She closed her eyes, visualizing his exact location. If she moved quickly and used what little element of surprise she had, maybe she’d get lucky.
She released her arrow into the air without finding a target and grabbed the upper limb of her bow with both hands before spinning on her heels. Planting her legs, she used her body as leverage to channel all her weight into her swing, smashing her grand longbow into the side of the Tiwan’s head.
The bow connected with a loud
thwack.
He yelped in pain and stumbled. To her satisfaction, a large welt appeared, running from his ear to his mouth, and a trail of blood formed at the corner of his lips.
The Tiwan drew his sword. “And to think, I was gonna to be gentle.”
She pulled her sword, realizing her victory was far from won.
The Tiwan chuckled. “Of course,” he murmured before charging.
The power of his blows vibrated down her sword and ricocheted throughout her body. She staggered as he pursued her. His hard, fast parries kept her actions purely defensive, forcing her backward. He would either drive her off the mountain or she’d miss blocking his attack.
The Tiwan had pushed her to ledge. Bracing against the gusting wind, the loose shale shifted beneath her feet. Her arms tired from his relentless strikes. She clutched her now cumbersome blade with limp hands in a meager attempt to deflect his blows. A flurry of parries knocked the weapon from her grasp and sent it clattering over the rocks. Standing with her arms at her sides, gasping for breath, a ridiculous thought popped into her head at how disappointed Master Dupree would be for losing her steel.
The Tiwan straightened from his crouch. “You fight good,” he acknowledged, bowing his head in respect. “I regret having to kill you.”
When he lunged, she closed her eyes and dove to the ground in an unknown desire to make herself small. By changing her elevation, the Tiwan had to adjust his charge to compensate for her new ground-hugging position. Evidently, he didn’t expect such a cowardly tactic, possibly thinking she would stand proud and face her death following the warrior’s code. He tried to stop his forward momentum, but slipped on the loose shale and found himself teetering on the edge. He dropped his sword, swinging his arms in wild desperation, but the wind played no favorites and a forceful gust toppled him off the mountain.
Ignoring the pebbly grit digging into her cheek, she spread her arms wide and rejoiced in being alive. She didn’t know how long she lay there as the wind battered her, but it was long after her breathing had returned to normal and the adrenaline had washed out of her. Shouts from the men across the ravine finally roused her.
She staggered to her knees before rocking up onto her feet. Lumbering across the mountaintop, she picked up and sheathed her sword, then grabbed her longbow. She stretched cramped muscles in her back while reaching for another arrow, and angled her body to see down the shaft in search of her next target.
Ignoring her protesting muscles, she drew the bowstring to her anchor point and held her breath. She found her mark and followed his movements with her body and eye, praying for the wind to grant her arrow a true path. But a sharp stab in her shoulder caused her body to jerk and she regretfully released the arrow in another wasted attempt. Her shoulder knotted as a spasm ripped through it. She collapsed to the ground, gasping at the fire blistering down her arm.
With her fingertips, she touched the smooth shaft of an arrow imbedded near her shoulder blade. Her first instinct was to yank it out, but the arrow was just beyond her grasp and she didn’t have the energy to undertake the daunting task anyway.
“I’m sorry,” murmured a quiet voice.
She turned her head to see a Tiwan astride a black Criton.
“Your discomfort will end soon.”
She shuffled to her feet but swayed precariously. Although she wanted to act brave and make Master Dupree proud, the pain radiating outward from her shoulder threatened to break her. Her tongue lay at the bottom of her mouth like a fat slug, but blinding anger refused to keep it still.
“You shot me in the back, you coward.”
The rider bobbed his shoulders in a detached shrug. “I understand you might think that. But someone has trained you well, and with what you want to accomplish, you don’t deserve an honorable death.”
She shook her head, but the fog clouding her mind refused to dissipate. “We’re simply passing through your land and because of that, you attack us? How’s
that
honorable?”
