Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (9 page)

With renewed determination she struggled against Hagar's grip, almost sure he would not harm her. His grip was firm, however, and he easily restrained her before spinning her away from him, straight into the arms of another dark figure, who just as easily forced her arms behind her back. She felt metal encircle her wrists, and then two soft clicks as the cuffs locked. She jerked her arms as the figure released her, but she could not break the shackles. The figure grabbed the metal chain connecting the two and pulled her back towards him.

“
Your destiny is with me, Princess,” hissed Hagar, hefting his sword. He paused briefly, his face hidden by his cowl. Suddenly a flickering of light ran along his dark blade, a blue iridescence that sparked like lightning. Turning to Ka'Varel, Hagar thrust at the old man's open chest, and as Kitara screamed, the enchanted weapon pierced what remained of the invisible barrier with a steely hiss and passed into flesh.

Tears came to Kitara's eyes as Ka'Varel slumped forward off the log, freed from whatever had him paralyzed, and as she watched, a dark pool of blood began to seep through the grass, ever-growing.

A piercing whistle cut across the glade as Tyrun bellowed furiously at the sight of Ka'Varel’s demise. Kitara turned as the big man literally rammed his way through the dark swordsman, using his axe like a scythe to keep them away. One was not so lucky and was almost split in half as the wicked axe sliced into his side, and unluckily for Tyrun become embedded. The barbarian had to jerk the weapon free, but as he did, one of the swordsmen stepped forward and struck at his unprotected side.

If the big man showed any pain as the sword pierced his side, there was no evidence as he spun and punched the swordsman, the force of the blow sending the man flying backwards. He landed and was still, his head twisted in an inhuman position.

Hands grabbed at Kitara and she was lifted onto a figure's shoulder, losing sight of Andrak and the barbarian momentarily. Twisting her head to look again, she saw Tyrun pressing through the remaining dark figures, charging towards Hagar.

Hagar waited, standing above Ka'Varel with his sword held at the ready. Not even the sight of the charging barbarian intimidated him, and Kitara wondered if he invited the confrontation.

The shrill whistle sounded again, twice, and the figures battling Andrak dropped off, the Prince slumping to one knee as they did so, clutching at a dagger in his side and Kitara screamed his name, though he seemed not to hear. Hagar also turned, hesitating momentarily before he too ran after the others.

Kitara struggled as she was carried away, but there was no freeing herself. She continued to scream and shout, but a gag was roughly placed over her mouth, and then a thin hood, obscuring her vision.

“
Let us be away from here, and quickly,” commanded one of the figures. Kitara felt herself passed to another as they started off, unceremoniously tossed over the figure’s shoulder. Her weight did not seem to affect him as he ran with smooth, effortless paces.

Emotion and shock overwhelmed her as her thoughts drifted back to the camp. Tears came unbidden and her body shook with racking sobs as she pictured Ka'Varel: dead, or at least dying, while Andrak and Tyrun were injured, who knew how badly? It gave her hope, knowing if they weren’t seriously injured they would be able to follow these men and rescue her.

“
Do not cry, my bride,” whispered Hagar, his voice the only thing showing signs of the strain of carrying her. “I have rescued you so now you can follow your destiny. You will find happiness with me in time.”

“
Why? Who are you?” The gag muffled her question, but Hagar seemed to have heard it as he gave a chuckle.

“
Why, I am Kiroba, my love. When we get to Dak’mar, you will be afforded all the honor and respect befitting the wife of one of their leaders.”

Kiroba. That word sent a chill down her spine and more tears to her eyes as she tried to turn and look towards where they had come from. She knew somewhere behind them the campfire burned, and maybe Andrak and Tyrun were preparing to come after her, but she silently hoped they would not. The Kiroba, Assassins from Dak’mar, were not reputed to leave witnesses to their actions, and should Andrak and Tyrun find them it would no doubt result in their deaths.

Still, she sent out her prayers as Hagar carried her inexorably away from rescue, but her hopes seemed to fade with every long step, until finally mental and physical exhaustion overcame her.

With one eye still on the surrounding trees, Andrak knelt beside the still form of Ka'Varel. Tyrun, opposite, was studying the old scholar's wounds, his face lined with trails of tears that cut through the fine spray of blood.

“
These wounds are bad,” he stated harshly without looking to the Prince, his large hands pressed against the deeper wounds, trying to stifle the flow of dark blood. “He lives yet, but there is little time.”

“
Time for what?” asked Andrak hotly. Already he felt that Kitara was far from him, and he could not let the kidnappers run too far before he started after them. “We must be after Kitara, and soon!”

Tyrun looked up at the Prince, and Andrak saw matched emotion in the eyes of the big man, but there was anger also and he shifted back slightly, wondering if he had somehow offended the proud barbarian. “If he dies, we have nothing. Without his guidance, this war will be on us before we know it. I must take him to be healed.”

“
But where?” asked Andrak incredulously. “The nearest healer or Temple is over fifty leagues away, a trip of two days on the fastest horse, and he won't even last until dawn. Besides, our horses have been driven off, and it will take hours to find them.”

The big man stood suddenly and Andrak flinched, ready to roll away should Tyrun strike at him, but the Barbarian ran to their equipment and picked up his pack and Ka'Varel's before returning. Placing Ka'Varel's pack down, he rummaged through it briefly before pulling out a small metal box inlaid with various gems on the lid, depicting what seemed to be a dragon.

