“Litania has returned from her pilgrimage north. A journey that was meant to bring clarity to her magic. Only, now there is a troubling look in her eyes. It is as though she is fighting a losing battle with a demon in her own mind – and losing.”
Except from Prince Alfor-Lorcaris 634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSENg1VEvr4
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Chapter 16
Wren clung to the back of the horse, hunched low, as the four of them raced through the streets. Hooves thumped against the dirt-pressed streets, echoing softly against the cries that rang out behind them. The alarm stretched out across the city, through the labyrinth of buildings where bounty hunters and slavers stirred in their beds. The promise of a hunt woke them, their shouts stirring from every tavern and inn they passed.
Ahead, a cart lay upturned, jars of grain spilt across the road. Sorcha’s horse leapt clear, followed by her kin. Wren’s heart seized in her chest. She’d never jumped a horse before. Her hands tightened on the reins, every inch of her screaming to yank on them, stop the horse – and as she went to, the horse leapt. A half-scream tore from her mouth and the horse landed, silencing it.
Lida twisted in her saddle, scowling. “Shut it or you’ll give away our position. Sorcha can only hide us from prying eyes, not ears!”
Wren narrowed her eyes but held her tongue. They rounded a corner, out onto a wider street. Taverns flanked them on either direction – and several people lounged out the front of them, staring blankly as they raced past. She shot a questioning look at Sorcha. Just what was the extent of her powers? And why hadn’t she used it before?
She hunkered down, urging her flighty mare on, praying to whatever god was watching, that she’d survive the night. After all, she had a village to save. Someone to take revenge on.
With a deep breath she continued after the others as they raced down through the twisting streets. The wall loomed ahead in the distance, fast approaching. They launched out onto the main street, which ran ahead to the central gate. Only, their way was blocked. A dozen city guards stood between them and the exit, swords drawn, framed by the moonlight. Sorcha slowed her horse, trotting for several moments before she swung down out of her saddle. Lida and Jed glanced at each other. Wren moved to Jed.
“Now what?” Wren asked.
Jed put a finger to his mouth, then pointed to Sorcha. The strange girl simply approached the guards, her hands spread wide, as if in peace. Several feet away, she stopped and cocked her head to the side.
“You’re not going to let us pass, freely are you?”
“No one is permitted to leave the city,” barked the middle guard, a gold symbol emblazoned on his chest.
Sorcha sighed. “Not even if I say please and smile prettily?”
He snorted. “Not even for a pretty thing like you. Now, why don’t you and your friends’ hand over your weapons and you might survive the night.”
Sorcha straightened up, the humour leaving her body. She reached up with one hand, straight to the feint sliver of the moon. What little moonlight touched her skin lit a flame within her and her skin started to glow. In the palm of her outstretched hand, a small orb of light started to glow – small, at first, then within moments, the size of a clenched fist. She lowered her hand and aimed it at the guards, whom shifted restlessly at the brazen use of magic. The middle guard opened his mouth to protest.
He never had a chance.
Sorcha flicked her wrist, hurling the orb at the guards. It exploded on impact, blowing them apart. Limb and blood sprayed the ground and gate. She dropped her hand and started to sway. Jed flew off his horse, racing forward. His arms encircled Sorcha whom crumpled to the ground. Lida grabbed the reins of his horse and led it over, followed quickly by Wren. Wren dropped down off her horse and helped Jed get a wobbly, half-conscious Sorcha into the saddle of his horse. Sorcha’s horse, whom had lingered off behind, trotted over and nuzzled her leg. Jed rubbed its neck, then swung up behind Sorcha, one arm encircling her waist. He drew her close protectively and a look of worry crinkled his brow.
“You don’t have to stick around,” commented Lida, throwing Wren a pointed look, as if to say, you’re not wanted.
Wren levelled a cool gaze back. “Sorcha and I have an agreement.”
Lida pressed her lips together but didn’t argue the point. Jed shot her a warning look before he clicked his tongue, the horse surging forward. Quick to react Lida chased him, leaving Wren momentarily behind. She dug her heels in, the horse shooting forward with a cry.
They shot out of the city and into the night.
As the forest came in around them Sorcha finally stirred and pushed Jed’s arm away. They stopped, giving time for Jed and Sorcha to get off, then return to their respective horses. Sorcha pressed her brow to the face of her horse, closing her eyes. The tender moment in the flickering shadows of the ancient trees made her appear as a kind of spectre, a creature from the night itself. She stepped back, opening her eyes, which glowed eerily in the dark. They flickered up to Wren, crinkling at the edges.
“Hell an exit, wouldn’t you say?” She remarked with a wry smile.
Wren stared. “You have magic. Real magic.”
Sorcha held up a hand, ribbons of flickering magic snaking through her fingers. “Oh, this?”
Wren glanced at the others. “Can you do the same?”
They shook their head, though they could’ve just as easily been lying.