The Criton shifted beneath his rider, anxious at the smell of blood and death. The rider rested his hand on the beast’s neck. Even as her vision blurred, she noticed the Criton relax.
Great, they’re bonded.
She didn’t know why that bothered her, except it seemed to be such a waste of a Criton.
“We usually grant Criton riders safe passage through our land, but your quest could not succeed.”
She swayed as a burst of wind pushed her, but celebrated in the small success of staying on her feet. “What quest?” Her voice sounded slurred in her ears. What she wouldn’t give for a drink of water to soothe the inferno raging in her parched throat.
“To lead unbonded Critons into darkness.” The Tiwan spoke with confidence as if he knew a secret.
“You dipped the arrow in poison.”
He nodded.
“And you’re doing all this…” she hesitated, waving an arm behind her to the men battling across the ravine, “…because you think I’m a Dark Caller?”
“A messenger on Critonback delivered a warning. Without the current Caller of Light, we couldn’t take a chance.”
A jolt of white-hot fire lanced through her stomach and she doubled over, panting. She clutched her abdomen, gasping to fill her lungs with air that was too illusive to inhale even though she stood on top of a mountain in a windstorm.
She choked on her words. “You started this because…someone sent you a
message
?”
The Tiwan didn’t answer, not that she expected him to anyway. Their willingness to kill Marek and his men based on the possibility she could bind Criton and rider with a dark bond was absurd. She groaned as the horror of his words seeped into her clouded mind. The battle fell on her shoulders. The bloodshed was
her
fault. Because the Tiwans believed she was a Dark Caller, Marek’s death and the massacre of his men would stain her soul forever.
Her legs folded and she crumbled to her knees. She cradled her stomach and watched giant teardrops splat on the shale in front of her.
Who sent the message, and why?
“If you wish, my Criton can end your suffering. Death by Criton fire is honorable.”
Endless waves of pain knifed through her body. She was burning up from the inside because of a misunderstanding. She threw her head back and screamed, offering up her torment to the heavens. She would not die from Criton fire or curl up and die in front of this man. Forcing one foot then the other beneath her, she staggered to her feet and threw her arms out to steady herself until her legs stopped shaking.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I can’t say that I’m sorry for you, Dark Caller. You should’ve chosen a different path.”
The sun crested on the edge of the horizon, presenting her with a brief distraction as she stared beyond the Tiwan and his Criton to admire its brilliance. The radiant, yellow orb streaked the heavens in fantastic shades of red and orange. Under different circumstances, she would’ve considered it one of the most beautiful endings to a day she’d ever witnessed.
She continued in a flat, resigned voice. “I’m sorry, because you started this for nothing. I’m not a Dark Caller.”
“There’s no need to deny it.”
“Tell me this…” she paused to lean forward, resting her hands on her knees. “If I was a Dark Caller, wouldn’t your bonded Criton sense my dark energy and react with hostility?”
She peered up at the Tiwan, but the ground swayed beneath her. As she struggled to regain her balance, her mother’s medallion slipped out of her blouse to dangle from her neck. The eye crystal caught the sun’s waning rays and cast prisms of light around her.
For an instant, she thought shock then surprise unfolded on the Tiwan’s face.
“Who are you?” he asked with a confused expression.
She no longer had the strength to hold her head up, so she let it dip to her chest and laughed, although it sounded more like a raspy gurgle. “Don’t you think you should’ve asked that
before
you attacked?”
She clutched her mother’s necklace. Just the act of reaching for the medallion almost sent her sprawling forward, but she righted herself. The necklace had always offered comfort during the darkest times in her life. She prayed to her mother, asking for strength because she would die on her terms.
With a will she didn’t know lived inside her, she stiffened her spine and stood tall. She pulled her sword and with trembling hands, held it proudly in front of her. The wind surged around her, swirling her hair in the shifting currents. She gathered her last bit of energy and inhaled a deep breath into her burning lungs before yelling. “I’m Carina McKay, you bloody savage.” A small smile played across her lips. “And although I’m no Dark Caller, I did best some of your finest warriors.”
