Brankin Huoh

  Braulor and Tyran descended from the heights of the Lyrwan Pass, absorbed in silence, their gait slow and easy. With all that was happening back at the Greejon camp, there should have been more urgency in their stride and Braulor shook his head. Everything was turned upside down. Alrei Yqu was nothing like he expected. He was more ethereal and mysterious. The way he had appeared at their meeting early, seemingly out of thin air. It was like someone had pulled back the veil of truth and in that instant Braulor’s world was gone, replaced with a mix of history and myth that he was having difficulty processing. Freeing a young man from the Citadel? The Citadel; the one place that no free person aspired to go and now he had to figure out a way not only to get in, but to get back out with this other person. And do it in a way that Citadel authorities wouldn’t notice was a tall order to say the least. It was going to be extremely difficult, bordering on impossible and Braulor had no idea how to pull it off without really dying. He was wasting lots of energy trying to think of a plan while the rest of his world was in chaos. Braulor was consumed by the objective Alrei Yqu had given him, it was just how he was, and by the fact that that this ‘other person’ was, according to Alrei Yqu, his brother. A brother he didn’t know he had.

  Braulor didn’t doubt Alrei Yqu’s assertion; he had proven accurate on so many predictions before that there was no reason to doubt him now. Tyran’s family had taken Braulor in as an infant and raised him as best they could. He knew that he had real family out there somewhere but Tyran’s adopted parents never told him anything about them. They didn’t have anything to tell, Braulor supposed. They were approached by an ailing woman who begged they take Braulor as she could no longer care for him. Their hearts went out to the tiny boy, so they took him and then had Tyran later. Tyran and Braulor had grown up essentially as brothers but Braulor had always known the story of how he came to be a part of their family. To know he had a family member this close for all these years made him angry and sad at the same time. He wondered how Tyran was dealing with this new information.

  Right now he needed to figure out how to split with Tyran. He knew Tyran wanted to get back to the clan as soon as possible but since Alrei Yqu had revealed that Braulor needed to free Tagan, he was sure Tyran would be thinking about going with him to help. He wasn’t certain but knew the induction ceremony was coming up, so Braulor had little time to work with. He didn't have time to go back to camp and get extra supplies . He would have to accomplish this task with whatever he had on his back.

  Braulor, his thoughts anywhere but on the path in front of him, stumbled and slipped on some loose rock, falling to one knee. Behind him Tyran screamed out in pain. Braulor spun his head to see Tyran stepping slowly backward on shaking legs before falling, his face contorted in pain as he looked at the arrow protruding from his right shoulder.

  Braulor whipped his sword out, crawled to where Tyran was and motioned for him to be quiet.

  Tyran eyes were wide, his face draining of color, but he managed a curt nod as he clamped his mouth shut.

  Braulor stood, grabbed Tyran by the hood of his cloak and dragged him to his feet as Tyran writhed in pain. He forced Tyran back up the path toward some large rocks that would provide cover. Another arrow whistled by his ear as he and Tyran collapsed behind the boulders. Braulor poked his head around the edge of his shield of rock and swept the bushes ahead, head whipping back and forth, looking for some sign of their attacker.

  Lying beside him, Tyran moaned in obvious pain, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Braulor took a quick look at the arrow in Tyran’s shoulder, noting only that it was buried quite deep. He didn't recognize the shaft markings.

  Braulor poked his head out from behind the rock once again and still could see no one. “They must be trying to get around for a better shot.”

  Tyran didn't respond.

  "Tyran." Braulor gripped Tyran's good shoulder and gave him a little shake.

  Tyran snapped his head up, his eyes filled with pain and fear.

  "I think he’s trying to get around us for a better shot,” Braulor repeated, “I’m going to see if I can cut him off."

  Tyran only nodded and pulled out his mace and held it tightly, knuckles white from the effort.

  Braulor kept low, darting from rock to rock, back up the trail they had been descending, for several yards. He then plunged into the bushes on his left. He assumed that whoever was shooting at them would be coming up that way as it provided the most cover and the clearest shot at he and Tyran’s hiding spot behind the rock. He hoped he was right. All he knew was that it was what he would do if he were ambushing someone.

  Braulor paused for a second and slowed his breathing so he could listen. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, straining to hone in on the energy around him. It was a skill he had discovered by accident while hunting. One night he was watching his fire, not really thinking anything. Tired from the days hunt, he lay back on his blankets, enjoying the moment, when suddenly he felt something strange. If he had to describe the sensation to another, he wouldn’t be able to. It was like he tuned into some other dimension where everything was alive. It startled him so deeply that he jumped up and looked around to make sure that he was still in his little clearing; that nothing was trying to sneak up on him. There wasn’t. It took some time for him to calm down enough to fall asleep after that, his eyes popping open every few minutes to make sure everything was ok. Over the next few days he concluded that it wasn't a figment of his imagination and he decided to try and recreate the event. It took a lot of trial and error but after a while he found that he could tune in to the usually inanimate objects around him and ‘feel’ them, for lack of a better term. He could sense a field of energy coming from them. Only for seconds at a time but it was unbelievable and exhilarating. He never told anyone about it, preferring to keep it to himself in case he really was crazy. Braulor worked with it, practicing and trying to make it more powerful but it was still hit and miss at best, with miss dominating the outcomes.

