Severed Destinies (12 page)

With a powerful strike, the officer brought his shield around and smashed the sword from Celestius' hand, causing the nobleman to turn slightly with the blow. Too late, Celestius saw the clever follow-up strike from the officer's sword. It cut deep into his side and he cried out in agony, dropping his shield and falling backwards. He looked up at the foreigner standing over him and clutched his side. His blood seeped from the wound and he knew that it was over.

His mind became filled with images of Gorric, Elna, Kithia, Cassi and even Khir. He had no doubt that these foreigners were here to conquer and he prayed that his family were kept safe from harm. Somehow, he was positive that his son had escaped the tavern before it caught fire. He smiled as he pictured his wife and children at their home in Tamriel and a warmth washed across him. Lost in his dying thoughts, Celestius never saw the officer raise his sword above him.

Draliak looked down at the rotian's still body. He felt invigorated by the battle, yet held a certain respect for his dead opponent. He admired those brave enough to face him alone.

"I want his sword," stated the commander to his nearest men.

One soldier scooped up the blade from the mud and offered it hilt-first to Draliak, who took it and examined it.

"Rotian design is strange, but sturdy enough." Draliak sheathed his own sword, then glanced around the square. The victory was their's. Barentin was burning and it's populace were either dead or captured. It was over quicker than he had expected.

He heard someone approaching and looked over his shoulder to see Balthus picking his way past the bodies. The invoker was wounded across the face and Draliak could see the anger in his eyes.

"What happened?"

Balthus sighed and nodded towards the tavern. "We killed three of those inside. Four escaped us."

"Escaped?"

"One of them did this" Balthus pointed to his scar. "Your soldiers were of no use. They allowed them to escape."

"Where are
my
soldiers?" asked Draliak.

"I sent them after those four Rotians."

Draliak shook his head. "What will Sephonis say to you when he sees that wound?"

"He will say I was foolish for engaging in combat, but this wound proves nothing. It was a lucky strike from one who will soon be dead and is of no consequence."

Draliak took a deep breath. "The first stage is completed, Balthus. Let's hope they fared as well in Boraila."

"With Sephonis there, they will not fail."

"I know they will not fail, but Boraila is a city, not a town. By now, our ships should have docked there. We will hear from Sephonis soon enough I expect."

Balthus looked down at one of the dead Barentin guardsmen lying in the mud. "Do we return to camp?"

"We return to camp tonight with the captured Rotians, then at first light tomorrow we leave for Tamriel."

"Tamriel? Another town?" Balthus was less than enthusiastic.

"To the west, yes." Draliak moved away towards his waiting steed. "We will repeat this victory there and take more Rotians. Eventually, when we continue west, we join up with Sephonis and the rest of the men in Boraila. Then he can put these Rotians on ships and sail them back to Shada-Kaviel for…whatever purpose he has in mind." He swung up into the saddle with ease and wheeled his horse around.

"Where are you going now, commander?" called Balthus. "The battle is won."

Draliak smiled. "I said I wanted to look down on this town after we were victorious. I'm riding back to the hill overlooking Barentin."

As he rode away, Balthus put one hand up to his face and traced the line of his wound with one finger. He did not react to the discomfort it caused. He cursed his arrogance in underestimating these Rotians. After all, they were like trapped animals, more dangerous when cornered. In Tamriel, he would not make the same mistake again.

Chapter 9

Two days and two nights passed by agonizingly slowly.

The rain fell for nearly the entire day after the destruction of Barentin, causing the Ulmerien to swell. If the weather had not cleared on the second morning, then the banks would surely have burst and flooded the land nearby. For this, the four rotians who had hidden so close to the great river were thankful.

They were cold, hungry and completely confused by the events that had transpired in Barentin. The invading force had struck so quickly and so precisely that hardly any of the townsfolk had escaped. Several joined these four, but had left their company on the second afternoon to get away from what was left of the trade town of Barentin.

It seemed so surreal now.

"We need to move away from the river," exclaimed Varayan, sweeping his hand outwards towards the eerily quiet Ulmerien.

Gorric stood staring back to the east, his thoughts plagued with images of what fate had befallen his father. He had hardly uttered two words since they left the town.

After their encounter with the attackers behind the tavern, they had fled through the dark alleys until they neared the docks. From there, they moved unseen in the shadows, avoiding patrols of the foreign soldiers. They had found two families shivering in fright, clutching food and any possessions they could grab before the invaders arrived, and had taken them along. Eventually, they had escaped the town and made their way along the edge of the Ulmerien, aiming to find the shelter of woods. They had left the town behind, occasionally looking back at the burning buildings sending plumes of black smoke into the air.

Now, the four men rested in a secluded copse just east of where the river forked.

"It's dangerous here," said Varayan to the others. "Those riders we saw yesterday were moving south. I'd be willing to wager that they were heading to the bridge."

"What if they were?" asked Rynn, sighing. It had taken most of the first day for Rynn to regain the feeling in his limbs properly after being struck by the strange dagger wielded by the foreign magic-user. However, he had not forgotten that Varayan had, for some reason, saved his life. Rynn was bemused by the fact that he owed his life to a thief.

Varayan glanced back at Rynn, who sat against a narrow tree. "These men that attacked Barentin obviously didn't want people escaping across the river."

"So the riders were going to watch that nobody tried to do so," nodded the acolyte, looking out at the flowing waters nearby.

Khir looked across at his quiet friend and felt the pain that Gorric must have been experiencing, leaving his father in Barentin fighting a battle which could not be won. He doubted that Celestius was alive now, but it was not something he intended mentioning. "Gorric?"

"What is it?" Gorric asked, his voice distant.