Sorcha walked around to her saddle. “The main camp is just over the next hill. We should head off soon before the camp departs.”
“If they haven’t already,” murmured Lida.
“They haven’t left yet,” said Sorcha with firm assurance as she swung up into the saddle.
She froze in her saddle, then looked back at them. “We need to go – now.”
For a second no one heard anything but the quiet stir of the wind amongst the leaves above. Then, it came. The approaching sound of horses, hooves beating an ominous drum, a death march. Sorcha opened one hand again, summoning ribbons of light. The light spluttered out. A frown tugged at her face, dismissed in the next breath, fixing into a steely look. The glow in her eyes spluttered out too, a candle extinguished.
The four of them were off again. Jed reached down to the bags on his saddle, fished out something fastened beneath it. A short bow. He slung it briefly over his bag, then dug out a quiver full of arrows from his bag. Letting go with both hands, his horse maintaining pace behind Sorcha, he removed the bow and balanced it before him, then set the quiver on his back. Without missing a beat, he lifted up the bow and twisted around in his saddle, as though it were natural. He knocked an arrow and rode casually backwards, trusting completely in the horse. His gaze narrowed suddenly and he drew the bow up, pulling the string taut, releasing almost immediately. The arrow whistled a foot or so past Wren’s head, then slammed with a muted thud. She twisted around, her heart seizing as she spied four guards astride large horses, gaining fast. One horse careened off to the side, the fifth rider already fallen, a crumpled mess on the ground.
She looked ahead, focused on the back of Sorcha, who peeled off to the side without warning, the other two in suit. Their horses responded without hesitation. Wren’s too, leaving her to cling on for dear life, and wondering simultaneously where the hell Lorca was. A dragon ought to be really useful and he had sworn to aid her. She glanced skywards, tried to imagine him swooping down. Problem was, the canopy was a netted mess of leaves and thick branches. No where safe to leave. They needed a clearing but how to explain that on the run? Sorcha was determined to plunge deeper into the forest, racing uphill where the ground underfoot seemed to grow precariously loose. The horses charged on faithfully, navigating expertly and jumping when the ground grew too step, and only a ledge a foot or so above appeared. Their heavy breathing became a drum to Wren. She prayed they were fit enough to continue the advance upwards.
Mercifully, the sound of guards behind them seemed to fade off, though just fractionally. A glance behind showed they kept pace, though at a further distance. One had peeled off, to gods knows where. Three were in sight. Wren looked ahead, worried. Where had the forth gone? Hoping he’d gone back to his fallen comrade seemed naively hopeful. Pathetic, even. She tightened her grip on the reins.
The hill seemed to finally cease its sharp rise, petering out. Their pursuers closed the distance and Jed released two more arrows. Two successive thumps, followed by a clattering crash and the reducing rush of hooves, indicated his shot was successful. He released another arrow. No thump came and their last apparent pursuer remained, closing fast. Wren swore to herself she heard his ragged breathing. She considered – momentarily, anyway – to try twisting in her own saddle, to fling her climbing daggers. The thought was dismissed. Her daggers were precious, the last physical thing to home. The sword on her back didn’t count, wasn’t from her village.
The trees finally thinned around them as the reached the top of the hill. A clearing. Sorcha turned sharply again, circling back, stopping dead. The horses banked off to the side, Wren’s following Jed’s to the right. Jed twisted again seamlessly in his saddle and fired off his arrows. This time, his mark didn’t miss and the rider tumbled from his saddle with a heavy thump. His horse bolted off into the trees. Jed swung down off his saddle and strode over to the rider, who turned over onto his back with a groan. The arrow was buried deep into his side. Jed cursed and knelt down by the body. He glanced at Sorcha, whose gaze grew cold.
“He’ll live,” said Jed, as though the survival of the man was a distinct inconvenience.
Sorcha looked from him, to the man, then back again. A single nod. Jed turned from her and pulled out the dagger from his hip. Without flinching he ripped it across the man’s throat. Blood sprayed. Wren froze. It seemed one thing entirely to shoot an arrow, to kill someone in that kind of detached way. To cut a man’s throat so intimately? It was…jarring. She felt cold, uneasy inside. Sick to her stomach, if she was being honest with herself.
In the corner of her eye Lida smiled smugly, enjoying Wren’s discomfort. Victory dancing in her eyes. After all, if Wren had taken her offer and ran, she wouldn’t have seen a man die like that.
The victory was short lived and an arrow shot out of the trees. Sorcha threw up her hands, as if to stop it – she failed. It slammed into her side, sinking deep. A cry tore from her. Jed was up, releasing an arrow into the trees. A thump resounded close by…and a man staggered out of the trees. He fell to the ground, dead, blood pooling from the wound in his neck.
“Sorcha!” Lida cried, jumping down from her saddle.
Sorcha clutched at her sides, wincing. “Dammit. I’m in so much trouble.”