  At the moment he was trying to override his nerves. He succeeded a tiny amount and he could feel a whisper of energy emanating from the trees and the rocks before he lost his connection. Braulor opened his eyes cursed to himself at his inability. He shouldn’t be surprised with his current state of mind. Feeling such energy was hard enough when he was calm and collected. Braulor was going to have to do this the old fashioned way and he eased slowly forward, in a squat position, hoping to head anyone off before they could finish off he and Tyran. With wary actions, he picked his way through the dense brush and eased to the right while keeping a sharp eye to the left. He stopped once more feeling out with the fiber of every sense he owned. He could hear them, moving through the brush, stealthy and sly. These were no amateurs he decided. Braulor was able to confirm their direction when one of them whispered to the other, with a hint of drawl. "I thought he was supposed to be alone."

  "Quiet, Emik," the other said.

  Braulor was confident they would come right past him. He looked back and could only barely glimpse Tyran through the trees. Tyran lay still against the rock. He was still holding his mace in his hand but he slumped badly to one side and looked close to passing out. Braulor hoped he was all right but he would have time enough to help him when he dealt with the two men approaching him. He took off his cloak, then undid his belt and let it slip to the ground, making sure not to drop it. He gripped his sword again and waited.

  Tense moments passed where time seemed to stand still as Braulor waited for his foes. Up against two unknown assailants, Braulor knew his strikes would have to be quick and precise. He breathed deeply, steadying his nerves, trying to calm his racing heart.

  A man came into view, stepping slow and deliberate, head swivelling from side to side. Braulor didn’t recognize him and his garb didn’t reveal who he may be either. The men must have been working on their own he concluded.

  They were so close now. Adrenaline surged into Braulor’s veins like gas on a fire
and he leapt from his hiding spot unable to control himself any longer.

  The man was quick and whipped his own sword up as protection, the attack not really surprising him, but Braulor's speed was his best weapon and his sword crashed right through the man’s guard and buried itself deep in his arm. The man shrieked and Braulor felt his opponent’s arm go limp as he landed full force on top of him as they fell to the ground. Braulor rolled off to the right and had to wrench his sword free from bone. The man rolled the opposite way, groaning, but stood to face Braulor. Blood was pulsing in red gushes down his arm like waves lapping on the beach but he was still game for a fight as he brandished a long knife in his good hand.

  They stalked each other in a slow circle, darting in and out in an attempt to feint one another. Where was the other man? Braulor parried his attacker’s knife thrust, then quickly stepped to the man other side and delivered a solid punch to his jaw. Pain shot through his wrist as he connected and he dropped his sword, gripping his wrist with his hand. The man wobbled, his legs scrabbling beneath him from the effect of the blow and slickness of blood he was treading on. He took a feeble swipe at Braulor as he fell to his knees and lurched forward. Braulor's left knee came up to meet the man’s skull with a dull thud. The man fell on his face, out cold as Braulor stepped back breathing heavily.

  A thick arm locked around Braulor's neck. "You’re going to pay now," a cold voice hissed into his ear and the arm squeezed harder. Braulor clawed frantically at the second man's muscular arm but it was like a vice. He tried to spin around, throw the man off balance, but the man's base was solid. He continued to compress Braulor’s neck with brutish strength, unfazed with his attempts to break free. "Didn't think we would both walk into that trap did you?" the cold voice said, taunting Braulor as he squeezed the life out of him.

  Braulor gasped, in desperate need of oxygen. It felt like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets, his tongue flapping around like a confused lizard as he tried anything to take a breath. He flailed his arms, trying to grab any part of his attacker he could but found only air. He was close to passing out now. It was only a matter of time. In desperation he moved his right leg in between his assailant’s legs and kicked up as hard as he could with his heel.

  A low groan escaped the man and his grip on Braulor's neck loosened ever so slightly. Sensing an opportunity Braulor kicked again and again. The man shifted his leg to stop the kicks but the damage had been done. His grip loosened more and Braulor grabbed a quick breath. Then he felt the cold steel of a knife against his neck and he stopped moving. "Time to end this," the man said in an icy drawl.

  The knife moved with honed precision and Braulor felt the tip right under his left ear. It pushed in, biting at his skin with a sharp pinch. Braulor stiffened, waiting for the end to come. It wasn’t how he had envisioned dying but there were worse ways to meet your maker he supposed.