The sun had almost slipped beyond the horizon, but a few bold rays burst forth spilling onto her blade. A startled gasp escaped her lips when the glow captured the beautiful design painstakingly etched into the metal. Master Dupree had crafted something special, just for her. It was her medallion. Next to the hilt, Sabian had etched two Critons with their necks intertwined, protecting the encrusted eye jewel.
“Sabian, thank you for being my teacher…and friend,” she whispered before taking a wobbly step closer to the edge.
A wave of dizziness swam through her. Tears streamed down her face.
She didn’t want to die.
“Carina, move away from the ledge.”
At hearing her name, she twisted around and glared at the Tiwan who had dismounted and was approaching her with his hands outstretched. A concerned expression flitted across his face.
“Don’t come near me.” She wanted to sound forceful, but fear filtered through her words.
“Please, I can help you.”
“Like Haden.” She tried to raise her sword, but it had grown too heavy as the poison racing through her bloodstream drained her remaining strength.
Mother, guide me home and may the end be peaceful.
She dropped her sword and let the wind carry her over the edge.
20 – RISE of an ANGEL
Marek spun in time to witness Carina spread her arms like the rays from a morning star and plummet off the mountain as a Tiwan grabbed at the empty space she’d just vacated. The strength drained from his limbs and he dropped to his knees, digging his fingers into the chewed up earth.
He failed her. He’d taken her from the safety of McKay lands. She had trusted him and he failed to protect her. A crushing ache gripped his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He would’ve welcomed a Tiwan slicing him open with a broadsword over the debilitating hollowness sucking away his spirit. What had happened? How had things gone so wrong?
The sounds of his men fighting around him whispered in the background as he stared at the mountaintop where Carina had stood moments before.
“Marek, get up!” Sampson yelled. Sampson and several soldiers had formed a defensive line to protect him from the never-ending assault. His men were loyal and would shield him with their lives.
Marek’s eyes zeroed in on the man who had killed Carina, and who now stood with his head buried in his Criton’s neck. Was it regret? Was he ashamed to have caused an innocent to jump to her death? Had he wanted her for himself and now cried for his loss? A rage erupted from deep within Marek’s soul—a dark hatred that filled the gaping hole in his chest. Marek let the rage devour him, drawing upon its power to soothe him. He would avenge her. The man with the black Criton would beg for death and Marek would deny him. The Tiwan would cry for mercy and Marek would bleed him more.
An ear piercing roar from FireStrike drew his attention. The animal reared onto his massive hind legs and launched into the air. Tiwan soldiers pelted him with arrows, but the swoosh from his powerful wings hurtled him skyward. Marek could’ve called him back, but why? He considered FireStrike a close friend and companion, a mighty Criton worthy of a king. But with his fire depleted and more arrows impaled in his wings than Marek could count, Marek didn’t see the point in making him return. They had bonded years ago and their bond had only strengthened with the passing of time. If FireStrike had the energy to take flight, he’d grant his Criton the chance to escape.
Marek struggled to his feet, his body depleted and sluggish. Dirt and the blood of those he’d killed covered his body. Fighting was never clean. No one wanted to die. Even a mortally wounded man would reach for an inner resolve and fight until all the blood drained from his body.
That strength of will and desire to live forced Marek to stand even though his body protested. Because if he continued to mourn Carina, to let her death overwhelm him, he too would die and lose the chance to avenge her.
His sword felt clumsy in his hand, the hilt sticky from blood and sweat. He hefted it, balancing and testing its weight before turning to face the battle. Surveying the field with an experienced eye, he located the Tiwan causing the most damage. That Tiwan would be the first one he’d kill. He could’ve chosen someone weaker, but what kind of king would that make him? A good king always sought out the strongest opponent.