37 Chapter thirty-seven
The best laid plans
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The duo discussed the plan as they rode, in the end they settled on brute force with overwhelming numbers to defeat the Ashranian force. Adule's rage had convinced Brice that this was the best course of action, and besides, the Ashranian's were outnumbered and outclassed. The only notable adversary was this strange warrior, and really, how good could he be?
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They broke camp at dawn, much to the displeasure of Adule's men, though a sharp command from the leader of the Seventh Legion had them forcing their bodies into movement. It had taken them three hours in the saddle to reach their current position, a few hours from Ashran, if Gavin were to be believed, but it seemed likely as the upward trek had begun to lessen, and the cliffs to each side seemed to shrink in size. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and there was a soft breeze, just strong enough to tug playfully at their hair and the manes and tails of their mounts.
According to Adule's map, which was outdated and faded with age, they would soon reach the top of the path through the mountain, and then there was a long flat stretch followed by a swift and easy decent into the Ashran district. If the day went to plan they would be in the city by nightfall, the thought of beds, wine, and of course women, appealing greatly to the weary men. They joked about the upcoming fight, and laughed about what they would do to the warrior's wives, sisters and daughters, which then led to discussions about who was the greater man and his sexual prowess. In general the atmosphere was boisterous and bragging, for all but one, who was the subject of mutinous discussion and cagey glances. The youth ignored them, or gave the pretence of ignoring them, which didn't appear to make them like him any more than they already did.
He rode behind Brice, but away from his commander and comrades, maybe not by choice, but perhaps because he was forced to do so. He was…different. He not only looked different; he was cleanly shaved, with fine bone structure, dark features, sharp cheekbones, brow line and lips, and olive skin. He wore unusual clothes, rode his horse differently, and had a curved sword. No, the youth didn't fit in with the men, and they and he clearly knew it.
Oddly enough he held a position of authority within the Legion. He rode directly behind Brice where the lieutenant would ride, in fact Adule's second and third in command where riding behind the two leaders as well, though were making sure to stay away from the youth.
Their ride was interrupted by the appearance of a small scout standing in the middle of the path, flanked on both sides by the valley. One of the men gave a shout, and within a few moments there were six riders giving chase, Adule and his two commanders in the lead. Brice remained wary and ordered the remaining Warden's into a defensive formation, Adule's men following the command as well. Within three minutes from the appearance and chase of the scout the wagons were guarded by two men each and had fallen further back in the convoy, and there were lines of horsemen at the front in defence.
In this manner, with spearmen in front of bowmen and wagons at the rear, the Warden's slowly made their way up the path, the cliff sides slowly slopping away and beginning to open into the flat area of the valley. The thundering of hooves drew their attention, keen eyes looking ahead and hands tightening on weapons. A riderless horse was cantering towards them, reins flapping against its bloodstained neck. The youth urged his horse forward and snatched the reins before slowing the two horses.
Brice's sharp eyes missed little. The blood stains were on the saddle and splattered across the haunches of the beast indicating that the blood was likely from the rider. He raised his arm, the mail chinking with his movement, and gestured some of his riders forward. "You three, go and scout ahead. Be careful." The trio nodded at his command and trotted forward, spears clutched tightly and eyes wide and scanning the path ahead. The rest of the Warden's continued their slow and cautious march, keeping to the side so that any riders could move up and down the convoy without trouble.
Trouble found them. Two of the horses returned, riderless and bloodstained like the first. The third horse had a rider slumped over its neck, rocking back and forth limply, limbs and reins tangled. Brice signalled the boy forward once more, and he obeyed, easily catching the horse, grabbing at the reins, having to grip the arm in order to gain control of the mount. He shook the arm he held trying to get the attention of the rider and when he failed to respond lifted his body upright, the muscles in his arm straining. Blood stained –soaked- the top of the riders leather armour and it was fresh. Wet and red and metallic.
