Part 26 (1/2)

He cared little that she now voiced her desperation. Not crying nor struggling could prevent him. Here they were spending their first and last night together. He formed a dagger in his hand. He would cut her throat. But before he could execute that intention, a throttling arm hooked about his throat from behind. He felt himself dragged backward and held, hoa.r.s.e and restraining shouts in his ear.

At the sounds of her piteous cries, half-smothered and m.u.f.fled, Theron and another man had at once been alerted to the peril, and laying detaining hands on Fraomar, at last, subdued him.

”Be gone with you!” shouted Theron in a rage. ”For pity's sake what's wrong with you-you'll have us all hanged! Out before I toss you out! Go!”

White with rage, Fraomar cast one last glance at her, to which she made no response, drawn inward and choked in fumes of rage and hate and pa.s.sion.

Chapter40.

Into A Dark Forest -e was known affectionately as Bordan the beast-tamer and was the best huntsman in all of Gonriel. All manner of creatures fled before him. His face was keen as that of a hunter and scarred by the claws of those many he had tamed. His left eye was blind. His form was not fearsome, his build and height no more impressive than an average man, but there was altogether something extraordinary about him, something not to be trifled with. He, along with two other men, was a.s.signed to return the priestess and both brothers to Cheydon.

It was early morning when they prepared to make off. Deacon arose when Magenta finally came into view. There was a singular and mute aspect to her diminished countenance which rage, hatred, and despair had all drained. In her solemnity she was a visage of bleakness and endurance beyond hope, paled and sorrowed by the unleaving of perpetual winter, with no light to ward off the gloom.

Her appearance disturbed and disconcerted him in a way he could not fathom. Her eyes were cast down. He felt severed from her thoughts, a veiling over her mind. When she at last lifted her gaze, she looked at him as if by degrees becoming conscious of him, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. For a long time they gazed, each upon the other, fearing it was to be the last. She knew as well as he that they would leave him to die.

Bordan led her over to where the others returning to Cheydon awaited them. Presently Fraomar made his appearance. He remained at a distance, holding back from the presence of his companions. Her eyes met his, and he looked away. His set face and stern demeanour told of his aversion and abas.e.m.e.nt.

From where he stood Deacon watched her, conscious of a tightening deep in his chest at the thought of going out of her life.

She looked back to him and knew what his last unspoken thought was. For a mere moment Bordan turned his attention from her. The love of her heart overwhelmed her, and in an instant she was gone from his side and over to Deacon where she flung herself against him. Breaking down all reserve, she set her lips to his in a long, ardent, soundless kiss in which two beings merge their ident.i.ty. Before she was removed, she whispered to his ear, ”All my thoughts shall be with you, till you are restored to me.”

Deacon, watching after her, did not endeavour to disguise his despair. The ranger a.s.sisted her upon his horse. From over her shoulder she gazed back toward her beloved as she was borne away from him.

It was late morning when they made their first stop. Bordan and the two men with him sat and ate before the small fire, while Magenta and the brothers sat together, close at hand. Slinking and lulling about the ranger's legs, as three cats might around their master, were the large bristling creatures the captives had previously made acquaintance with. He slapped their sides affectionately and fed them pieces of meat, but when he had tired of them put his boot on one of their heads, and giving a cruel push, said, ”Go, till I call you.” At his command all three beasts moved off toward the trees in long, languid strides.

Magenta had no intention of returning to Cheydon. She would not leave Deacon to die, not as long as there was life in her body. With a motion too slight to be noticed by the others, she retrieved from her boot a small gla.s.s vial. Her eyes lifted to Cedrik with a meaningful look, and he saw, then, that in her hands she held a means of escape.

With a subtle exchange of hands Cedrik took the vial and applied some of its liquid to the rope binding his wrists, as did his brother. The potent substance would burn through and they would be freed. His mind quickly went to work as to what he would do once his bonds were removed. He threw Derek a stealthy glance, indicating he was about to make a break.

