benevolence of the Witch-King. Would he help or betray them?
Yet, Rakan still had some hope. Laska held no love for Daleth, and his community did have a code as such. Anyone who fortunately stumbled upon his gates, be they villager or deserter, were always given sanctuary for a night while their fate was decided.
A lot could happen during a night.
His musings and the warm feeling inside was dispelled in an instant, for out of nowhere, a ghostly man in red robes barely visible in the darkness appeared, and stumbling backwards by a tree screamed, ‘FLEE!’
Rakan reacted immediately even as the others awoke to the sound of the voice. He grabbed them by the shoulders, hauling them to their feet. There was no point in being quiet now, for he could hear numerous footfalls and crashing from within the forest getting closer by the moment, so he shouted his own warning as he pushed the groggy Taran and Maya. ‘RUN!’
Maya swept up her bow and quiver, and Taran already had his sword, but as they started to move toward the packs, Rakan shoved them toward the edge of the camp. ‘RUN!’ he shouted again, and the urgency of the situation finally got through.
Maya sprinted off, Taran after, with Rakan right behind them.
A strange whistling filled the air as they ran, and Taran wondered what it was until arrows started to hiss by, but the dark, trees, and distance, fouled the archer’s aim.
Maya pushed the pace, sprinting, using her keen hunter’s eyesight and trail knowledge to lead them safely even in the near darkness. The shouts of their pursuers sounded so loud and harsh that Maya almost sobbed as she ran. For the first time since their escape, she felt vulnerable and certain of their death.
‘Slow down,’ Rakan called, but Maya still pushed hard, panic driving her on. With a surge of effort, Rakan managed to pass by Taran and grabbed her shoulder, dragging her to a halt.
‘What are you doing?’ Maya cried, and tried to shake free as Taran demanded the same. The crash of their pursuers which had grown more distant, started to get closer again.
‘Listen girl, think! You’re normally a hunter, but now you’re the hunted. If we carry on at this pace, we’ll exhaust ourselves; become easy prey. We need to be able to run for as long as it takes to lose our pursuers. At this rate, we’ll soon be done and have no strength for a fight if they bring us to ground.’
Rakan’s words reached Maya, for indeed a deer could outrun a pack of wolves in the short term, but the wolves often won in the end, tiring it out, and she knew his words to be true. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘I’ve got it,’ and headed off again.
The exchange had only taken a few moments, yet Taran felt like they’d given away too much of their lead, so as he ran, his shoulders hunched in anticipation of an arrow that fortunately never landed. Taran’s face was soon scratched and bleeding as he followed Maya’s outline in front of him, and the shouts of the men behind stopped getting any closer as they settled into a controlled run.
If it wasn’t for Maya, thought Taran, we’d have been caught by now. Fortunately, Maya’s skill at finding a path through the dense forest was amazing, but the pursuers simply had to follow the path she set.
They ran and ran.
Occasionally the hunters got closer, and Maya had to push the pace a little, spurred on by the occasional arrow that hissed by, clattering off a tree trunk or thunking into the ground near their feet.
Taran’s breath heaved in his lungs as they continued to run and he was so glad that Rakan had demanded their supplies be left behind. There was no way they could have kept this up in the darkness with a cumbersome pack getting caught by unseen vines or branches.
Rakan called a brief stop as the voices behind them seemed to drop a little further back.
‘We need to get further ahead of these bastards,’ growled Rakan. ‘If the forest thins, some of these arrows might find their mark. Now’s the time for speed. We need to find a way to lose them while it’s still dark, or we’re history.’
Maya set off faster than before, and as they sprinted, Taran realised it wasn’t going to work. They’d been running for too long, every day since their escape, and we
re at the end of their stamina. He looked over his shoulder to see Rakan puffing along behind him, and not much further away the dark shapes of their pursuers as they flitted amongst the trees.
They came to a wide clearing, and as they reached the other side, Rakan came to a halt, hands on his knees, bent over gasping for breath.
Taran ran a few more steps then slowed to a halt, before walking back to Rakan. ‘How many do you think there are?’ he asked, drawing his sword.