"What do you say? Shall we leave the river's edge?"

Gorric slowly turned and the others could see the dark rings beneath his eyes. He looked almost ready to drop where he stood. "Varayan's right," he mumbled. "They could have riders looking up and down the Ulmerien at this very moment. We are in no fit state to face them, so it's best if we head northwest."

At this, Varayan frowned. "Northwest? What would be the point? There is only another bridge in that direction, probably guarded also."

Gorric nodded. "Yes, I know. We have to head back to Tamriel."

"I agree," said Khir, liking the sound of returning home after such an ordeal. "But how do we get across the bridge if it's guarded."

"We wait until nightfall and then go under it." Gorric swayed slightly.

"Under it?" cried Varayan. "Swim the Ulmerien? Are you insane? The current would sweep us away and we'd drown. Wonderful plan, Gorric."

"I don't hear
you
coming up with one," Khir snapped.

"No, he's right, Khir," sighed Gorric, putting one hand to his head. "I'm not thinking clearly. That would be suicide." For a moment, he stood silent, listening to the river running alongside him, then he continued. "We need to judge what we're dealing with. We'll make our way to the bridge and arrive at nightfall, so as to get a good view of the defenses there."

Varayan shrugged. "I don't like the idea of crossing any bridge, but you can try if you like."

Rynn looked up at the thief. "What do you intend to do then?"

"On my own, I reckon I can reach Naskador…or even go across the border into Morassia." He glanced at the others, to see their reaction.

"It would be foolish to split up now," said Gorric. "We need to be able to help each other, at least until we reach Tamriel. Once there, you can go one way" - He pointed a finger at Varayan - "and we can go another."

"I need to return to Boraila," Rynn stated. "I must tell Ranesch of Forven's death." Images of Forven's murdered body flashed into his head and he groaned, wishing that they would stop tormenting him.

"Then you need to come with us," Gorric told the acolyte. He turned to face Varayan. "So do you. We had our differences back in Barentin, but now we need each other to survive."

"You were ready to turn me into the guards," Varayan reminded him. "Why should I help you?"

Gorric's shoulders sagged. "Please yourself, but you know that I'm right about this."

Khir walked to the edge of the copse and peered out across the grassland to the east. In the distance, he spotted movement along the horizon line. "Gorric, there are riders."

Gorric spun on his heel, nearly overbalancing, and moved to his friend's side. "Where?"

"They are moving west at a fair speed. I can't tell how many. At this distance, they appear and disappear too frequently for me to judge."

"Then we should head for the bridge now." Gorric turned again and the whole world suddenly slid sideways.

Khir heard his friend fall and was immediately at his side. "Gorric?" he cried, worried that the large man had sustained some injury they had not noticed before.

Rynn moved to crouch next to him and leant down close. "He sleeps," said the acolyte. "I think the trauma of the last few days has finally caught up with him. We should make him comfortable, or at least as well as we can."

As Rynn began dragging Gorric nearer to a tree, Khir moved to help. He glanced at Rynn and smiled slightly. He did not know the acolyte, but the encounter with the attackers had left Rynn troubled. Seeing Forven killed and being wounded by the magic-user were two experiences that no other Rotian had endured, yet Rynn's mind seemed focused now on helping Gorric and he set about it with great enthusiasm.

"Do you plan on helping?" Khir asked Varayan, seeing the thief watching them struggle to move Gorric's heavy frame.

For a moment, Varayan continued to watch. Then, with a soft groan, he moved to help them.

Saroth glanced to the northwest, along the narrow road that led to Boraila. The road ran in a relatively straight path to the port city, splitting at the base of the distant hill. One trail ran around the base of the hill, reaching the southern gate to the city, whilst the other trail was much narrower and wound it's way up the hillside, eventually arriving at a place where one could look down over the entire port.

Two days ago, he had sighted three rotians on the road, fleeing their homes after the sudden invasion from Shada-Kaviel. His orders were very clear. He was to watch this road and prevent any Rotians who had escaped the invasion from reaching the fortress, Turambar. His position was such that he could easily see along the road and the surrounding countryside, giving him the ability to spot anyone before the lookouts at Turambar did.

In a few more days, Commander Draliak and his contingent would arrive at Boraila from the east and would join forces with those in the port. With him would be a number of Rotian prisoners, who would be placed on ships and sent back to Shada-Kaviel. Never again would they see their homeland.

The next stage would then be the taking of Turambar. This would give them a firm grip on the northern lands of the kingdom and would mean that their ships could sail up the river and along to the city of Naskador. Saroth could not see the city being a major problem, as it seemed to have its own internal issues also to distract them from outside attack. The information Talgan Akalla had given Saroth on Naskador had been limited, but useful.

Drawing in a deep breath of cold morning air, Saroth turned back to face his makeshift campsite within the woods that ran alongside the road. He could see his horse through the thin foliage, tied to a low branch of a sturdy tree. He traveled light and his possessions were usually on his person, so anyone who had been walking through the woods would not have even realised he had been camped there.

Past experience had taught Saroth to use his surroundings to great effect and he had also learnt how to be patient in extreme conditions. In fact, many times his life had depended on waiting and remaining silent for days. Unlike most, lack of sleep was something he shrugged off and he had learnt how to focus his mind to keep his wits sharp and his reactions quick. The cold woodlands of the Rotian Kingdom were nothing compared to some of the places he had been required to visit.

His eyes stared deeper into the woods and he thought of those three rotians he had intercepted before; two men and a woman. They had believed themselves clear of the danger. One of the men - an older rotian - had an injury to the shoulder and seemed ready to drop on the road where he had stood. The woman was middle-aged and slow in her step, lagging behind.