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Time passed slowly in the camp, but the shadows eventually grew to encompass it. The scouts built the main fire larger and larger until they had a substantial pit of coals over which they placed the turkeys. As they finished their various tasks, they gathered around the fire and sharpened their swords in small circles of quiet conversation. The officers continued their conversations as well. No one made any move toward questioning or releasing Dasen.
Sitting by the tree, bored and alone, his mind wandered to the thoughts he had been having prior to their discovery of the camp. He thought about Teth hiding from the forest masters, the fact that they had not found her yet, that they likely never would. These men had been specifically trained to guard the Great Western Forest. Most of them had lived their entire lives in the villages it encompassed. They spent their every day patrolling it, tracking bandits through it, yet they had no chance of finding Teth.
Dasen thought about their time together since the joining ceremony, thought about all the things she had done, tried to put them into the context of the men that now surrounded him, and was astounded. She seemed to know every plant, every animal, every tree, mushroom, root, leaf, and branch in the forest. She could run, shoot, track, climb better than any man he had ever seen. She was perfectly at home among the trees, sleeping on pine needles, cooking over fires, bathing in streams. He wondered at the time, the dedication that must have gone into building those skills, that familiarity, especially as he had failed time and again to perform activities that she did effortlessly.
And slowly, very slowly, he began to understand what had gone into the creature he had joined. This was her entire life. It was the only thing she knew, the only thing she loved. He understood why she acted like she did. It was not a lust for chaos. It was not even a choice. It was the way the Order had made her. Just as it made me to study, he realized, connecting his thoughts to what Teth had said. And taking him away from the life the Order had crafted for him had been debilitating, overwhelming, terrifying. And I had someone to help me, to guide me, protect me, show me how. What he had done to Teth was the same as if she had abandoned him in the forest to fend for himself. That was what she had been trying to show him for the past week, but even there, she had not been too kind to drive the lesson home.
Dasen felt his stomach sink. He remembered what his father had said, “. . . the Order is more complex than we accept it to be. . . . Not everyone’s path is the same. . . . The differences may be good, a part of the plan.” He saw now that his father’s blasphemy had been right all along. For whatever reason, the Order had made Teth this way. She was perfectly designed for the life she led and had taken to it like a bird to the sky. And he wanted to rip it all away in the name of that same Order.
He brought he head forward then smacked it back into the tree several times, cursing himself for the idiot he was, for making this all so much more difficult than it needed to be. Surely, Teth would need to adapt when they got to the city, just as he had to adapt to the forest, but just as he would never be comfortable here, the city would never be Teth’s home. Her life there would be every bit as hard as his was here. And the only one who could help her with that, who could protect her was him. Just as she has helped and protected me.
With the thought, Dasen suddenly felt the overwhelming need to see Teth again. He wanted more than anything in the world to apologize, to let her know that he would not do it again, that he would be there for her the same way she had been here for him. But now, after two weeks in each other’s constant company, she was gone. An hour ago, he would have been grateful for that reprieve, now he felt it like a hole in his gut.
He found himself watching the trees more and more urgently as dark thoughts swirled through his mind. Is she hurt? Did the scouts kill her? Has she finally decided to abandon me and live in the forest as she always wanted? The idea cut him to the bone, and he caught himself watching the trees trying to picture her bounding into the camp.
As if his imagination had created reality, he suddenly saw someone moving through the trees toward the clearing. He could not make out the figure at first, but as it came into view, his heart sank. What he had thought was one person proved to be three. The scouts who had gone in search of Teth were returning to the camp empty-handed. Teth was gone.
Dasen was crestfallen. He told himself that it was for the best. He would have an escort to the city, and she could stay in her forest. It was probably what she wanted all along. He tried to cheer himself with the fact he would not have to put up with her insults and abuse, that they were probably both better off, but he could not make himself believe it.
