The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering (10 page)

“Fisk,” Aroet
said in a rising tone, sending an arrow winging to take one down that was about
to leap towards one of his men. “Time for you to get going.”

“I will see
you after you lead them away Captain,” he yelled, yanking his horse north.
“Ride safe!”

Aroet nodded,
sending another shaft to bury into one of the hounds as it peeled off in
pursuit of Fisk. Then he turned his horse and slapped his rump. Zel leapt west,
away from the enemy patrol. The five riders followed him, and at a word, began
fanning out to present a larger quarry. Behind him, howls of anger rose as they
sped away.

“Give it all
you’ve got men!” Aroet yelled. “But pace yourself. We will go a few miles and
lose them in the marshes before regrouping farther north.”

Bending down
he tried to balance himself so Zel could have free range of movement, and the
big steed ate up the ground in great strides. The pounding hooves thundered
across the ground as the six horses galloped towards the great lake, gouging
the road as they wound through the trees.

Aroet threw a
look back to check on their pursuers, and saw that only one of his men was
close to him. The other four had begun to lose ground, unable to keep up with the
big stallion of their captain. Sensing the kill, the howling pack began to
close the distance. A slight pull of the reigns brought Aroet back to his men,
and as he fell into place, he drew his sword.

Five swords
cleared their scabbards in response, but they didn't slow. Thundering around a
curve, they flew across the patchwork of shadows created by the branches
overhead. Dirt clods filled their wake as the horses hooves tore at the gravelly
soil. With the hundreds of pursuers baying for their prey, each man rode for
his life . . . but the dogs were gaining. Bounding forward like charging lions,
they closed the distance until they were close enough to strike.

"Send
them back to whatever hell they came from!" Aroet bellowed, plunging his
weapon into a black dog leaping for his mount.

Blades
glittered in the uneven light, sending bodies tumbling behind them. More took
their place, darting over their fallen allies and pouncing on the rearmost
soldier. His horse collapsed under the weight of the spiked dog, and both rider
and steed fell broken to the hard earth. A whinny of pain mingled with the
man's scream, until both ended under a torrent of evil creatures.

Within moments
another of their group was slain, and then another. The fourth died when his
horse stumbled, and the two were swallowed into the dark horde. Down to two,
Aroet yelled his fury and filled the air with his longsword, striking any foe
that dared venture within range. Dogs yelped and snarled, but couldn't
withstand the onslaught. His space momentarily cleared of enemies, Aroet
reached for the last soldier.

"Jump
behind me. Your horse can't keep up!"

Jaron cast him
an angry look. "Are you crazy! Even Zel can't carry two."

"You have
your orders, Jaron!"

"And I
respectfully decline, Captain!" Jaron bellowed. Then he wheeled his horse
towards a side path. Sheathing his sword, he drew his bow and sent a quick burst
of arrows into the dogs. "Now get out of here!" he roared, peeling
away from Aroet and taking many of their pursuers with him.

Before he
could protest, Jaron had disappeared into the trees. Growling against the
helplessness and rage, Aroet gave Zel his head. Pulling away from the pack, he
sent a prayer to Ero for Jaron, and his family, who had been among the first to
perish in Terros. The man's bravery had probably saved Aroet, but the loss of a
good man's life wasn't a price he was willing to pay for his own.

So many
dead
.

The fresh losses
nearly burst the vault in his chest, but he doubted they would be the last. For
now, he took solace in the fact that their lives made it possible for the rest
of his men to survive. It was now his duty to return his attention to his
remaining men, not the ones he'd failed to save. He knew that they had been the
bait, and too often the bait is lost in the catch. Closing his eyes, he allowed
a brief moment to miss the ones he had lost. Jaron, his father, his men, and so
many others.

Most of all,
he found he missed his younger brother, who had been sent to train with the
elves fifteen years ago.
Trin my brother, I hope you survive this
, he
thought.
And I hope to see you before I die.

