Legend of the Ravenstone (45 page)

The giant of a Jornoan spun and easily parried the blow, knocking the thief off balance. Jinx’s distraction had given Hawkwing just enough time to drop Hesun and scramble for his lost sword. The tracker wanted to tell Jinx to leave—to head back to the river—but perhaps between the two of them, they would overpower the giant. Just as he and Jinx prepared to attack, Hawkwing watched Nesif become two.

~*~

A
rcturus looked on as Nesif heeded Rashir’s order to assist his fallen brother. He had to rub his eyes when the giant had doubled. There was no mistaking there were two identical men with sword in hand, and it was physically painful for him to watch the awkward moves of the young thief and the tiring efforts of the experienced tracker. He could not endure seeing them fall, and their demise would be because he had trusted more in his enemy than in the company with whom he had journeyed.

“Your spy has cost me dearly, but he will fall to Nesif’s blade,” Rashir said. “As will your foolhardy boy.”

The Priagent’s words were so easy, so confident. Arcturus looked at the slight man, sudden anger welling in his heart. It was the anger of betrayal, the anger that grew from his own shame. It was the anger in his own helplessness and utter failure of their mission. Arcturus clenched his fists and swung at Rashir’s head. He had never thrown a punch in his entire 347 years of existence, but regardless of proper form, contact was made.

Rashir hit the ground, blood gushing from his nose. He stared, stunned, at the audacity of the Markanturian looming above him. The Ravenstone had been knocked from his grip, the light within it now dark. Little did he realize that Arcturus was not finished.

Arcturus clenched his teeth and gave the Priagent a good kick to the ribs. “How dare you mock them! How
dare
you!” He kicked again and lost his balance. On his knees, he bent over the little man and slapped his face. “For all we have endured, I will not watch helplessly as you destroy us! My trust is not so easily cast aside.
You
are the offender.
Your
colors have shown through, you ruthless man.” He took Rashir by the shoulders and shook him as hard as he could.

Rashir made a funny sound, his widened eyes windows to his panic. “Nesif!” he gasped. “Nesif!”

Arcturus yanked the wizard’s hat from atop his head and stuffed it into the Priagent’s mouth. “Enough of you!” He sat back and dabbed at the sweat pouring from his face. He looked up to see Nesif—just one of him—rushing toward him, and though there was no time to react, his eyes had affixed upon a figure—Jinx—lying still upon the ground.

Then Nesif was upon him, shoving him back with enough force to knock the wind from Arcturus’s lungs. As Arcturus gasped for air, he saw Rashir scramble for the Ravenstone. No sooner than his hands were upon it, the silvery glow had returned, illuminating the fury that scarred the Priagent’s face in a terrible and twisted glower. Rashir spoke not a word as he summoned the magic of the stone.

Arcturus need not have tried to regain his breath, for it would have caught in his throat as he watched a shadowy form seep from the Ravenstone. It grew and darkened until it smothered the Priagent, and then it continued to grow. The shape of a distorted and massive bird rose above him, shadowy wings spread wide to swallow the landscape in obscurity. Its beak gaped, and the horrible sound of screaming wind threatened to make him deaf. Arcturus shrank away, but there was nowhere to go.

The Raven reared its head and dove at him. Arcturus closed his eyes.

He felt a violent shove—so great a force that sent him reeling. His eyes snapped open and saw the wind throttling the trees and whipping the grasses surrounding the encampment. Dust stirred and rose in great masses to meet the dark and churning clouds. Coughing, he recovered his senses and dared turn his head to the doom that had awaited him.

The Raven was gone. All that remained was a smoky trail from where it had borne down upon him. Except that he had been moved. In his stead was the tracker.

Arcturus’s ears rang loud enough that he could not hear Nesif’s shouts, but he could see the giant lift the Priagent into his arms and head for the covered wagon. Hesun was already there, climbing into the bed; Asmat held the reins. They were fleeing, but from what?

There was growing light on the horizon, coming from the direction of the river. Two radiant riders emerged, heralded by a low-flying white hawk. Arcturus shielded his eyes until they could adjust to see the riders slip from a pair of white stags. He managed to get to his knees and crawl the short distance to where Hawkwing lay.

