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Kalac, son of Duham
Ana e Iliwe Sulwao
Part II
-Lord Rothomir’s Consort-
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‘Snow Nymph’ burst out the other side of the long stone bridge galloping effortlessly, despite carrying twice the load as the other horses. The ruckus of many hooves thundering on the granite tiles so great it made his ears ring and his teeth rattle. The Great Horse cut south with a large jump, powerful hind legs blasting material in a wide arc as they dug the softer ground, away from the well maintained road continuing beyond the bridge.
Kalac felt the female’s warm body on his back, Darunia’s elegant arms wrapped around his waist and for a moment questioned his decision to take her with him. The problem was, practical matters and strategy aside, the Horselord had found himself unwilling to release her, or leave her behind.
A breath later, or two, they reached a lightly wooded area of Eroshin’s west bank, about three hundred meters from the first bridge, but kilometers from the collapsed second and Kalac realized he was being foolish.
Outright crazy in his decision.
Nimra had lost two men already, a Zilan laid dead next to them pierced by two arrows through the chest, another sporting a cut on his thigh that bled profusely. Nimra along with three Horselords on foot trying to defend themselves against a fully armored Hoplite, with Shalia and Wylinor dancing around the other two clad in a different style armour Zilan soldiers.
Kalac had found their horses at the turn of the road, back at the bridge’s mouth.
Nimra had gotten surprised it appeared, but fought back.
“Noble Goddess!” Darunia exclaimed on his back, just as Kalac pulled at the reins hard to stop the horse and went for his saber.
“Stay put,” he grunted and jumped from the warhorse, the Zilan placing her hands on its lush white mane to calm it down.
“Let me talk to them,” Darunia pleaded, just as the Hoplite swung his spear around, blocked an attack with his aspis and skewered Tarmac, son of Reman through the neck killing him instantly.
“Arggh!” Kalac growled and charged into the fight, the sound of many horses approaching behind him.
One of the Zilan soldiers glanced at the Horselords arriving and got knifed in the ribs by Wylinor, the crafty Ranger swiftly jumping out of the way to avoid the retaliating swing of the wounded soldier.
“Shalia, keep him busy!” Wylinor barked at his female colleague and freed from his own faltering opponent sheathed his blade and reached for his bow.
Kalac reached the Hoplite, but had to flinch away from the spear’s steel tip, as the sinewy Zilan swung it in a great arc to keep them at bay, while he evaluated the situation.
“Kalac,” Nimra grunted, his face bearing the signs of Laedan’s tortures still. “They came out of nowhere.”
“Uhm,” Kalac nodded and eyed the Hoplite that had raised his shield to protect himself from Wylinor’s arrows. The Ranger had fired one already that broke on Ulovir’s shield and was now nocking a second. “Belay that!” Kalac grunted stopping him. “Give up Ulovir,” he rustled guessing it was him from the armour. It was a perfect match almost to Anfalon’s troops. “We have the numbers.”
Ulovir took a step forward instead of replying, his shield aimed at Wylinor and the spear tip pointing to the ground comfortably. This son of a mule is going to attack, Kalac realized, the eyes under the Hoplite’s helm focused.
“He’s right Ulovir,” the injured Zilan said in fluent Common. Not the soldier, the one wearing the fancy, beads covered doublet. “They have Lady Darunia.”
“Not my concern Elwuin,” the Hoplite replied austerely. “Onas will be here soon.”
“He’s not here now,” Kalac intervened seeing that the other soldier had stopped fighting and went to check on his colleague’s injury.
Ulovir shrugged his shoulders and changed his stance, flipping the spear in his hand deftly and letting it slide further in his grip to increase its reach.
Ye stubborn dog, Kalac cursed and tensed up sensing Ulovir was going to charge him in a defiant attempt to take him out. Belec’s warning ringing down the suddenly peaceful river bank, but for Eroshin’s roar that is.
“Give up, or I’ll slit her pretty neck,” Belec crackled, apparently not buying the Hoplite was willing to have her perish.
What? Kalac thought disturbed, himself not even willing to entertain the notion.