Jed advanced on her, concern replacing that coldness once more. “You’re seriously concerned over what Omi might say? You’ve got an arrow in your side and you're bleeding out.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “You think I don’t notice this? Besides, I’ll survive this. I’ve survived worse. It’s Omi’s temper that has me afraid. You know what she’ll do.”
“Kill us all and your new friend?” Lida said dryly.
“Just pull it out,” snapped Sorcha.
“That’ll make it worse!” Jed argued. “I’m not carrying your corpse back! Omi would gut me – slowly, very slowly.”
Sorcha snorted. “No, she wouldn’t. She likes you. I’m the problem child, remember.”
“Because you insist on throwing your magic around so carelessly – which gets us into this mess,” he snapped back.
“For our future, if we ever hope to have one!” Sorcha burst out.
The declaration silenced the two. Lida cast a feint, wondering look at Wren. Had she something to do with this mysterious future? Wren had only bargained for passage to the City of Slaves. Nothing more. She started to wonder what she had really found herself entangled in.
She sighed.
Dawn beckoned over the horizon and from their clearing, made sweeping paints of gold and burnished amber across the fields and forests. Small hills undulated the uneven landscape. It was too pretty of a scene to have whilst Sorcha limped to her horse, wincing with every step. Droplets of blood trailed her wake, as did Jed, whom hovered anxiously. She waved him off irritably and climbed up proudly into her saddle.
“Come, let us get this over and done with before I bleed out everywhere,” she declared.
Jed lingered for a moment. To argue or be there to catch her if she fell, Wren couldn’t decide. He sighed, got up onto his horse, shot a long look at Lida. Troubles etched his face. What secret messages flowed between them? Wren wondered as Sorcha nudged her horse on, a slow canter. It didn’t last long and at the bottom of the hill, they’d slowed to a brisk walk. Sorcha swayed every so often in her saddle. Jed made a move to her but she straightened up at the last moment, her iron will keeping her in the saddle.
The trees momentarily thickened around them again, limbs intertwining above to block out the emerging day. Darkness stayed on, stubborn, passing on only once the trees thinned again. Sorcha stopped again, looked about, lingered, then went on.
She and her horse vanished into thin air. Wren opened her mouth in alarm but Jed and Lida followed suit. Momentarily abandoned, panic seized and she hurried after. A cold feeling rushed over her skin, as though drenched in water, and with a shuddering breath, she realised they’d arrived at a camp.
It stretched out before them, two or three dozen tents in a myriad of size and colour. Makeshift stables were erected off to the side, housing a dozen or so horses. A couple youths tended to them, looked up – smiled, at first, then one frowned, looking at Sorcha. He must’ve seen the arrow because he was off, darting like a scared animal into the camp. His shrill voice carried off, followed swiftly by other voices. A cacophony of cries, snarls. Other people emerged from tents, around corners. All in colourful robes, their hair long and braided. Several were armed with swords. Five, she counted, had arrows knocked on bows like Jed’s. Loose, though, and pointed at the ground. The reaction, Wren assumed, was for her. Cautious, uneasy. Mistrustful eyes often betrayed a wild look about them. Wren’s hand instinctively went to the dagger on her thigh, though it’s use was limited and she was sorely out numbered.
The crowd remained a little off though, then parted without warning. The familiar figure of Omi appeared, striding alongside a tall, regal woman with long flowing black hair. A striking face, eyes like the blue sky on a clear climbing day. Piercing, like the wind.
Omi saw Sorcha as she dismounted and hurried forward, shouting at others to come. Several came, as bid, and Sorcha was ferried off. Lida and Jed dismounted, embracing others but stayed, as if awaiting punishment. The regal woman stopped and cast her gaze over Wren, appraising.
“And just what has my grand daughter brought into my camp?” She asked, looking at Wren for answer.
Wren considered staying in her saddle. Easier to get away but, at the end of the day, there was a deal. She had to hope – no, trust in Sorcha – that it would be honoured. She got down and moved in front of her horse, whom was quickly led away. Exposed, alone, Jed and Lida offered no comment. Their eyes were down. A smile tugged faintly at Lida’s mouth, smug as ever.
“My name is Wren Dumare. In exchange for aiding your grand daughter and her friends, I was promised passage.”
“Indeed,” drawled the woman. “And what did you procure for us so valuable?”
“Some scrolls locked at the top of a tower,” said Wren carefully.
Recognition flickered in those jewel-lit eyes. It swept from Wren to the lingering on lookers. She turned to them. “Relax. All is well. Return to your work. We depart tomorrow morning. Make all preparations.”
The crowd, roused from their curiosity over Wren, dispelled into the tents and nooks. Mutterings trailed behind them, swirling rumours. Once alone, the woman turned back to her.
“Come with me, Wren. It seems we have much to discuss you and I.” She gestured for Wren to follow. “You may call me Madam Kara.”
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