Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn (50 page)

The man in black plunged the fiery torch into
the base of the pyre. The wood began to smoke and crackle. Several
people rushed forward and grabbed sticks from the pile, touching
them to the flames and flinging them at Dayn.

Jorge broke through the mob, shoving and
swinging his fists at those closest to the pyre.

“Jorge, no!” Dayn shouted. “You have to get
out of here!”

Jorge hesitated and looked up at Dayn, but a
blow to the smith’s face sent him spinning in the other
direction.

Dayn stared at the flames now rising. Waves
of heat were beginning to bake his face and clothes. Smoke spiraled
around him, its sting blinding him to the chaos below. “Jorge,” he
screamed. “If you can hear me, get out! Go north, then east past
the mountains. You have to get out of Kiradyn.”

The wind picked up, fanning the flames. The
smoke parted for a moment, just long enough for Dayn to see Jorge’s
bloodied face staring up at him from the base of the pyre. An
explosion of fire leaped between them, sending Dayn a burst of
indescribable heat. He writhed and yanked at the ropes, coughing
and rasping for air.
This can’t be happening…this can’t be
happening…

A dizzying whirlwind of images churned in his
skull: friends… enemies…good times…bad. Some he knew to be
memories, but others he did not recognize at all. It was all so
confusing. Why was he seeing them now? But then Falyn’s face swam
into view, and everything became clear. She would never be his
wife; they would never have children or grow old together. But she
loved him, and not even the fire could take that away from him.

The flames crept closer, the heat and smoke
unbearable. Dayn clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.
Control your mind! Control your fear!
he told himself. But
then the fire reached his boots, and unfathomable pain consumed his
feet.
Don’t scream…don’t scream…don’t scream…don’t
scream—

Dayn screamed. And all went black.

* * * *

The posse of clansmen burst into the square
with a vengeance that rivaled that of the mountain itself.
Spectators scattered from their path. Those who hesitated were
trampled beneath a brutal battering of hooves. Screams shattered
the air as the clansmen slashed their way toward the pyre, their
weapons leaving a swath of blood and dismemberment in their
wake.

Haskel charged his horse toward the pyre and
leaped onto the scaffold leading to it. In an instant he reached
the stake. Flames were all around it but had not yet risen beyond
Dayn’s feet. Haskel grabbed a branch that was untouched by flames
and shoved the burning wood as far from Dayn as he could. He yanked
his knife from his waistband and reached down to cut the ropes.

A shout of warning redirected his attention.
“Haskel,” Alicine screamed. “Behind you!”

Haskel turned to see Lorcan rushing toward
him, a flashing blade in his hand.

Alicine gripped the reins as she struggled to
control Haskel’s frenzied horse, but then she felt an unexpected
yank on the bridle. She looked down to see Sheireadan commanding
the animal to calm, but his eyes were not on the horse, they were
on the scaffold leading to the pyre. Alicine followed his gaze to
Haskel and Lorcan who were now battling on the boardwalk.

She leapt off the horse, intent on sprinting
to the pyre to pull Dayn from it, but Sheireadan grabbed hold of
her and jerked her to a halt.

“Let go of me!” she cried. “I have to save
Dayn!”

“I’ll get him,” Sheireadan said.

Alicine shoved him away and staggered back.
“I don’t believe you!” But Sheireadan grabbed her again.

“I said I’ll get him,” he said between
clenched teeth. “You can’t carry him. I can.”

Alicine turned her eyes frantically toward
the fire that was burning its way toward Dayn, then to Haskel and
Lorcan still fighting on the platform. Past them, all around the
pyre and throughout the square, the other clansmen were beyond her
reach, caught up in clashes of their own.

Alicine grabbed Sheireadan’s tunic in her
fist. “I swear if you’re lying, I’ll kill you.”

The muscles in Sheireadan’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not lying,” he said. “Not this time.” He pulled away and spun
toward the steps, taking them three at a time as he dashed onto the
narrow boardwalk leading to the pyre. Lorcan and Haskel were in his
path, still battling it out, but Sheireadan sprinted past them. He
leapt toward Dayn, then pulled out his pocketknife to release the
ropes. Dayn slumped forward as the last bond was cut, but
Sheireadan was ready for it and quickly rounded the stake to grab
him.

