The Silver Arrow (27 page)

“Ah ha ha…” the former Patron
laughed. “I would not suggest you so casually toss away your life,
boy! Bring him to me,” he warned in a more venomous tone, “or you
will all die, including those that are traveling with you.”

Instead of cowering, Iseac was
calm and resolute.

“No,” he replied as he looked
toward their assailant.

“Then you are a fool and will
die here with them.” With those words, the former Patron raised his
hand in the air and the Norians began to advance. The Golans
released a volley of arrows ahead of the charging Norians, who had
little plumes of dust rising behind them.

Samuel was hidden by the
Ackalans, who were standing just behind Iseac. He could not see
them, but could sense the arrows as they drew near. He waved a hand
in the air and the arrows suddenly lost their momentum and dropped
to the ground.

The charging Norians were now
sixty yards from them, their weapons raised high; the sound of
their pounding feet increased.

Faray’s heart was racing, his
palms sweaty as he prepared to meet death. He tightened his grip on
the hilt of his sword. They were fifty yards away, then forty, then
thirty. Just then, a gust of air shot sand in front of the Norians,
blinding their view. As sand and dust filled the air, the Ackalans
rushed in, and it began.

Metal rang and bones snapped,
followed by the howling sounds of death as Norians fell.

Iseac had been watching in deep
concentration. When he swung his hands out toward the ground, it
sent all the sand and dust into the air in the direction of his
wave.

Samuel could see the clear
impression of those in the fog of sand and dust, and he released
several volleys of arrows into the chaos. Even with their thick
skin and armor, the Norians dropped to the ground like flies from
the lightning bolts of Samuel’s silver arrows.

Faray had joined the charge
with squinted eyes inside the fog of sand. He could hear the
clashing sound of weapons ringing around him as he made out the
impression of the massive creature that could only be a Norian. It
was almost upon him when he heard a swooshing sound. The
Norian−twice his size, with arms the size of a horse’s hind
legs−fell straight toward him. Before he could react, it fell on
him, knocking the wind out of Faray’s lungs.

The massive head of the Norian
rested over his shoulder with a hole in it, leaking blood, while
the rest of his body was buried under the beast.

It was hard to breathe with
sand and dust everywhere, but Faray made himself take slow breaths,
coughing in between. With a considerable amount of effort, he
managed to push himself out from under the Norian. He could still
hear some fighting going on, but it was ahead of him.

What was going on, he wondered
as he covered his nose with his left arm. The dust was beginning to
die down when he heard the galloping sound of something
approaching. He froze, watching as a brown mare galloped past him
with the lifeless body of a Golan dragging along beside it.

Faray listened for anything
else before continuing toward the sound of the fight. The farther
along he went, the more clear the air became. When he was beyond
the dust, he could see men fighting with the Norians and Golans,
and it wasn’t just the Ackalans.

*****************

The former Patron and Rogan
rode into the dust storm, impressed with Iseac’s futile attempt to
create cover. “The Anamerian is going to die regardless,” the
former Patron thought as his horse moved in a trot, with Golans
riding on both sides of him. The Golans had their arrows
notched.

A spear suddenly appeared
through the chest of one of the Golans and he dropped to the
ground. The others turned to see what was behind them, and to their
surprise they saw men dressed in cloaks the color of the desert
running toward them. Their cloaks made it hard to focus on them, as
they appeared to mingle with the sand.

“Rogan, take care of it,” the
former Patron said. “I will deal with the Anamerian and get the
boy.”

Rogan turned his horse around,
taking with him some of the Golans and the Norians, and they rode
off to meet the people of the desert.

****************

The edge of Tremay’s shortsword
was stained with blood as dust settled around the body of a fallen
Norian. The ground was beginning to absorb the orange pool that had
begun to build around its neck when Tremay sensed something close
by. He turned just as the dust in front of him suddenly parted,
revealing men on horseback.

