“Impossible?” Orryn asked.
Chandra wheeled to face him. He now stood just steps away, holding the reins of the horse.
She took a startled step back. “What is this place?” she demanded.
Orryn’s jaw tightened.
“I said, what
is
this place?” she repeated.
“Your questions will be answered in time,” he said.
Chandra’s eyes shot back toward the landscape. The place seemed familiar, though not in a way any sane person would recognize it. It was an author’s creation, a fantasy world Chandra had visited many times through the dog-eared pages of her favorite books. Surely it was just a dream. Or maybe she had gone insane. Or even worse—
Her hand fluttered to her mouth. “Am I . . . dead?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he said.
“Insane then.” But Chandra was not sure which was preferable.
“Insane is more likely.”
Chandra huffed with annoyance. “I’ll have you know I’m only half insane. If I was completely insane, the city of Kiradyn would be right there,” she said, pointing toward the forest.
Orryn looked in that direction, his expression confused, then concerned.
“You know of Kiradyn?” she asked, but there was no need for a reply. His face told her he did.
Chandra backed away slowly.
“There’s no reason to fear me, girl. I already told you, your questions will be answered in time.”
Orryn moved toward her, but Chandra spun and attempted to run. How far she would get was anybody’s guess, her leg was throbbing and her head was pounding. But Orryn gave her no time to consider an answer. He grabbed her, stopping her in her tracks, and yanked her toward him.
Chandra threw her weight against him, shoving him with every ounce of strength she could muster.
Orryn locked his arms around her, his face inches from hers. “You’ll do further damage to your injuries if you don’t stop,” he said.
“Let me go!”
But Orryn only increased his strength. “I will not harm you,” he said. “But I cannot let you go.”
“You’re hurting me!”
Chandra writhed and pushed, panting with temper and exasperation. But then she realized that Orryn was panting almost as hard as she was.
Orryn let go his hold and staggered back, his eyes wide. “I’ve been away too long,” he said, then turned and headed toward the horse.
Chandra wasn’t sure how to react. One minute she was running from him, the next he was running from her. She glanced at the sky. It would soon be dark. And then what? She had no food, no shelter, no idea where to go. “Orryn!” she shouted.
He did not turn around.
Orryn reached the horse
and prepared to mount. With one hand on the pommel and the other on the reins, he lifted a boot into the stirrup, but for some reason he couldn’t lift the rest of him into the saddle.
He threw a glare at the girl who was still wrapped in his jacket. He’d require its warmth if he was to journey home unscathed. But he would not, could not, require the warmth of the girl. He clenched his teeth.
Fool
, he whispered to himself.
What’s wrong with you
?
“Orryn,” the girl called.
Orryn detected a hint of desperation in her voice, but why should he care? She’d already made it clear she wished to flee him. Then again, everyone he’d ever found on the beach wished to flee him at some point or another.
“God,” he muttered. He turned to face her. “Come if you’re going or stay if you’re not,” he hollered back, but Syddian law required that he take her. There was no real choice in the matter.
The girl’s eyes darted back and forth along the beach, then toward the sea. Orryn shook his head. If she was looking for the boat from which she had tumbled she was wasting her time and his. No vessel survived the elementals, though occasionally a survivor was spat to shore.
The girl called Chandria stepped toward him, her shoulders slumped in what appeared to be resignation. Good, he thought, easier to manage that way.
He watched as she approached, assessing her features and looking for as many impurities as he could find. Her black and lavender hair was too short, that he decided instantly, and her eyes, so pale. He did not like them at all. He cocked his head. Decent face, he would give her that. But her skin was ruddy from too much sun and too little attention. No matter; it would likely regain its luster once healed. He moved his eyes past the pink under-tunic she was wearing and toward the bandaged wound on her thigh. As he did, he noticed her legs were well-shaped—something in her favor at least. How unfortunate one was damaged and likely to scar.
The girl stood facing him, her bothersome eyes raised to his.
“Will you help me find my father?” she asked.
