Seers of Verde: The Legend Fulfilled: Book One (24 page)

24

The village elders gazed at the sad sight of the three slain children stretched out before them. They looked peaceful, almost as if they were in a deep sleep, but these young Nuvens would never awaken.

The attackers had targeted only the boys among a group of children who were fishing and playing in a mountain stream. Their sisters were unharmed, but the killers had terrorized the girls by chasing them through the woods

“My poor son is dead and my daughter is so frightened she has not eaten for three days,” Amatti Zent wailed as she stroked the boy’s thick brown curly hair. “We came here to escape the Tanlians, but these Sankari are much worse.” Amatti’s mate tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away.

“The attacks are getting worse,” she shouted. The crowd behind her called out the names of loved ones and friends who had been killed by these mysterious attacks. Someone behind Amatti yelled, “We want to return to the Valley of Heroes. We were safer there. We knew how to fight the Tanlians.”

The crowd stopped shouting as an old man rose slowly from the elders’ table. Even Amatti was quiet as she watched him shuffle over to the body of her eleven-year-old son. With great effort, the elder knelt and tenderly kissed the forehead of each boy. Tears ran down his craggy cheeks and made his long white beard glisten.

His knees cracked as he stiffly stood up to face the crowd. “I do not understand these attacks,” Josid Vonn said in a hoarse voice. “We have beseeched the Tarylan Seers for help, but they claim ignorance of these killers.”

In a surprisingly stronger tone, much the way an orator would fluctuate his voice to keep an audience’s attention, Josid continued. “We Nuvens have every right to live in Verde Valley. It would insult our ancestors if we gave up and returned to the Valley of Heroes. We never gave up trying to climb Mount Barrasca. Dozens died trying until my niece and nephew found the way here twenty harvests ago,” he said, pointing to a stoic Raaf Vonn who sat listening at the elders’ table.

Josid glared at the crowd. No one said a word as he turned and looked at the other elders. “Our people need protection from these cowardly Sankari who attack our villages in the middle of the night and kill innocent younglings. We need to return to the old ways of protecting ourselves.”

Raaf raised his eyebrows as he listened. He finally understood what his kinsman was saying. “Uncle, we need more Defenders to protect our people. Only a handful, besides myself, left the Valley of Heroes to settle here.”

Josid nodded. “Exactly, Raaf. That is why I am asking you to take your sons and the sons of the other Defenders back to the Valley of Heroes. They need to be trained in the old ways. When you return, try to beseech as many young Defenders as you can to come back with you. Tell them their people need them.”

Raaf regarded his uncle for a moment, then rose to address the crowd. “I will take my two sons and daughter and gather as many other younglings as are willing to travel back to the Valley of Heroes. I am partly responsible for why many of you are here, so I will help however I can to protect our people.”

¶ ¶ ¶

Detta’s eyes filled with tears as she kissed her three children goodbye. Raaf’s mate did not object when he told her of his uncle’s request to take younglings back to the Valley of Heroes. Her reaction had surprised him. Instead of worrying for her children, she was proud they were asked to aid their fellow Nuvens.

“You are a Vonn. It is your blood duty, a well as our children’s, to protect our people. This murder of innocent Nuvens must stop.”

Detta cupped her hands on each of her children’s cheeks and smiled lovingly as she looked deeply into their eyes. Even though they did not closely resemble each other, the same pairs of blue-green eyes stared back at her.

“Mama, I can’t wait to see the Valley of Heroes,” crowed twelve-year-old Grig. “When we return, we will be great warriors!”

Seventeen-year-old Nyrthka tousled her youngest brother's hair. “It will be many harvests before you grow into a great warrior, little mouse,” she said, laughing.

Fifteen-year-old Xander just shook his head at his siblings’ antics and looked expectantly at his father. The middle son was quieter and more intense than his more personable siblings.

Even though he said little about the trip, Xander’s eyes glowed with excitement about the adventures that awaited them. Already a proven hunter and expert archer, he was eager to test himself during the Defender training.