Kalac flinched and glared Belec’s way, Ulovir moving at the same time. Kalac saw him coming and twisted around to avoid the sudden lunge of the spear, an arrow breaking on the Hoplite’s helm and snapping it sideways helping him.
“I mean it dog,” Belec warned the frustrated Hoplite, just as Elwuin joined in, voice coming out strained and equally frustrated.
“Our Goddess’ Grace Ulovir!” Elwuin protested. “I’m bleeding out here! You can keep your darn weapons!”
Kalac frowned and stared at the unsure Ulovir.
“Let me tend to the wounded Ulovir,” Darunia said and pushed carefully Belec’s blade away from her long neck. “It’s a simple favor.”
“Mmm,” Ulovir grunted and glared in his turn at the sneaky Wylinor, who’d another arrow nocked in his bow, all the while circling him to find a better angle. Wylinor grinned, showing two pairs of beastly fangs and the Hoplite nodded grumbling under his breath in Imperial.
“Good grief,” a pale and feinting Elwuin exclaimed deeply relieved. He turned to Darunia who had rushed to assist the injured soldier and protested hauntingly. “My good Lady, leave the brute. I need your help. Mine would be the greater loss.”
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Darunia was making the rounds checking and helping the wounded with the fervor of a zealous priest. She worked diligently giving Horselords and Zilan her absolute attention, a mix of spells and elixirs from her saddlebags helping her, but also the good-old stitching needle. Darunia ruined one of her sleeves to get the thread she needed without a second thought.
“I don’t trust him,” Tarn murmured interrupting Kalac’s gazing of the Zilan healer at work. Soletha was one and Lymsiel, Anfalon’s mate, but while Soletha had the skills, she didn’t have Darunia’s engrossing personality, nor the disposition most of the times. Lymsiel on par was an amateur. Kalac glanced at Ulovir, the Hoplite standing by his own, five Horselords watching him on their guard.
“How many killed?” he asked Tarn with a grimace.
“Two. Tarnac’s brother is badly wounded. They lost the one called Folwin. Apparently these are Abarat’s soldiers. Luvoel is injured and so is Elwuin, but I have a sneaky suspicion he ain’t no fighter.”
Uhm.
“Aye,” Kalac agreed and stared at the sun above their heads. “We need to move.”
“You can’t move afore she patches everyone up. You are running out of riders Kalac, son of Duham.”
Kalac glared at him, not needing his criticism at this point.
“We are on the wrong side of the river,” Kalac explained. “They expect help. Apparently this Onas character is late and they rode from the Canal to meet up with him.”
“We leave Marmet behind then? We don’t have enough horses for everyone,” Tarn argued. “Release the prisoners.”
“They would tell them everything.”
Tarn grimaced and licked his lips slowly. “Kill them,” he whispered and Kalac’s attention returned to the attentive healer for a brief moment.
“No,” Kalac grunted and stared at their horses frustrated. “Delkra stayed beyond the river with the supply mules and the birds. You ride to him over the bridge fast as you can. Send a missive to Goras and tell Delkra to hide the packs near the caves for now. I’ll come to you in time.”
“Why?” Tarn asked and Kalac’s eyes returned to the silent Hoplite. That bastard didn’t even remove his helm despite the scorching heat. “You intent to keep the healer whatever the cost. They won’t allow you to take her without bloodshed. So you’re bringing everyone along.”
“She surrendered to me.”
“You are reading it all wrong Kalac.”
“Do what I tell you Tarn, son of Badal,” he warned him.
Tarn nodded and stood back. “What should I tell Hardir?”
“Come soon, bring everyone,” Kalac rustled.
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“What’s at the canal?” Kalac asked her after Tarn had galloped away. Darunia turned her head to glance his way with a small smile.
“Not a bridge you can cross,” she told him.
“What’s wit the smile?” Kalac grunted.
“We have good ears,” Darunia replied, her cheeks turning a deep red. “I don’t believe I’ve surrendered Kalac. I simply didn’t fight. There’s a difference.”
Not for Kalac there wasn’t.
“You didn’t answer my query.”
“A boat, docks at the shade of a ruined bridge,” Darunia replied finishing the stitches on Marmet’s second wound.
“Will he live?”