Alicine watched breathlessly as Sheireadan
clambered with Dayn in tow over the pyre and toward the platform.
Just then, Haskel threw Lorcan a punch that sent him sprawling.
Momentarily free, Haskel rushed to help Sheireadan. The instant
Sheireadan’s feet hit the boards, Haskel lifted Dayn into his arms.
“It’s all right, son,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

Alicine breathed a sigh of relief, but then
something happened that seemed to play in slow motion. Lorcan
unfolded from his stupor, rising like a viper to his feet. With an
echoing scream, he moved toward Haskel. But Haskel could only stare
as if frozen at the crazed man now moving in his direction. It was
then that Sheireadan stepped out to meet his father, and with a
great lift of his arms, Sheireadan had Lorcan flying through the
air and straight toward the pyre. The man hit the post and crumpled
beneath it.

A great wind suddenly swept the courtyard,
speeding up time as it sent a funnel of flames spiraling up the
pyre and around the writhing form of Lorcan. Alicine threw a hand
over her mouth to stifle her scream, then turned with a start as a
loud clattering of hooves stopped at her back.

Peadar leapt from his horse. “Get to my
horse, girl,” he said. “Your uncle’s goin’ to need room for your
brother.”

Haskel lumbered down the steps of the
scaffold and toward the waiting horse. With assistance from Peadar,
he got Dayn into the saddle, then settled in behind him. He grabbed
up the reins and turned his attention to the burning stake.
Sheireadan was still standing on the platform next to it, watching
as the flames consumed his father.

The mountain rumbled more violently than
before, sending people scurrying in every direction. With the mob
momentarily distracted, the clansmen hastened in the direction of
Haskel and Peadar.

“We’ve got what we came for,” Peadar called
to the men. “Time to head out.”

“Wha’ about
him
,” Brenainn said,
lifting his chin toward Sheireadan.

“What about him?” Peadar asked
impatiently.

“Well, it seems to me tha’ since he cut
Dayn’s ropes and took care o’ a certain fella fer us, we might be
wantin’ to take ‘em with us.”

Peadar looked at the boy still staring
motionless into the fire. “Ye do realize that’s Lorcan’s son, don’t
ye?”

“Aye. All the more reason. Poor lad.”

Peadar snorted. “Very well, but be quick
about it. And
you’re
responsible for him, ye hear?”

Brenainn scowled. “I din say I wanted to
adopt
him,” he muttered. Then he dismounted his horse and
thundered up the steps and onto the platform.

“Boy,” Brenainn said when he reached
Sheireadan. “Come away now.”

Sheireadan turned slowly toward him. Tears
were streaming down his face.

“I know it’s a loss to ye,” Brenainn said
gently. “But yer welcome to come with us if ye want.”

Sheireadan looked surprised by the
invitation, but then he gazed into the crowd, worry clouding his
expression.

“Nothin’ ye can do fer ‘em,” Brenainn said.
He glanced toward the mountain. “Well, if yer comin’ ye’d better
get on with it. The mountain’s got no patience for them who wait.”
The Chieftain turned and Sheireadan followed, but his eyes
continued to scan the crowd.

Brenainn reached his horse and mounted it. He
held out his hand to Sheireadan. “Ye’ll have to ride with me. Not
much room, but we’ll manage.”

“I have a friend,” Sheireadan said. “If I
find him, can he come, too?”

“No time,” Brenainn said. “We have t’
go.”

“But—” Sheireadan looked around
frantically.

“Let’s go men,” Peadar ordered, and spurred
his horse northward. The clansmen followed.

Brenainn lingered a moment more, his hand
still extended. “This is yer crossroad, boy. Which road ye gonna
take?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Seems to me ye do. Ye saved an innocent
boy’s life today, din ye?”

Sheireadan looked one last time at the tumult
of people in the courtyard, then he grabbed Brenainn’s hand and
swung into the saddle behind him.

****

Reiv exploded into the square and barreled
through the crowd. Eyes widened and voices shrieked at the sight of
the fiery-haired creature now charging into their midst. Threats
sounded, but Reiv paid them no heed. His only thoughts were on the
billowing smoke and flaming pyre across the way.