The tall man was ashen, but conscious. He trembled like one who had been immersed in an icy river. Arcturus pressed a hand to the tracker’s forehead and recoiled from the cold. Hawkwing’s lips moved—he was trying to speak—but Arcturus could yet hear nothing.

The white hawk lighted on the ground, not an arm’s length from them. Arcturus looked up to find one of the luminous figures had come to stand near them. At first glance, she was a woman carved from alabaster. Fair and flawless, she might have been Beauty personified. Her hair was sunlight, streaming down her back and upon her shoulders, tucked behind tapered ears. Her eyes were a tender green—like the fresh shoots of the leaves in spring. Her slender form was modestly covered in plain attire that spoke for neither gender; her delicate feet were bare. She knelt beside them, and as she gazed at them, Arcturus realized her eyes were not green, but an actual reflection of the forest. He did not know his mouth had slipped open until he tried to speak, but no words formed in his mind. He was inundated by the vision before him.

The woman took his hand and kept it in her gentle grasp; it was like holding a riverstone warmed by the afternoon sun. The warmth spread through him, and his world calmed. The ringing in his ears ceased, and he could breathe easier. Her fingers slipped from his as she turned her attention to the tracker.

Arcturus finally found his voice. “I...I thought you were myth,” he murmured.

She said nothing but graced him with a sad smile. She took Hawkwing’s hand, and his trembling diminished, but his pallor remained unchanged.

“You are here to help,” Arcturus inferred. “For what you cannot do, perhaps I can assist.” He reached toward the tracker, but she stayed his hand.

“Not me,” Hawkwing said, his voice a whisper. He took a breath. “Jinx.”

Arcturus’s eyes darted to where the thief lay, the second Ilangien at his side. He reached for his staff to help him stand, but it was gone. He knew at once the Jornoans had taken it, along with the Ravenstone. Their mission had failed.
James. James is more important,
he told himself. He struggled to his feet and went to the thief.

“If I might,” Arcturus said awkwardly, and the Ilangien moved aside. Arcturus knelt down, his heart tightening to see Jinx in tears. “My boy,” he said softly, “I am here.” His eyes swept over the young man, seeing the gaping cut upon his forearm, the blood-soaked stain at his side.

“It’s over, ain’t it?” Jinx asked.

“What is ‘over,’ James?” He wrapped his thick fingers over the thief’s forearm and began to heal him.

“All of it,” Jinx said, miserable. “We lost. The stone, the Demon...” He sniffled and wiped his eyes with his bloodied hand.

“We did what we could,” Arcturus assured him. “It was unfair of William to believe we could manage this task, and I should never have allowed it.”

“Arcturus—I killed him,” Jinx said, his blue eyes widening. “I
killed
him. He’s dead.”

The Markanturian’s brow furrowed. “Who? Who did you kill?”

“Arshod. Jedinom’s Sword, I killed him.” The tears came faster.

Arcturus lifted his hand to see the cut had been mended. He moved down to the thief’s side, frowning to find the injury was deeper than he had thought. “I am certain he followed you to do the same,” he said.

“I know, but he’s dead now—because of
me.
”

“I wish I could have spared you from this,” Arcturus said, more to himself. “I cannot take this weight off your heart, but you must believe there was no other outcome.
You
are alive, and you will be fine.” No matter how deep his physical wound was, the thief would carry the emotional scars of his action. “We all make our choices, and we must contend with them and all their outcomes. You made yours, and Arshod had made his.”

Arcturus could feel the strain of his efforts as he mended the worst of the wound. He withdrew and closed his eyes to regain his focus. “I will need more time to help you,” he said. “Be mindful of your actions.” He opened his eyes and watched Jinx attempt to sit up. He offered the thief a hand.

“It don’t hurt as much,” Jinx admitted.

“I told you you will be fine,” Arcturus said, forcing a smile.

Jinx nodded and suddenly lifted his head. “Where’s Hawkwing?”

They turned to see the tracker walking slowly toward them, the Ilangien woman close beside him.

“He don’t look so good,” Jinx said. “And who’s she? And—” He spun to face the Ilangien closest him. “What’s going on? Where are—”

“Hush, James,” Arcturus said. “The Priagent and his men are gone. The Ilangiel have come to help us.”

“The elves? But you said they’re not—”

“I was wrong,” Arcturus said, looking up at the pale tracker. “I was wrong about many things.”