“If he’s rested and Luthos favors him, he will,” she replied and poured water over her bloody hands to rinse them.
“How big?” Kalac asked watching her drying her long elegant fingers with a towel mesmerized.
“Very big. You wish to steal our boat Kalac?”
“I’m getting you over that bridge. Off to Goras,” Kalac told her and got up.
Darunia stood up taking his hand and sighed.
“You work for Hardir,” she told him disappointed. “His enemies are your enemies.”
“We’ve a partnership. My enemies are his as well.”
“Does he have a Wyvern?”
“He does,” Kalac replied.
“Then he’s in charge, Kalac, son of Duham. Not your equal,” Darunia said simply and glanced at the injured. “I can’t do anything more for them. I’ve limited magic.”
Kalac thought she’d all the magic in the world in those eyes.
“Belec!” He barked and Darunia blinked not expecting it. “Everyone ready to ride in five minutes!”
Ulovir stood up from the rock he’d spend the last hour and stared at him.
“I am not leaving Horselord,” he rustled.
“She does,” Kalac retorted and went to get that fine stallion.
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Wylinor came back whilst they were halfway across the bridge an hour later. Kalac riding on his horse, as Darunia rode Snow Nymph with the injured Marmet, moved to the front of the wide bridge to meet him.
“Strong host,” the ranger reported. “Half on foot, half on horse. They are past the plateau.”
“How many?” Kalac grunted.
“I counted forty riders at least, twice as many on foot.”
“Cultists?”
Wylinor glanced at their sort of prisoners. Ulovir was fully armed still, but was flanked by Belec and Nimra.
“Not all,” the Zilan ranger replied. “You need to move them out of the bridge.”
Damnit.
“GET THEM GOING!” Kalac barked and kicked his legs to get his horse going.
“Can we break through to the caves?” he asked Wylinor, who had turned his mount around to follow him.
“Not with the injured slowing you down,” Wylinor replied.
“South?” Kalac queried crooking his mouth, not liking the option.
Wylinor nodded.
“South, I’ll notify Shalia.”
No supplies then, he thought reaching the mouth of the bridge and turned on his saddle to glance at their slow moving group.
“We’ve lived off the land aplenty right?” He murmured smiling and patted Kind Eyes’ worn out mane softly. The loyal horse neighed in protest not finding any humor in it.
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Belec waved his arm standing at the edge of the treeline two hours later and Kalac rode that way stooped on his saddle. Wylinor had returned with Shalia from a roundabout route to avoid the Zilan scouts.
“They’ve fanned out the moment they reached the bridge,” Shalia explained, her medium length hair caught in a bun at the top of her head. Her oval face painted black with soot, to match her dark-green light leather armour. “Too many fresh hoof prints.”
“They’re coming here?”
“A blind man could follow us Kalac,” Shalia replied.
Eh.
“Did you find the road?” Belec asked him.
“We are working on it,” Kalac replied and turned his horse around. “How much time?”
Belec smacked his lips, raised the spyglass to his eye and aimed it at the field they’d retreated from. “An hour,” he told him. “At the most.”
Kalac returned to their main group. The Abarat soldier in a group with Elwuin, an academic apparently and the other injured soldier, the rest of the Horselords gathered around Nimra. Kalac counted twenty of them, including the unresponsive Marmet. His group had thinned out spectacularly in three short years.
“Not much of a road,” Nimra informed him.
Darunia had told them there was in fact an old road leading to the ruins through the jungle. The problem being the enemy scouts probably knew it as well.
“You found it?”
Nimra pointed an arm amidst a couple of huge Rubber Trees where a group of Horselords were already working to clear out.
“They are going to reach us soon,” Kalac decided.
“They will, unless you cut them loose,” Nimra agreed.
“What about Marmet? We leave him behind?”
“If he can’t ride,” Nimra said callously.
“I could have left you to get eaten by Laedan,” Kalac reminded him. “But I didn’t. Hardir came back for you as well.”
“It’s not the Steppe’s way,” Nimra argued and Kalac grunted in protest.
“I’m not leaving the healer.”
“She’s just a girl with fancy hair Kalac,” Nimra said. “Plenty of ‘em in Goras.”