“
This will take us to a place where he can be healed,” he stated, carefully pulling open the lid, revealing a small diamond pyramid, flawlessly smooth, along with a long silvery chain. Taking both items out, he placed the box back in Ka'Varel's pack.

“
I cannot leave Kitara,” advised Andrak, rising as the barbarian uncoiled the silver chain and began to circle it around Ka'Varel's body until it came to its end, linking in a whole circle. “I must go after her.”

Tyrun rose and uncharacteristically grasped Andrak's hand. “Then with luck, we will meet again one day.”

Andrak nodded thanks and stepped back as Tyrun knelt back beside Ka'Varel and took up the small pyramid. With a gentle twist of his big hands he spun its tip one turn. Nothing happened for a moment, when the pyramid and chain began to glow. First it was nothing more than a pale light, but it built quickly until a dome of light covered the two men, and Andrak had to avert his gaze. The moments passed until the brightness vanished without sound, and he opened his eyes to find everything vanished that had been in the circle. There was no trace of their passing other than the dark stain of blood on the grass.

Wasting no time to wonder at this feat, Andrak raced to his own gear and began lightening his pack. Food he kept, but little else other than a spare dagger, a blanket and a change of clothes. From Kitara's pack he retrieved her Harp, which had once belonged to the Elvin Bard, Llewellyn. He also stowed the large book of prophecies she had been reading. He used strips from a shirt to dress and bind his wounded side, finding the deep wound had missed anything vital, but bled furiously.

He decided that retrieving one of the horses would serve him better in the long run, for although they had been on foot, the kidnappers may have had horses nearby, and there was no way he could keep up with riders on foot, no matter how many of them there were.

He almost rued his decision as he searched fruitlessly for some time. In the dim light of the waning Santari and new Qantari he could see little, but after a time he heard the familiar sounds of a horse and tracked it. It was his own horse, Jester, a young grey gelding, which he quieted after some soothing words, obviously still spooked by the attack in the glade. Luckily his saddle was still fixed and the reins were simply cut, letting him re-tie them.

He estimated that the kidnappers had a head start of three hours on him by the time he got underway, but he made a silent vow to catch them, even if it meant tracking them to the Great Eastern Desert and beyond.

The
wash of cold water woke Valdieron from a fitful slumber, marred by deluded dreams and nightmares, all of which, though separate, seemed now to have been one jumbled vision. He vaguely recalled semi  consciousness on a few occasions, though when he could not tell, but once he thought he remembered being held in a dark cage, and another being dropped into darkness that seemed not to end.

A silted light greeted his eyes and he squinted painfully, moving to shade his eyes with one hand but found his wrist secured at his side by a leather thong. On moving his head, a sharp pain ran along his back and up his neck, causing him to croon.

His memory returned instantly, and it was no surprise to him to find a lean Darishi standing over him, an empty pail held in one hand, while the other held a slender dagger. He was young but hard, and he regarded Valdieron with a scowl, not obscured by his long dark hair.

“
The Equinary will sentence you now!”

“
Sentence?” Valdieron's bewilderment lasted momentarily before he remembered the words of Khalan moments before he lost consciousness.
“...he will pay for my brother's death!”
This meant they were in Salt Springs, an indication he had been unconscious for at least a day. There was an acrid taste in his mouth, and it struck him that his prolonged sleep was probably drug  induced, until such time as he could pass for trial.

He made to speak, but the Darishi motioned him for silence with his dagger as he bent down to unfasten the leather cords binding him to a long wooden bench. With one wrist free, the Darishi bound it to his other before unfastening him completely, bemusing Valdieron, as he felt so stiff and sore that he could hardly move, let alone be able to disarm and overpower the Darishi. When his ankles were unfastened, the Darishi pulled him harshly to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily and probably would have fallen if not for the Darishi's firm grip.

They were in an oubliette. The smooth dirt walls were covered with dark lichen and moss, an indication of the moisture in the ground. It was cool, though near the entry it was obvious that outside was far warmer. There was no ladder leading out, but the Darishi motioned for him to raise his arms. The roof was barely above Valdieron's head, so his wrists and hands cleared the ceiling.

He was grabbed by rough hands and lifted through the opening. Waves of heat assailed him as he closed his eyes against the brightness, and he was shoved to the side, stumbling on shaky legs and almost falling, but forcing himself to remain standing.

Clouds did not hinder the sun’s early morning passage as it clawed its way above the horizon. The land here was flat to the west, but dropped away to the east, where a wide pond stretched some hundred paces. Beyond that lay vast rolling plains, an ocean of parched grass dotted sporadically by bent trees. The south was much the same, but to the north the land rose and became lusher, scattered with trees and bushes. Several small strips of crops lay together in one section, while large corrals enclosed cattle, sheep and horses.

Positioned along one side of the pond was a small community of makeshift dwellings, mostly tents and pavilions, but some other small huts with interlaced log walls and thatched roofs. Despite the burgeoning morning heat, he could see people moving along the dusty walkways between dwellings, some with children or carrying items, while a few women carried baskets of clothing from the pond where they had probably washed them.

A large crowd of people surrounded the worn area above the oubliette, twenty paces around the wooden hatchway which was closed again as the Darishi jailer was hoisted out, somewhat gentler than Valdieron had been handled.

In the Northern section of the clearing, a wooden dais was erected. Atop it sat a solitary bone throne lined with a black lion pelt, the beast’s head and mane acting as a baldachin. Four Darishi warriors flanked the dais, dressed in ceremonial cloaks and holding tasseled pole-arms.