Orryn realized her voice had quivered somewhat, but he held his contempt in check. Perhaps she was due a little
courtesy. After all, she did not yet realize her father was dead and the life she once knew all but over. Orryn sighed. He disliked this part of the rotation more than anything. It was one thing to save a person’s life, another to tell them it would never be the same.
“I cannot help you,” he said. “It will be dark soon and we must reach shelter before night falls.” He glanced toward the mountains. Their pastel hues were deepening to emerald and amethyst. He cupped a hand over his eyes and squinted at the sun. They would have to spend one night here before leaving, but as soon as the sun rose he would take her to Syddia. To delay the journey would mean trouble for him. And four nights with this girl was going to be trouble enough.
“Could we at least search the beach?” she asked, drawing his attention back to her.
“No,” he replied.
Her eyes went black with rage. Perhaps they were not so pale after all.
“Listen, elf boy,” she snapped. “I don’t care what you want or how dark it gets or what kind of la la land I’ve ended up in, but I’m going to find my father whether you like it or not!” With that, she turned her back to him and limped down the sand.
“Well, return my jacket before you go,” he shouted. “I, for one, would prefer not to freeze tonight.”
The girl yanked it off and tossed it to the ground. “There!” she barked over her shoulder. “I hope you freeze anyway.”
Orryn ground his teeth and marched toward her. He grabbed up the jacket and pulled it on.
The wind picked up, sweeping a bitter chill through the air. The girl paused, wrapping her arms around herself. Her body trembled, but she set her chin with determination and limped on, her strange black boots crunching across the sand.
Orryn followed, keeping a cool distance. He was pleased to have the warmth of his jacket again, and equally pleased the girl did not. Yes, she would soon regret her words. Then she would be begging
him for the jacket he had so generously offered. But he would not share it again. She’d had her chance.
At last she stopped, as he’d expected. There was no place left for her to go. She’d met the tumble of rocks Orryn already knew to be there, and her injuries would not allow her to climb them even had she been inclined to do so.
The girl began to shake, her shoulders vibrating as she buried her face in her hands. Orryn thought to reach out to her, to offer comfort as he had seen others do. But then he realized his place, and his training.
“We must go,” he said.
“You go!” the girl said with a sob. “I have to find my father.”
God, enough of this,
Orryn muttered to himself.
Just tell her what she needs to know and get on
with it.
“You’re wasting your time, girl. Your father is dead.” The words, though true, had tumbled out of his mouth in what sounded like a blurt. Orryn felt a strange twinge in his belly. He had been trained not to speak truths so harshly. But he had also been trained not to care.
“Dead?” the girl cried. She spun to face him, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“Do—do not cry,” Orryn said stiffly. God, why was she doing
that? He reached a hand to dry her tears, but jerked it back. He had seen his mother dry his younger sister Tiersa’s tears many times, but this was different—and more dangerous.
He clenched his jaw, realizing his mind, and very nearly his hand, had twice now reached for the girl. It was an early sign. Departure could not be delayed past morning. But then he could not help but wonder, would the Sovereign Lady agree with his decision to leave his post? As a Pedant, one of the guardship’s most elite, it was against the law for him to leave his rotation without a replacement. But surly the Sovereign would understand.
He had been on duty for four moons now, when it should have been only three. Had his replacement arrived when scheduled, he would have been home by now, in Syddia, with lavation already complete. As it was, he had remained at his post, judging the tempers of the clouds and waters, patrolling the woods and searching the beaches. It was an all-day every day ritual, and he had grown weary of it. But to leave with no replacement? Orryn knew his job and hundreds of others like it were vital to the maintenance of things. This girl, however, was not one of those things. Or was she?
Based on what she’d said about Kiradyn, she appeared to have ancestral memory, something rarely found amongst those who landed on these shores. Perhaps it would soften the Sovereign’s anger in regard to the abandonment of his post. But he knew it would probably require much more than that. He glanced at the girl, realizing she was staring up at him with pleading eyes, and he could not help but stare at her in return.
To the Black with it
.
We leave in the morning.
He grabbed her hand. “Come,” he said.