When the scouts were in view, the sergeant left the fire to meet them. A heated conference ensued at the side of the clearing. Dasen could not hear the words, but if the faces of the scouts were any indication, it was decidedly one-sided and unpleasant. After a few minutes of what appeared to be a thorough reaming, the scouts were dismissed and hurried to join their fellows by the fires. The sergeant returned to the other officers red-faced and puffed up so that it looked like he might explode. Seeing his anger, one of the men consoled him with a pat on the shoulder then broke from the fire and ambled toward Dasen with the sergeant in tow.
The new man had a friendly face with a broad smile and sparkling green eyes. He was taller than most of the men in camp, and his build was moderate but solid. Solid that was in everything but his face, which was decidedly soft, with full cheeks, generous dimples, and an easy smile. That face stood in stark contrast to the granite block that served as the sergeant’s head to the point that Dasen could not imagine it on a soldier. The soft features and warm smile were so out of place that he found it difficult to think of the long sword the man wore as a real weapon.
The taller officer – Dasen saw three lines beneath his crest, a lieutenant – stopped a few feet from where Dasen’s feet were sprawled out in front of him. He looked like a giant from his perspective, and he felt a kink in his neck from the strain of looking at him. "Hello. My name is Andies Valgood,” the lieutenant said as he knelt to Dasen’s level. His voice was every bit as inviting as his smile, and Dasen could not help but like him. “My official title is lieutenant, but the men just call me Andi. My sour-faced friend here is Sergeant Winnton Rathman. I’m sorry that we left you tied up, but we wanted to find your wife before we talked with you."
The sergeant grunted from behind. The sound distracted his superior for a moment. Andi looked back at the sergeant with a slight frown – the first time the smile had left his face.
“Unfortunately, our men could not find her, and that has us a bit worried. The biggest problem,” Andi’s voice turned serious, “is that it casts some doubts on what to do with you. I don't think you were trying to do any harm, but the fact that your wife ran does not speak well of you. It is also strange that a woman could so thoroughly evade our scouts. It’s a feat that very few men could manage."
"Your men don't know Teth.” Dasen was so drawn into the lieutenant’s easy style that he did not realize that he was speaking his thoughts.
Andi's eyes perked. He turned to the sergeant. “You see. There is a simple explanation for everything." Returning his stare to Dasen he asked, “Your wife is Tethina Galbridge?”
"Yes, sir. You know her?"
Andi laughed, long and hard. “You could say that. Our unit doesn’t often make it as far west as Randor’s Pass, but your wife is a bit of a legend among the forest masters. She’s had quite a few run-ins with the unit in charge of the area around Randor. A few of our fellas even competed against her in the games a while back.” He lowered his voice and grinned. “Let’s just say, after that, it may be best they didn’t find her.”
Dasen had not thought about that aspect of Teth’s relationship with the forest masters. He now remembered her specific instructions about not telling them who she was, of not even telling them that she was a g
irl. Then he remembered Pete Magee. He could only imagine the forest masters hated her every bit as much as the boys from Randor’s Pass, and he suddenly understood why she had not been interested in their help.
“And if you are married to Tethina Galbridge, that must make you the famous Dasen Ronigan,” Andi continued. He thought about that for a moment. “Is that the case?” he asked when Dasen did not offer anything.
“Yes, sir. I am Dasen Ronigan. Tethina and I were joined in Randor’s Pass two weeks ago now.”
Andi stared at him again for a long moment. Eventually, he turned to the sergeant. “What do you think, Winnton? Do we believe him? He doesn’t look much like the heir to the Kingdoms’ greatest fortune.”
The sergeant harrumphed. “Well, the girl’s gotta be that Galbridge bitch. She’s the only one who’d lose our scouts like that.” It was only when he saw Andi’s hard stare that the sergeant seemed to realize what he had just said, and to whom. “My apologies, sir, my tongue got away from me. I didn’t mean any insult against your wife. It’s no excuse, but I used to be stationed around Randor, and she did give us more trouble than most.”
