This story is being rewritten! The new version, A Price in Memory, can be found here. 

 I highly suggest you read the new version as this one won't be completed. Also, there has been a lot of changes so you won't be able to continue with the other where this one left off.

Rhone looked at his son as the boy's face contorted with pain.

Come on.

He willed him to succeed. He had to. The boy groaned as he knelt on the ground and trying to keep still as the battle raged inside him. He fell forward onto his hands, onto the blood-soaked ground. His fingers curled up into fists, scratching deep grooves into the earth.

Rhone watched as the boy's mouth split open and a scream tore its way out of his throat, twisting halfway through into something more primal, more bestial.

Come on, fight it!

Rhone grit his teeth, the hand clutching his sword so tightly that his knuckles cracked. He denied the dread that was slowly seeking to seep its way into his gut. He denied the fear as it crept into his mind.

What if he-

The thought tasted of bile.

No.

He watched as the boy's limbs contorted and flailed as he fell into the blood-soaked dirt. His face swung around, twisting this way and that.

For a moment the boy's head turned in Rhone’s direction and his gaze locked onto that of his son.

His heart sank as he failed to see even the slightest bit of recognition in it.

“Rhone,” The weaver said, catching his attention, “it is time.”

He looked to towards the grizzled old man, one of the people standing in the circle surrounding the boy and the corpse. He saw the look of pity in the man’s eyes.

His jaw clenched as he felt a fire rising in his chest.

“No,” He said. “He still has time, he can still do it.”

His words were laced with desperation as he looked around at the circle for support. Most of them avoided his gaze, those that didn't, looked back at him with the same pitying eyes. His gaze caught onto Dane’s. The man looked back and slowly shook his head.

Rhone's gaze snapped back to the boy as his back arched upwards at a nearly impossible angle, as he looked around, taking in all the people around him.

For a moment, Rhone felt his heart lift. But the gazes of the others... none of the relief he had hoped to see was there, instead, there was only sorrow.

The boy’s head slowly turned to him. He felt the world dull as the colours around him lost a bit of their vibrance. He knew what was coming, he dreaded it more than anything, yet he could not look away. The boy's head finally faced him and /its gaze locked onto his. For a moment, all feeling seemed to fade away as their eyes met. Those weren’t the vibrant ochre of his son’s eyes, nor were they the pale red the boy had longed for.

What stared back at him were eyes the colour of fresh blood, shining in the glow of the moonlight.

The thing twisted its head sideways, a mouth that belonged to his boy opened, dripping with spit and blood. It stared at him, at the sword in his hand. A low growl emerged from its throat. A throat that was raw from screams held back, twisting the growl into a hoarse wheeze.

He watched as it crouched down and barred its teeth before leaping towards him.

With a shout of pain deeper than any physical wound, he swung out the blade, a grey streak flashing through the neck of the thing. He dropped the sword and stepped forward catching the falling body and pressing it towards him. His eyes watered as he heard the sickening thud of something hitting the ground behind him.

He did not want to think what was.

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Slowly he sank to his knees still clutching at his son. A broken sob forced its way out of his throat as his vision blurred from the tears.

He did not know how long he stayed like that. At some point, the others had left, though he didn’t notice when.

All he knew was that the body was cold by the time he let go of it.

And the world... the world was less.

***

Rhone's eyes snapped open, the dark fabric of the tent meeting his gaze. For a moment he just stared at it, tracing the lines of the fabric, not wanting to let his mind wander. The best way, he knew, was to focus on something else.

Focusing on a past he couldn't change led to madness, a destination he had narrowly escaped, all those years ago.

Every time he thought he had made peace with the memory, it seemed to crop up again, clawing at wounds that never fully healed. He doubted that they ever would. He did know if he wanted them to.

Shaking his head he stood up from the bedroll and pushed his way outside. The tent opened up, revealing a pit containing a dying fire a few arm's lengths away, fighting a losing war against the cold of the night.

He looked past the fire to see Holin standing at the other side it, looking out into the forest.

"I still have a while to go," Holin said, still turned away from him. "Besides, Kali has next watch."

Rhone shook his head, more out of habit than answer, as the man had his back turned on him. Though it wouldn't surprise him if Holin had somehow noticed, he seemed to have eyes on the back of his head.