The body came upright and the youth released him with a yell. The source of the blood on the first horse and on this was obvious, the rider was headless. Brice moved forward in time to watch the headless body slump forward and fall to the ground. The bloodstained horse tossed its head and rose into a half rear, trying to get away from the dead weight at its feet. Snorting the horse continued to step nervously, trying to get away from the bloody body and a Warden had to dismount and see to untangling the reins and rider before the horse could be lead away to be calmed.
Brice dismounted amidst murmurings from the Wardens, all who were peering nervously between the body and the path, wondering the fate of their companions and how it had happened. He stared curiously at the neck eying the even cut. Something very, very sharp and with an extreme amount of force had removed this Wardens head. Making a decision he rose to his feet. "Dismount and tie the horses to the wagons, we proceed on foot." The troops obeyed and within three minutes were forming their lines at the commander's order. Two more horses had even returned, again covered in blood and riderless.
Brice went first, as fitting for his rank, and took cautious side-steps, tightly gripping his drawn sword and with his body in combat stance, legs spread and centre of gravity low. In this fashion, pausing every so often to strain for sound and presence, the Warden's walked up the path towards the opening in the canyon. As they got closer and closer to the opening they moved slower, pausing every few steps to scan the area, looking for a trap or any sign of what was ahead. There was a body lying at the mouth of the pass with their back to the approaching Warden's, a pool of blood steadily seeping into the parched earth. Their discipline showed as they remained in formation, though some of them were visibly uncomfortable with the idea of moving forward, they were Adule's men. There were large splatters of blood heading out into the valley, and it was eerily calm. Wind ran fingers in a gentle caress through the sparse grass and the trees on both sides of the canyon waved almost mockingly in the sunshine. There was a slight shimmer in the middle of the valley, a heatwave from the sun. It had turned into a beautiful morning, except for the four missing, and two dead Warden's.
Brice knelt cautiously next to the body, noting the head was missing, in fact they were yet to see the heads of the decapitated Warden's, which in itself was suspicious. And they had only seen two of their deceased number, where were the rest of the men? Two men took the body and moved it to the side for the wagons to deal with him. Blood was heavy and metallic on their tongues as they spread out slightly, shifting weapons and lifting shields, prepared to defend a direct assault on the entrance to the path. Nothing happened. Cautiously they inched forward flanked on both sides by the valley and paused right at the opening, glancing to their right and left trying to find the threat. Ahead of them there was another patch of blood, a trail leading to a large puddle and the imprint of hooves pressed into the dirt. There was nothing to each side of them; a few withered trees and some mounds of crumbled cliff, no visible threat.
Instead of relief there was fear. There should be more bodies, there should be heads! And there should be the source that caused the lack of heads, namely the enemy.
"Boy!" The youth moved forward, very reluctantly, and stood next to Brice, clutching his drawn sword in one hand, and a small round shield in another. "Go on," the Warden tilted his head, the order clear. Swallowing nervously but obeying the command, the boy slowly walked forward, dark eyes darting across the valley before him, pausing and steering intently into the distance, as though trying to see through something. Like a hunting dog with a scent he tensed and slowly, very, very slowly shifted his sword so he could reach into his multitude of clothes and clawed at a leather bag, his eyes locked on the ground ahead of him. He managed to get into the satchel and withdrew something small enough to fit into his closed fist, even with the sword in his hand.
"Boy, move forward," the commander ordered, only seeing him still in what he thought was fear. The youth ignored the instruction and carefully moved his hands together, the shield and sword banging together as the object in his hand was exchanged. The shield flexed with his wrist, tilting upright and showing a flash of wood across the back of it, where he clenched his fist over the object he had retrieved, eyeing the rippling heat wave with apprehension.
Breeze brushed his clothes, pulling playfully at his hair and he shifted slightly, bracingly, and snapped his hand forward. The small shield swung slightly across his hand before he corrected his grip and the small object flew through the air, though not very far as he was unable to get force behind it while still holding his shield. Still, it flew far enough. It passed through the heat wave and vanished, and the heat wave shimmered. A ripple ran across the image before them like the surface of a lake had been erected in the middle of the valley and had a disturbance cast onto its surface. Like small waves cast from a leaf falling onto a lake they rolled across the front of the valley, the trees and grass and canyon sides shifting as though being viewed through water. The ripples stilled and then dispersed, revealing the force that had gathered before them.