“I understand,” Dasen managed, though he wanted to hit the man – maybe Teth was a bitch, but she was his bitch.
“Thank you,” Andi smiled, “I assure you that Sergeant Rathman will be disciplined for his disrespect.” He spared the blockish man another stern look. “I, for one, believe your story. We were told to be to on the watch for strange activity associated with your joining ceremony, and everything else seems to fit. And even if you aren’t Dasen Ronigan, I don’t think you’re a threat. But we can’t be too cautious these days, so before I let you go, I want to hear your story. Be brief for now, but we may ask you to tell it again in greater detail, so be sure you speak the truth."
Desperate to get away from the tree, Dasen told his story in as quick and concise a form as he could. He did not hide anything excepting the parts that included the creatures – he doubted the wisdom of revealing that while tied to a tree under suspicion. His interrogators ask a few questions as he spoke, but the tale seemed to hold few surprises. When he was finished, the conversation died, and there was a tense moment.
The lieutenant ended the stalemate with a motion to the guard who was standing off to the side. The stubby man pulled a short knife from his belt and covered the few steps that separated him from the tree. Andi stood to his full height and backed away. The sight of the knife made Dasen’s heart leap, and Andi's movement away did nothing to assuage his fears, but the guard just crouched behind him and sliced the leather straps that held his hands.
Dasen rubbed his wrists and started to stand, but his legs were stiff, and it took him some time to convince them to function. When he was upright, Andi held out a hand. "It is nice to meet you, Lord Ronigan. I am sorry to have detained you.” His voice was strangely formal. “Would you please come with me so we can introduce you to our captain?"
The captain of this unit of forest masters was older than the others by many years. He wore his silver hair long, held in a great tail by a series of bands that ran down his back. His beard contained more silver than black, and he wore it in a well-trimmed square around his mouth. He was not a very large man – slightly taller than the sergeant but less broad. His face resembled the sergeant’s more than Andi’s, but it was narrower and better proportioned with less severe features and a triangular chin. Slight wrinkles appeared to have been chiseled around his striking cool-blue eyes, which looked like they could erupt at any moment in a shower of freezing stares.
One of those stares caught Dasen and held him as if measuring him by his ability to hold it. He was trapped in that glare for what felt like a long time before the eyes turned to the remainder of him, scanning down his body then coming back up to meet his eyes again. When the inspection was complete, the captain turned to Andi, who whispered a few words in his ear. The captain's eyebrow went up, and he again examined his captive from top to bottom. He quirked his mouth in thought and stared at Dasen as if trying to bore a hole through him with his eyes. The other two officers stared just as intently, mimicking the actions of their leader, but neither of them had the glare of that old man.
"Welcome, Lord Ronigan.” The captain broke the examination by extending his hand and crushing Dasen’s in a powerful grip. “I have heard good things of your father, and you are welcome in our camp."
"Thank you, Captain." Dasen tried to keep from wincing.
"I am sorry about your ordeal today.” The captain released him and smiled. It appeared genuine and made his face seem slightly less stern. “It was not my intent to discomfort or frighten you, but we too have had some problems with the invaders as, I hear, you have also decided they must be."
There was a short pause. Dasen nodded, and the captain gave him another reassuring smile. "I have not introduced myself. I am Derrik Hobbleswood, Captain of the Uhia District Forest Masters. I believe you’ve met my remaining officers." He motioned toward Andi and Winnton, and each nodded in acknowledgement. "I will want to hear every detail of your journey, but that can wait until you have had a chance to recover."
A guard already stood behind Dasen with a small bowl of cold water, a hand towel, and a razor. He led him away to another side of the clearing where he washed his face and shaved off as thick a beard as he’d ever had. Another man presented him with a fresh shirt, but it was too small, so he stayed with the, now tattered, one he’d found at the first freehold.