“That’s Lord Rothomir’s consort to be Nimra,” Kalac spat. “You steal your enemy’s women and his livestock. Burn his crops.”
“I don’t see how it helps us,” Nimra protested with a grimace.
Kalac stared at him soberly. “As you’ve said, the Steppe’s way,” he rustled.
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Ulovir shook his head hearing his suggestion.
“What about Lady Darunia?” A pale faced Elwuin asked, clenching his jaw to combat the pain.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“She comes with me as leverage,” Kalac replied.
“You’ll leave us here without horses?” Luvoel protested as he could barely walk. The blade had broken one of his ribs. The rest of the Zilan protesting loudly. The distance to the bridge deemed too great on foot.
“Onas is near,” Ulovir said loud enough to shut them up. “The old dog is on to them and he’s running out of time.”
“Enough talk,” Kalac told him. “You walk back the way we came Ulovir. See if you find Onas afore the morrow.”
“You’ll take Darunia, but this road shall lead you nowhere Horselord.”
“All roads lead somewhere,” Kalac deadpanned. “I’ll leave a man here, so perhaps we can work out a deal later.”
“There is no later,” Ulovir warned him. “You’re trapped Kalac.”
“Don’t come after me,” Kalac warned him and signed for Nimra to gather their mounts. With a last look back towards the now unseen river, Kalac rode into the jungle.
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A strange bird landed on a low branch, it had a large ashen beak that curved at the tip and small black eyes -for the size of his head- dripping of pure malice. It made a strange noise, half a snort and half a cackle.
“That’s the ugliest bird I’ve ever seen,” Belec commented with a shiver.
“A Shoebill,” Darunia explained unperturbed. “They bring luck.”
“To whom?” Belec wondered, a broken branch smacking him on the shoulder.
The bird eyed him once more warningly and then flew away.
Wylinor returned from the front of their procession to report they had broken through to a paved part of the ancient road. They also had lost another horse to a snake bite.
Allegedly.
“We need to make camp,” Belec told him when the ranger moved away.
“No camp, we walk through the night,” Kalac replied and glanced at Darunia unsure.
“I can walk just fine silly,” she answered his query. “Dark doesn’t bother me.”
Right.
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A monkey pretended it was an owl two hours later, the imitation almost perfect, but couldn’t help it in the end and gave itself up hurling a couple of coconuts at them. The night thick as oil and despite the lightstones all of them carried, you couldn’t see two feet outside the abandoned path. It was an avenue at some point, finely built, but the jungle that had sprouted after the catastrophe slowly ate away at it. Even so if you cleared the bushes away, you could see its outline still, as the big trees avoided the granite surface.
“Is it the ground? Too hard for big roots to break through?” Kalac asked the blissfully humming Zilan healer.
“Yes. The engineers had burrowed almost four meters down, backfilled it with rocks. Supposedly it would survive with minimal maintenance, but enough time allowed nature to create another layer of soil on top of it, for smaller plants to grow.”
“You studied building roads in that Academy?” Kalac teased her.
Darunia giggled her eyes shining. She wasn’t using a lightstone. Just like all other Zilan, she didn’t need one. Jinx boasted she didn’t need one too, but Kalac had never seen her without one at the near.
“Not really, but I’ve friends that were architects,” Darunia replied. “I had friends,” she corrected herself with a frown. “It’s fruitless what you’re doing Kalac. You need to turn back. I’ll talk to Onas to convince him to let you go.”
“You will fail,” Kalac told her, using his machete to cut the biggest scrubs away. You could go through them, but not all scrubs were benign in Wetull. “You lost a soldier. Others got injured. But even if that hadn’t happened, this Onas won’t allow us to leave.”
“Because you want to make war with Rothomir,” Darunia said. “Do you trust this Hardir? They say he’s a sorcerer.”
“He’s no sorcerer,” Kalac replied. “But he killed a giant Hydra and fought his way out of a lion den wounded.”
“Eh, you didn’t answer,” Darunia complained.
“Did Rothomir have a chair in your Council?” Kalac dodged again.
“His bloodline wasn’t that important.”
“Yet he got a promise from you,” Kalac pointed out.
