Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Ryne eyed Kahkon for a moment until the pain etched on the boy’s face eased, and he settled down once more. “I’ll convince them to move to the Nevermore Heights or southeast to Bana land.”

“If you say so,” Sakari said.

Even as he’d said it, Ryne knew the villagers would never flee. They were refugees from the territorial feuds that plagued Ostania through the years, and many had faced their own bloody trials during the War of Remnants. They would stand, fight…and die.

“I’m surprised you’re concerned for them. You never were before,” Ryne said, eyeing Sakari askance.

“I am not,” Sakari replied. “Alive. Dead.” He shrugged. “They matter not to me. You are my sole concern, and it seems you have forgotten your summons by the Svenzar is due. Your choice to protect Carnas will be even more difficult.”

“I haven’t forgotten. You know as well as I do that if the summons comes, I will have to answer.” Ryne’s fist clenched on the litter as he sifted through his meager choices. “Being bound to their gods’ wills is not something to be ignored. Besides, in the thirty years doing as they bid, I’ve made greater strides to control my fate than I ever have since I awoke. Seventy years, Sakari. Seventy, since I woke to your face with only the knowledge of my name and how to use these Scripts. I don’t see myself giving up the chance to discover who I am, why I exist, and why this craving still smolders within me.”

“Not even if it means Carnas will have to do without your protection?”

“When the answers could provide me with the chance to save the village? Yes. Maybe I’m growing old, but the suffering I’ve caused weighs on me a little more every day. I would rather stay here and live my days in peace than to spread death as I have in the past. If the Sevnzar have the answers to such a path as they promised, then I’ll ask the questions and pay whatever price is necessary.” Ryne waved the lamp around to his left as the slinking noises of the lapras drew nearer before they dwindled under the light.

“Sometimes the cost is more than a person can bear,” Sakari said.

Kahkon coughed and spat up blood. They stopped and set down the litter. Ryne stood guard with the lamp held out as Sakari bent to tend to the boy. Around them came the crunching tread of paws on fallen branches and leaves, the snap of small twigs, the swish of leaves brushing against fur. The sounds were nothing more than a soft susurrus. But they numbered in the hundreds. Ryne picked out as many as twenty svelte forms slinking through the woods and brush. Could Mariel really be in control of these beasts?

A slight breeze swirled just then. With it rose the rank smell of lapras. The lamp’s flame flickered, causing the shadows to bob and caper.

Sakari straightened until he stood as silent as their surroundings that was suddenly vacant of the night time noises of its normal denizens. His eyes glinted like polished silversteel as he peered around them. “How far until the Fretian ends?”

“A few thousand feet.”

The forest lapras began the low crooning they used when they called to other packs. The hair at the back of Ryne’s neck stood on end. Wails answered in several directions, some ahead along the dark path. By Ryne’s count, there had to be at least five packs, which meant more than thirty lapras.

“Sakari, do you think you could-”

“I’ve already tried. These beasts are not responding to me. Fresh blood has driven them past the point of control.”

“So it’s not her doing?” Ryne turned quickly to follow the sound of padded footsteps. The brush rustled nearby before settling.

“No. She could not control this many creatures, no matter what anyone claimed they saw.” Sakari gripped his scabbard. “Take the boy. I have tied off the wounds so they should not bleed much, if at all.” Sakari looked up through the branches above them. “When the clouds clear the moons…” He drew his sword.

Ryne nodded and set down the lamp. He bent and gathered Kahkon’s ragged form in the crook of his left arm, tucking him against his side.

The rustles among the brush grew more purposeful. The lamplight played along the ground with its own life, elongating the shadows into looming black creatures that attempted to swallow the already dim radiance. Among those shadows, the forest lapras flitted back and forth.

The clouds began to drift by the moons.

Sakari snatched the lamp up and fled down the path. With his sudden movement came yowls and snarls.

Ryne followed, not looking back to see what the noises meant. The lamp’s luminescent pool bobbed and dipped as they bolted for the forest’s edge. Ryne kept Kahkon hugged close to minimize the effect of their movements as Sakari weaved his way ahead.

Silhouettes of the beasts trailed them on either side, eyes glinting. When they crossed clear patches in the canopy, the moonlight painted a clear picture. The woods crawled with lapras, mottled fur black to match the night, the lichen on their bodies near impossible to tell apart from the shadowy undergrowth.

Ryne and Sakari sped toward an opening ahead that revealed the moonlit Orchid Plains beyond. Agitated barks and growls revealed lapras snapping at each other in their eagerness to attack.

Sakari stopped short. “I will hold them here.”

Offering no protest, Ryne stretched to a long lope as he passed Sakari. Within moments, he left the whines and wails echoing behind him. He increased his speed to a dead sprint, his heart thumping in his chest, the familiar thrill of his battle energy resonating within him.

Ryne burst from the woods into the dense fescue and grass of the plains. Four shadowy forms emerged before him. Cradling the boy against his body, he reached for his sword.

“Master Waldron, stop, it be us,” Keevo’s panicked voice rang out.

Ryne drew up short and eased his hand away from his weapon.

Behind Keevo stood three dartans with Dren perched upon one aiming his bow at the woods.

“We hoped you would take the same path back when you found Kahkon. The mayor and a few elders voted against us coming, but we did anyway.” Keevo’s teeth showed in a wide grin before his face puckered with concern at the sound of fighting within the forest. “Where be Sakari?”

“He’s holding them off until I-” Ryne cut off, movement along the plains drawing his attention. He passed Kahkon’s prone form to Keevo.

A thousand feet or more from where they stood, the grass swayed, disturbed by something other than the wind. The entire expanse bent and shifted as if the pasture itself advanced toward them.

“What-” Keevo began. He turned and his face drained of color.

Small-bodied plains lapras by the score trotted out from the underbrush.

Ryne leaped into the saddle of the closest dartan. “Pass him to me!” he yelled.

Keevo lifted Kahkon up above his head as Ryne drew close.

Almost all at once, Ryne snatched the boy and tugged the chain reins to force the mount around to face the lights of Carnas shining in the distance. “Ride!” he commanded. “Ride like you never have before!”

The breeze that had kicked up earlier now blew stronger. Carried by the eddies were the howls and pained yelps from Sakari’s battle.

The plains lapra packs swept across the field in silence.

Ryne whipped his reins as he fled toward Carnas. He didn’t look back.

Alys Valdeen’s nails scratched under Ancel’s chin and down his neck. Each stroke soothed the itch from the short black hairs sprouting through his skin. He closed his eyes and sighed as he contemplated shaving off his beard soon. How other men in Eldanhill managed the itching, he couldn’t fathom. They must have stone for skin. Maybe that was why most who grew facial hair were miners. All that quarrying and mining must have made them extra tough. Either way, his days growing a beard to impress the women were done.