Saviors- Duty and Sacrifice Page 10

  As they crested the next hill, Valis saw the sprawling town in the valley below. He drew his hood over his head to obscure his hair. They still had a while of daylight left yet, so sounds reached their ears as shouts echoed from hawkers selling their wares and children playing. The ring of rolling, densely forested hills made even the far-away sounds echo as if they came from just ahead.

  When they reached the town, Kerac dropped back into position behind the last pack horse that he situated behind the wagon, and Darolen led them through the streets to the town’s center.

  As Valis looked around, his stomach knotted. Surrounding them in the streets milled people with hair varying colors of black, brown, and a few with dark hair that shone like burnished copper. Eyes the color of dark clay mud stared at them from under bushy brows, some with unmasked contempt.

  The wind gusted and blew his hood back before Valis could catch it. Kerac muttered a curse behind him though the townsfolk only stared at him with his blond hair and pale blue eyes. Where their skin was fair, his held a natural golden tan, darker in some areas from working the fields. Where they seemed frail with waifish bodies, he sat broad and strong.

  That sick feeling washed over him more and more the deeper into the town they went. His clothes were different. His hair flowed long where they kept theirs cut short. The coats of the horses with Valis and the Aesriphos shone brightly from proper grooming where those littering the city were shaggy and drab. Even without opening his mouth, Valis could be spotted as a foreigner from yards away, his sun-bleached blond hair—if nothing else—acted as a banner proclaiming that he hailed from Evakis.

  His hands tightened on his reins until the leather of his gloves creaked. Ahead of him, Darolen sat taller. His shining armor seemed more accepted than Valis’ difference. Darolen kept his wavy brown hair short, and while Kerac’s raven black hair came to his waist, it fluttered behind him in the breeze from the tether at his nape. Both had fairer skin. Darolen had the more classic brown eyes while Kerac’s held more of a golden hue and neither would seem far removed from the people staring at them from a distance.

  Just look at Darolen’s back. It’ll be harder for them to see your eyes, he told himself. He sighed and tried to do that, but the townsfolk seemed almost as curious of him as he was of them. Only a few frowned at them. Fewer still feigned indifference. The ones who showed contempt and whispered with others near them made Valis’ blood run cold, but he still couldn’t stop gawking.

  He took deep, calming breaths. The sword on Valis’ hip suddenly felt like an anvil hung there instead. Will I have to use it? We haven’t gotten to do much sparring yet. He steeled himself and forced his hands to stop their trembling. All will be well. Kerac and Darolen will make it so.

  They stopped at the street market. When Darolen dismounted, he held a hand up for Valis and Kerac to remain ahorse. He wandered the wheeled carts that held vendors’ displays as he picked out dried meat and produce, bread and travel biscuits, cheese and a treat for Valis that they made sure to buy at every stop: fresh milk. The merchants seemed eager to help him pack the groceries to the pack horse that carried Valis’ father and the remainder into the already overburdened wagon. In return, Darolen counted out coins from his own purse, having removed enough from Valis’ hoard before they reached the town to secure provisions for another stretch of their journey.

  Everything seemed to go well. But having lived with his father, Valis wondered when everything he feared would happen, would happen ten times worse. He knew it was coming, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Sweat trickled down the middle of his back and slicked his palms. His gut felt like the bottom kept dropping out of it. That always meant trouble would soon find him. It never failed before. Why would it now?

  Darolen finished counting out coins. The Sitheran man recounted aloud so that neither could cheat the other. Hurry up, old man. Please, Gods, hurry!

  Just as the old man finished counting the coins and dropped them into his purse with a small bow, Valis’ gut pitted again. He looked around, but nothing seemed out of place. He glanced behind him. Kerac smiled gently when their eyes met, then frowned and mouthed, “Are you all right?”

  Valis shook his head and glanced around again. That frown deepened and Kerac urged Darolen to his horse. Soon they moved through the town, but that feeling never eased. It only worsened. The buildings pressed in on him. The people loomed too close. Darolen kept having to call to them to move out of his way.