“That was my mother,” Darunia explained. “I need to have a child and Rothomir will provide that.”
“That sounds like a Cofol deal more than a marriage.”
Darunia chuckled. “Only a Monarch needs a marriage. That’s not how we pick our partners Kalac.”
“So no feelings for Rothomir?”
“You appropriate romantic concepts, as if they are unique in humans. As if humans follow their heart in every decision,” Darunia argued calmly. “Yes they are important, but this is a practical matter alas. So feelings aside, if Rothomir’s seed is strong enough, our lines will fuse and create life anew. Only the oldest though shall survive. If it works, because nothing is certain.”
“You seem healthy to me,” Kalac replied.
“Well, Rothomir isn’t my first partner,” Darunia said unperturbed.
“What happened to the first one?” Kalac asked before he could catch himself.
“We drifted apart. You know when it doesn’t work. If it’s real an offspring will come,” Darunia explained. “I was still in Elauthin’s Academy then. It’s been three hundred years.”
Damn.
“What’s Rothomir’s angle? He doesn’t seem to get anything out of this,” Kalac taunted.
Darunia covered her mouth shocked.
“Am I not enough?” she asked sounding hurt.
Kalac stared at her for a long moment. “For me,” he finally replied hoarsely. “You are.”
It was the unvarnished truth and Darunia stood back realizing he meant it.
“You are seriously going to take such a risk?”
Kalac nodded. “I’m free to do what I want, risk be damned.”
“All is risk in politics, my mother’s words,” an unsteady Darunia said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “My family wants our bloodline secured and Lord Rothomir needs an important partner for legitimacy. It could work.”
Nah. It’s as dead as a carcass in the desert girl.
“Mmm. I don’t think so,” he told her not holding back.
“You still follow your barbaric customs Kalac, son of Duham,” Darunia rebuked him that color back on her cheeks. “Goddess you’re so bucolic! Your disapproval means nothing to me. Break out of your lawless habits first, then offer advice and heed my words. Not fighting, doesn’t equal submission in this land. You still need to earn your place in life.”
Kalac grimaced not likening her words, a little angry with himself from getting all wound up for an alien girl. He listened to the sounds of the jungle for a while to calm himself down. Until he realized he could only hear their group cutting their way through it and nothing else.
“Belec,” Kalac grunted and the Horselord walking a couple of meters to his left paused. “Find a dry spot. We’ll make camp for a couple of hours.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I want to see if we are followed,” Kalac grunted. “The Zilan don’t need lightstones and we probably stick out like a sore thumb in this accursed darkness.”
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Belec saw him cleaning his saber, after checking his armour and approached suspicious. Wylinor who had gone to search for an opening away from the jungle road, returned at that same time, the ranger almost unseen in the thick darkness.
“How far?” Kalac asked Wylinor.
“Around two hundred meters. We cross a stream and follow it north,” he replied.
“North?” Belec grunted. “What is this?”
“Shalia will take Darunia there and Marmet, leave some of the horses on the path,” Kalac retorted, speaking to the ranger. “See to it.”
Wylinor nodded and walked away.
“Kalac, you’re turning around?” Belec queried anxious.
“They know where we’re heading and the path we’re following,” Kalac explained with a sigh and tightened the straps on his bronze hand.
“All roads lead somewhere,” Belec repeated his words to Ulovir.
Kalac nodded with a tired smirk. “Sometimes they can lead ye straight into an ambush.”
“We don’t have the numbers.”
“We rarely had in the past.”
“A charge without horses?” Belec argued.
“What good is a horse in the jungle?” Kalac replied thinking of Darunia’s words.
“Kalac I’ve a son, another kid in the way,” Belec grunted unhappy.
Kalac placed a hand on his shoulder. “We are free to ride, we just choose not to,” he told him paraphrasing the Law of the Steppe’s famous words. “We’ll be allowed to live, if we bleed for it.”
Belec grimaced, his mouth crooking one way then the other and Nimra who’d heard their exchange shrugged his shoulders in what was neither an acquiescence, nor an outright rebuff of Kalac’s plan.
Nimra rarely would chance anything above fifty-fifty odds anyway, so Kalac wasn’t disheartened by it.