He galloped full speed toward it, then reined
his horse to a staggering halt. A charred corpse could be seen
crumpled amongst the flames, and for a moment Reiv could only stare
in disbelief. Pain built in his chest, clenching his heart like a
brutal fist. Had he arrived too late? No—he refused to believe it.
That could not possibly be Dayn. But then he realized: it could be
no one else.

A scream of anguish tore from Reiv’s lungs.
He reeled toward the maddening crowd, a reckless rage coursing
through him. Hatred flashed in his eyes. His hair whipped around
his head like a fire storm. If ever there was a demon, these
monsters were about to meet one!

Reiv slid his dirk from his waistband, and
with a cry of fury lifted it into the air. People cowered, then
began to back away. “Butchers!” he screamed. “Murderers—all of
you!” He kicked in his heels and charged into the mob, his blade
swinging.

Reiv’s anger blazed white hot. No one was
safe from his blade or his wrath. He hacked his way through,
regardless of who or what was in his path. Blood spilled; bodies
fell. But Reiv was aware of only one thing: They would pay for what
they had done. They would pay!

Another explosion sounded from the mountain,
sending brick and mortar raining into the streets. Some members of
the crowd scattered, but others froze in their tracks, watching as
a massive cloud imploded down the mountainside.

Reiv reined his horse to a halt and stared at
the thunderous plume descending upon them. His instincts told him
to flee, but for some reason he did not have the will to do it. It
was then that he realized his arm was still suspended, his bloody
weapon clenched in his fist. He tore his eyes from the dirk and
scanned the courtyard around him. Bodies lay everywhere—men, women,
even children!

"Gods, what have I done," he whispered.

A chill stole over him. His heart filled with
despair. He was no better than the rest of them! His eyes shot
toward the avalanche of hot gasses speeding toward the city, then
to the confusion of people stumbling around him. They were all
going to die, every one of them. And he was going to die with
them.

Reiv closed his eyes as the roar of the
monstrous cloud drew nearer. But then the courtyard became
strangely quiet. He opened his eyes and realized everyone had gone.
No, not everyone,
he reminded himself. He steered his horse
around the bodies and worked his way toward the pyre. Sorrow
mushroomed in his throat; tears stung his eyes. How poor Dayn must
have suffered. Did he himself deserve to suffer any less?

Cobblestones began to dance at his feet. The
horse skittered nervously. Reiv glanced at the approaching cloud at
his back, then toward the exit at the opposite side of the
courtyard. Should he stay or should he go? To stay meant instant
death. To leave meant years of guilt and restitution. He stared at
the body one last time. “Forgive me, Dayn,” Reiv said, then he
kicked in his heels and galloped out of the courtyard.

Back to ToC

Chapter 42: Lost

D
ayn was jostled
awake by searing pain in his feet. He moaned, fighting to lift his
head, but an arm tightened around him. “I’ve got ye,” Haskel said.
“Be still now.”

Dayn blinked open his eyes. Scenery swam past
in a blur of trees. “Where are we?” he croaked.

“Headin' north,” Haskel said. “The mountain
erupted. Couldn’t go back the way we came.”

Dayn coughed, the taste of smoke lingering in
his mouth. “What…about Kiradyn?” he managed.

“Gone.”

The pain in Dayn’s feet intensified. He
grimaced and tried to reach for them, but Haskel tightened his
grip.

“Stop,” Dayn said. “Please. Can we stop?”

Haskel slowed the horse, and the clansmen at
his back did the same.

“The boy needs to rest,” Haskel called to
them. “I think we’re far enough out that we can stop for a
bit.”

Dayn held onto the pommel as Haskel
dismounted. His head felt groggy. What had happened? Why was he
here? Then he remembered—the pyre. He turned his eyes toward the
men now milling about and realized their clothes were splattered
with blood.

“Uncle, what—” he asked with alarm.

“Let’s get ye down first,” Haskel said.

Haskel helped Dayn from the horse and laid
him on a nearby grassy patch. Alicine approached with a water
skin.

Dayn gasped at the sight of her. “What are
you
doing here?”

She knelt down beside him. “You didn’t think
I’d let them go without me, did you?”

“But how did you know where I was?”

“Falyn told us.”

Dayn attempted to sit up. “Falyn? She’s
safe?”

“Yes,” Alicine said, pressing him back down.
“Now, enough talk. We need to get these off.” She looked at his
boots and furrowed her brow.