Sunset of Lantonne Page 3

  The rest of the younglings either lay scattered around the field in some state of agony, or had disappeared into the woods. Only Raeln and the two older hunters were left.

  Ilarra had slowly come out from behind the tree as Raeln had torn through the challengers. She finally believed he had a chance of winning, though she could see that he was breathing harder than he had at the beginning. Aside from the slow panting and the disheveled look of his clothing, he looked as though he had done little more than stroll through the woods.

  Rolus was the first to act as Raeln tried to get to his feet. The elven hunter slashed at Raeln with his sword, holding nothing back. Raeln dodged and tumbled away, getting some distance between himself and Rolus, somehow even managing to backhand Rolus to force him away and slow him in the process.

  In the second or two Ilarra had been watching the flashes of Rolus’ sword coming dangerously close to Raeln, Ishande had disappeared. As Raeln came back onto his feet outside of Rolus’ reach, the lithe wildling woman reappeared at the tree line, leaping onto Raeln’s back. She hooked his arms, pulling him off-balance with as much practiced skill as Raeln. Then, with a hard kick with her paw to the back of one knee then the other, she forced Raeln to his knees without releasing his arms. That brought Raeln down below her height, giving her the leverage to actually hold him. For all of Raeln’s size and strength, with his arms back behind his shoulders and a grown woman exerting her weight and muscle against the joints, Ilarra could not see how he could possibly free himself.

  Stepping up in front of Raeln while wisely keeping out of kicking range, Rolus lowered the tip of his sword toward Raeln’s chest.

  “Ishande thought you would put up more of a fight,” he told Raeln, looking around at the hunters, then into the woods until he caught Ilarra’s eyes. After Rolus confirmed she was watching, he went back to watching Raeln. “You are good, but not better than a whole group of us. Give me the signal that you are done so we can all get on with our day.”

  Raeln’s ears drooped in a sign that he intended to yield, but Ilarra could see the slight smirk hidden by his thick fur. He somehow thought he still had an advantage, but Ilarra could not fathom what it might be. He was held and at weapon-point. If that was not defeated, she clearly had no understanding of how the hunters did their work.

  Abruptly dropping his shoulder, Raeln partially slid out of Ishande’s grip and drove himself backwards into her to get distance from Rolus. He used Ishande’s momentary scramble for control to hook his arms around her neck, pulling her overtop of himself. Using her like a shield, Raeln prevented Rolus from attacking until he could get his feet back under himself.

  Ishande was not about to give up, either. She drove her knee into Raeln’s side repeatedly, until he was forced to release her and block with his arms. Once she was free of his grip, Ishande dove back and away, drawing her own sword as she came up. Growling fiercely despite her vows of silence, the wildling warned Raeln against trying that again.

  Going in for the mock-kill, Rolus pushed his attack the instant Ishande cleared his path. He stabbed at Raeln, fast enough that Ilarra knew there was no chance of him stopping the blade in time if he did manage to connect with Raeln, but he never even came close to landing a solid hit. The flat of Rolus’ blade slid along Raeln’s forearms before being deflected, drawing barely enough blood to wet Raeln’s grey fur.

  Raeln abruptly twisted, stepping around the sword to come in on Rolus, as Ishande swept her weapon across where he had been. He drove his elbow into Rolus’ chest, knocking the breath from him. When Rolus did not drop, Raeln jabbed the elven man’s throat with the tips of his fingers, knocking him over in a fit of coughing.

  Trying to end the fight before Ishande could reach him, Raeln dashed across the clearing to where he had thrown down his knife, with Ishande following him at a quick walk, clearly allowing him to get away. When he reached the spot where the knife had been, Raeln looked around with a bewildered expression.

  Ishande cleared her throat, holding up Raeln’s knife for him—and the bystanders—to see, grinning wickedly. Then, once she knew he had seen her holding it, Ishande tucked the weapon into her belt, tying it off with a thin leather strap to keep it from being easily snatched. She tossed aside her sword, pulled off her quiver and bow and threw them away as well. Lowering herself into a stance that mirrored Raeln’s, she waited for Raeln to come after her.