There were only a few dozen men, and even fewer were mounted and they had a couple of small and ragged carts and wagons to shield their archers. They had clearly taken the armour and weapons from the Warden's stores and outfitted themselves as best they could. In numbers and in skill they were lacking, it was glaringly obvious. There was a pile of weapons on the ground around them, and most of them had a bow, each with arrow nocked. At the head of the band was a large black horse and equally clad rider covered head to toe in black armour with silver glinting in the sunlight.
The man on the majestic black horse lifted a hand into the air and there was a whistling of arrows as the Ashranian's fired. Some of the arrows fell short of their target, but most of them were aimed directly at the heart of the Wardens and they cried out in alarm.
The Warden youth gave a yell and began a hasty retreat, glancing over his shoulder as he ran back to the Wardens, the small shield providing little cover.
The Warden's threw their bodies behind their larger shields, cowering behind their circular shape in the hope that they would be protected. Another volley of arrows scattered them and the youth tried in vain to hide beneath his own one, jerking away as an arrow or two impaled themselves through the wood and yelping as they came too close for comfort.
A shout was given and the rain of arrows halted. The Warden's peered through and over their shields to see what was happening as they tried to organise themselves. The sudden appearance of the Ashranian's was a surprise.
There was a thud, a thunk and a clang from the group of Ashranian's and there was something flying through the air, landing harshly on the shields of the Warden's. They couldn't contain their yells. The heads of their companions were returned to them. The hooded figure lifted a bow and took aim, and a third volley of arrows was sent raining down on the Warden's as the warrior's arrow flying high above them and hit the cliff side behind them. It made a slightly clunking sound, like the arrowhead had struck something metal. He loosened a second arrow down the same trajectory but on the opposite side.
After their moment of surprise and shock the Warden's were regrouping, holding their shields high and falling back into the mouth of the canyon, hoping to hold the advantageous location with their numbers. Closing ranks they settled at the fore of the valley with a line of shields across its opening and spearheads bristling. From behind them their archers sent forth their own arrows and were successful by the sounds of alarm and pain coming from their enemies. Brice's voice echoed loudly across the ranks of his men and under his guidance they fell into order. Spear's held through gaps in the shield wall and they allowed the youth through their wall and into the valley at Brice's command. The boy vanished down the pathway.
The man on the black horse dismounted smoothly and took a shield off his horse as the Ashranian's took initiative and began to fire-at-will. His shield was larger than the youth's, though not quite the size of the ones the Warden's were carrying. It had a gentle curve along the top before the two sides joined at the bottom, and was silver along the edges. There was some sort of symbol in the centre with runes around the outside, all etched in silver. He carried it easily on his right arm and kept his left free as he marched forward and drew the fire. His cape whipped about him as though he were in wind and he dodged the arrows easily, even snatching several from the air and snapping them in his fist or knocking them to the side with his shield. The few arrows that could have reached him bounced off his shield.
A few Warden's sought to fall back, hoping to get some distance between them and the danger so that they could pick their targets without threat. They ran down the valley and their bodies fell to the ground, their heads hitting the dirt shortly afterward and rolling gently for a few turns before stilling. Bows and quivers hit the dirt and a small pile of dust rose as they fell. A few drops of blood fell from apparently mid-air and a line of blood glimmered across the pathway. A few of Adule's men gasped in horror, there weren't many of them remaining now and they didn't have the discipline Brice's men did. "Sorcery!" They cried and tossed down their weapons as they fled the battle.
"No!" Bellowed Brice but the commander was too late, and two more heads went rolling. There was a sheen of blood suspended in mid-air now, a now visible sort of sharp rope which had decapitated the Warden's on impact.
"Phase Three." Ordered the warrior and there was a scrambling as the Ashranian's obeyed. His voice was clear and cold, echoing easily across the small battlefield and down into the valley, carrying his command without effort. Still he marched forward with grim purpose, as unstoppable as Death. One of the Warden's broke rank and charged him with a roar. The Warden's halted their fire and tried to find another target while their comrade was in their line of sight, they didn't want to waste too many arrows.