  A sickening crunch met Braulor’s ears. The arm around his neck loosened and then let go altogether. Braulor fell to the ground, sucking air hard through his compressed neck muscles. He looked up in time to see Tyran over the second man’s body, delivering another savage blow with his mace. Then he passed out.

  Braulor awoke coughing. His head throbbed and each cough wrenched his neck, sending bolts of agony into his brain. The sun was setting and darkness was building, indicating he had been out for a while. He sat up and rubbed his neck discovering that it was sore to the touch. No real surprise there.

  Tyran was seated on a rock nearby, tending to a fire. He looked over when he heard Braulor. "Good. You’re awake."

  "Thank you, brother," Braulor said with difficulty, his voice hoarse and croaky.

  "You would have done the same." Tyran shrugged and then turned back to the fire.

  Braulor thought for a moment. "What happened to them?"

  Tyran pointed and Braulor looked over to see a body in the dirt. He grimaced and looked away when he spotted the blood covered scalp, one side of the skull completely crushed in, giving the grey face a horrific, twisted look. After he composed himself, he looked back and saw a second body, bound and lying face down close to the first.

  "He hasn't woken yet," Tyran said before Braulor asked.

  Braulor spun onto his knees and attempted to stand up. A bad idea. The world swirled around him and he sank back down.

  Tyran hurried to his side to assist. "Let me give you a hand," he said, extending his left arm.

  Braulor noticed a tiny piece of arrow shaft still protruding from Tyran’s right shoulder, like a finger pointing at him. Braulor took Tyran's hand and Tyran hefted him to his feet, then steered him to a log near the fire and helped him sit down. He handed Braulor a full canteen as he resumed his own seat.

  Braulor sat with his eyes closed, his arms and legs still shaking from the effort of getting up, as he tried to center himself from the dizziness. Who were these men? Mercenaries were common in the wild lands but they usually wouldn't bother you without a reason and these two were waiting for them at a perfect ambush spot, as if they had been tracking them for some time. It had to have something to do with Jolon, but Braulor would have to wait for the first man to come around before he could find out for certain. He looked over at Tyran, also sitting quietly but wincing in slight waves as pain coursed through his shoulder. "Couldn't you get that arrow out?"

  "It must be barbed. I tried to pull it out but it hurt too much." Tyran’s left hand instinctively touched the area around the wound.

  "We'll have to get it out of there somehow or it will get infected."

  "I was hoping you would help me once you were awake. I think it’s going to take both of our efforts.” Tyran wasn’t ecstatic.

  "I will. I just need to get my feet under me." Braulor took a long sip of water from his canteen.

  Braulor was starting to feel like himself again, albeit with a very sore throat. He was able to stand on his own without too much wobbling and they got down to the business of getting the arrow out of Tyran's shoulder.

  Tyran sat on the ground and leaned back against a rock while Braulor stood over him, wishing he didn't have to do what he was about to. He placed one hand on Tyran's good shoulder and with his other, took a firm grip of the stub of the protruding arrow shaft. He wiggled it from side to side as gently as he could, trying to ease it out of position. Tyran winced and grimaced with every movement, his entire body tensing and releasing, trying to find a place where there was no pain. The arrow was deep and Braulor could feel it nicking against bone as he moved it. It wasn't stuck in the bone but felt like it was lodged behind. His only hope was to twist it and pull. Hopefully the barb of the arrowhead would swing around, find enough room to clear the bone and come out.

  "Get ready Tyran, this is going to hurt."

  Tyran looked up at him, his eyes somewhere between prepared and scared to death but he nodded anyway, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the coming pain.

  Braulor put his knee across Tyran's chest and sighed. There wasn't any other choice. He had to do it. As fast as he could he twisted the arrow and pulled. It didn't budge. Tyran was rigid with pain beneath his knee, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, grunting in short breaths through clenched teeth. Braulor twisted the shaft again, this time in the other direction. Tyran's good hand shot up and clutched painfully at Braulor’s leg but Braulor kept twisting. He could feel the arrowhead moving more freely and twisted a tiny bit more before he gave it one good yank. The arrow came free and Braulor stumbled backwards from the force of his pull. Tyran screamed and slumped heavily back, both arms hanging limply at his sides, quivering.

  Braulor lifted the arrow to his face for a closer look. It gleamed in the firelight as if were happy to have done its job. It wasn't rusty, so that was a plus, but it was designed to cause as much damage as possible to its victim. Tyran would likely have problems with his right arm for the rest of his life. Braulor tossed the arrowhead aside and set about dressing the newly opened wound. Once it was
properly attended to, he helped Tyran get the arm into a sling and then sat down once again, woozy from the effort.