He was eventually escorted back to the small fire where the officers continued their discussions. As he approached, the captain flicked an eyebrow, and the other two fell silent. The circle parted to allow Dasen’s entry in a spot opposite the captain.
Dasen diverted his eyes to the small fire while the captain spoke to the guard who had brought him. "Scout, if the food is ready, I think that we could eat. Bring us each a plate of whatever is over there. Following that, you may join the others. I’m sure we won’t need your help with this one."
"Yes, sir!" the scout saluted.
The captain caught the young man before he could escape and added, "Scout, make sure there are guards on duty at all times, even while they’re eating and all through the night. There is no room for complacency."
Another "Yes, sir!" and the guard was away. He returned a minute later with four plates brimming with slightly undercooked turkey and a few charred onions.
The officers and Dasen ate in silence. All of them finished their food, but none requested more. When they were finished, Sergeant Rathman fetched folding stools and another guard followed him with fuel for the fire.
Captain Hobbleswood pulled a pipe from his green officer’s jacket, stuffed it with tobacco, and used a stick from the fire to get it going. When he was puffing intently, he fixed Dasen with a steely gaze that was intensified by the flickering shadows from the fire. Two puffs on the pipe and the captain began to speak in what was supposed to be a friendly tone, but his dominating presence and rich voice made it sound more commanding than conversational. "I’ll want you to tell me your story in detail, but I think it is important that you hear ours first. It may help you think of some aspects of your own tale that you have forgotten or would not consider important now."
The captain took a long puff from the pipe but never moved his eyes from where they held Dasen's. When his words returned, they sounded far away as if traveling through time itself. "We first ran into the invaders six days ago. Our unit was coming into Rycroft, when the forward scouts reported that the village was under attack. We had trouble believing them, but when we arrived on the hill above the town, it was just as they’d said.
“We got there just in time to see the attackers, huge mounted men, finish the garrison and any of the villagers that had stood against them. There must have been two hundred invaders and our unit was only forty, so the only thing we could have done was die alongside the other
s. The men, they wanted to charge, but I ordered them to hold." This was an important point to Captain Hobbleswood. He paused to make sure that it was understood.
Dasen nodded, and the captain continued, "We watched the attack from the cover of the trees until the invaders spotted us and charged the hill. I am not proud to say that we ran. As I said, we wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes against that lot, and I thought we’d be a lot more useful alive than under the ground, so we ran. Still, the invaders were some of the best horsemen I’ve ever seen. Their mounts couldn’t have been fresh, but they chased us down effortlessly. We made just enough of a stand so that most of us could escape into the deep woods where they couldn’t follow. Still, we lost a dozen men that day, and I’m not sure if we killed a single one of those bastards.
“We’ve been trying to get to Thoren ever since, but the invaders keep pushing us north. I swear every road and trail east of here is swarming with them. I don’t know how, but they seem to know where we are, because every time we try to break east they meet us and drive us back. All told, I’ve lost over half my men. Half of those remaining are hurt in some way. So now, we’re trying to get north of the main road, hoping we can break out of the forest there and make a run for Thoren.”
The captain paused to take a long drink from a water bag that the sergeant had produced. The drink was followed by another barrage of puffs from the short-stemmed pipe. When he had the smoke boiling from his mouth and nose, he turned to Dasen. "From what Andies and Winnton tell me, you have also concluded that these men are from across the Clouded Range. Personally, I can think of no other explanation. I have to believe it is a full-scale invasion. Do either of you have anything to add to that?" The officers both shook their heads.
The men allowed a long moment to pass between them in which everyone’s eyes turned to the dancing glow of the fire. Eventually, Sergeant Rathman used a stout log to stir the fire then placed it on the shimmering coals. Dasen felt somewhat uncomfortable as the silence stretched, broken only by the muted conversation from the scouts on the other side of the clearing. He wondered if he should say something but could not think what it would be, so he allowed the silence to build until it was almost palpable.