The man met the Warden swiftly, and allowed the axe blow to land on his shield before stepping closer and knocking it and the axe to the side. He didn't bother to draw his sword as he brought his left arm up. He drove his palm forward and then back, the Warden he was facing gurgling and clutching at his throat as blood spat from his mouth and he toppled over. Behind him the Ashran forces split into three. They brought their mismatched and misshapen shields to the front and sides of their group, some were even holding bits of wood, clearly part of wagons or carts, in front of them as shields. They moved forward slowly as the Warden's began to regroup behind their shield line, they were running out of arrows and the wooden curve that the trio of Ashranian's had was enough that should they even get through the gaps, they would run out of arrows long before the Ashranian's were upon them.
"Hold arrows!" Roared Brice as he moved to the front of the shield wall, replacing one of his own men. "Choose targets wisely!" It was an obvious command. His skilled archers would need to wait until the shields were lowered before having a good chance at hitting the Ashranian's. They didn't not have to wait long.
The Asranian's brought their shields to the forefront and to the side, even packing them on top of their group as they moved forward, shielding them from arrow fire. In three sections with shields above and to the side and front the groups moved forward, though there were several gaps in the shield wall and sometimes a man fell behind or was too eager in his march forward. It was clear that this tactic was one recently learned and they were yet to practice it to preform it perfectly. In many instances a shield dipped too low, held by a commoner and not a soldier, and the consequences were swift and bloody. They often fell with a cry, arrow's impaling their flesh and in that moment more arrows would find their mark, taking advantage of the unguarded men. The groups lost a good half dozen men before they learnt enough to keep their shields up and tightly pressed together.
"Phase Four!"
The remaining half number who were firing arrows suddenly ran forward from where they had taken cover behind the wagons and set their shields up a good dozen meters in front of where they had been stationed. They left their dead and wounded behind them and continued to fire arrows at the Warden's, though only when they saw a slip in their own defence.
A few brave souls took aim at the tall warrior, flinging their spears at him in the hope that where arrow failed, spear would not. He caught them easily, tossing one then another into the air as he caught the third. Then he sent them spiralling back. The force behind them as though they had been fired from one of those new wooden machines that the Capital had paraded through the streets. He then caught the second spear and tossed it, then the first. One by one the spears were driven through the shield-wall and if they were lucky, the Warden's managed to avoid the spear head.
He then altered his trajectory and shifted over to the middle group of warriors. He halted no more than ten horse lengths away and reached into his clothes, withdrawing a small round object. Then he shifted his arm back and threw it directly at the shield-wall. It shattered on impact releasing some thick smoke which quickly spread across the shield-wall and joined together with two other smokes as the warrior threw more globes at the Warden's. They gasped and choked and cried out as the smoke obscured their vision and stung their eyes.
"Phase Five!" The warrior drew one of his blades, and charged at the shield-wall, followed by the three groups who quickly ran after him. The warrior reached the shield wall and knocked a spear out of his path before jumping up onto a shield and launching himself over it and into the Warden's. He killed a few before they even realised they were under attack and quickly made his way to Brice, killing anyone who got in his way. Behind him there was a crash as the two forces finally collided, spear and sword and axe striking enemies and cries and shouts of elation, pain and defeat.
Brice knew the warrior was coming for him and had retreated slightly, wiping his watering eyes on his sleeve while watching the advancing figure cloaked in black. Trying to buy himself time he spat out in contempt. "Oh, how honourable, blinding an opponent before facing them."
Out of reach the warrior paused and tilted its head slightly, the hood shifting with the movement. Behind him the wardens were fighting ferociously as the Ashranian's, mostly untrained and undernourished, tried to overwhelm them as their vision was blurry and their eyes watered. Their cries and the sound of battle did little to cover the warriors reply which was somehow clear and rose above the battle sounds even though he did little to raise his voice.