“Bollan,” Tremay said to
himself, recognizing the former Patron. Just as the words left his
lips, several arrows were launched at him. He deflected some while
evading the others as he ran toward Bollan, moving with incredible
speed. His feet barely touched the ground, like a cat in full
stride, before he leaped into the air, crossing his arm mid-flight.
The sun reflected off the razor edge of his blade on his
descent.

He was suddenly seized in the
air, frozen in place and unable to move as he stared at Bollan, who
looked at Tremay with the same contempt one gave to a bug, as if
saying, ‘Did you think you were going to get anywhere with that
charade?’

He waved his hand in the air
and it sent Tremay flying, far enough that no one saw where he
ended up.

As if following a beacon,
Bollan led the Golans toward Samuel. Iseac appeared in front of
them with his quarterstaff held planted on the ground by his side
as if blocking the way.

“Don’t kill him,” Bollan said
as the Golans moved into a semicircle. They aimed for nonvital
organs and fired. The arrows all dropped to the ground a few feet
from Iseac as Samuel waved his hand. As the Golans reached for more
arrows, they were brought down by silver ones that flew from behind
Iseac. Bollan made no attempt to deflect the arrow meant for him as
he watched it skid past him.

His eyes narrowed as he looked
at his men that had fallen. He stepped off his horse and started
walking toward Iseac, a broadsword suddenly appearing in his hand.
The blade was wide with a red edge, as if pulled out of a forge
fire.

Iseac spread his legs apart in
a ready stance with one hand holding his quarterstaff at a
fifty-degree angle, ready to pounce.

“I am going to enjoy this,”
Bollan thought as Iseac positioned himself for an attack. With a
yard between them, they charged each other.

Bollan sent the first blow,
which Iseac deflected with his quarterstaff and, on his retraction,
spun his quarterstaff toward Bollan’s head. Bollan shifted his head
to the left, with the quarterstaff swooshed past him, the force
tossing his hair.

He hadn’t expected such force
from someone he thought was weak. He shifted back as Iseac brought
the quarterstaff to a stop with one of the tips pointed at him. He
looked at Iseac; this time he would not hold back, he vowed, and he
sent several deadly blows in rapid succession, which Iseac manage
to evade or deflect.

Bollan moved his weapon with
ease as he shifted from right to left. One of his blows came with
such power that it pushed Iseac to the ground.

Iseac spun his legs in the air
in a cartwheel motion, using his quarterstaff to spring back to his
feet in a single motion as Bollan came to meet him. Bollan did not
charge, but walked, this time, with his robe swaying as he
approached.

Bollan showed no sign of
exhaustion from all his effort, with the heat appearing to have no
effect on him. He even seemed to grow stronger with every attack.
Iseac noticed that Bollan’s ring got redder as the fight
continued.

Bollan’s confidence grew from
the power he was receiving from his ring. With each attack, he
could see Iseac getting slower with exhaustion as beads of sweat
ran down his face. He went in again and again, picking Iseac apart
with every second or third blow: first on his chest as it ripped
through his garment, then his upper thigh, and a few seconds later,
another to his right arm. Unable to hold on any longer, Iseac
dropped to one knee, his quarterstaff holding him up. His arm felt
like lead and his chest was on fire, unable to breathe. Bollan
seized Iseac with an invisible claw, raising him into the air. He
pulled Iseac toward him so they were standing face to face.

“I told you your decision was
foolish,” he said before pushing him to the ground.

Iseac tried to stand as Bollan
walked toward him, dragging his blade on the ground. Bollan had
raised his hand to deliver the final blow when something zipped
past Iseac. He looked up to see several silver arrows sticking out
of Bollan.

Distracted by his confidence,
Bollan had let his guard down, forgetting about his real target.
The arrows protruded from his hands and head as his weapon slipped
from his fingers and he dropped to his knees. Mustering his
remaining strength, Iseac stood up.

“And I told you the same,” he
said, looking down at Bollan.

As death came for him, he began
to laugh, a terrible, choking laugh that spewed blood. He was still
on his knees with his cloak swaying on his side from the wind.