Captain Hobbleswood finally brought his eyes from the fire and looked toward him. His eyes were sharp and stern, but Dasen could see a sudden flicker of fatigue in them as if he were carrying a tremendous load and was just barely hiding the strain. He cleared his throat to break the silence and drew the undivided attention of his subordinates. “Well, Dasen,” he sat back on his stool, “I suppose the burden falls on you now. Tell us ev . . . .”
The captain’s words trailed into a sickening gurgle. His eyes bulged, and his face filled with shock. He convulsed then let out a terrible cry that was cut off by a thin-fingered hand that wrapped around his mouth and pulled his head back to expose his throat. Following the hand, a small head like that of a lizard peaked out over the captain’s shoulder. The lizard looked at Dasen with hourglass eyes before opening its broad mouth and sinking small triangular teeth into the captain’s throat.
The captain, as if only then realizing what was happening, tried furiously to pull the small creature away. He stood and flailed, pulling at the thing’s small legs, but it was clamped in place. It seemed a long time that he fought while Dasen and the other officers watched, too overcome to move, but too soon his hands went limp, he fell to his knees, then tottered onto his back, legs twitching, arms convulsing.
It was only then that Dasen snapped out of his daze. He stood, heart pounding, hands shaking and searched the night around him. The sergeant and lieutenant made more dramatic if not faster recoveries. Their swords appeared in a flash. Sergeant Rathman accompanied his weapon’s appearance with the foulest string of obscenities Dasen had ever heard, while Andi, his face white as the cloud-obscured moon above, removed the creature from the captain’s body with one clean stroke.
But that creature was just the beginning. Countless more small shapes bubbled from the shadows to take the first one’s place. They swarmed over the captain’s body, fighting among themselves for a place to feast of the dying flesh. Andi slashed at them with his sword, but there were too many, and they soon covered the body and turned to new victims.
“Rathman, to my side,” Andi ordered. “Dasen, run, get out of here. We’ll cover you. Go!”
The sergeant joined Andi to face the creatures pouring from the trees, blocking Dasen from their advance. They swung their swords with abandon, slashing down several of the small things with each blow, but for every one killed, two more came. Dasen did not have any intention of fighting. He turned to follow Andi’s orders but did not know where to go.
All around the clearing, the scouts were fighting and dying. Shapes moved around the glowing fires in a wild dance. Rangers thrashed and stabbed at the darkness around them with swords, spears, and knives. Hordes of little lizard men fell but still more came, a seemingly endless supply. Several of the scout’s had already been overrun, and their bodies writhed with creatures. With no other breaks apparent in the carnage, Dasen eased himself toward one of those piles, hoping the creatures would be so absorbed that he might run past. He was just about to make his break, when the mass of two-foot-tall creatures began to change. Transfixed, he watched the creatures growing, merging, altering until a new creature rose from the tattered corpse and flexed its long, lean body.
This creature was entirely different from the ones that had combined to create it. Whereas the initial things had reached to Dasen’s knee with thin arms and legs and oversized heads. The new creature had the size and build of a tall, lean man with powerful shoulders and perfectly proportioned arms, legs, and chest all of which sparkled in the firelight like polished armor. It extended its arms revealing three-fingered hands that ended in flat blades. And behind it, two shimmering metallic tails thrashed.
Something warm and wet splattered across Dasen’s face, bringing his attention back to his immediate surroundings. He turned and looked into the distorted face of Sergeant Rathman a few short feet away. His eyes were popped, and his mouth was frozen in a curse. A featureless face peeked around him. Long fingers wrapped around his shoulders as a spiked tail pushed the rest of the way through his chest. The sergeant released a gurgling scream as he died, but Dasen could not wrest his eyes from the creature. There was no expression on its face, but its eyes glowed with an unnatural light that seemed to revel in the sergeant’s death.