"Honour?" His voice was even more terrifying up close, as cold and merciless as the harshest winter storm. "There is no honour in war, to believe otherwise is to patron delusion. And you," he continued firmly, "Little more than a mercenary. What do you know of honour?" He took several steps forward as suave and as graceful as a cat, decidedly predatory even though his stance remained upright but relaxed. "Your comrades and masters take what and when they will with no consequence and parrot it as justice, as a right."
Brice took a slight step back, making sure to avoid the bodies he knew where behind him, just as he knew there was some sort of guillotine in mid-air. "You are a fool. You offer no mercy so no mercy shall be offered to you."
Brice wasn't a coward but the grim promise in the warrior's voice, the promise of death was enough to send him scrambling back down the path, bending over double until he was certain he had passed the area where the invisible wire was.
Within her hood Alanna rolled her eyes and lowered her shield, propping it up against a rock. With her now free hand she pinched her blade between her thumb and index finger, running the two down the entire length of the sword and the blood fell from it. She sheathed her sword and strode over to right side of the canyon, reaching up with her gloved hand and running her fingers along the clear wire which now ran horizontal at her chin. Buried in the cliff face disguised expertly with dust was an odd contraption made of metal. Reaching it she felt the sides of it and it released from the cliff sending a small rain of dust and dirt to the valley floor.
The object was small, maybe a foot long, and had a series of layers with a piece of metal hanging slightly to the side. There was a channel running down the centre of it, and at the top of it there was a second sheet of metal, smaller and finer, and with a slight hole in the centre of it. There were small leavers running down the left side and she flicked them with her finger. As she did so there was movement within the object beneath the layers of metal and a second piece shot out, like a curving "C". The piece of metal was joined by a second piece from the right side, forming a ledge with a small hole in the centre. The entire object was like a ladder, only the rungs had a small hole inside them and were activated by little levers on the left.
She lowered her arm and swooped down to retrieve the arrow she had shot at the large lever before striding to the opposite side, allowing the wire to drag through the blood and tucking the arrow into her boot. The object embedded in the other side of the valley was much the same, only it had a larger pack at the back and stuck further out. She shifted the first object under her arm and pulled the second one free and turned it around. There was a case of some sort and she opened it and there was a small handle and cog and reel, it was a winch in miniature, with a small handle that fit delicately between her index finger and thumb.
She proceeded to wind it while casting the occasional glance behind her to check on the fighters. When the two clamps were together she bound them tight with their own leather straps and tucked the package within the folds of her cloak to be retrieved later. The contraption held a clear thin wire which could be unravelled for length and then placed across an opening at a certain height to ensure the decapitation of anyone who walked across its path. The larger lever was designed to release the wire and allow it to lower to where the smaller levers were lifted. It was a marvellous device. The Wardens who had come across it at horse height had lost their heads, and once she had fired the two arrows and released the lever and the wire had lowered then the fleeing Warden's had also been split into two.
She broke into a trot her long strides easing the distance between her and the battling Rebel's and Warden's behind her. As she rounded the path there was a whistling in the air and she reached out and snatched the arrow from the air, tossing it aside as she continued down the path. Ahead of her were the wagons and a few remaining Warden's prepared to defend them.
A few more arrows were sent at her and she either caught them, dodged them, or knocked them aside with the back of her forearm. She reached them quickly and threw her shoulder into the first one, sending him reeling into the wagon with a loud thud before he crumpled to the ground and was still. There were only three more remaining, the rest had fled with some of Adule's men, and she engaged them easily. She was a shadow ducking and twisting their blows. An axe came straight toward her while the other two blades stabbed in her direction, one after the other. She caught the hand wielding the axe and held him firmly as she jerked her body to the side and snaked her arm around the blade, twisting it from the first's grip. She caught it easily and brought it up to brace the second sword and kicked out with her right leg, sweeping the axeman's legs out from under him as she pulled the axe from his hand. She then flung it down into his chest as he hit the ground.