“It’s all over, and no one can
stop him,” Bollan muttered as he drowned in his own blood. There
was silence, and he dropped to the ground. As he did, Iseac lost
consciousness and dropped to the ground also.

“Is he going to be all right?”
Samuel asked as Annora stepped out of Iseac’s room with two other
maids.

“We’ll find out soon
enough.”

“What do you mean?” Samuel
asked.

“His condition is something
I’ve not seen before,” Annora said, not pleased that she didn’t
understand it herself. “He doesn’t have a fever, but something is
inside him that is not part of him. A strange toxin is the only way
I can describe it, that only he can fight. The remedies I’ve given
will help strengthen and heal his body. There isn’t much else we
can do but wait and see.”

Samuel was unsure what to make
of the news. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but
Annora cut in. “You need to get some ointment on your burns and get
some rest yourself. We’ll talk more later. Right now, I need to
attend to your other friend,” she said, referring to Tremay, who
was badly injured and should have died from being tossed wildly
into the air.

“Angela,” she said to one of
the women by her side, “please take care of this young man and see
that he gets something to eat.”

*****************

Light flooded his eyes when he
opened them and Iseac squinted until he slowly adjusted. He stared
briefly at the yellow roof that was illuminated by the light
dangling from it. In disbelief, he wondered how he was still alive.
Groaning under his breath, Iseac turned his head and saw Elena
sitting next to his bed. She smiled at him and he tried to reassure
her he was okay.

While it was subtle, Iseac
couldn’t help noticing her nervous twitch; something about it that
pricked his thought, but why did it matter, he wondered and as he
was about to brush it aside, he remembered. It was the same look
she had on her face when Perry, a friend of theirs, lost most of
the fingers from an accident in the field, and when her cousin
Chadrum’s wife died in childbirth. It was the look of wanting to be
brave when something bad has happened.

So what was wrong? Did he want
to know? Maybe she didn’t think he was going to make it.

His head felt like a
reverberating bucket, even with the little attempt he made to move,
but he needed her to see that he was okay. He looked at her
reassuringly.

“Help me up,” he said, and she
did, even though every part of him ached.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Somewhere safe,” Elena
replied. “Right now we are all under strict orders that you get
your rest. I was allowed to stay with you under strict condition
that a Council member be notified immediately when you woke up. I
better go let them know.”

“Wait,” Iseac said. “How is
Samuel?”

“He’s fine and worried about
you, like everyone else,” she replied before closing the door
behind her. He relaxed.

Stripped of his clothes except
for a simple robe, he looked around the room, trying to figure out
where they were, when someone opened the door. It was a woman
dressed in a white gown.

“I’m Annora,” she said in a
voice as clear as water and soft as silk. “How do you feel?”

“I…I’m fine,” Iseac stammered
as he stared at her.

Annora possessed an elegance
and grace that held his gaze.

She was around forty-five,
which was just past her middle years, if he was to guess. Her eyes
were dark brown with pure silvery gray hair. As she stepped close
to him, she placed two of her fingers on his chest as if listening
for something, long enough for Iseac to take two breaths.

He did not try to pull back,
but looked at her.

“It is a privilege, young
Anamerian, to meet you,” she said.

She wasn’t the first one to
have made this observation. Iseac remembered his meeting with
Gabram when he was twelve and he made a similar remark, but how did
she... He disregarded the thought; it did not matter.

“Where are we?” he asked
changing the conversation.

“You are in Olinar cave, which
is to the south of Amito-Mountain.”

“Amito-Mountain was several
hours away from where the fighting had taken place,” Iseac thought
as Annora was speaking.

“You and your friends were
brought here by Elwin and his men three days ago, and it was a good
thing they were there to help.

“Several of the people that
came with you were badly injured, but they are fine now, so there
is no need to worry. We were more concerned about you.”

“Three days,” Iseac thought to
himself. Had he been out for that long? That might explain why
Elena looked at him the way she did.