The glint of the creature's other tail whipping toward his head brought Dasen from his shock in just enough time to react. He dove from the tail, rolled to the side, and clutched Sergeant Rathman's sword in a single motion. The claws of a smaller creature ripped his shirt as he rolled, so he swung at where he had been moments before and was pleased to see the creature’s head pop from its shoulders as the blade met its neck.
He rolled a few more times before jumping to his feet and held the sword out. He found himself surprisingly calm and ready. It was almost as if the battle was happening somewhere far away from him and he was only watching it. At the same time, he felt like it was powering him, giving him focus, allowing him to do things that he would never otherwise manage. Still, he knew that he could not fight the things in the camp. A quick inspection showed only a few scouts still standing. Both Andi and Sergeant Rathman were now dead. And several of the larger creatures were rising from the remnants of the fallen.
Dasen had no choice but to run, but where? Then the creature was on him. Having finished with the sergeant, it charged toward him, launching one of its spiked tails at his chest as it came.
Reacting without thought, Dasen brought the sword around to meet the tail in a crash of steel on steel that nearly shook the weapon from his hands. But that was just the beginning. The creature swept by him, spun, and slashed bladed fingers across his exposed back. Dasen shot up, clutching at the unreachable gashes. Th
en, with a pirouette that would have shamed a dancer from a royal troupe, the creature whipped its other tail into the back of his knees, sending him crashing to the ground.
The creature whirled with startling grace to face its fallen foe but did not move to finish him. Dasen expected that each heartbeat would be his last, but the creature just stood above him with its tails flailing behind it, eyes glowing in the dark night like small moons. Searching for an explanation, Dasen turned his head and saw the shadows of small bodies. The larger creature had set him up for its smaller brethren. He was to be eaten alive, and all he could do was lay there and wait for it to happen.
The sounds of screams echoed from the distance, the last of the forest masters falling. They were the sounds of hope lost. There was no one left to help and no chance to escape. All Dasen could do was watch the creatures close and pray that his suffering would be short. Heart pounding, shaking limbs paralyzed with fear, he forced his eyes closed and thought about Teth, prayed that she was safe.
The clang of metal striking metal brought his eyes open as soon as they had closed. He turned his head in time to see an arrow fall harmlessly to the ground where it had bounded off of the creature’s metallic exoskeleton. He felt a surge at Teth’s unseen presence but silently wished that she would run and avoid his ghastly fate. Another sound echoed from in front of him. This time it was the thud of a melon being hit by a hammer. It was followed by the clatter of metal on metal as the creature fell.
Before the body was down – an arrow quivering above its left eye – Dasen was on his feet. Seeing their meal’s potential escape, the small creatures turned their methodic approach into a charge. Dasen ran right at them and hurdled their outstretched arms. He ran in the direction the arrow had come from until he identified a spectral shape in the shadow-shrouded trees. It was waving wildly – Teth. He sprinted toward her.
Dasen was in the trees in seconds. Teth emerged from the brush beside him, but he did not slow. He could not be distracted by anything but escape. Surely the creatures would follow. He had to focus his energy, all this thoughts, on getting away from the camp, and that is what he did.
He concentrated on running, on the forest, on himself – his legs, arms, lungs, and heart – and felt for the first time in his life as if he were in complete control, as if it could do no wrong. Obstacles jumped out at him and were easily overcome. Branches grabbed at him, and he brushed them aside. Roots and rocks were impotent against his sure strides. He was running faster than he ever had, and nothing seemed capable of stopping him.
Not even fatigue could hold him in check. His body should have been screaming for him to stop, but he could not feel it. He registered a searing pain from what was probably his back, but he could not be sure. The pain, like the fatigue, seemed miles away, as if his mind were no longer connected to his body, as if it were controlling the vessel from some far-off sanctuary.