Rakan having regained a bit of composure, stood straight. ‘More than enough,’ he sighed. ‘They’ll likely be Rangers. They work in teams of five, so ten or fifteen, maybe more. Even if it were just Darkon and Lazard I wouldn’t fancy our chances too much.’
Maya suddenly came flying back. ‘What in the nine hells are you two doing?’ she cried, pulling on their arms. ‘Come on, we have to run!’ she implored.
Taran looked into her eyes. ‘Rakan can’t go on and nor could I for much longer. They’ll catch us as soon as the sun rises when we have no strength left. Go. Try to get away while we hold them for as long as we can.’
‘No, I’ll not run while you stand!’ she said defiantly, unslinging her bow, nocking an arrow.
Now it was Taran’s turn to pull her arm. ‘Go,’ he said again. ‘Please don’t die here with us.’
Maya looked sad, not meeting his gaze. ‘I have a feeling I’d rather die fighting next to you, than live without you. Don’t ask me to go again. I won't.‘
Taran pulled her to him then, and she buried her head in his chest as he held her tight. He closed his eyes briefly as he nuzzled her hair and breathed in her scent. His heart beat so fast, and he could feel it matched by Maya’s. Fear certainly, but also more, something else making it beat as never before.
As Rakan looked on, he felt his eyes blur as he saw the love that was blossoming between them, and even though he didn’t want to take this moment from them, still he reached out to pull Taran to one side.
Maya reluctantly let Taran go, took her arrows from her quiver and pushed them into the soft soil at her feet before taking an archer’s stance.
Rakan talked softly but quickly. ‘Taran my boy. The things they’ll do to your girl if they take her alive before they kill her ... that can’t happen, do you understand? It might be better to kill her now, before it starts.’
Taran stepped back, hot words coming to his lips. But he saw the hurt and anguish in Rakan’s eyes even in the darkness, and remembered saying similar words himself when he’d first freed Maya. Before he had a chance to respond, their pursuers entered the other side of the clearing, and seeing their prey waiting in the moonlight, came to a halt.
‘Fifteen,’ whistled Rakan. ‘I almost feel privileged. That’s only five each. Do you think you can take five? he asked Taran with a wry smile.
Before Taran could reply, Maya loosed an arrow. Taran could barely track it in the gloom as it flew towards one of the Rangers, but with unbelievable speed and skill the Ranger’s blade whipped up, splintering it at the last moment.
‘Damn, still fifteen,’ said Rakan.
Maya grimaced. ‘Not that it matters much but make that sixteen,’ she said.
Taran couldn’t help it as he looked at Maya. ‘For someone with a beautiful figure,’ he said, ‘you’re not too good with numbers are you?’
Maya’s eyes opened wide at the compliment, and despite the circumstances, she smiled back, saying. ‘It’s a good thing I’m after your body because for sure I’m not after your brains.’
Rakan looked a little hopeful. ‘I don’t suppose you could call upon your gift to entangle them all as you did with Darkon and Lazard?’ he asked.
‘Maybe two or three, if they stand still for long enough,’ said Maya doubtfully.
A voice called over interrupting their final exchange.
‘If you three have finished your goodbyes,’ said a Ranger, standing slightly ahead of the others, ‘I think it’s time for you to die.’
As he said this, the other Rangers strode across the clearing to meet them.
-----
Anthain stomped down the steps from the Royal Palace, his mood shifting between trepidation and optimism. Tristan had been even more demanding than usual, and Anthain was exhausted, but he couldn’t afford the luxury of sleep; there was still so much to do.
Damn him, but Tristan had never taken him seriously, taking any opportunity to mock him, because him being big apparently meant his brain was small. Tristan had not once truly appreciated his abilities.
His father, one of the state’s wealthiest merchants who traded in medicinal oils had shared this opinion, because many years before, instead of engaging Anthain in the family business, he’d enrolled him into the Freemantle officer academy. The intention being that his wayward son would be taught discipline and then in time, bring a little honour to the family name through his service in the military.
Looking back, Anthain could still feel the humiliation.