  Shouts arose from behind them. Kerac let out a cry of surprise and growled an expletive Valis didn’t understand. His stomach pitted again, and he turned and gasped as four armed men pulled Kerac from his horse. Heart in his throat, he turned back around and shouted, “Darolen! They have Kerac!”

  Darolen spun his horse around. He came up beside Valis. His hand darted out, grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked him close. Eyes hard with fury and worry, he growled, “Run. Don’t look back. We’ll find you. GO!”

  He smacked Valis’ horse hard on the rump and the gelding surged forward at a gallop so fast that it nearly unseated him. The pack horses tethered to his saddle screamed and struggled to keep up. The wagon bounced along the cobbled road, and Valis had only a second’s spare thought to thank all that was holy they had secured everything well, and apart from the wagon shattering, his belongings would remain safe. Or, so he hoped.

  People shouted and dove out of his way as Valis maneuvered through the streets. Once he broke to the other side of town, his gelding’s stride lengthened. The pack horses, given more room to spread out, now kept up easily. He had to keep glancing back to check on the two pulling the wagon, but they seemed just as frantic to leave the town as Valis, and kept up even though they heaved for every breath and foam coated their mouths.

  With no time to truly think, Valis gave his horse the lead to take him on the path of least resistance, and focused only on getting as far away from the town as possible while still going in the general direction they headed for the last few weeks.

  With a glance behind him, he cursed. The horses left behind huge divots in their passing, giant trails from the wagon wheels. The recent rain made the ground so soft that finding him would be child’s play. Please let it only be Kerac and Darolen who find me. Sovras, please help them. I can’t find my way alone.

  A copse of trees forced him to slow down. The pack horses could get their tethers tangled with the trees and jerk the saddle out of position if he wasn’t careful. The wagon could easily get caught on low-lying scrub, or break a wheel on an exposed root. As he picked his way between the trunks, he listened intently for the sounds of pursuit. Hunger, anxiety, adrenaline, and worry made him queasy. His gelding sensed his unease now that they weren’t on a mad dash and started to act up, prancing and fighting against the reins.

  “Easy, boy,” Valis murmured. “I need you to be calm.”

  The soft words and the fond touch Valis used when rubbing the beast’s neck eased his horse just as they reached the other side of the copse, and he urged his mount on up the hill. Soft ground gave way to hard packed dirt and rocky terrain. While it would make it harder for Kerac and Darolen to find him, that was fine because it meant he was harder to track for everyone else, too.

  As he crested the hill, he turned to look back down into the valley and froze in the saddle. A pack of five horses pounded after him with guards astride them in black armor where Darolen and Kerac wore silver with gold and blue gilding. Something shimmered alongside them, invisible, but Valis doubted his mind was playing tricks on him. It made his stomach pit, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. Swallowing hard, he turned back around and urged his small herd of horses into a ground-eating gallop. A forest loomed not far ahead, and he aimed straight for it. It would slow him down, but it would give him cover and hopefully make him harder to track.

  Just as he broke the tree line, an arrow with glowing black magic swirling about the shaft whistled by his head and struck the nearest tree in front of him. S
everal thocks sounded behind him, and when he looked, three arrows stuck out from the wagon’s sides at skewed angles. The first came so close to his head that he felt the air disturbance near his left cheek. Too close. Sovras, please help me! How did they catch up that fast? They were so far behind!

  Not daring to look back to see if the arrow came from long range or close behind, Valis forced himself to put his focus forward. He maneuvered through the forest as best he could with two horses tethered to his saddle, and two more trying to haul what had to be thousands of pounds of gold through an uneven forest floor. Somehow they all seemed to know not to go around random trees and remained close. Up one hill, down another, through a ravine and over a stream, Valis did his best to try to lose his pursuers. White foam coated the lips of all his horses now from the frantic run. When he stopped to listen, all he heard were the chirps of birds and the chatter of squirrels and other forest animals.

  No hoof beats echoed through the trees. No shouts arose. No arrows whispered past his face. He lost them.

