Legacy of the Defender (The Defender Series Book 1) (4 page)

With my vision swimming, my head felt lighter and lighter.  Darkness rushed in on my thoughts faster than I could react.  My grip on the creature relaxed.  My thumb slid from its eye socket, but I continued to try to strike.  Each attempt grew weaker.  Regaining my footing was difficult due to the rocks on the shore.  They were slippery with blood.  Gravity put me flat on my back.  I tried to call out but could not as the numbness came into my neck and shoulders.  The creatures were starting to eat my flesh as my strength left me.  I lay there panting and almost paralyzed.  The numb sensation turned slightly euphoric as it allowed the creatures to ease me gently toward death.  My arm dropped to my side, struck a rock, and started to bleed.

My other hand found its grip somehow and closed around the sharp stone.  I mustered everything from deep within and sat up.  Swinging the stone, I smashed the creature’s skull with devastating force.  It let out a short cry and fell limp, releasing its grip on my leg.  Teeth slid down my flesh, tearing me open even more.  The creature gently bobbed and floated away once it let go of my destroyed leg.

The second of the two beasts saw these events unfold and renewed its claim on my right arm.  Very little strength remained as the damage worsened.  My right leg was no longer recognizable, and my arm was practically down the creature’s throat.  It did some sort of frenzied move, as if to swallow my entire arm.  I was thankful for the numbness now, since such pain would certainly have caused my body to shut down and go into shock.  Getting up on my left elbow was more than a chore and I tried to find another sharp rock, but to no avail.  Blood flowed freely from my right forearm and made it hard for me to grip anything. 

Seconds rolled by and panic was setting in.  The adrenaline finally hit me while the anger and the sheer force of will were fighting to stay conscious long enough to kill the thing.  If that succeeded, I did not know.  Self-doubt hit.  I worried that walking was not going to be an option and camp was not even close.  For a moment, I wondered where my damn teacher was and how this could have happened after everything I had learned.  Finally consumed and digested by something unidentifiable was irony within irony.

Refocusing yielded a stone and the strength to swing it mustered in my core.  The blow glanced off the creature’s thick hide, making it squeal again.  Yet it kept chomping away on my arm.  Swinging repeatedly, I saw a few chunks of its scaly, thick hide break off.  Blackish, rotten-smelling blood oozed from the creature.  Nearly spent and out of strength, I started to believe I was about to fail and lose this fight to something that was even lower on the food chain than I was. 

Blood covered the shoreline, theirs, and mine.  A vile stench overcame my senses and the need to vomit struck.  Breakfast came back up and it hit the creature right in the eyes and splattered all over its face.  Howls of pain ensued as the acid and food particles got into the sockets and began to burn.  It thrashed around for a few seconds before I lost sight of it and passed out.  Blackness must have taken me suddenly, for I had no memory of hitting my head on the ground.

*     *     *

The wind blew gently across my face causing goose bumps to rise up, which, in turn, caused pain in the damaged areas of my body.  I felt cold all over.  My eyes barely saw the sun setting in the sky, and the brightness that shone on the hills intensified right at dusk.  Everything hurt.  Lying there, my other senses began to register the feelings of more pain and cold and wet.  It took a moment to orientate myself to my surroundings.  My brain even hurt with sickness and I felt dizzy with weakness.  The lingering taste of my breakfast reminded me that I had released it into the face of a creature.  My throat burned from not getting a chance to rinse it out.

Hard to do that when you are out cold.

I tried to raise my head, but more pain followed, then nausea.  I fought to hold down what food remained in my stomach: food that would provide me with the energy to keep warm.  Rolling my head to my right, I scanned the scene to see what I was up against, but my eyes failed to locate any attackers.  The one that had been chewing on my arm had departed after I vomited in its face.  The thought of it stumbling around and becoming something else’s dinner made me smile – a fitting end to the food chain, in my eyes.  I did not feel so superior at that moment. 

