Circle of Reign (3 page)

As Reign passed a Triarch tree with inhuman haste she reached forth her hand, palm out, and for the briefest of moments made a clean connection against the ancient tree’s bark. Instead of listening and receiving through the tree, she attempted to project her own message. Her father had tried to teach her and her twin brother the skill, admonishing them not to tell others of the ability. It required a tremendous amount of serenity and concentration
for the mind to enter the required state in order for the trees to allow a channel to be opened through them. But, their efforts to sync their minds with the forest had met with little success. Reign had to succeed now though her mind was filled with anything but serenity. She did not know if she possessed enough strength or skill to make the plea endure over such a distance. Would it fizzle to little more than a faint echo? Was the thought to even try such a feat just foolish hope born of her desperation? Reign was desperate. She could only manage to send one word before her momentum forced her to break away from the tree and continue her panic-stricken run.

Please hear me!
Reign cried inside, begging the Ancient Heavens to ferry her message swift and accurate.

The man drew closer.

It was the smell. Salty. Metallic. The smell of fear. That’s how the chase-giver was able to track her. This was the way of it for his kind. The scent of fear was intoxicating, perhaps more so than any other.

This
fear was particularly potent. Tantalizing, it drove him like a bloodhound in a hunter’s trance just before the imminent kill. Ruthless. Relentless. He could not be released from his Charge until he obtained his purpose, or was killed.

All emotion gives a scent, easy to track, hard to lose – and
all
sentient beings give off emotional scent. A chase-giver can smell the emotion and, when Charged, he is attracted to it like a wolf to wounded prey. Their sense of smell was not only more powerful than other beings, but also more comprehensive in spectrum. An emotion felt always left a scent where the quarry had once been, and the stronger the emotion conjured the longer the scent remained. It could linger for a day, sometimes from first moonrise to second moonfall of the following night, leaving an invisible but strong odoriferous trail for one of his kind to pursue.

The chase-giver’s senses heightened as he closed the distance. Adrenaline flowed and empowered his already rippled muscles as unnatural velocity attended him, morphing him into the haunting of nightmares, the unspoken dread of all living. All creatures could be prey to his kind once he was released, once Charged. Of the
very
few alive who knew of their existence, none really comprehended what gave chase-givers their ability, nor their seemingly inhuman strength while Charged, but he did not care to understand the reason. All that mattered was the effect, the thrill. This kill promised to be special.

Lord Thannuel Kerr stood atop a tree, scanning all he could see below him as he clutched a Triarch leafling in his hand, listening intently. The moonlight was more than enough illumination, especially coupled with the sensitive hearing of a wood-dweller. He sprang the length of a hundred men to another treetop and continued to reach out through the forest. Easily climbing and jumping between treetops, a wood-dweller was at home anywhere a forest was found. Where he currently perched, at the edge of his hold just southeast of the Western Province’s state city of Calyn, he listened intently for his daughter. The rain fell in thick circle patterns from the clouds above, a typical occurrence as the Low Season approached. As seasons changed, the formations of the clouds in the heavens morphed in response, signaling which season approached and the waning of the current season. The Dimming Season, with only twelve days remaining, was coming to its end as signaled by the clouds increasingly forming great hollow-centered circles in the sky, releasing their moisture to the world below.

Wood-dweller younglings were often found dancing across the treetops in the center of a circular downpour, staying completely dry. It was a game to them, trying to stay in the middle of the falling rain without getting wet as the clouds glided through the skies. This was a favorite game of Thannuel’s son, Hedron. Many
children from Calyn often visited the Kerr hold to play through its massive corridors and elevated pathways that wove amid the trees for great distances. Kathryn Hoyt, daughter of Lord Hoyt of the Southern Province, visited often with her family. She was promised to Hedron, much to the boy’s annoyance. Thannuel knew the boy would soon overcome that and then he and Moira, as parents, would have a different kind of problem. Kathryn would blossom into a lady of rare beauty in not so many years and Hedron’s annoyance would turn to drooling as he also matured. Lord Kerr shook his head in mild resignation.

Moira often found her happiest moments running and jaunting with the children, but Thannuel also knew his wife’s heartache at not being able to carry another child. Hedron and Reign would be the only gifts the Ancient Heavens would grant them. Thannuel smiled to himself as he thought of the younglings.

He recalled the many times Reign pretended to be a squirrel as she gathered acorns and nuts and brought them home to hide in her chamber, much to the dismay of her mother. It was not uncommon for her to follow a family of squirrels for hours and silently observe them. In fact, after her studies were completed, it almost never failed that Reign would bolt out of the hold on one of the elevated pathways straight to the forest outside the walls. Kerr never feared for the safety of his children in the woods; they protected his family and the people of his province.

