The third Krun tried to bring an axe down on Taem’s head. Taem jumped back to evade the attack. In one fluid motion, he brought his sword up above his right shoulder and down through the top of the Krun’s head. Taem charged towards the final foe, catching the Krun unaware, impaling it through the chest on the point of his blade.
Taem glared into the Krun’s dying eyes. He saw their terror. The Sodan withdrew his sword, and the last enemy crumpled to the forest floor. The fight had happened so fast, but Taem had reacted with instinct. Taem’s gaze swept the clearing, still in a high state of alert. Moments before he had been oblivious to all but his enemies, and now his senses were bombarded once more with the sights and sounds of the forest. But he caught no movement in his periphery, and heard nothing but the whisper of the wind. The enemy were all dead. It was over. Taem turned over Estellarum’s blue blade and saw the glisten of oily blood marring its keen surface.
‘I thank the Light for shining on my blade,’ Taem deftly flicked the blood from Estellarum, and sheathed the sword back in its scabbard on his back. He looked down at his hands, and saw they were shaking. He had almost died again, one wrong move and he would be lying cleaved and gutted on the floor. That thought filled his muscles with ice.
The injured man moaned in pain, and Taem hurried over to him. Taem knelt down beside him, examining his wounds. The man was taller than Taem, but much slimmer. The injured man had wild tawny hair, and was clothed in browns and greens – the colours of the forest. Around his shoulders was draped a woodland cloak that seemed to meld into whatever background it was laid against. Taem realised there was something different about this forest man, his face and his eyes were thinner, and his features were smaller.
‘You are skilled with the sword… friend,’ the forest man spluttered. ‘You saved my life, for sure… thank you.’
‘We are not out of danger yet,’ Taem looked warily around the forest. ‘There is bound to be more of them. They would not come so far from the Lost Realms in such small numbers.’ Taem peeled back part of the injured man’s shirt to see the arrowhead embedded in his skin. ‘Thank the Light,’ Taem murmured to himself, as he saw the arrow had gone in at a shallow angle. ‘The arrow has not penetrated deep,’ he told the forest man, ‘but I cannot remove it. If I do it will bleed heavily, and we have to move now.’
‘These were just the advance scouts of a horde heading westwards,’ The injured man’s voice was strained, but his bronze eyes were filled with purpose. ‘The enemy head towards my homeland. They are five hundred, at least. We were part of the border patrol… Warders who watch the boundary of the Forest Realm. You must go into the centre of Borleon… Warn my people, the Aborle. Go now, and quickly.’
‘I cannot leave you,’ Taem tore strips of cloth from the Aborle’s cloak to bandage the injured man’s leg, and tie around his waist to stabilise the arrow. The forest man flinched as Taem snapped off the shaft of the arrow and pulled tight the bandages around his waist.
The injured man slumped with a look of weary resignation, ‘My name is Baek Malaran,’ he struggled to say. ‘You’ll never make it carrying me.’
‘I am Taem Dratana. I have a horse not far from here, she can carry you.’
In the distance a deep pounding of a tribal drum resonated through the forest. The men shot worried glances to each other. They both knew the Kruns were close.
‘I’ll be back,’ Taem ran off and found Storm, and ran with her back to Baek.
‘I can’t get up,’ Baek gasped.
Taem pulled Baek onto his feet, and lifted him onto Storm’s back. The forest man winced in pain as the arrow moved.
‘Which way?’ Taem stared in the direction of the drums.
‘West,’ Baek raised a weary hand, as he lay slumped on the horse’s neck.
‘Can you go on
Taem glared into the Krun’s dying eyes. He saw their terror. The Sodan withdrew his sword, and the last enemy crumpled to the forest floor. The fight had happened so fast, but Taem had reacted with instinct. Taem’s gaze swept the clearing, still in a high state of alert. Moments before he had been oblivious to all but his enemies, and now his senses were bombarded once more with the sights and sounds of the forest. But he caught no movement in his periphery, and heard nothing but the whisper of the wind. The enemy were all dead. It was over. Taem turned over Estellarum’s blue blade and saw the glisten of oily blood marring its keen surface.
‘I thank the Light for shining on my blade,’ Taem deftly flicked the blood from Estellarum, and sheathed the sword back in its scabbard on his back. He looked down at his hands, and saw they were shaking. He had almost died again, one wrong move and he would be lying cleaved and gutted on the floor. That thought filled his muscles with ice.
The injured man moaned in pain, and Taem hurried over to him. Taem knelt down beside him, examining his wounds. The man was taller than Taem, but much slimmer. The injured man had wild tawny hair, and was clothed in browns and greens – the colours of the forest. Around his shoulders was draped a woodland cloak that seemed to meld into whatever background it was laid against. Taem realised there was something different about this forest man, his face and his eyes were thinner, and his features were smaller.
‘You are skilled with the sword… friend,’ the forest man spluttered. ‘You saved my life, for sure… thank you.’
‘We are not out of danger yet,’ Taem looked warily around the forest. ‘There is bound to be more of them. They would not come so far from the Lost Realms in such small numbers.’ Taem peeled back part of the injured man’s shirt to see the arrowhead embedded in his skin. ‘Thank the Light,’ Taem murmured to himself, as he saw the arrow had gone in at a shallow angle. ‘The arrow has not penetrated deep,’ he told the forest man, ‘but I cannot remove it. If I do it will bleed heavily, and we have to move now.’
‘These were just the advance scouts of a horde heading westwards,’ The injured man’s voice was strained, but his bronze eyes were filled with purpose. ‘The enemy head towards my homeland. They are five hundred, at least. We were part of the border patrol… Warders who watch the boundary of the Forest Realm. You must go into the centre of Borleon… Warn my people, the Aborle. Go now, and quickly.’
‘I cannot leave you,’ Taem tore strips of cloth from the Aborle’s cloak to bandage the injured man’s leg, and tie around his waist to stabilise the arrow. The forest man flinched as Taem snapped off the shaft of the arrow and pulled tight the bandages around his waist.
The injured man slumped with a look of weary resignation, ‘My name is Baek Malaran,’ he struggled to say. ‘You’ll never make it carrying me.’
‘I am Taem Dratana. I have a horse not far from here, she can carry you.’
In the distance a deep pounding of a tribal drum resonated through the forest. The men shot worried glances to each other. They both knew the Kruns were close.
‘I’ll be back,’ Taem ran off and found Storm, and ran with her back to Baek.
‘I can’t get up,’ Baek gasped.
Taem pulled Baek onto his feet, and lifted him onto Storm’s back. The forest man winced in pain as the arrow moved.
‘Which way?’ Taem stared in the direction of the drums.
‘West,’ Baek raised a weary hand, as he lay slumped on the horse’s neck.
‘Can you go on
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