Before the rope fibers had quite burned all the way through, Cedrik, applying force suddenly, tore his hands free, and in the same instant made a violent move toward their captors, who, startled and shocked, leapt to attention immediately, hastily groping for their swords. The impetus with which Cedrik rushed forward bore down the first man, and a sharp blow to the soldier's jaw won him the long keen blade, whereupon the owner quickly died.

Close behind, Derek made a mad dash for an improvised weapon, a heavy branch, which, taking in both hands, he brought against the knee of the other soldier, following the stroke with another across the back of his head with a dull crash. The injured man had not time to regain his feet before Derek was upon him, disarming him. Contrary to his nature, Derek plunged the point into the chest of his foe.

Without a moment lost, he leapt over the campfire, hastening to a.s.sist Cedrik, who had met the ranger with a clash of blades. The ranger, confronted with one of the best swordsmen the Imperial had ever produced, was overwhelmed when the younger brother hastened to his side, but backing away, he held his own and called wildly to his pets for aid.

As this took place Magenta did not sit idle but went quickly to work on poisoning several arrow tips. This accomplished, she notched one with the intent to bring down the foe she knew would soon charge upon them. Heeding the call of their master, the beasts came from the trees as with the fury of mad things. Magenta raised the bow smoothly and took aim at the brute nearest. Her arrow shot forward and struck the broad chest with fatal accuracy.

Without delay, she, with precise execution, rapidly sent forth two more poisoned arrows toward the remaining beasts. The poison quickly worked its mischief. Their powerful limbs faltered and stumbled, and at last, came down to rise no more. The ranger fighting against the two men was shortly to meet the same fate, cut down with edge of Cedrik's sword.

After Cedrik had tied a torn piece of cloth round his brother's leg to stop any bleeding, he attended to his own wounds. ”I have nothing which will soothe the pain,” Magenta said, sympathetically.

”It's all right,” said Derek, pressing her hand. ”It lets me know I'm living.”

Cedrik wiped his face with a dampened cloth and tossed it down. He asked Magenta, ”Do you know where it is they take him?”

”I know the name,” she answered. ”I know not the location.”

”It matters little.” For a moment he bowed his head against the sweaty forearm that rested across his knee. ”There's no time for us to seek help. They'll be there and done before anyone can act.”

”What are we to do?” asked Derek.

”We go to his aid.”

”There are fifty or so men, eight of them magic-users.”

Cedrik nodded. ”I know. Do you have any fools' powder left?”

”Yes.”

”Good.”

”We must wait until very near to the sought item before we make any attempt,” said Magenta. ”There they cannot use magic against us.” With that in mind, Cedrik went over the best course of action with them. These preliminaries settled, he rose to his feet, at the same time a.s.sisting Magenta to hers. For a moment the three stood close to one another, bound by love and common purpose. Magenta put a hand to both their faces. The strong love she held for them gave rise in her every higher faculty of feeling. She could not help but bestow a kiss on each of their cheeks. They were her family.

After they had taken all they needed from the fallen soldiers, the companions mounted the horses and started off toward the direction they had come from, toward Deacon.

Over a period of several days, Deacon travelled with the enemy. He looked dejected and unresponsive, refusing to answer when they addressed him. His head hung, rarely lifted to survey his surroundings. In time they came to a dense forest. The moss grew here in rough clumps, unexpectedly thick in places. Strange cries could be heard from unseen sources, yet the men continued undaunted. The forest began to loom and soon enveloped them with its large trees laden in mist, mosses, and clinging plants. They trudged on through this maze, over fallen logs, through apertures between boulders, over streams.

Their trail led them to a clearing, where, amidst the ruins of an old temple, were two great moss-covered statues of men that stood no less then twelve feet high. Facing each other, they clasped their outreached arms, forming an archway over the stone table between their bodies, and upon which sat an ornate silver goblet. There could be no argument that it was an intricate and beautiful sculpture. Encircling the impressive stone table was a tall transparent wall, constructed of pale blue energy. The obstruction prevented any from touching the sacred goblet.