The swordsman she had disarmed had found a small dagger and was coming at her again, eyes dark and glinting. She parried the first sloppy attack while spinning away from the other swordsman. She ducked his wild swing and tossed her stolen blade above her as she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, sliding her hand up to his neck and snapping it with a sharp movement. Ducking and rolling she moved away from the final swordsman's dagger plunge and twisted to meet him, reaching up and reclaiming his sword as it fell towards her. It landed easily in her palm and she took a step back as he began to realise his dire odds. He with a dagger and her with his own sword, and with one companion with a broken neck and the other gurgling blood with an axe buried in his chest.
She leant against the side of one of the wagons. "How do you want to die?" She asked pleasantly as though the topic was of the weather.
"Wha-what?"
"How do you want to die?" She repeated a touch of irritation entering her voice. Honestly, why did they have to be so stupid?
"I-I." The Warden had very little to say and was blinking stupidly. Sighing she straightened and drove the sword through his torso, lifting him into the air as his body weight forced him further down the blade. He cried out and she dropped him before turning and resuming her trot down the track. Wind blew kisses in her face as she moved down the path and with it came the sound of voices and skirmish. Curious she picked up the pace, breaking into a jog and her long strides ate at the distance and she very nearly flew down the path, a shadow on the ground.
The ground ahead had small blood splatters, easily caught by her sharp eyesight and she looked ahead, focusing on what was happening. A slender figure on a chestnut horse was engaging a powerful figure on a large grey horse. They were trading blows; straight sword against curved sword and curved sword against shield.
The youth had a maniacal gleam in his dark eyes and was throwing himself forward with abandon, over swinging on many occasions and relying on the horse beneath him to keep him seated. He lunged forward and nearly fell from the saddle as Brice jerked backwards, almost parallel to the sky, and the sword went flying past him. The chestnut horse shifted forward getting dangerously close to the grey and its ears flew back and tossed its head and moved closer, pressing in with its weight. It's efforts were in vein and the youth ended up half out of the saddle and sprawled across the greys thick neck. Brice swung his shield around and smashed the youth in the face with it sending him careening to the ground, knocking his own horse across the haunches with his blade.
Startled the chestnut danced away, kicking out with its rear legs and very nearly trampled its rider as it cantered off. With grim purpose Brice dismounted and strode towards the youth, his sword shimmering with dark intent. The youth had blood running down the side of his face as he rolled onto his back and glared up at the figure towering over him.
His posture screamed defiance as he snarled, "You will never own me. I would rather die than be a slave to you." He spat blood up at the Warden Commander and leant back on his arms as his eyes tried to focus.
"You filthy savage," growled Brice as he lifted his sword in the air, holding it above his head. "Your people will die. We will show no mercy. But I'll make sure to acquaint myself with your mother and sisters before I take their heads."
The youth's features turned ugly in rage and he lurched upwards in dis-coordinated fury just as Brice brought the sword down. A black blade and a silver blade came to a halt in a cross above the youth and he froze at the sight, following the black sword up its length until he came upon a tall figure in black standing at his right.
Brice growled in fury and a slight amount of fear. "You!"
"Yes," said Alanna pleasantly. "Me." She lifted her blade and watched the muscles straining in Brice's face as he tried to force the sword down, using his entire weight to do so. She knocked it back in a display of strength and stepped forward over the youth who scrambled out of the way and parried a blow from the Warden.
She confidently blocked his blows, twisting her sword in complicated movements that had the Warden scrambling to parry. Brice was panting hard and sweat was beading on his brow as he brought his sword around defensively and barely blocked her controlled strikes. She eventually grew tired of toying with the thug and decided to end it. As fluid and as powerful as a snake she struck and a shudder ran through his body before he slumped forward and came to rest before black boots.
Alanna again ran her fingers down the length of her blade and then spun on her heel to face the youth. He blinked at her and glanced from the sword as she sheathed it and up into her hood.
"Who-who are you?"
The hood shifted to the side as she cocked her head and she appraised him for a few moments, allowing the wind to speak for her.
"What do you want?"
Alanna ignored the youth and instead turned back to the body at her feet. Crouching down she began to rummage through his clothes and gave up, pulling the mail over his head and dumping it as she continued to search for something. Her movements didn't betray her rising anger and she eventually moved to Brice's boots, finally finding her prize. It was a small tear shaped gem on a slender cord and as it swung from her gloves a pair of dark eyes watched it intently through their haze.