Lost in that refuge, Dasen realized that he was not only running as he never had, he was sensing the world around him in a different way as well. He could not hope to explain it, but he could understand. He could see the forest as a whole, not one tree, branch, bush, or rock at a time, but the whole thing. He no longer saw the roots below his feet; he saw the place of those roots in the order of the forest, knew why they were there, how they connected to the nature around them, and what they would look like five years from now. The forest was an open book, held no more mystery to him. He knew its every secret, was seeing the Holy Order, looking at every stitch of its intricate tapestry.
With that understanding, branches moved from his path, rocks and stones melted away to form a steady terrain, and bushes parted to allow his passage. Nature itself bent to his will because it could no longer hide, could no longer hold sway over his fate. Knowing where every whisper of wind would blow, he turned so that it always blew at his back. Knowing where every cloud would appear in the darkening sky, he ran so that he was in constant shadow while his path was brightly lit. Knowing how the ground beneath him had been composed, he stepped so that it sprang back and launch him forward. Everything was revealed, and he used every scrap of knowledge to propel himself from the dreadful clearing.
Dasen did not know what he was doing or how, but at that moment, he felt as one with the world, as one with the Order. Not one with the Order, he realized, one above that order. He still had freewill. The Order did not guide him, did not force him to a path. He could still act as he wanted, could use his freewill to manipulate the Order to his ends.
I am the Order. There is nothing I cannot do, no outcome that I cannot create. With that realization, he began to trace the strands around him. He saw the links that wove together the invading army, the creatures, the forest, and himself. And seeing those links, he knew what he had to do to stop it. It was so easy, a few gestures, the moving of air, the snapping of a twig, the crumpling of a leaf would start the chain reaction that would bring an end to this war. He slowed. It was so easy. All he had to do was reach out his hand and . . .
Something struck him full in the back and sent him flying forward. He hit the ground hard, smashed under the weight on his back. The air rushed from of his lungs. He sputtered.
The knowledge began to fade. He reached for it. It was so close.
He gasped for air, but his lungs would not fill. Blackness was threatening to overtake him.
So close, and it would be all over.
His body screamed, but his lungs had no answer.
The understanding began to shatter, pulled apart by desperation. He struggled to hold it, to remember what he had seen, but he could not maintain it.
Another gasp. Air came in, but enlightenment was gone, lost like a dream.
At that same moment, the Order wrenched back control of his body, and he knew what it was like to die. He had recovered his ability to breathe, but his body was beyond desperation. Every corner begged for air, ached to be replenished, rebelled against the abuse it had received. He writhed, gasping and coughing in sputtering intervals. It felt as if his entire body might erupt. His stomach was heaving. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. His head was pounding. His ears rang. His back burned, felt torn and wet beyond the sweat that covered him. He gnashed his teeth between coughs that bent him in half. He would have cried out if he could have managed it through the wheezing and twitching.
It seemed like an eternity that he lay there unable to do anything but serve the whims of his mutinous body, but the pain and coughing eventually subsided enough that he regained a modicum of control. The thought came to him then, as if through fog, that something had knocked him to the ground. That thought connected with the memory of the creatures. . . .
His head shot up. He first noticed that it was very much darker than he remembered it being. The stars were hidden by clouds, which were spouting widely dispersed but heavy drops. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, but he did not see anything that looked like a threat, no lizardmen, no spike-tailed monsters. He felt at his burning back, felt the torn flesh oozing red, knew he should do something about that, but his head only wanted to return to the soft ground. His arms trembled as they held his torso suspended off the ground. The rain fell harder, building to a downpour. His entire body trembled with the slightest exertion, begging, insisting on rest.
Something hit me. Something knocked me down. I’m bleeding. I’m not safe. And where is Teth? The thoughts echoed through his mind, until the last, a question, provided the answer. Finally, he noticed the pressure on his legs, the gasping breaths rising over the patter of the rain. He ran his hand down and felt Teth’s wet hair, her soft cheek, and with a sigh, the blackness took him.
Chapter 32