Raaf looked at his children. “Kiss your mother goodbye. It may be a few harvests until you see her again. We still need to see your grandmother and aunt . . . ”

Before Raaf could finish what he was saying, a blonde woman glided through the doorway. Darya brushed past her brother and stood before the three younglings. The youngsters stopped clowning and stood quietly as their aunt gently touched their hair, a rare show of emotion for her. They had learned early on to respect their eccentric kinswoman.

“She understands you are returning to our home valley,” a voice said from the doorway. Raaf turned and warmly welcomed his mother. “Well, give your grandmother a hug, you young warriors,” Marna said, smiling. “Just promise me to return safely. It seems I am destined to always watch my kin leave me.”

As Raaf was bidding his mother farewell, Darya tugged on his sleeve. “Yes, Darya, what is it?” he said.

She pointed out the door. “You go home. I come, too.” Raaf was stunned, but how could he argue with the woman who had discovered the passageway to Verde Valley.

Darya reached over and grasped Nyrthka’s hand. The young woman was startled, but she did not pull away. “I take Nyrthka to see Papa’s stone,” she said in her usual emotionless tone. “Xander and Grig come, too.”

Detta stepped over to Marna and put her arm around the older woman. “We will wait together for all of you to return to us,” she told her mate and children.

Raaf nodded and gestured for his three children and Darya to follow. “Come then, we have to fetch more younglings. It will be a long and hard trek for everyone.”

Turning back one final time, Raaf gazed at his mate and his mother. “I will do everything in my power to bring them back safely to you. When we return, they will be able to guard our people from any attacker.”

Even though her eyes glistened with tears, Marna smiled. “Yes, my son. It always seems our people need Defenders to protect us.”

Raaf nodded. “Defenders in Verde Valley will be a welcome sight.”

25

Vitor Pratern flashed a wicked smile as he surveyed the small Nuven village. The first light of dawn was just seeping through the trees, and no one could be seen moving. The Sankari leader and his men were anticipating their first raid in four harvests.

The secret campaign to drive the Nuvens back to their home valley stalled when the newcomers abandoned their outlying villages and gathered in their temple or smaller but well-defended fortresses. Single raids against the Nuvens now were useless. The Verdan plotters were unhappy their plan had failed, but took some satisfaction the Nuven sprawl into their territory had at least been halted.

However, two lunars ago, without warning, the Nuvens once again ventured out and were re-establishing their villages throughout the valley with surprising speed. This new migration caught the Sankari by surprise. The secret units almost were in the process of being disbanded when the Nuvens left the security of their temples.

Now Vitor and his men crept up on the village, much like predators preparing to launch themselves on a helpless victim. The Sankari plan was to kill all but one of the villagers — a witness who hopefully would help spread terror through the Nuvens — and burn their shelters to the ground.

By their best estimate, there could barely be more than thirty people in the village. The sixteen Sankari expected to cut that number in half after their first sweep through the cabins. After that, the confusion of the attack would work in their favor as they swarmed through the village, cutting down anyone attempting to fight back.

Vitor raised his hand to signal for the attack to begin, but he never completed the motion. A deadly whoosh sliced through the air. The Sankari captain watched in horror as the man next to him gasped in pain, his hand clutching helplessly at the arrow in his chest. He took two tumbling steps forward, then collapsed dead.

Seven Sankari had been hit and were now sprawled on the ground, either fatally wounded or dead. The memory of the deadly attack in the grove after the first contact between Verdans and Nuvens flashed through Vitor's mind.

“Take cover behind the trees,” he yelled to his men. They were at a loss about what to do. This was a new experience; Sankari had never been attacked before. As the attackers watched, ten shadowy figures slowly made their way toward them.

Vitor drew a long knife and growled with hatred. “They are nothing but Nuvens. We need to avenge our brothers,” he called out.

Another admonished him. “Only nine of us are left alive, and there are at least ten of them. We need to retreat now.”

“Sankari don’t retreat,” Vitor yelled. “Who’s with me?” All but one shouted in agreement. Now that the initial shock of the attack had worn off, the other Sankari were filled with rage and thoughts of revenge.

When the ten figures from the village drew near, Vitor and seven of his men rushed the Nuvens. A lone Sankari hung back, the one who had wanted to retreat.