"I'm up now. Probably not going to get much more sleep, might as well do something useful."

Holin looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Well, If you want, then I won't stop you."

He turned back to the forest, making no move towards his own bedroll lying a short distance away. The only times Rhone had ever seen him using a tent was during rainstorms, even then, he usually kept the sides open. Rhone moved over and joined him.

"Anything interesting?" He asked.

"Footsteps," Holin said. "Nhilynxes by the sound of it. They were circling the camp a while back. They seem to have drawn away but every now and then they begin again. Might be building up the courage."

"Any chance you can tell their numbers?"

"Not with any reasonable amount of certainty. If I had to guess... about half a dozen."

Rhone grunted. Half a dozen nhilynxes could cause them some trouble, but they were cowardly creatures. As long as they didn't feel completely confident, they probably wouldn't take the risk of attacking.

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sounds coming from the crackling flames and the forest's nightlife. Rhone looked back towards the other tents pitched near the firepit. He had been on first watch, with Kali being the last. In a few hours, they would pack up and be back on the road again. A few more days until they reach Dusk-

"I saw footprints when I was out scouting yesterday," Holin said, interrupting his thoughts.

"I would guess that is a normal occurrence. I would be more worried if you didn't find any."

"These were not the kind I expected to find," - Holin turned to him, - "It seems a swarm of ilari passed through here."

This caught Rhone's attention.

"Where were they heading?" He asked after a moment's thought.

"North."

He stayed silent for a moment. "At least they are heading back."

"The question is what are they doing here? Normally I would just have put the sighting out of my mind, but things have been a bit strange lately. First the khatri at Riversedge, then the gorger at Watchman's Point. Now this. Once wouldn't have been much of an issue, twice is a bit strange, but thrice?" -Holin turned back to look out over the forest, his lips curled into a smile- "Something's driving them south."

The thought was certainly unsettling, though Rhone couldn't blame Holin for coming to that conclusion. In fact, his thoughts had reached a similar destination.

"When we get back to Stronghold we can consult with the weaver, maybe one of the other teams brought in some more information," Rhone said with more confidence than he truly felt.

"The old man is too conservative. If you ignore a threat for too long it can quickly grow to something you can't deal with."

"He is conservative because he has to be," Rhone said. "The order is shrinking. More ritual Bindings end in failure each generation."

"Don't get me wrong, he has done a good job, it's just not enough. That's why we need more. Fresh blood, so to speak, and lots of it."

Rhone felt the piece of information click into place, his eyes widening in recognition.

"That's why you're training the kid," He said.

Holin shrugged. "He has talent."

"One would hardly make a difference."

"No. but it's a start. We could spread out. Reclaim one of the old forts, build up strength and numbers instead of trudging on as we do now, fighting a losing war."

Where would you find the people to join?

He wanted to ask but the answer came as soon as he thought about it. He knew full well the lure that the promise of power and a few tales of glory could be.

Holin clicked his tongue in annoyance. Rhone turned towards him, the question not needing to be asked.

"They thought better of it. I was hoping for a chance to stretch my limbs."

He turned away from the forest and walked to his bedroll near the campfire. "You good with taking over the watch?"

"Yeah, you go ahead," Rhone said, his mind still on their conversation.

Having more hunters of the order would no doubt increase their strength. They could send out more teams, help more people. Maybe they could, as Holin said, reclaim a few of the old forts. But how many would they lose in the attempt? How many people would fail in the Binding? When do the means outweigh the end?

Rhone glanced around the camp, his gaze stopping momentarily on Y'rid's tent before he looked back into the forest.

Talent huh?

The dream resurfaced in his mind. It required more than talent to become a part of the order.

He sighed. He liked the young man. Stubborn at times but he had a clear head, willing to learn and take advice. An uncommon quality in someone his age. From what he could tell, he cared about the wellbeing of other people, something which seemed to become rarer with each passing term. Or perhaps it was just his perspective that had changed.

How many people like him would fail, losing their lives when they could have contributed in less precarious ways?

Holin could train him if he'd like, and the man could get others to take up and train new members, but he was done. He had enough on his conscience without adding more to it.