Here amidst all the deep, green splendour the travelling party made camp. All around them, looming in dark places, were the men lost to shadows. Their presence was felt, but they could not be seen. These tortured beings were mere agony in the form of a vague visage, reminiscent of men. The insatiable hunger for power tormented their insubstantial, shadowy existence. Loosely bound to the physical world, they were vapour and shadow.

With an eye almost of hatred, Fraomar wandered about the site, taking in all the magnificent detail. Water still flowed from a half-standing fountain near to a stone altar where the priests of long ago ritualistically laid their dead before burning their bodies to ash. The temple was dedicated to Demise, the G.o.ddess of death. Many believed that those who had erected it still haunted its fallen walls.

The shadows of night began to gather around the men. They felt oppressed by the dampness and were quick to start a fire. Deacon sat solemn and incommunicable, his gaze sweeping over his tormentors. Taking them separately, he could have succeeded in the defeat of each one, but collectively he stood no chance.

Fraomar pa.s.sed discovering fingers over the great statue. ”I despise this place,” he said, his gaze roving over the surroundings. ”Can you not feel its malignant spirit? Evil walks here in discontent, a restless malice, things born of no woman.”

Theron whittled a piece of wood. He said, ”Must you always be touching things? Sit down; you make me uncomfortable.”

Fraomar was disconcerted and would not sit with the others, but stood tensely. His gaze soon settled on Deacon, who looked down absently at his bonds. The mere sight of him provoked Fraomar and made him burn with an anger sharp and unsubduable. With persistent intensity he watched the captive. A sore sense of unfulfilment ever churned in the pit of his stomach.

As if knowing he was watched, Deacon, with dark, defiant eyes, looked up. It was enough. Without warning Fraomar went and took hold of him with aggressive hands. ”d.a.m.ned miserable fool,” he said. He threw Deacon to the ground and with his boot gave a kick to his ribs, so sharp Deacon choked and coughed. While he was prostrated still on his hands and knees, the aggressor stood over Deacon, then raised an arm and delivered such a terrible punch his fist withdrew covered with the other man's blood. Deacon felt one side of his face go numb and could taste a silvery bitterness.

”d.a.m.n it-no more!” shouted Theron. ”He needs strength!”

Fraomar looked up and the blow he meant to deal died. ”I don't mean to beat him into immobility,” he said, panting, desiring to return to his task.

”Restrain yourself, or I will make efforts to have you quieted.” Theron's sharp words held his companion, and he returned to his seat, leaving the other to pick himself up.

Before Fraomar moved away, he looked at Deacon. ”I will see you dead before the end.” As he spoke he wiped the blood staining the back of his hand over the owner's bruised cheek. Deacon strained his face away, his eyes full of dark rage and hate.

The air was damp and miserable. The scents of brewing coffee and of food cooking over the fire did little to make the forest friendly. Theron set a bowl of hot something before Deacon. When no movement was made toward it, he said harshly, ”You will partake of something, even if I must force it down your throat.”

Deacon ate slowly and without enthusiasm. When he laid his head down and closed his eyes, sweet thoughts and memories settled upon his troubled mind. He clung to them as he would to her own soothing form, yet their very sweetness could have made him weep, and for all the hope he was forever torn.

When morning came he was left to sleep, and all throughout the day none disturbed him. In the heaviness of utter exhaustion Deacon went in and out of sleep, vaguely conscious of the other men and their movement and voices about him. A melancholy and dreariness lay heavy on his heart. He dreamed of her fingers pa.s.sing through his hair, her breath near and warm. He could hear faintly the sound of water trickling over smooth rock, or perhaps it was gentle rain. When he awoke he lay motionless, his eyes closed. He heard steps approach, and he sat up quietly. The cool, moisture-heavy air made him shudder.