  And now, Valis was lost, too.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Do I set up the tents, or do I just unpack my bedroll?” he asked his gelding. The poor horse didn’t even have a name. Every time he named something, his father would get rid of it or kill it out of spite. He found early on that if he loved something, it became nameless. He busied himself with the animal, anything to settle his anxiety. What was that shimmer that kept pace with the guards? Why had the arrow been surrounded by black magic? Were the guards Qos adherents? Was that arrow from his uncle’s bow? He shuddered at the thought, and suddenly wished, more than anything, that Kerac and Darolen were with him. That he had a shield around the spot where he had decided to make camp.

  Now, though, since he couldn’t do anything about his predicament, he searched for a name. “Chath,” he said, and pressed a trembling kiss between the gelding’s eyes, more for his own comfort than for his horse’s. “Your name is Chath. Gods know after that run, you deserve a name.”

  The horse nickered and lowered his head to graze on the few sprigs of grass that grew on the forest floor among the blanket of fallen leaves and pine needles. It was almost like the beast was staying calm in order to calm his rider, but Valis huffed a laugh and pushed that thought to the side. His horse was great at many things, but could he actually be trying to calm him? Was that possible? He couldn’t afford to keep his thoughts on that track. In the broken gloom, light swiftly faded as evening set in. He should light a fire and cook some of the food. Maybe Kerac and Darolen would find him before he bedded down. Maybe they would be hungry when they found him. But a fire would be disastrous with the dying trees so dense, or it would under Valis’ care. It would also be a beacon to anyone looking for him. In the Aesriphos’ case, that was a good thing. For the others, it would be very, very bad.

  His stomach churned. Where were Darolen and Kerac? Had they survived? Would they ever find him? Tears threatened to sting his eyes, the skin around them tightening, pressure building. To distract himself, he debated on whether to unburden his horses. If he took off their packs and tack, and his pursuers found him, he would have to leave four horses, the wagon, and everything but what he could quickly grab behind. He swallowed hard enough that it hurt. He may not even be able to grab anything. May not be able to do much more than run on foot. The shudder left him breathless, and he set to work. If he didn’t unburden them, his horses wouldn’t be fresh come morning.

  With a sigh that threatened to become a sob, Valis shook his head and started dismantling the pack harnesses and yokes. “Some of us should be comfortable.”

  If he didn’t get to work, he’d spend the entire night fretting and making himself sick. He couldn’t afford either. Yes, he had a frantic, terrifying run from guards. Yes, Kerac and Darolen had been delayed, perhaps even captured. Yes, he had nearly become a human spit roast on an arrow. That didn’t give him the right to lose his entire mind. Not when there was still a chance Darolen and Kerac would find him. They could be on their way right now, bloody and weary from battle, but they would be whole. They had to be whole. Please, Sovras, let them be whole.

  Taking care of the horses would help to both soothe Valis and show he could still adhere to duty, even when his mind was blasted with worry. He needed it, and so did the horses. And once he set to work, his stomach calmed, at least a little. After he finished grooming the beasts, he went into his normal routine. Food first, small things he didn’t have to cook. He let himself enjoy a brief rest to let his meal settle, then set to work on his physical training. Exercising gave him a purpose and let his mind go blank. It took the fear and uncertainty away for at least a short while.

  When he finished his sword forms, he looked up to see a blanket of stars peeking out between the mostly bare branches that canopied the forest. Boulders, it seemed, sat in his stomach and rolled around when he moved. Whether it was just worry, or his food being uncooperative, he didn’t care. But, he sipped some of the milk Darolen bought to try to settle it.

  Without enough light to see by, Valis shrugged off the idea of setting up a tent. Instead, he put the rest of his milk away, fetched his bedroll and unrolled it near the horses, close enough to feel their presence, but far enough away not to get accidentally stepped on. He crawled into it, clothes, boots and all, and draped his cloak over top to keep out the deep chill.

  Please, Sovras—Phaerith, let Kerac and Darolen be all right. Help them find me. I was such a coward for blindly running. Such a fool. He huffed a frosty breath and turned to his side to face the horses. I’m so lost I may never make it out of the forest without help, let alone all the way to Arlvor.