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The first sunrays caught the steel shoulder pads of the leading soldier for just a tiny second, bounced off of them lighting up his face and by the time the next one came to view, the first Zilan was down. A bone tip arrow plunged in his left eye.
Kalac burst out of the foliage and into their lines without hesitation, saber in hand. Concealed Horselords from both sides of the jungle road doing the same. The cultist column was marching mostly in twos, but for the leading fighter. Their scouts almost half a day ahead and probably at Kalac’s camp that housed only their horses by now.
Numbers don’t matter in an ambush.
You either succeed in it, or not.
The Zilan twisted around hearing him running and tried to unsheathe his sword. He failed as he run out of arm, the stub spraying blood over both of them and his groan of agony breaking the relative silence of early dawn. Kalac knocked him aside, stepped forward and shoved his sword into his partner’s unprotected back. The Zilan had turned to fight Nimra that had charged them from the other side.
“Eh,” Nimra gasped, blood splatter on his face and dived under a spear thrust. Kalac rushed the cultist and put his bronze hand on the weapon, the Zilan doing the same trying to stop the Horselord’s blade with his free hand.
The blade won.
The Zilan jumped back with a scream, missing most of his fingers and Nimra stabbed him in the heart, the blade penetrating his light armour. Kalac grunted and ducked under a sword slash, the fight erupting across the Cultists lines fully.
Friend from foe difficult to tell apart in the semi-darkness. A long knife came at him from the left side, but he swatted it away with his hand, the fingers clicking and coming alive. Kalac’s left arm suddenly on fire it seemed. He cried out in pain, a knife stuck high on his back, the blade cutting through mail and gambeson.
Kalac pivoted on one foot, his saber slashing backwards in an arc and connecting momentarily with something. Nimra shoved him aside, a Zilan missing a leg below the knee rolling in this mix of mud and rotten leaves alongside him. The Cultist snarled and lunged for his neck, pointy teeth sinking into soft flesh looking for the main arteries there. The Zilan’s jaws snapped shut hard, blood pouring down the side of his collar and Kalac raised his bronze hand grinding his teeth like a madman and grabbed his delirious opponent by the neck.
The metal fingers closing in a titan’s fist on their own.
A bleeding Kalac kicked the gawking cultist away from him, the Zilan’s windpipes completely crashed, the neck flesh pulverized to the point of decapitation and jumped to his feet. He stumbled forward, feeling lightheaded, people getting slaughtered indiscriminately right and left. A half-blind fight, a murderous uncertain affair without any coherent plan. It was kill, or be killed.
Simplest instructions in the bloody book.
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Kalac swung hard with his saber, the blade snapping unevenly leaving a rugged thinner blade behind. The saw like part catching his opponent on the right side of his nose and peeling off everything to the bone. The cultist’s head snapped back, half his face a detached bloody flap opening and closing showing crimson red skull bones underneath it.
The Horselord growled maniacally and kicked him right at the knee, but the half-dead Zilan pulled it away and slashed him across his sword hand. The blade cut through the vambraces, the wrapped metal preventing a worst injury, but Kalac lost his broken saber and had to jump back. The horrifically disfigured cultist stepped forward, but Nimra shoved his blade between his ribs and stopped him dead for real.
“Bloody business,” Nimra cursed and tried to get his blade out of his opponent, but stopped with a violent shudder, a long steel tip arrow shot right through his left temple bursting out the right side. The gore painting Kalac face, pieces of brain and bones in the mix.
“Arrgh!” Kalac growled livid and rushed the archer, the Zilan’s eyes flickering at the carnage coming to an end around them, afore nocking another arrow on his long bow. “Son of dog!” The Horselord growled and reaching grabbed the knife he’d still stuck on his back. He pulled it out and walked towards the archer, the arrow zipping towards him but exploding on his raised bronze hand.
The archer stepped back, slotting his bow on his shoulder and unsheathed a kopis type sword, the wider tip of its blade curving forward. The Zilan's other hand diving in his satchel to cast a haste spell probably. Kalac jumped him knowing he’d nothing to lose either way, but before he could connect with the archer, his opponent was tossed to the side abruptly an arrow stuck on his chest. It had penetrated his studded leather armor, just below the lung.