The girl did not resist, but Orryn sensed sluggishness in her pace as he pulled her after him. She soon became dead weight, and he turned to see her spilling to the ground. Orryn leaned over the girl, noticing the bandage had slipped from her thigh. Her wound was oozing, clearly in need of more attention than he could offer here.
He scooped the girl up into his arms. She was light, probably more so without the heavy, sodden boots she was wearing, but as he held her he realized how badly she was trembling, no longer out of anger toward him, for she did not seem aware he was even there, but from a chill that vibrated through her skin. He pulled her more securely against his chest.
“God,” he groaned. “I hope I don’t have to bury you like the last one.”
Tygg watched silently from the trees as the Pedant lifted the unconscious girl onto the horse. His mouth watered with anticipation. He had been bred to hate men like this one. To slaughter them on sight. Unfortunately, this was not a man he could hate.
Tygg navigated closer, slipping quietly from cedar to juniper
to pine. He was well skilled in the art of stealth, all Taubastet warriors were, but while Tygg’s senses were made for the night, those of the Pedant now leading the horse toward him were not. Tygg stopped and watched as the man approached. Should he make his presence known, he thought with amusement, or wait until the man had reached shelter? Tygg chuckled to himself. The nearby outpost would offer the Sovereign’s man some
sanctuary, but it was only by treaty, not by design. Sturdy timbers could not keep out a Taubastet that wanted in. Tygg was Taubastet. And he always wanted in.
The setting sun illuminated the Pedant’s fair hair, just one of the many features that set him apart from the Taubastets. For generations sentinels like this one had been favorite prey amongst the warriors of Tygg’s tribe, but after centuries of war a treaty had finally been signed. Tygg knew it was only a temporary respite. Taubastet warriors would still hunt men, just as Syddians would still hunt cat. Tygg had been known to hunt. He had even hunted the Syddian now walking toward him. But he no longer desired this man’s life, not in the usual sense at least.
He parted the shrubbery and stepped
onto the path. As expected, the Pedant continued toward him. The man clearly did not see the tall, painted warrior standing but feet in front of him. But that did not surprise Tygg. Taubastets were gifted in the art of camouflage: their thick black manes were spiked like fronds, their catlike eyes blackened by kohl, and their olive skin muted by tawny-colored leathers that protected chests, legs, and loins. Tygg smiled, careful not to reveal a flash of teeth. If the fool walking toward him had been a deer, Tygg could have cut out its heart in an instant. As it was, he would only bloody the man’s pride when he saw him appear from seemingly nowhere.
“Aye-ee, Or’n,” Tygg said with a laugh.
Orryn jumped, annoyance hissing through his teeth. “Curse it, Tygg. How many times have I told you to give warning at least?”
“I prefer an element of surprise,” Tygg said. “More enjoyment that way.” He stroked the horse’s nose and tilted his head toward the limp form in the saddle. “What have you there?”
Orryn scowled. “You know full well what I have—an Imela. Found her in the usual place, with the usual injuries.”
Tygg eyed the jagged wound that gaped beyond the bandage. “I think her injury is not so usual.”
“Try not to think too hard,” Orryn said. “You might strain something.”
“My, but you are of a sort, Or’n,” Tygg said. He narrowed his eyes. “You are not well?”
“I’m fine,” Orryn growled.
“I think not. Your hands tremble. Your brow glistens. It is not like you.” Tygg grinned. “Afraid on account of me perhaps?”
Orryn yanked the reins and shoved past him. “Save your humor, Tygg. I have neither the time nor the interest.”
Tygg stepped around Orryn, halting him in his tracks. His amusement faded. “You cannot help her, Or’n. She is in need of a healer.”
“Of course I can help her,” Orryn said. “I’ve been trained to tend the wounded. You know that.”
“The infection has reached her blood. I can smell it.”
Orryn glanced at the girl’s leg.
“I will take her if you wish it,” Tygg said. “She will not stay in the saddle for long if you do not join her there.” He held out his arms, but Orryn made no move to place the girl within them.
Orryn clutched the reins tighter.
“You are not well, Or’n,” Tygg said gently. “And she is even less so. Let me take you to our healer. You will be safe with me.”