  Tyran stayed where he was, breathing and feeling a sense of relief with the arrow removed. The cold rock felt good against his back, soothing him and helping him deal with the pain.

  Braulor glanced over at the two forms on the ground. The bound one was stirring slightly and Braulor knew they had to question him. He needed more time to recover. His throated ached with the slightest movement and he wondered how he would be able to talk long enough to question anybody. Reluctantly, he got to his feet. As he neared the men, the bound man stopped fidgeting and went still. Braulor stood over him for a moment and tried to see if he could recognize any of his markings. He knew many of the mercenary groups and this man clearly belonged to one of them but Braulor couldn't identify any distinguishing features. He rolled the man over with his foot, crouched down beside him, looking into his face. He didn’t recognize him. There was a large welt on the man’s cheekbone that was spectacularly swollen and blooming black and purple; the swelling forcing his right eye almost shut. Dried blood was caked under his broken nose, matted with dirt and leaves from lying face down. "Who are you?" Braulor demanded, wincing as his throat scorched in pain.

  Lyrell looked up at Braulor but besides pain, his face didn't betray any hint of emotion. He remained cold and impassive under Braulor's glare. Lyrell wasn't scared. Not in the slightest. He had been in worse predicaments before and survived, so he fully expected to this time. When he first came to, he had tried to move and realized he was bound. His jaw ached, possibly broken, and his nose felt like someone had hit it with a hammer. With some struggle he managed to turn his head enough to discover that Emik hadn't fared as well and was lying stiff beside him. Lyrell felt bad for him. Of all the people in the gang, Emik was the one that he got along with the best. He would miss him, but time for that later. Right now he had to find a way to escape. With his limited vantage point he was able to see the young one tending the fire. At first their target, Braulor, lay on a blanket not far from the young one. Lyrell had hoped he was dead. That would have made it easier for him to escape. That was his only option and he had tried the cords binding his wrists. They were tight but not impossibly so. He smiled at his luck. With the young one’s shoulder housing an arrow, he hadn't been able to tie the rope as tight as he should have. That gave Lyrell the window of opportunity he was looking for and he had started working on the cords. When he heard Braulor wake up he had to slow what he was doing. He listened as the young one and Braulor talked briefly and then as they removed the arrow from the young one’s shoulder. Lyrell had almost freed himself of the cords when he heard someone approaching and went still.

  "Tell me who you are." Braulor tried to shout for added effect but his words came out as a painful squeak.

  The man tried to work his mouth and emitted a gurgling sound. He worked it some more and then, "Water."

  Braulor looked at him for a moment and then stomped off to get his canteen. He returned and tried to pour some in the man’s mouth but it ran down his cheeks and onto the ground. He pulled the man roughly into a sitting position and attempted once more to pour some water into his mouth. More went in than landed on the ground and the man swallowed painfully. "One more time, who are you?"

  "Lyrell." The man’s voice sounded as mangled as his face.

  Lyrell didn’t like giving up his name but it didn’t mean much and he was confident Braulor wouldn’t be living long enough to tell anyone else anyway.

  “Who do you work for?” Braulor demanded as his mind swirled around Lyrell’s name, trying to place it.

  “Draax.”

  Braulor should have known. He’d have to pay Draax a visit soon.

  "Why did he send you to kill us?" Braulor asked, calming down a little now that he was getting some answers.

  Lyrell shrugged as if to say he was only following orders.

  Braulor looked away for a moment. He tried to put the pieces together. Maybe Jolon knew Draax and had got him to send the two men to kill him. In one lightning quick motion, Lyrell freed his hands, broke Braulor's grip, rolled onto his back, coiled his legs to his chest, and then exploded them out as hard as he could.

  As he felt his grip break, Braulor spun his head around just in time to receive the full force of both Lyrell’s feet against his face, sending him tumbling backward.

  With both his hands free Lyrell leaned to his side, whipped a large knife from Emik’s vest and sliced through the rope binding his feet with one chop. He jumped up and sprinted into the bush behind him.

  Braulor stopped rolling and looked up again only to see Lyrell disappear into the darkness of the trees. He scrambled to his feet and yelled at Tyran, who was attempting to get up and chase Lyrell, to stay put as he ran toward the trees. He tore into the brush then stopped after a few feet and listened. Visibility was nonexistent and he couldn't hear a thing. He tried to tune into the energy of the area but couldn't focus his brain after the assault he had sustained earlier. After several moments Braulor realized it was pointless to try and find Lyrell in his condition and went back to Tyran.

  Perhaps twenty feet away, Lyrell was pressed tightly behind a large tree, listening. He heard Braulor give chase, stop, and then return to the young one. He let his breath out in a long exhale and stole slowly away through the darkness, already trying to plot how he was going to finish the job.

  Chapter 9