My right hand throbbed.  Upon raising it, the memory of losing its digits replayed.  The blood still oozed, but at least clotted.  It was all that I could do not to pass out again when I realized my leg was still in the stream.  At least the cold kept the muscle tight, so bleeding was minimal now.  My attempt to move caused shooting pain.  My tongue got in the way of crying out and I bit down hard, adding insult to injury.  My right forearm was missing a fair amount of flesh, further complicating my trauma.  I was a mess.

As I struggled to move, funny sounds came from my mouth, grunts and half cries of pain.  The noises were irregular and sounded like a drunken ape giving birth to a rhinoceros.  I had to laugh a little, and forced myself to sit up and take stock of my leg.  The bone was visible in several places where the quadriceps was missing.  The wound still bled, but barely.  The ice cold water in the stream had kept me from bleeding out.  For this, I was grateful.

My senses were coming back faster than I wanted, and a slight panic hit me for a few seconds while I assessed my situation.  My shirt was still lying there.  I grabbed it and tried to tear it in half with my damaged left hand.  A growl escaped my lips.  Clouded thoughts hampered my work as the blood started to flow again.  I only had a few minutes to find a sharp rock before I would bleed out. 

Holding the shirt in my teeth and under my good arm, I worked hard to tear the material.  The task was still rough.  It took a few seconds to start, but once it did, the fabric, along with the skin on my chest in a few places, sliced easily.  I finally used my teeth and tore it the rest of the way. 
Now for the fun part!
 

Trying to wrap my leg up one handed was a comedy act.  It took me a few tries to secure my leg so the strips stay tied by themselves.  Thinking back to my days in CPR class, I wished I had paid closer attention.  I knew this was going to hurt like hell and my mind prepared for what was about to be done.  I pulled as hard as I could.  My head swam, and all went dark.

*     *     *

Light again. 

My eyes popped open.  The cold flow of the river stirred me awake.  My body was shaking uncontrollably and felt incredibly numb.  My muscles were stiff beyond fluid motion.  Death should have taken me then in its icy embrace.  How I survived was beyond me.  Forcing myself to sit up, I found that movement came a little easier.  My morale lifted slightly.  It took me a few tries and lots of rolling back and forth to get my good leg under me, and an explosion of pain was my reward; that, however, did not deter my motivation to live.  Fire was needed and fast.

Several seconds passed with attempts to regain my balance resulting in falls each time.  Once up, limping made me wince with every step as I made my way back to camp.  All my items remained there at the river’s edge, including my other clothes and the cleaning supplies.  Everything became irrelevant at that point.  The pain was returning in full force with every movement, and the intensity increased with every footfall.  My body kept shivering.  With movement, I warmed up slightly but the temperature continued to drop.  The battle was slowly being lost.

The sun gave me a small measure of warmth and was the saving grace in the journey back to camp, located over at least one hill as the crow flies.  Time was running out.  I could not slow down.  Climbing over even a small hill would prove troublesome with a broken body.  I could not risk the delay or loss of strength.  The decision to stay on the “known” path and not risk the hill seemed to be the wiser choice.  I was able to keep a regular pace for a few minutes at a time, but had to slow down and let the muscles recover every so often.  The most difficult terrain was last, thankfully, as it gave me some time to work up to it. 

I had been hobbling for several hours, and camp seemed so far away.  My morale sank with each step.  The feeling of hopelessness hung on each moment.  However, giving up was not an option.  If nothing else, my training had taught me that.  A Defender does not quit, no matter what.

Exhaustion and hypothermia were not far off.  I was naked, had no shoes, and was losing blood with each step.  A large drink of water should have been on my list, but my wits had not been about me before I left the river, and all I could think about was getting back to my teacher.  His comments about responsibility rang in my ears.  I tried to be more careful with my surroundings.  His logic was to know the environment and avoid letting the enemy have any advantage.  Even though the river was familiar to me, they had the advantage, for I had never run into them before.  Perhaps they had just arrived in the area.