The military, even at officer level, would never convey status or wealth, and that meant he’d forever be looked upon with scorn by his peers. He’d begged his father to reconsider, but there had been no changing the old man’s mind.
So for the next three years, to keep his father happy and to ensure his allowance continued to flow, Anthain begrudgingly attended the academy.
During that time, with the false belief that being good with a sword would be enough to pass, Anthain tried to enjoy himself as much as possible. He’d taken every opportunity to gamble, get drunk and enjoy the company of women instead. After all, what was the point in trying to learn strategies for attack and defence, troop manoeuvres and supply chains, when the Freestates didn’t even have a standing army?
At the end of his three-year tenure, Anthain had returned to the family villa; head bowed in disbelief. He’d been failed.
His father, unable to bear the shame should it become known, invited the academy commander around that very day for a meeting that lasted well into the night. After many hours of negotiation, his father had parted with a small fortune and was set to marry the commander’s daughter, whereas Anthain only found himself passed with honours.
Despite this intervention in a land that valued the art of bribery, Anthain had felt cheated.
To make matters even worse, his father, who he’d never felt close to, used the situation as an excuse to cast him out and cut off his allowance. With no other option, Anthain had taken the only route left to him. A position as a guard in the city garrison.
That was over ten years past, and every day since then, Anthain had cursed his father, then later Tristan, and all those others who used him, who didn’t see he was meant for greater things.
Fortunately, there was one who had seen see his potential for greatness.
He had over the years, by both force and guile been promoted, until at last, he’d achieved the rank of captain. This was only one below the king’s personal bodyguard and general, Tryown.
The man was his cousin and yet instead of favouring him, he’d looked upon Anthain with disdain every time he saw him, finding constant amusement in his fall from his father’s grace rather than recognising his achievement in rising through the ranks.
One night while drowning his sorrows in a dark corner of one of the cities many taverns, he’d been approached by a woman, Lacyntha.
She introduced herself as a wealthy merchant, and offered to buy him a drink as a protector of their city and great king. Not used to being lauded and admired, Anthain found a good friend that night who saw him for what he was. A man destined for greatness.
The friendship had grown over the weeks and months. During this time Lacyntha refused to let Anthain pay for anything when they met. The reason for her generosity, she explained, was that someone who would one day be the king’s bodyguard should never have to pay for anything, ever.
Anthain had broken down then and confided in his drunken state that while he deserved it, he would never achieve the position because
Tryown would see him dead in the ground before that ever happened.
Lacyntha had smiled in sympathy and reassured Anthain that she had foreign, influential friends, who could help him achieve this position if he but asked for it.
Anthain, not wanting to offend his new acquaintance had scoffed a little but raised his glass in acceptance and advised that whatever opportunity the gods presented, he would take.
Two months later, Tryown was dead, and Anthain never made the connection.
Everything began to change as Anthain was promoted to become the king’s bodyguard; a few things were good, but most were bad.
Lacyntha, in recognition of his new status, advised that a monthly payment from his sponsors would be forthcoming. To explain this new income, she suggested he let it be known that his father had grown a little closer and reinstated his allowance.
But other than that recognition, as Anthain grew into his new role of following behind the king all day long, he realised that it was the worst job he could have ever wished for.
Whenever the king was awake, Anthain had to be there, and his time for drinking, gambling and whoring often disappeared. Even worse, Tristan would spend most day’s bent over a parchment, studying trade deals and counting collected taxes. It was like death from a thousand cuts.
He bemoaned his plight to Lacyntha who had nodded sagely, advising that in the days of old, kings needed to be warriors like Anthain, not coin counters like Tristan, and how foreign kings could never respect such a physically weak ruler. Anthain, on the other hand, looked like how a warrior king should, tall and strong. A man who shook the earth as he walked.
Over the years that followed, Anthain’s dependence on Lacyntha’s money grew more and more as she funded his expensive tastes and gambling habits.
Then just under six months ago, Lacyntha had asked if Anthain would like to be king, whether he thought he would make a good ruler? Anthain, after some consideration, had nodded sagely.
Then it’s time to make it happen, she’d advised.