Lingering Shadows-Chapter 25

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Chapter 26-Attack

Finally, the meetings for that day were over, far later than they usually were. The evening light was already getting dim and dusky. Artham, Esben, and Connolin left the Keep as quickly as was acceptably possible, the brothers breathing a sigh of relief when they were out of earshot. Connolin wagged his tail and pushed his head under Artham’s hand, wanting his master’s attention after a long day of sitting seriously between Artham and Esben while the humans yelled at each other.

“I do not want to even think about this day,” Esben said in frustration.

“Let’s just not talk about it,” Artham said, sounding equally frustrated. They left the grounds of the Keep and walked down the road a little ways.

“I just hate it when he’s trying to make me mad!” Artham exclaimed, breaking the silence. Connolin cocked his head to the side at Artham’s strange tone, then bumped himself up to Artham’s leg.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” Esben said.

“Okay well now we won’t talk about it. I just had to say that. And…and one other thing. Good job, Esben. You handled that perfectly. It doesn’t matter what the Bunges say. You really are an amazing king. It’s my honor both to be your Throne Warden and your brother.” Artham said quietly, thinking that his brother probably needed some encouragement. Esben smiled a little.

“Thanks. Now are we going to stop talking about it?” He asked as they made their way off the road into an empty field, the dark outline of a patch of forest just across it.

“Sure. The sooner I forget today the better.” Artham said with a shrug. They were across the field now, and Artham could feel himself relaxing as they stepped into the peaceful silence of the woods, the smell of spine trees dampened with snow, and the restful darkness that slowly enveloped them as they walked into the short stretch of forest. Esben sighed beside him, closing his eyes for a second, also enjoying the quiet calm around them. Connolin ran ahead and back to them several times, jumping up against Artham then running off into the woods, making sharp turns and sending dead leaves and snow flinging up behind him. After a few minutes he trotted back to walk at Artham’s side again.

They walked in silence for a long time, enjoying having each other there and just not saying anything. The whole forest, its quiet, its darkness, the smell of the trees, seemed to reverse the stress and frustration that filled the brothers in the Keep. Esben was thinking about when he might get to talk to Nia again, and Artham was wondering when Arundelle would answer the letter he had sent a couple days ago, strains of poetry that he couldn’t think about when he was dealing with everything going on at the Keep coming to the surface of his mind. Reciting poetry in his mind had for him the same calming effect that painting had on Esben.

Artham came out of his thoughts for a second to realize that they were about halfway through the forest on the way home. He could see the lights of Oak Hill twinkling like tiny yellow stars far off through the trees. They walked for a few more minutes when Artham heard the slightest rustling in the bushes behind them. He stopped, listening. The rustle quieted immediately.

“What?” Esben asked, turning around.

“…nothing. Let’s just get home,” Artham said quietly. They kept walking, but Artham listened carefully. Sounds of movement started again behind them, but so quiet and far apart only a Durgan would have been able to hear and connect them. The soft, sweeping rustle of a leaf turned underfoot, the whisper of a branch of dead leaves being bent carefully out of the way, the brisk brushing noise of someone moving or touching someone else or flinging a cape out of the way. It was so silent that Artham had to listen hard enough to think he was hearing his heartbeat. The noise of Esben walking beside him and of himself walking made it harder, but the trail of sounds was there.

Someone was following them. Connolin growled deep in his throat.

Artham’s heart started beating faster and he felt icy prickles run up his spine. The noises, silent as they were, got louder and more careless. Whoever it was was going faster.

Involuntarily, Artham started walking quicker. The next noise he heard was a little in front of them. Then they all stopped, leaving deadly silence.

“Esben do you have your sword?” Artham hissed. Esben stopped, looking confused for a second.

“No, why? And why are we whis-”

“Here!” Artham drew his sword in a flash of moonlit silver, shoving the hilt into Esben’s hands and jerking the knife from his sleeve just as a black figure swept out of the brush on the side of the path with a flashing blade raised high, bringing it down like lightning over Esben. Artham lunged in front of his brother who was still staring in shock at the sword in his hands, meeting the heavy curved blade descending on him with his small knife. There was a clang of metal and the high, long sound of Artham pushing the sword away with his small blade.

Protect. Protect. Protect. The words pounded in Artham’s mind, as fast and as hard as the frantic beating of his heart.

Connolin was barking furiously, and the black warrior in front of Artham staggered back, trying to shove off Connolin who had leapt onto his chest and started snapping in his face.

Two more black warriors with flashing blades burst from the woods behind them. Panting, Artham whirled around. The two were swinging their blades at Esben in a heavy storm of slashes, and Esben was barely holding his own against them, blocking every stroke but staggering backward.

Again Artham ran forward, taking one of the warriors from behind, feeling the dull impact of his knife making contact with something. Before he knew it the figure in black had turned on him, joined by the first who had just managed to shove Connolin away.