After a moments consideration she crushed it. The youth jerked and flopped onto his back as limp as a cooked noodle. Alanna rubbed her hands to remove the dust from the gem and turned and walked away, leaving the youth to sit up and stare after her in bewilderment.
"Rykeral!"
Alanna visibly paused before continuing on her way, and ignored the youths further shouts. Her return to the valley opening was swift and she stood calmly and observed the carnage. The Rebels had been successful in their assault and the remaining Warden's were dead, though not without their own losses. Much of their number had fallen, there were only a dozen or so still standing and those that weren't were leaning against the valley walls or were sitting on the wagons.
Alanna strode forward before stilling abruptly, going deadly still. One of the Ashran Castle Guard's had claimed her shield from where she had left it against the rock and had settled it on his arm. Fury swept through her. Molten and bubbling and rising with a roar. Snarling she crossed the distance between them within seconds, a black blur. As she reached the rock she had left her shield against she jumped off it, reaching down with her right hand and pulling the arrow from her boot. He had no warning that she was coming for him, nothing to tell him of the imminent danger he was in. Reaching him she lifted him into the air by the leather across his shoulders and snarled up into his face. "You… do not touch what is mine."
The Ashranian's approached her but the growl that rumbled its way up her throat was enough to make them pause, the inhuman sound lingering in the air.
"I'm-I'm sorry!"
"Yes, you will be," Alanna replied and drove the arrow into the soft flesh of his throat. His eyes went wide and his breath left him in a silent hiss. She jerked the arrow out and let him fall to the ground, swooping in to remove her shield from his arm as a growing puddle of blood appeared beneath his head.
"You bastard!" Snarled one of the guards and approached her and she slid the shield onto her arm and gestured with her index and middle fingers for him to approach.
"Don't!" Two of his friends had him around the arms as he strained to reach her.
She repeated her previous words and allowed them to carry to all of the Rebel's who were watching. "You do not touch what is mine." Her voice was as cold and as deadly as she could make it, the threat clear.
Message conveyed she walked from his glassy-eyed body and over to the entrance to the valley where the golden-eyed Clayton Ashran stood with his father.
"Collect their equipment and wagons and dispose of the bodies. We now begin part two. See it done."
"What do you think you are doing?" Asked Fredrick Ashran aghast. "You cannot kill my men!"
Instead of answering her hand went to her blade and she slid it partway out of its sheath, the metal sliding out with a metallic hiss.
"Father." Clayton tugged on his fathers arm and the Lord's jaw clenched but he ducked his head in apology.
"My apologies, I misspoke," he said stiffly and she slid her blade back into its sheath and strode past the two.
Ashnidanté was grazing near the wagons, flicking his tail as he kept alert and next to him was Stannislavonides. "That was awesome!" He called out as she approached and rose to his feet. "What happens now?"
Alanna appraised him for a moment as she secured the shield to the stallion's saddle. "They, "she flicked her head slightly to the men behind her, "will collect anything worth keeping and get rid of the dead and see to the wounded. Then we will move to the second position and take care of the rest of them."
"Cool!" Stannis' grin was missing his two front teeth and she tilted her head slightly.
"What did you do to yourself?"
"Huh? Oh!" Stannis looked slightly guilty and ducked his head into his shoulder and looked down as he scuffed his left foot. "Um, I fell over?"
Alanna waited patiently as Ash snorted and lifted his head, coming over to nudge Alanna in search of a treat or affection. "You managed to fall over what? There is nothing back at camp that you could have fallen over so badly."
"So, I didn't fall over," said Stannis as he looked to the grass at his feet. "Well," he brightened, "I did fall over."
"Stannislavonides," said Alanna calmly.
"So, I maybe followed you an' mighta gotten inta the fight?"
Alanna sighed, "Of course you did."
Stannis' eyes came up suddenly sharp. "Not that you didn' know I did."
"I hope you thanked Ash sufficiently." Clearly the stallion had come to Stannis' rescue.