“We are heading for the forest,” Hawkwing said, his voice strained. “We should arrive before dusk.” “They’ve left their horses.”

“I do not know that you are fit to ride,” Arcturus said, doubtful. “You—”

“I will be fine.” Hawkwing looked at Jinx questioningly.

“I’m alright. Arcturus helped me,” he said.

Hawkwing glanced at the Ilangiel. “We should go, then.”

Arcturus almost called after him as he turned away. He knew, though, that nothing he said now would feel right. He needed time—they all did—to heal. The Ilangien helped them to rise, and soon they were on their way to Veloria, a heavy pall of silence upon them.

K
ariayla waited anxiously, rapt to the narrow forest path that would guide her friends to sanctuary. Atrion stood behind her, his presence a constant comfort in the strange and verdant world. She held Ruby’s tiny hand and gave it a squeeze. “He’s coming,” she whispered to the imp. Ruby looked up at her, then back at the path. Her relationship with the imp had grown in Jinx’s absence, and Kariayla wondered what the reunion would be like between the two friends. Her heart ached to see all of them, and when Snowfire had come alone to the forest, she knew all could not be well.

“I thought they were closer,” Kariayla admitted.

“Time does not pass here as it does beyond the trees.” It was not Atrion who had spoken. She turned to find the old man—Chierond, as she had learned his name—had joined them. His pale eyes glittered, but he did not smile as he thumped his walking stick upon the path. It reminded Kariayla of how Arcturus did the same with Whitestar when his frustrations got the better of him.

“They do not have the Ravenstone,” Chierond said.

How can that be?
Kariayla wondered, wringing her hands together.
What has happened?

The trees rustled and whispered, withdrawing from the path as the procession came into view. An Ilangien woman dismounted from her stag and set it free. She bowed low before Chierond and Atrion before taking her leave. Arcturus came next, looking weary and worn, a scruffy white beard marking the passage of the time they had been gone. He slid heavily from the saddle of his horse, and Kariayla was quick to his side. His smile was genuine, but his dark eyes were sad—clouded from unshed tears. He embraced her in his meaty arms.

“Oh, my dear, you are such a welcome sight,” he said. One of the tears had loosed.

Kariayla did not know what to say to him, but she never had the chance to find her words. Jinx rode up next, his dark beard achieving little in hiding the pallor of his face. His shoulders sagged, and his eyes were reddened. His hand clutched at his side, and Arcturus left her to help the thief from the saddle. Once he was on solid ground, Jinx caught sight of her and Ruby.

The little imp made a sound—more like a gasp—and bolted for her protector. Jinx winced as her little hands squeezed him.

“You must be careful with him,” Arcturus told Ruby, and the imp’s smile faded in her uncertainty.

“Is he hurt?” Kariayla asked. She went to the thief’s side. “Are you all right?”

“Better than I was,” Jinx admitted. He sighed and sat down, pulling Ruby into his lap and messing her hair. He seemed reluctant to say any more, and Kariayla did not press him.

Snowfire fluttered above them, lighting on a branch. Kariayla did not have to wait long for Hawkwing to appear, followed by another Ilangien. She froze at the sight of the tracker, for it looked as though Death itself had stolen the life and color from him. His face was drawn, his eyes dull and vacant. When the Ilangien behind him came to his aid, his legs nearly buckled beneath him, and he was eased to the ground.

Chierond stepped forward. “Now you see for yourself, Lady Kariayla,” he said to her. “The Ravenstone is poison to all magic.” The old man went to Hawkwing and lifted the tall man to the support of his shoulder, as though the tracker weighed no more than a bundle of twigs. Chierond disappeared with him, a wall of leaves and trees obstructing the path behind them.

Distraught and confused, Kariayla looked at Arcturus. The Markanturian gently guided her by the shoulder, and the two of them sat down together. “My dear,” he started, but his voice choked. He did not look at her. “I have been a fool, Kariayla,” he said. “And for that we have paid in failure.” He began to weep, and Kariayla embraced him, unsure what else to do. If it all had fallen apart, then what, if anything, was left to salvage?

She took a breath and swallowed her sorrow.
Be strong for him. Be strong for them all, for you have more strength within you than you could ever know.
The voice of her protector spoke not with tones of consolation. Her words were spoken with the promise of resolution.