following a path to the closest tree line. Lightning flared once, illuminating the Bar’dyn’s hulking form as it barreled away. When the flash vanished, so did the Bar’dyn, and only the sounds of rain and receding thunder could be heard.
Mira began to step through the hole, as though to give chase. Vendanj put a hand on her shoulder. “Patience.”
Tahn turned from the ruined wall of his father’s home and rushed to Wendra’s side. Blood soaked the coverlet, and cuts on her wrists and hands bore testament to her failed attempt to ward off the Bar’dyn. Wendra’s cheeks sagged; she looked pale and spent. She sat up against the headboard, a pillow propped behind her head, crying silent tears.
Sutter brought a bowl of water and some cloth. As Braethen cleansed her wounds and wrapped them, Tahn sat at her bedside wordlessly reproving himself. He tried more than once to look at Wendra, but could not meet her eyes. He had stood twenty feet away with a clear shot at the Bar’dyn and had done nothing, while the lives of his own sister and her child hung in the balance. He’d silently recalled the old words and known the draw was wrong. He’d followed that dictate over the defense of his sister. Why?
It was an old frustration, and a question to which he had never been able to find an answer.
It haunted him—had haunted him all his life, or what he could remember of his life.
Vendanj spoke softly to Mira. Tahn could not hear his words, but the Far listened close, then jumped through the same hole the Bar’dyn had used. Vendanj came to Tahn’s side, looking down at his sister. “Anais Wendra,” he began, using the old form of address rarely heard in the Hollows, “was your child born still?”
Sutter gasped at the question.
“Hasn’t there been enough—” Tahn started to ask.
“Silence, Tahn, there are things I must know.” Vendanj never looked away from Wendra.
She put a hand on Tahn’s shaking fingers, and squeezed them warmly to reassure him. Tahn silently marveled at her strength. Her long, dark brown hair was still stuck to the side of her face from the exertion of labor, and her deep blue eyes were half shut in pain, yet she meant for him not to worry.
Her voice strained and hoarse, Wendra managed to say, “Yes, the child came still.”
A dark look touched Vendanj’s face, and he raised a hand, placing it over Tahn and Wendra’s own. Finally he said, “You must leave the Hollows with us.”
“She can’t ride, Vendanj,” Tahn argued. “After what she’s just been through, how will she manage a horse? And I thought we were leaving the Hollows to protect our families. If she comes, she’s in more danger.”
Vendanj held up a hand to silence Tahn, then looked directly at Wendra. “Anais Wendra? Will you come?” She nodded. “Good. Sutter, gather the horses. Make them ready.” Sutter stared, uncertain. “I’ve no time to wait, root-digger! Now go!” Sutter took halting steps backward toward the door, finally turning and darting into the rain. Outside, the horses whinnied loudly at another crack of thunder.
Vendanj went to the broken wall and stared out into the night, his face cast in shadow, though Tahn could still see the man’s furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Without turning, Vendanj said calmly, “There is no time left to us.”
The rain continued as Tahn aided his sister into a loose pair of his trousers and a heavy coat. He helped her pull on a pair of boots, but before she tried to stand, she reached beneath her bed and took a small wooden box from a hidden shelf. Wendra then tried to get up. She grimaced as she put weight on her legs and fell into Tahn. He shot a worried and angry glance at the tall man still watching the night, but Vendanj seemed not to notice. Why was he making Wendra come with them? A shrill cry erupted from somewhere in the woods.
Sutter hurried through the door. “The horses are tethered out front. But I don’t think they’ll be good to run
Mira began to step through the hole, as though to give chase. Vendanj put a hand on her shoulder. “Patience.”
Tahn turned from the ruined wall of his father’s home and rushed to Wendra’s side. Blood soaked the coverlet, and cuts on her wrists and hands bore testament to her failed attempt to ward off the Bar’dyn. Wendra’s cheeks sagged; she looked pale and spent. She sat up against the headboard, a pillow propped behind her head, crying silent tears.
Sutter brought a bowl of water and some cloth. As Braethen cleansed her wounds and wrapped them, Tahn sat at her bedside wordlessly reproving himself. He tried more than once to look at Wendra, but could not meet her eyes. He had stood twenty feet away with a clear shot at the Bar’dyn and had done nothing, while the lives of his own sister and her child hung in the balance. He’d silently recalled the old words and known the draw was wrong. He’d followed that dictate over the defense of his sister. Why?
It was an old frustration, and a question to which he had never been able to find an answer.
It haunted him—had haunted him all his life, or what he could remember of his life.
Vendanj spoke softly to Mira. Tahn could not hear his words, but the Far listened close, then jumped through the same hole the Bar’dyn had used. Vendanj came to Tahn’s side, looking down at his sister. “Anais Wendra,” he began, using the old form of address rarely heard in the Hollows, “was your child born still?”
Sutter gasped at the question.
“Hasn’t there been enough—” Tahn started to ask.
“Silence, Tahn, there are things I must know.” Vendanj never looked away from Wendra.
She put a hand on Tahn’s shaking fingers, and squeezed them warmly to reassure him. Tahn silently marveled at her strength. Her long, dark brown hair was still stuck to the side of her face from the exertion of labor, and her deep blue eyes were half shut in pain, yet she meant for him not to worry.
Her voice strained and hoarse, Wendra managed to say, “Yes, the child came still.”
A dark look touched Vendanj’s face, and he raised a hand, placing it over Tahn and Wendra’s own. Finally he said, “You must leave the Hollows with us.”
“She can’t ride, Vendanj,” Tahn argued. “After what she’s just been through, how will she manage a horse? And I thought we were leaving the Hollows to protect our families. If she comes, she’s in more danger.”
Vendanj held up a hand to silence Tahn, then looked directly at Wendra. “Anais Wendra? Will you come?” She nodded. “Good. Sutter, gather the horses. Make them ready.” Sutter stared, uncertain. “I’ve no time to wait, root-digger! Now go!” Sutter took halting steps backward toward the door, finally turning and darting into the rain. Outside, the horses whinnied loudly at another crack of thunder.
Vendanj went to the broken wall and stared out into the night, his face cast in shadow, though Tahn could still see the man’s furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Without turning, Vendanj said calmly, “There is no time left to us.”
The rain continued as Tahn aided his sister into a loose pair of his trousers and a heavy coat. He helped her pull on a pair of boots, but before she tried to stand, she reached beneath her bed and took a small wooden box from a hidden shelf. Wendra then tried to get up. She grimaced as she put weight on her legs and fell into Tahn. He shot a worried and angry glance at the tall man still watching the night, but Vendanj seemed not to notice. Why was he making Wendra come with them? A shrill cry erupted from somewhere in the woods.
Sutter hurried through the door. “The horses are tethered out front. But I don’t think they’ll be good to run
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