Recovering from his shock, Esben started fighting back, causing the warrior against him to rain down blows even harder. Connolin continued barking furiously, biting at the black attackers, getting anything he could between his teeth and pulling.

The two surrounding Artham quickly realized that he was a more expert fighter than they had first thought, and one of them made his way quickly behind him. Now he had to deal with one on either side of him, both of them aiming to kill. He ducked the blade of one, lunging forward, thrusting his knife ahead of him at the other.

The warrior staggered back, and with a cry of fury the one behind Artham swung down his curved sword with such force that Artham felt the wind of it in his face just as he barely managed to dodge out of the way.

He sprang up and accidentally bumped backward into the one still fighting his little brother. He heard the warrior spit out angry words in a language Artham had never heard, and then he whipped around, driving his sword down at Artham. Artham jerked to the side, and the sword that would have stabbed into his chest sunk deep into the cold earth as he staggered up.

The next few seconds were a hazed blur as the battle spell took over in Artham’s mind, and it seemed like hours as he blocked the heavy blows desperately with his knife, stabbing back with all his strength. Then it was over. Two of the warriors disappeared, leaving only the one who was locked in combat with Esben. It barely took a heartbeat for Artham to see that they were gone, but when they were, he leapt at the one left, holding the blade of his knife against the warrior’s throat.

“Drop the sword,” he growled. He could feel the warrior tensing beneath him, weighing the risk just as Connolin bounded over and barked at him and Esben raised the point of his Artham’s sword to the man’s chest. The sword thunked to the damp, snowy earth. The three stood for a second, panting, when the warrior spoke harshly.

“Well are you doing something to me or waiting all night?” He asked defiantly. Artham turned so he was in front of the warrior and slowly and firmly pushed the man to the ground against a small tree.

“Esben, cloak please,” Artham said, still holding his knife against the man’s throat. Esben handed him his cloak, which was thankfully a long, simple red one. Artham set the knife down on the ground close to him, and Esben came to stand next to him, the tip of Artham’s sword raised dangerously toward the prisoner. Connolin also followed his master’s movements and stood over the warrior, growling low and steadily.

“What are you doing, Artham?” Esben asked as Artham pushed the warrior’s hands down, wrapping the cloak tightly around the man in black’s arms and chest. He scooted around the tree and with a sharp tug tied it securely in the tightest knot he could manage.

“Tying this guy up,” he answered simply. “We can’t risk trying to take him back. He’d slow us down, and we can’t tell if there are any more in these woods. Who knows what he would do. So we’re leaving him here until we can come back with a group of Durgans so we can actually take him prisoner.” Artham stood up when he had finished the knot, then came around to the front of the tree. He crouched over and pulled off the man’s black mask.

A rough, dark skinned man glared up at him, the skin around his furious black eyes and cheeks streaked with patterns of red dye. Artham stood up, and the wild pounding of his heart slowly began returning to normal.

“Come on, Esben. Let’s go.” Artham said. Esben sighed, handing his brother back his sword. They walked a few steps away when Esben turned around.

“Stay right there,” he said, pointing at the man. The warrior let out a short, scoffing laugh.

“And where would I go?” He asked, contempt in his voice. The brothers walked as quickly as they could out of sight, Connolin reluctant to leave the prisoner alone, but following Artham anyway. As soon as they rounded a corner in the trail, Artham paused.

“Are you okay?” He asked Esben, putting a hand on his brother’s arm and looking him over.

“Yeah,” Esben answered “Just…” he trailed off and held up his hand. A deep, jaggedly curved cut went from the back of his hand across his wrist, and in the darkness of night it glistened black. Artham jerked the handkerchief he never ever used from his satchel, for once thankful for its existence as he wrapped it gently over his brother’s wrist and hand.

“Try to press on that until it stops bleeding,” he said quietly. “You’re okay other than that?” He asked, both hands on his brother’s shoulders. Esben nodded. Artham sighed in relief.

“Thank the Maker,” he said quietly, suddenly pulling his brother toward him and wrapping him in a hug, thanking the Maker over and over and over that they were both safe and alive.

Not safe yet, he thought. Suddenly the darkness of the forest seemed full of hidden dangers.

“We need to get out of here,” Artham said, fear edging his voice. He bent over Connolin. “You alright?” He asked his dog. Connolin whined but nudged Artham’s face with his wet nose, then licked his hands and trotted ahead, looking back to make sure Artham was following.

“Come on, Artham. Let’s go,” Esben said, glancing nervously at the woods around them, and longingly at the lights of Oak Hill just through the woods. Artham stood up, nodding at his brother.

“Let’s go,” he echoed. They followed Connolin at a run toward the safety of Oak Hill.

Notes:

• The battle spell is a term I’ve heard used to describe adrenaline, and I think it fits Aerwiar better because…well they didn’t have the science to know what adrenaline was.

• …where do you think Aro is right now?