The archer ogled his gleaming eyes faltering and slashed the protruding arrow away, but in the blink of an eye another two sprouted near it, then a third. The latter exploding out his back. With a groan and spitting blood from his mouth, the archer collapsed on his face not a meter from an exhausted Kalac.
“Three quarters haste spell blend,” Wylinor explained imperiously stepping out of cover. “Plus a quarter power shot. My recipe.”
“Grab those still standing,” Kalac grunted, himself barely standing on his two feet. “We need to get to Darunia.”
“She’ll reach us on her own,” Wylinor replied dismissively and stooped to collect his arrows from the dead archer. Disappointed when he realized he couldn’t. “Hmm. This type of armor needs something different,” he murmured thoughtfully and Kalac shook his head. Grinding his teeth he approached the corpse of Nimra and knelt next to it deeply saddened.
“Ride free Nimra lion of the great desert, son of Akenat, the steady,” he murmured and closed the bloodshot glassy eyes of his long time scout forever.
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Darunia’s shock at the carnage lasted seconds. Seeing he was injured she rushed to aid him, but Kalac grunted and directed her towards Belec, who’d lost two fingers in the scrap and his left eye.
“You presume to tell me my business Kalac?” the Zilan told him surprisingly composed, given that her eyes glowed eerily.
Whatever that meant, it can’t be good, Kalac thought alarmed, but took his chance anyway.
“Aye, he’s valuable to me,” he grunted stubbornly.
“You have me confused,” Darunia retorted thinking it through, whilst Belec was bleeding down his face stunned. “I thought I was the object of your desire?”
A hissing Kalac grabbed the satchel she carried and started searching inside her medical supplies and strange vials.
“What do you think you’re doing Kalac?”
“The man’s dying,” he grunted and took a mustard-color vial out. “Is that any good? I’ll give it to him myself.”
“That’s for diarrhea,” she explained and grabbed her satchel back. “I don’t believe it will help him much.”
At least she went to help Belec after that.
Kalac breathed out and closed his eyes, the sun getting through the canopy, burning his sweaty skin. The gore covering him long dried up by now.
“Nine dead with Nimra,” Wylinor reported, sounding like a clerk just about to take his lunch break. “But Marmet woke up, so there’s that.”
“How many horses?” Kalac asked tiredly, just as Belec collapsed in Darunia’s arms, the lithe Zilan catching his head afore he covered her clothes with blood.
“Just enough,” Wylinor replied. “You know she reminds me of a young Vaelenn right?”
“She’s over three centuries old,” Kalac told him with a groan, the wound on his back numbing and making it difficult to move his right arm proper.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Wylinor retorted readily, eager to delve more into the subject. “Vaelenn is pushing six. You could tell she has miles on her legs.”
Kalac sighed and walked away leaving Wylinor to continue his diatribe on the advantages of older females on his own. The Ranger was skillful, but probably the most thick-skinned creature he’d ever met.
“How’s he?” he asked Darunia.
“I can’t save the eye,” she explained in her professional tone.
“Yeah, I figured, since it’s missing,” Kalac sneered.
“No, I mean there’s a… ahem, transmutation spell… I think,” she gave him a conspiratorial look, afore whispering so no one could hear. “It’s dark magic. Very unpredictable,” placing a graceful finger on her lips. “We don’t use that.”
Kalac didn’t know whether to slap her, or kiss her.
The fact he was hesitant to do any of the two, perhaps more shocking than anything else.
“Where will you take us next Kalac, son of Duham?” She asked seeing he’d turned silent. Kalac frowned realizing the attentive Zilan was cleaning his face and small cuts in his hands without alerting him. “It’s a harmless calming song. Not trying to take advantage of you,” she over-explained with a blush. “I just wanted you to keep still.”
“Goras,” Kalac croaked.
“Eh, I hated Goras. Plus Goras is gone,” Darunia complained, not particularly ruffled with everything that had transpired.
“We kinda fixed it back up again,” Kalac replied. “How are you so serene?”
Darunia glanced at him unsure. She reached for a clean cloth to finish up his face and then took his bronze hand in hers, fingers tracing the binding ever curious.