Bodies flailed at each other, but the skirmish ended quickly for the Sankari. Only Vitor was left. He and Xander Vonn measured one another warily then charged.

Their knives clashed. Metal on metal rang out as each combatant tried to break through the other's defenses. Panting heavily from his exertions, Vitor’s frustration gnawed in his guts until he exploded in a frantic rush at Xander.

The young Nuven easily ducked the attack, sidestepped his opponent and landed a sharp kick to the Sankari leader’s knee. Vitor howled in pain and collapsed. He tried to rise but his injured leg crumpled.

Bracing himself with his good leg, Vitor lunged again at the approaching Defender. Xander blocked the strike and drove his knife into the Verdan’s chest. Vitor choked out one word — “Nuven” — then rolled onto his side, dead.

The lone Sankari squinted through the early morning shadows, trying hard to see who survived. Terror filled him as he heard only Nuvens speaking to each other. With his worst fears realized, the surviving Verdan’s only thought now was of survival. He bolted from behind his tree and ran.

From behind him, he heard a shout. “One escapes! Nyrthka, you are closest.” The Sankari heard the sound he was dreading. Someone was chasing him. Fleeing for his life, he tried to put as much distance between him and his pursuer as possible.

The escapee leapt over downed trunks and zigzagged through the forest in a desperate attempt to escape. Adrenaline and fear propelled his body to keep going as the sounds of the pursuer got closer.

After almost an hour of this mad dash, the Verdan’s lungs felt like they were going to explode and his clothes were drenched in sweat. Knowing he could not keep up this frantic pace much longer, the Sankari knew he had to take a chance to save his life.

Scurrying through a ravine, he bolted up a downed trunk and quickly took cover behind a large tree on the other side. His only hope was to catch the Nuven by surprise and wound or kill him. The Verdan warrior fought off the overwhelming urge to cough and gasp.

Several minutes passed, but the Sankari only heard the sounds of the forest. However, he knew the Nuven was out there, probably waiting for him to move or make a deadly mistake.

The Verdan looked up briefly at the sound of rustling overhead, but dismissed it as one of those bushy-tailed rodents. As soon he looked away, a body hurtled from the branches above, knocking him to the ground. The force of the blow pushed him several meters away, giving him time to leap to his feet. Before him crouched a somber-looking young woman.

The Nuven barely looked old enough to be an adult. The Sankari sneered at the sight of a female but his expression melted into a shock as an arrow whizzed through the air, burying itself into a tree only centimeters from his head.

Nyrthka mimicked her opponent's sneer then flung her bow and quiver to the ground. She brandished two imposing-looking knives. Verdan and Nuven circled each other warily. Neither made the first move.

In a surprising move, Nyrthka took a few steps backward and sheathed her knives. She had been studying her opponent intently and saw only a fearful resolve in the other to defend himself.

“Why do you Sankari want to kill us? We came in peace. We have never harmed your people.”

The Sankari’s eyes were wide with surprise. He studied his young opponent warily but did not let his guard down. “Your people want to settle here, but you do not respect our religion or learn our language. You live away from us and build your own villages.”

Nyrthka shook her head. “Our ancestors sacrificed themselves so your people could settle here in peace. It is our right to be here, too. We are as committed to our religion and language as you are to yours.”

This was the first time this Verdan had spoken with a Nuven. Even though they were in a face off, the young woman’s sincerity impressed him. “Your words may be true, Nuven, but one of us will die here today, and nothing will change.”

Nyrthka regarded the Sankari for a few seconds, sheathed her knives and slowly backed away. “Go and tell the others like yourself that Nuven Defenders are now prepared to protect our people and our property.”

The Sankari also retreated but kept his eyes fixed on Nyrthka. He was shaking with relief at not having to fight for his life. “I will give both your messages to the other Sankari. I cannot guarantee hostilities will cease. Too many have sworn oaths against your people.”

Nyrthka stopped and cocked her head. “Both messages?”

The Sankari nodded. “Yes, I will tell them why you fight.” Both warriors gave each other a respectful nod and continued backing away from each other. “I pray we do not have to face each other again,” the Verdan said, lowering his knives.

Nyrthka smiled. “If we do, fight well Sankari.”