Chapter
8: Origin of a Thief

Newhawk stared
at Siarra when she finished describing the call to gather, and hardly blinked
for a full minute. Taryn watched the druid leader consider his options with a
furrowed brow and wondered what he would do. He could either throw them out,
laugh, or disregard their words—but a leader of such quality was certain to
weigh his plan of action carefully.

When Newhawk
did speak, he said, “You have told me that Draeken—the same God of Chaos from
the legend—is invading with an army hundreds of times the population of our
world. He also sent an assassin that was the source of the dark fear that was
felt in all nations. In addition, all peoples must gather at Azertorn if we are
to survive. We then must prepare to defend ourselves—without fighting amongst
ourselves—while you go to defeat him.” His voice resonated deep and strong, but
the way he summed up their situation made it sound like he may doubt their
sanity.

Siarra nodded,
her expression sober as Newhawk asked, “How can I believe you?” His tone held
no trace of sarcasm or disbelief, and his honest question left an opportunity
to explain.

Siarra raised
an eyebrow. “Would you like to see what is coming?”

Newhawk cocked
his head, hesitating for a moment before he answered, “Yes, if I can.”

Siarra stood
and moved to stand next to Newhawk, who even sitting was almost as tall as the
elven Oracle. She placed the tips of her fingers onto the side of his face.
From his temple to his jaw, each point where her fingers touched his skin
glowed and shimmered. His eyes closed in response and for a brief moment
Newhawk’s expression remained calm—then his breath caught and he gripped the
side of his chair so hard his hands went white. Swallowing, his expression
darkened as if he were in intense pain.

Liri, Mae, and
Trin all gasped at the sight of the druid leader and Trin whispered, “What is
she doing to him?”

 “Showing him
the battle that is coming,” Taryn replied without taking his eyes from the
druid.

Mae threw him
a sharp look. “Did you see it too?”

“No, but I saw
her show the queen. I’ve never seen someone so devastated.”

For several
minutes they watched as Newhawk witnessed the coming future, until Siarra
separated the link and stepped back. The druid leader leapt up and stumbled to
the porch overlooking the forest. Looking upward he sighed in relief, and then
returned to collapse back into his chair.

 “I saw
Reiquen die.” He looked at them with a haunted expression. “Is that what will
happen if we gather—or if we don’t?”

“That is the
battle if we gather.” Her voice dropped. “If we don’t gather it is far worse.
That is a future you do not want to see.”

Newhawk leaned
forward, his expression one of desperation, “So what I saw is going to happen?”

“No,” Siarra
replied. “It is not certain. For one thing, I have come on this journey instead
of staying with the gathered races. That has already changed the future. Some
of the things you have seen will come to pass, others will change.”

Newhawk blinked
and leaned back. Staring off into space his composure returned and his
expression became calculating. After another minute of silence he shrugged and
sighed. “When do we need to leave?”

“Tonight,”
Siarra said and Newhawk’s expression turned grim, but he nodded again and moved
to the door. Opening it, he spoke to a man outside and Taryn caught enough to
hear he was summoning a council.

When he was
finished he remained standing and smiled without mirth. “Will you stay for the
night? I have had a room prepared for you.”

Liri spoke up
first. “Thank you, Guidrian, for you hospitality, and your willingness to join
the gathering. We will pray to Ero for your safety.”

He nodded and
indicated for them to follow him out of his home. Sweeping from the room he
descended the spiral staircase that wrapped around the tree trunk until they
reached the forest floor. Leading them through torch lit roadways, he headed towards
a small hut.

Opening the
door himself, he said, “This is where you may stay for the night. Your horses
will be outside when you awake.” He started to turn and then stopped to add, “I
apologize in advance for not seeing you off tomorrow. When I speak to the
council it will cause havoc among our people, and we will be in the middle of
preparations to bring in the smaller settlements.” His gaze flicked to Siarra.
“I promise we will reach Azertorn within four days.”

Siarra gave
him an understanding smile and touched the druid’s arm. "Trust your
instincts, Guidrian, and when you arrive at Azertorn, speak to Braon. I have
placed him in charge of the defenses, but he will need your help.”

The man nodded
and turned away, but hesitated and turned around. "It was good to see you
Jack," he said.