“My mother served two Monarchs. A King and a Queen. Lived through a huge war and the Fall of the Empire. She’s a great teacher and I followed her around forever it seems. Nothing surprises her and I took from her a bit.”
“What part didn’t you take?” Kalac asked with a tired smile, half asleep from her ministrations despite wanting to get moving as fast as possible.
“She can be very mad at times,” Darunia explained. “Why don’t you sleep? You need to, so you can heal faster!” she complained with an adorable pout.
“I’m darn right stubborn!” Kalac grunted and get up on wobbly legs.
The fuck she’d done to him? He wondered.
“Back on the proverbial saddle?” Wylinor asked with a coy smile, his weird awkward joke flying over everyone’s heads. Those still breathing and giving half a shite that is.
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A week later Onas and his Hoplites were casually waiting for them at the edge of forest.
“That him?” The visibly old Zilan queried eyeing Ulovir.
“Yep, that’s him.”
Onas turned his eyes on Kalac, then at the blissful Darunia, humming on her great white horse. He scrunched his lined face one way, then the other creating even more wrinkles on it. Kalac had never seen a Zilan looking old.
“I’ll just skip the greetings part my lad. Done it too many times and don’t remember half of them. I take it Hardir wants Darunia, of Olonelis,” the Zilan noted with a grunt. His Hoplite armour so worn out, it appeared a dark grey instead of black.
Darunia perked up on her saddle.
“No. But Kalac does,” Kalac replied, Darunia chuckling next to him. He glared at her and she shrugged her shoulders innocently, mouthing the words, it’s the wrong answer silly, to him in secret. Of course both Onas and Ulovir read her lips, along the front row of the Hoplites. All thirty of them.
“You gotta give us something son,” Onas grunted.
“Let me pass and I'll talk to Hardir,” Kalac told him and Darunia sighed.
Onas stared at the healer frustrated. “What should I tell your mother girl? I can justify a Hardir, even a fake one, but this is a rugged Horselord, slightly maimed, probably illiterate and Hardir’s cheap lackey for the difficult jobs.”
Kalac narrowed his eyes and glared at him.
“Kalac is a shitty diplomat, but doesn’t lie,” Darunia said and Belec standing next to Kalac, a bloody cloth over his ruined eye frowned. “He’s Hardir’s partner on a reconnaissance mission and he’s already asked for his assistance.”
What?
“He’ll come here?” Onas asked and she nodded her pretty head.
The healer just couldn’t keep any kind of secret it appeared.
Or she was playing him all along.
Kalac closed his eyes in desperation.
Onas crooked his mouth, bushy brows dancing, run a hand over his balding head and then breathed out harshly.
“You have animals near the caves,” he finally said to a scowling Kalac. “Enough supplies to make it for a while I reckon. So we’ll wait to see what you’re worth.”
“I’m not surrendering Onas,” Kalac grunted.
Onas shook his head. “Son, I have twenty archers in them trees behind you. Go ahead charge at the second Othrim if you want. They are a bunch of idiots, but they know how to use a spear. It’s all they do! It’s a good thing you wiped out the cultists for me, I was at a loss on how to do it and explain their loss to Rothomir.”
“I don’t understand,” Kalac murmured and Darunia stooped near his right side, moving Snow Nymph closer.
“You are under arrest son of Duham,” she explained slowly, continuing conspiratorially. “But you can opt not to surrender totally, like I did. Remember, not fighting doesn’t equal submission.”
Onas reached into his satchel and got a silver pipe out. He lit it with a firestone sucking at the smoke with closed eyes and blowing it out in circles.
“For crying out loud,” he admonished him. “Don’t look so gloom, look at her. You think such quality grows in the darn fields? It’s politics son, what don’t you understand? If Hardir wants to rule, he must showcase brains, alongside brawn. His allies too. The Council is always looking for alternatives. We are old as dirt, but open-minded. Eh, sort of, don’t quote me on that. You should have lived through Baltoris reign to see what obnoxious is.”
“How is you setting an ambush for him a matter of brains?” Kalac grunted, not liking feeling cornered.
Onas shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Semantics. Where you see a trap, he might perceive a negotiation.”
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/