Pondering the attack gave me something to do, so pain was not the only thing on my mind.  My steps labored with each footfall, becoming more tiresome.  I lost track of my thoughts and found myself not even thinking about the turn towards camp.  I was just three steps past the trail when I realized my mistake.  After turning around, I walked down the final stretch down into the vale and heard the crackle of a warm fire.  The last few hundred feet seemed to be the easiest as help was now close, as long my teacher did not choose to torture me for my incompetence.  Death felt as if it was behind me tapping me on the shoulder when the light of the fire came into view.  Light was fading and dusk settled in over the camp as my hobbled form arrived.

“Teacher?”  I croaked with a broken voice on approach.  He sat by the fire, nose still in his tome.  My footfalls suddenly became heavy to the point it was now shuffling that brought me to his side.  He did not show any signs of coming out of his trance.  On my approach, the fire already began to warm me up.  I stopped next to him and touched him on the shoulder with my good hand.

"Did you come back for your sword?"

I wanted to cry.  I walked over and obediently tried to don the cross baldric.  The blades never felt so heavy.  I grimaced and tried not cry out as the worn leather brushed my fresh wounds.  I turned and looked at my teacher expecting to pass out at any moment.

“You have passed the test.  You will continue to be trained.”  He did not even look up at me, and I moved and sat down next to him.  It was more of a fall, actually, and I came down hard wincing and trying not to cry out.  

“You are really hurt, yes?”

I looked at him and did not say a word.  He reached out his hand and took my left in his.  He looked at my missing fingers and then back to my face.  To my surprise, he smiled and it felt slightly uncomfortable at that moment, but I forced a half smile back that was more of a grimace.  Suddenly, healing energy coursed through my hand and down my arm.  It was so soothing.  My mind felt sleepy. 

He muttered under his breath in a kind of chant.  Energy grew more intense as it flowed throughout my broken body.  Muscles began to relax as they started to weave themselves back together.  It is a strange feeling when flesh knits itself and grows at the same time.  A blue glow came from his hand and flowed over my arm.  He continued to chant.

Many things swirled in my mind, but I lost all of them before a thought could form.  I sat there staring at him while he chanted and muttered.  The glow of the fire caught my eye with its dancing flame.  The plumes of flame seemed to dance in rhythmic harmony to Malnuras’s voice.  With each phrase he spoke, the energy of the fire would vibrate back and forth.  It moved in such synchronicity that I found myself hypnotized by its heat and light as well as its sound.  His voice fell farther and farther away, like I was falling into a well and the sound of him speaking echoed off the walls and grew quieter and quieter.  Yet I could still hear him.

The light began to form into runes coming right off the fire, and the flames pushed them higher and higher.  Smoke swirled and kept the rhythm going and the runes floated away and up.  I tried to focus on them as they formed in the fire.  Then I realized they were the words that he was speaking.  The sound of his voice was creating a pattern in the flames.  The very air around us was heavy and still, as if we were in a room with no circulation.  The intensity in his voice built even though he was still getting quieter.  Then silence came.  Dancing flames continued to form runes, and the smoke continued to push them up and away.  A sense of protection fell over the vale.

I relaxed.  Mentally, I felt like I could take on anything.  A renewed strength filled my mind.  My body felt strong and ready.  The wounds had healed and my missing fingers had reappeared, allowing me to flex my hand into a tight fist without pain.  I was not used to magical healing.  It fascinated me truly.  The fact that he could do it so easily always made me wonder at the source of his power.  I could not logically process nor fathom the answer.  Malnuras finished his incantation, and his meditation state seemed to fade as he opened his eyes and stared at me intently. 

“You seem to be receiving more wounds even with victories achieved.  Why do you think this is?  Have I not trained you well?” 

The answer eluded me.  No reason came to mind beyond it being a natural part of war to take casualties.  Then a simple answer came forth.

“Training builds character in oneself.  Lessons will bring wisdom.  With each wound I suffer, a lesson is learned; thus, more wisdom is gained in failure than in victory.”  I was surprised to hear such words flow forth from my own lips.  I smiled at him for a moment before he spoke in return.