Taryn eyes
widened as he looked to the thief, who didn't meet the eyes of anyone,
including Newhawk. For the first time Taryn realized that Jack hadn't said a
word since they had entered the druid settlement. When he didn't respond, the
druid sighed and departed, leaving several confused individuals staring at
Jack.

"How do
you know Newhawk?" Siarra demanded.

He shrugged
and said, "I will meet up with you tomorrow morning." With that he
spun on his heel and stalked away.

"Jack!"
Siarra called, but he didn't turn.

"What was
that about?" Taryn asked.

"He has
issues," Trin said with a shrug, and turned to enter the hut.

Mae, still
frowning, followed him inside.

"Something
about his past haunts him here," Liri murmured, and turned to enter the
hut.

Taryn and
Siarra stared at the darkness where Jack had disappeared until Taryn asked, "Do
you think he will come back?"

Siarra shook
her head. "I don't know, but I think it best for us to get some answers."
Tilting her head upward, she said, "Can you summon Agrial please?"

Confused,
Taryn followed Siarra's gaze and spotted a familiar hawk perched on a branch.
"Do you think he will know about Jack?" Taryn asked.

"I am not
sure, but I doubt he will tell us himself."

Taryn grunted
in agreement, and together they waited until the druid stepped out of the
shadows. "Oracle, how can I assist you?"

Never one to
mince words, she asked, "What do you know about Jack Myst?"

Agrial winced.
"It is not a tale that is mine to tell."

"Please?"
Siarra asked. "Something tells me we will not hear it from him."

"That is
probably true," he said with a wry smile. "He is traveling with you
for a reason that I cannot fathom, so perhaps it would be best if you know the
truth."

Looking away, Agrial
blew out his breath, "His father was a druid in one of the smaller
settlements west of Keilera. I was told he used to be a good man, and had even
bonded with a lion, a sign of strength and wisdom. Few were aware of his taste
for strong drink.

 “At some
point the drink got the best of him and he began to . . . hurt Jack's mother,
who was not a true druid because she had no joined one. At the time Jack was
too young to do anything, barely fourteen if I recall, but he confronted his
father anyway. In response, his father gave him a thrashing that took months to
heal. I believe he still carries the scars on his back."

Agrial's gaze
flickered to Siarra before he looked away again. "In truth, we know little
about that time of Jack's life. What we do know came from his mother. She
shared a little with Newhawk, but not enough for him to understand the severity
of the issue.

"Soon
after that Jack came of age and departed for his joining, and Shadero came to
him. Shadero was a panther, strong and agile, and they were one of the best
matched pairs that I have ever seen.

"By that
time, Jack spent most of his time in the forest, and as a result, gained much
of Shadero's ability. As he drifted away, his father sunk deeper and deeper
into a bottle.

“He returned
one day to find his father once again striking his mother, and Jack leapt
between them. In a rage, Jack's father broke one of the strongest tenets of our
magic, and forced his Joré to attack his son. Shadero intervened . . . and died
at the hands of the lion. In the ensuing conflict—" He shifted his feet
and blinked away. "—Jack's mother was also slain." Agrial then shrugged,
his expression one of helplessness and regret. "We believe the drunkenness
had affected the lion as much as the father."

"What
happened after that?" Siarra asked in a hushed tone.

"Jack
ran, and once he made it into the trees, his father couldn't catch him. By the
time Jack returned, his father had become a Joreia in the night.

Startled,
Taryn asked, “Is that possible in such a state?”

“If the minds
are in synch, and both parties choose to, then it can happen—but the lion had
to agree. It must have been so twisted from his father’s influence that it
agreed to the joining.”

“What happened
to the . . . lion after that?” Taryn asked.

“He began to
attack travelers and tradesmen, but before anyone could find him . . . Jack
hunted him down and killed him.”

For a moment no
one spoke while Taryn struggled with what to say. Unable to meet Agrial's eyes,
he turned away and studied the darkening village. It seemed unimaginable that a
story so terrible could be true, and yet it explained volumes about Jack's
behavior.