  To Ilarra’s surprise, Raeln did not immediately take the invitation to attack. Instead, he relaxed and rolled his shoulders, stretching out as he began walking around the clearing, circling Ishande, forcing her to turn with him or risk letting him get behind her. The two seemed to be sizing each other up.

  When Raeln did strike, he rushed Ishande mid-step, when even Ilarra had believed him to be off-balance. He reached her quickly and the two snarled like beasts as they clawed, punched, and kicked at one another, neither able to get a solid hit.

  Ishande ducked a heavy-handed swing by Raeln, punching him in the stomach. Despite her smaller size, Ilarra could see that the blow hurt Raeln, though he could easily take more. It was Ishande’s follow-up that was far more dangerous, using her momentum from the first strike to spin and rake her untrimmed claws across his chest.

  The sheer ferocity of the attack made Ilarra gasp and wonder why any wildling would resort to such animalistic tactics. Raeln had always kept his claws trimmed short and Ilarra had never given them a thought.

  Stumbling back, Raeln did not take his eyes off Ishande, even as blood stained his ruined shirt and chest fur. The wound was deep, though Ilarra knew it probably looked worse to her, given that Raeln barely flinched. Once the fur filled back in, Ilarra doubted he would even have visible scars, but in the meantime, the injury would make it harder to keep fighting.

  The two rushed each other again, this time with Ishande trying to land a solid punch, but Raeln pushing straight through her attack to grab her and pin her arms. Growling angrily, Ishande bit down on Raeln’s shoulder, drawing blood that ran down his arm and darkened his tunic. After a moment of both struggling, Raeln managed to drive her to the ground, rolling her to her stomach to keep her from having any clear attack. Forcing her arms behind her back, he braced a knee against her lower spine.

  Despite Ishande’s struggles, Raeln held her firmly with his greater weight. He cautiously adjusted his positioning until he managed to extract one of his hands without letting Ishande free. Being careful not to slip and risk being mauled again, Raeln untied the strap on the knife at her side and pulled it free.

  Raeln lifted the knife and looked around, getting his bearings as to where he was in relation to the target he had designated at the start of the fight. Flicking his knife at it, he hit only a hair off-center, the knife sinking to its hilt in the hay backing of the target.

  “I’ll be damned,” muttered the elder that had started the challenge. “Can we talk you out of going? I need you training these pups.”

  Raeln smiled at the old wolf and shook his head, though he kept his grip on Ishande as she continued to snarl and snap at him. After a moment, the elder threw the jingling pouch at Raeln, which he caught mid-air. Easing back onto his haunches, Raeln stepped hurriedly away from Ishande, allowing her to get up, but keeping himself well away from her.

  Looking every bit the feral animal, Ishande lifted herself to all fours slowly, never taking her dark blue eyes off of Raeln. She bared her teeth briefly and stood up, cocking her head to study Raeln more carefully. Soon, the hostile feeling that radiated off her faded and she relaxed, shaking her head in frustration. Walking up to Raeln, she patted his chest gently near the claw wounds and gave him a meaningful stare. After a moment of the two watching one another, she left him and went to collect her brother, who was only beginning to stir.

  Raeln waited until Ishande had gotten a little farther away before turning to Ilarra and smiling broadly, holding up the bag of copper. He walked quickly her way, grabbing her hand and pressing the bag into it, before leading th
e way back toward where the gypsy caravan waited.

  “What was that last bit all about?” Ilarra asked softly, carrying the coin pouch with both hands. She could not even believe Raeln had gotten through that fight with only a few scrapes. He had come home with far worse more times than she could remember. “That last bit with Ishande. Was she threatening to kill you?”

  Eyeing her as though he wanted to ignore the question, Raeln finally pointed toward her maiden braid.

  “That was an invitation?” Ilarra asked in surprise, louder than intended. “That’s what it takes to get her attention?”

  Raeln nodded grimly and rubbed at the cuts on his chest.

  “That girl is scary, Raeln. Promise me you aren’t going to accept that offer.”