  He tossed to his other side and something picked at his mind. It nagged until he looked around and caught the glint of his sword a few feet away where it rested against his saddle. He shuddered. Without his two Aesriphos there, he wasn’t in the protective bubble of their holy shield. Without a fire, no animal would hesitate to come upon him. Without a tent, he felt exposed and vulnerable.

  Valis groaned and got on his hands and knees, then crawled out of his bedroll and picked up his sword. It was a gift from Darolen when they reached the last town before they ventured into Mivali from Sadai. Now he thanked every god for that gift as he clenched his eyes tight and held firm to the hilt and scabbard as he blindly crawled back to his bedroll.

  Once he tucked himself back in, Valis took the sword from its sheath and set the scabbard under the pillow sewn to his bedroll, then tucked the cold sword against his side under the cover, the hilt within easy grasp. This is as safe as I’m going to get tonight. Please, Phaerith, help them find me.

  With that last prayer tumbling through Valis’ mind in an unending echo, he drifted off to sleep.

  Moans drifted to him in his dreams. Valis squirmed. He got out of his bedroll and wandered out of his tent. Something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it nagged at the back of his mind.

  Another pleased moan made his penis jerk in his pants, and he forgot all about it. He made his way to the tent where Kerac and Darolen made love and peered between the flaps to watch as he often did.

  Kerac rested on his hands and knees. His hair fell loose to the side of his face to shade his profile beautifully. Darolen thrust his hips against his lover’s ass in a languid rhythm that made Kerac’s back arch and roll in a gorgeous wave that made Valis’ breath catch and hold. Kerac lifted his head as he moaned, his lips parted and plump. He opened his eyes and grinned as he saw Valis peeking.

  “Come in,” he moaned. “Join us, Valis.”

  When Valis blushed and looked down, he noticed that he stood there already nude. Hadn’t he just been wearing pants? It didn’t matter. He fumbled with the tent flap’s ties. As he entered, the thick, heady scent of their sex enveloped him in warmth and burst his arousal to new heights. His penis hardened almost instantly as all his blood shot to his groin.

  Kerac reached for him with one hand. Valis took it. Drawn close
r, Valis followed Kerac’s wordless demands. Valis sat when Kerac tugged on his hand. He pushed against Valis’ chest in an order for him to lie on his back.

  Valis shivered with anticipation. As he laid back, Kerac grasped his hips and pulled him closer. In the next moment, his hot, wet mouth enveloped his penis and laved its head with his tongue. Valis squirmed and moaned. His hand stole up to fist in Kerac’s long silken hair.

  The lantern that hung from the center support dimmed and went out. Leaves rustled, and the horses neighed in distress. Valis moaned again and reached for his groin to try to recapture his excitement, even though now it felt wrong, as if he’d just been lusting after family. Something hard covered his nose and mouth until his lungs burned for air. Valis tried to shout. He opened his eyes. No tent blocked out the canopy of leafless trees or the stars that peeked through the branches. Kerac and Darolen were gone. In their place knelt a strange man with hard black eyes. His gloved hand that smelled of grass, body odor, and old blood pressed harder against Valis’ nose and mouth to cut off his breathing completely as another man searched his things.

  Feeling the sword at his side, Valis shifted and grasped the hilt. In the next moment, warm liquid flowed over his hand, wrist, and down his forearm as he thrust it up and twisted. The man’s eyes widened. He drew his hand away from Valis’ face to clutch at the sword’s blade, close to where it entered his belly. Valis snatched the sword out of his gut, nearly slicing off the man’s fingers in the process, and leveled a hard punch to his cheek, backed with the strength of his sword hilt in his hand.

  He fought against his bedroll’s blanket and bolted to his feet. He staggered to the side, stomach clenching until the one nearest him collapsed. Whether he fell from blood loss or the punch, Valis couldn’t tell. The other man rose from his perch over Valis’ packs and drew his dagger. His clothes hung on his wiry frame in torn rags. His dark, greasy hair framed his face in short, limp strands. The gaunt face that stared at him practically glowed in the dark with how sallow he was.