The sun had retreated into night hours ago, however, and Reign had not returned though it was nearly second moon. This was unusual, even for his independent nine-year-old princess.

She’ll be ten in less than a cycle. They grow up too fast!

Moira had scolded her husband for not keeping watch better, but he was occupied with matters of state. Though mostly mundane and routine, these were important issues that he must attend to with haste as the Lord of his province. Still, he could not ignore the pang of guilt that crept upon him. Did his duties as Lord of the Western Province outweigh the importance of fatherhood? Certainly not, but he would be agreeing with his wife if he admitted
this out loud; that would depart from the natural tendency of their relationship and would simply not do. He smiled again to himself, this time facetiously.

He would have been awake now even at this late hour regardless of his daughter gone missing or home in bed. He did not sleep much in these times. Less rest was physically needed as his capacity for Light grew. That would be a natural side effect, he had been told. The extra wakeful hours were usually well spent in preparation for what he prayed would never be necessary, though he held little hope that his prayer would be answered. He had set a meeting for next span with his old friend, Antious Roan.

General Roan, now
, he reminded himself. It wasn’t surprising to him that Antious had risen to bear the rank of general and lead the armed forces of the Western Province. Lord Kerr felt great pride in promoting him last year. He knew of no greater patriot to Arlethia than Roan; nor of anyone who had sacrificed so much for the Realm.

The Orsarian War took much from him
, Lord Kerr reflected.
More than should be asked of anyone
. He was excited to see his dearest friend again, to whom he owed his life.

He will listen, he’ll understand
.

Kerr again leaped to another tree, this one a Triarch, and instantly went rigid as he landed upon the tree’s apex. The single word, though not more than a faint whisper, jolted through him as his left hand brushed across a cluster of the smooth three-pronged leaves, his right still in possession of the leafling.

Help!

Though not an audible voice, the timbre
felt
familiar. Apprehension gathered within him, but Thannuel captured the friction and recycled it, directing the energy to enhance his sensitivity of touch and hearing. He stood more still than stone waiting for further communication. The soft whirl of a breeze. Occasional sprays of precipitation flecked him and beaded upon his sleeveless jerkin. Silent as an ancient statue, he waited. Listened. Nothing. Perhaps it was nothing. It had to be nothing. Who else besides the
Gyldenal knew how to sync their minds with the forest to open the channel
both
ways? It took someone of extreme sensitivity and power of will and the Gyldenal were far from here, deeply secluded in the Tavaniah Forest in the most northwest parts of the province. Yes, it had to be nothing; he tried to convince himself of this. But the word he had felt, it was powerfully projected. The overtones were desperate. He could not shake the familiar feel it had. Pitch and inflection were lost when speaking through trees, but there always remained something identifiable within the message, the way it felt as it entered your mind through the trees, the intonation. And yet, Thannuel was conflicted within himself. He was certain of the identity if he could believe that this was not a trick of some kind.
Reign does not possess the ability
, he thought. He had tried to teach her, but he knew she was still too young for the mental maturity required.
Most do not even know of the possibility, how could she
—

His ponderings were cut short as he felt the vibrations before he heard them. Footfall—three distinct pairs. A horse and rider still far off, but the other two much closer. Without dismissing the rider’s vibrations, he pushed them to a sequestered part of his mind for now and converged his mind upon the two closer pairs of footfall. One determined and heavy, the other short and light and…fearful. The latter was a wood-dweller.

He knew Reign’s stride almost instantly and spurred himself across the top of the treed-canopy to intercept her. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could sense fear in his daughter’s sprint, almost desperation. Finding the hilt of his sword he quieted his mind, quelled his emotions, and opened himself to the forest’s influence and power. Through the Triarch leafling he still held, Thannuel began to draw into himself the strength of the ancient trees he now sprinted across at increasing speed. Something else caught his attention as the power swelled within him: the trees were afraid and confused, but they were also furious. Lord Kerr had never sensed emotion such as this from the forest. Anxiety pulled at the frayed edges of his concentration, but did not take hold. He
unsheathed his sword, its dark gray blade forged of Jarwyn steel dully catching the waning white light of first moon as it began to hum with power.

Centering his being as he had been taught, Thannuel inwardly recited the ancient axiom:
Focus. Think of nothing but this moment
.

It changed. It was still her scent; the chase-giver felt sure of that. But it had morphed to something else entirely. What was it? He found that he knew the scent; it just wasn’t typical for this situation. Why would his prey be now feeling relief? The chase-giver increased his gait and he finally caught sight of his prey. He could tell he was tracking a female, but a girl? A child? This only fueled his delight in his unholy pursuit.