Brown eyes widened as the boy nodded earnestly. "Yeah I did! I promised 'im loads of apples an' brushin'!"
"I'm afraid that will no longer be possible," Alanna said as she turned and gestured for the lad to follow her. His face fell and he slowly tailed after her, looking all the world like a puppy.
"Why's that?" He asked as he slumped after her.
"Because with your own mount you will not have the time and energy to see to mine."
Stannis froze and Alanna strode forward several steps before turning to the boy. He was blinking at her in shock and mouthing "own mount".
She tilted her head, "Did I misspeak?"
Abruptly the boy flew at her and wrapped his slender and pale arms around her torso in a hug as she tensed, no one had held her or touched her in years. His "thank you, thank you, thank you" was muffled in the folds of her clothing but she understood the sentiment. Remaining rigid she awkwardly lifted her arm and patted him gently on the head.
He tried to hug her harder but his embrace was weak and it was easy for her to step out of the one-sided embrace.
She cleared her throat and Stannis looked up at her in wonder, tears in his eyes. "Right. Ah, no hugging." Stannis nodded eagerly and whipped his eyes, "Okay."
She continued her path back down the valley. "You may choose your own from the ones I deem acceptable," she said and Stannis bounced along beside her.
"Okay!"
Ashnidanté was walking after them his shod hooves thumping into the dirt and they made their way past the wagons and then the shields at the centre of the valley. Bodies had been drawn to the side out of the way and a few men were groaning as their wounds were tended too. Several of them watched the trio with resentment, but mostly they looked upon Alanna and Ashnidanté with no slight amount of awe. Stannis straightened and puffed his chest and walked proudly next to Hunter, requiring two strides to keep up with her one.
A few of the able Ashranian's had gathered together the horses and had tied them to the wagons as they tried to sort through the gear and equipment in preparation for the move. They were a rugged bunch of ponies, with only one or two reaching horse height, and they looked malnourished and in need of a severe brushing.
As they approached their ears flew back and their heads bobbed against their tethers to the wagons.
"Go and find Ash an apple, and get another for your own horse," Alanna commanded realising that the small herd was weary of the stallion. Stannis obeyed as Alanna checked over the horses. Some she ignored immediately and others after a moment's appraisal left alone. Her final four options were a liver coloured chestnut horse, and three ponies; a dun, palomino and a steel grey.
"Stannis," she called and the boy was at her side in a flash, an apple in his hand.
"Choose one," she said pointing out the horse and ponies and ignoring the looks from the Ashranian's who clearly disagreed with her taking one of their hard-won mounts.
"That one," said Stannis pointing at the palomino.
Alanna nodded and moved around the herd to the palomino. It was shaggy and in dire need of a grooming, but it had intelligent light brown eyes and had watched her curiously when she had been checking the herd for a sound mount. He was nothing like her beloved Moonlight-thinking of her old mare only caused a slight twitch of loss now- he was dull in colour, though that could be attributed to his need of a bath and brush, and stood several inches lower. But he seemed gentle enough.
She un-tied the pony and led him away from the herd and over to Stannis, who was almost vibrating in excitement.
"Introduce yourself," Alanna said as she stroked the pony's neck, taking a moment to scratch a clump of dirt from his coat.
Stannis offered the apple and instantly made a new friend, the pony snuffing at him in search of more. Brown eyes were warm as he stroked the nose of his first pony.
"What will you name him?" Alanna asked him as Ashnidanté came up behind her, flicking his tail and tossing his mane with his ears back. The palomino's ears flew back in response and he jerked from Stannis' hold.
It took him a few minutes to regain control of his mount and only when he had did he consider Hunter's question. "Demeir *," Stannis said as he looked over his mount. "Demeir for glory."
Alanna nodded, "And so you shall have it."
xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx
Author's Note:
* Demeir= Dem as in Gem, and meir as in heir
Hi. *waves* Long time no see ya'll. Sorry about the delay. Hope everyone is looking forward to the holidays and I wish you and your families happiness and health.
Waterdemon: Welcome back.
BlueRagingFire: Wait and see :D
Paula: Soon….ish.
Schubbey: You still around, my friend?