  Giving her an annoyed glance, Raeln shook his head and held up a hand covered with blood as though that explained everything.

  “I don’t know what you like when it comes to girls,” Ilarra teased, though she felt a little sick looking at the fresh blood. “Maybe that’s your thing.”

  Raeln let out such a disgusted grumble that Ilarra decided to let the topic go entirely, allowing him to have some time to himself as they headed back toward where she had last seen her father and Asha.

  Sure enough, as they came out on the main road, Ilarra’s father was still arguing with the caravan’s man.

  Asha had mostly given up on intimidation and had retreated to the edge of the road, squatting near the path the wagons would need to take to leave, apparently intending to stop them if they tried to leave without Ilarra and Raeln. As Raeln and Ilarra approached, Asha sniffed and looked their way, her eyes widening slightly and her pointed ears perking as she stared at Raeln. The old wolf eyed his wounds and narrowed her eyes, clearly intending to scold him in some manner.

  Giving her a very subtle shake of his head, Raeln led the way over to the wagons and Ilarra’s father. He stepped right up to the gypsy who had been doing the haggling, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt as both the wagoneer and Ilarra’s father stared at Raeln’s wounds.

  Raeln grunted, pointing at the large bag of coins that Ilarra held, before pulling his own pouch off his belt and holding it up. He pointed at Ilarra, himself, and then the wagons, after which he gave a loud huff and stared at the gypsy, daring him to refuse again.

  “Is a good deal I think, yes?” the man said quickly, snatching Ilarra’s father’s hand and shaking it without taking his eyes off Raeln. “The two bags of coin are good. The wildling and the girl will ride. Is no problem. We like extra passengers. We are friendly people.”

  Huffing again, Raeln walked past the elves to grab Ilarra’s bags and his single small one, carrying them toward the nearest covered wagon.

  “Is the wildling rabid?” the gypsy asked after Raeln began throwing the bags onto the wagon, though Ilarra was still in range to hear the man. “Is not problem, just wish to know.”

  “No, he is not rabid,” said Ilarra’s father, putting his own small coin pouch in Ilarra’s hand now that it was no longer needed to pay for their fare. “He has a short temper, though. Keep my daughter safe and he will be far happier.”

  The gypsy winced slightly, but nodded and said, “We treat her like one of our own, yes? Happy gypsy elf girl, so we have happy werewolf man.”

  “He is no werewolf,” Ilarra’s father said firmly. “He’s just…big.”

  “The wagons were attacked by werewolf last week,” the gypsy went on. “Less elfy clothing, more scars, but wildling look like werewolf, no? If attacked again, I think the wolf might save us, yes? You mind if we tear his clothing lots and have him growl at the werewolves? He might scare them off.”

  Sighing, Ilarra’s father began ignoring the man and instead turned to give Ilarra a warm hug. As soon as he released her, Asha appeared at Ilarra’s side and took her own turn hugging Ilarra.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Ilarra told Asha, burying her face in her adopted mother’s shoulder fur. “I promise.”

  Asha squeezed Ilarra a little tighter and then stepped away, smiling sadly. She glanced over at Raeln and her softened expression faded instantly. With a soft yip that Ilarra was willing to bet pushed the limits of her oath, Asha headed Raeln’s way, wordlessly scolding him and pointing at where he should have put the baggage. Then, pointing at his wounds, she gave him a glower and pointed at the home of the village’s only healer.

  “I will hold the wagons until she is done mothering him,” Ilarra’s father told her, laughing as the two wildlings marched away. “It’s just her way of keeping him a minute longer.”

  Giving Ilarra another hug, her father added, “The city is nothing like Hyeth, Ilarra. Be safe there.”

  “I have Raeln. He won’t let me get hurt.”

  Her father nodded and clung more tightly to her, then forced himself to step back.

  “Travel safely, Ilarra. And come home to me when you are done with your studies. Be sure not to let Raeln save you too often. You need to learn to take care of yourself.”

  Chapter Two

  “Heirs”

  May the ancestors guide our hands to preserve all that matters in this world and shield those we care about from harm.

  - Statement by Turess believed to found the order of the Preservers

  Therec watched as the distant wagons approached from the west, picking their way slowly through the snowy foothills of Turessi on one of the few windswept roads that the council had allowed to be open for foreigners. The gypsies came through once every few months on their way from one of the dwarven mining towns through Turessi and on south, past the dry lands and into the region held by Altis and Lantonne.

  He had waited with unease for those wagons to appear on the horizon, knowing they would eventually arrive, but hoping deep down that they were lost in one of the early winter storms. If they never came, he would be free of the commands he had been given. With their approach, he was bound by the decisions others had made for his life’s direction. His oath demanded he go, even if he disagreed with the council’s command.

  “Defy them,” Salda, his wife, told him. She hugged herself as though the snow and wind could actually give her a chill. “Tell the council that I am with child and they will relent on this order. We can make the lie a truth before they know for certain. A thousand miles with unmarked drunken fools…”

  “Gypsies,” insisted Therec, cutting off the rant. “They are the only ones traveling so far. The vast amounts they drink allow them to ignore the risks and the weather to take me south.”

  “Uncivilized dogs,” added the woman, frowning as she stared at the wagons. “Why the council allows them onto our lands, I will never understand. I could not even find record of their ancestry in the clan’s library.”

  “We make concessions to broker better relations with the less educated nations,” he reminded her. “If we did not, I would spend all my time with our parents. There would be far more of them than us, if we began a war with everyone.”

  “Better that than being sent to realms that war endlessly, while calling us the savages. What point is there in seeking peace between nations that will simply unite against us if they could find a way to reach us?”

  “There is likely no point, other than goodwill.”

  Salda turned her head, giving Therec a glimpse of her tattooed face under her hood. Like any other educated Turessian, the black tattoos that ran from the middle of her forehead around to her cheeks indicated recognition by their clan for her skill and knowledge. One near the middle of her eyebrows also marked her as his wife, which was only added to one’s honor markings if the person’s spouse held rank within the clan. If he had been poorly-regarded, Salda would have been discouraged from acknowledging him publicly as her husband.

  “Ocshand was sent to the city of Altis months ago,” she reminded him. “We have heard nothing from him. You know the whispers. The clan believes that the council is sending our people to the southlands to be forgotten, so that our clan is weakened. Rumo
rs abound that other clans are being similarly thinned.”

  “They are nothing more than whispers, Salda. Ocshand was a coward and a simpering weakling. Likely, they saved us the effort of having him killed. There is no loss in sending him away.”

  “Do you think the barbarians are so wise as to realize he does not well represent Turessi?”

  Therec thought on that a moment before answering, “I have to believe they have some wisdom in their leadership, or this entire peace mission is a waste of time. You know I cannot disobey the council, so I must believe they are doing this for good reason.”

  “Husband,” she insisted, turning to face him, though she kept herself far from him. “You will be gone for no less than two years with the time to travel that far and the mission itself. Why would you think I would accept this?”

  “Salda,” Therec said softly, reaching for her. Immediately, she stepped away and he realized that he had not been thinking. In public, an attempt to touch her would have been overly vulgar. She was right in avoiding his touch, so he let his hand drop to his side. “My wife, I cannot refuse the council. I will do my duty and I will return as soon as I am able.”

  Salda frowned and looked back toward the distant wagons.

  “Ourin will be marked and well into his training before you return, Therec.”

  “You think I have forgotten our son? I brought this up at the council meeting, but they insisted. They did offer to let me bring both of you with me. It would have been unfair to him, as young as he is. I would never refuse him the right of his first honor markings and entrance to the order of Preservers.”

  Nodding, Salda said nothing else. She seemed to have resigned herself to his departure, no matter how unhappy she was with it.

  Turning away from the wide snow-covered plains between their camp and the mountains the gypsies were approaching from, Therec looked over his clan’s holdings and wished there was something he could do to stay. So many people here depended on him, and he knew it would be difficult for everyone for a time after he left.