Into the Shadows by Linda K Hopkins
Chapter 11
The men no longer ran but kept a steady pace as they walked across the open grassland. The ground was gently undulating, and small hillocks rose at various intervals, like anthills. Twig yanked the rope repeatedly, sometimes causing Lark to trip and stumble. About twenty minutes had passed when Lark saw Beauty galloping down a hill towards them, and a few minutes later the man with the limp pulled up beside them.
“Not much further.”
“Did you see the bastards?” Twig asked.
“No. But the Drameara knew they were close by.”
“What about the Shadow Warrior?”
“I didn’t see one. But the Drameara said he was coming.”
“How would he know?” demanded another one of the men.
“Don’t be an idiot,” said the man on the horse. “’E’s got ways to contact ’is Shadow Warrior.”
“I don’t see ’ow.”
“That’s not your concern, now, is it? ’E said the Warrior’d be there, and ’e will.”
“Fine,” the man mumbled. They continued on, walking quicker now as they followed Beauty, while Lark contemplated the words she had overheard. She also wondered how the Drameara could contact the Shadow Warrior. Did it have something to do with his markings? Did every Shadow Warrior have a Drameara to serve them? Was it the same Shadow Warrior who had taken her captive? She shuddered at the thought. There had not been much interaction once he had taken her captive, but the terrifying visage and the menace in his expression had lingered in her mind, and she was glad he had relinquished her to the Drameara. As cold and cruel as he was, he did not scare her as the Shadow Warrior had done.
They kept going, picking up the pace, but they stopped suddenly when the sound of shouts reached their ears. They could not see the fighting, but the sounds came from just over a low rise. The men surged forward, drawing their weapons.
As they crested the hill Lark stumbled along behind them, unable to do anything else as Twig kept his hold on the rope. Ahead of them, the red jackets of the Crimson Guard were stark against the yellow grass as they whirled about, fighting a blur of movement which was cutting down everything in its path. Twig paused, then spun around with a snarl, dragging Lark to a small stand of trees where he shoved her to the ground and tied her securely against the trunk of a tree.
He stepped back and brought his hand to his cock as he rubbed himself with a leer. “Battle always makes me blood rise, so maybe we can ’ave a little fun after, eh bitch? Drameara’s not gonna stop us, now is ’e? Probably want a go at ya ’imself.” He gave her a wink before turning on his heel and running into the fray. Trees blocked her line of sight, but she could hear the cries and ringing of metal well enough, and she cringed as they rang through the air. A yell sounded near her and she jerked as a man came running between the trees, his crimson uniform ripped and torn. His eyes were wide as he swerved between the trunks, almost tripping over Lark as he clutched his sword. His eyes met hers, widening even more, before he suddenly arched backwards, then fell forward onto the ground, a dagger sticking from his back. She stared at him in horror as he gave one violent twitch then fell still.
Her heart was racing, and she tried to fill her lungs, but the gag constricted the flow of air, allowing only the shallowest of breaths. Frantically she tried to reach the choking fabric, but her arms were too tightly bound. Her breathing became shallower as her panic rose, making her even more frantic as she stared at the dead man at her feet.
From far away the trill of a bird sounded insistently in her ears, and she glanced around, surprised to see that it was only a few feet away. It was a lark – her namesake – and she watched as it puffed its breast and gave another trill. Closing her eyes, Lark focused on the sound, grabbing hold of it as she let it wash through her and over her. Her racing heart began to slow as she concentrated on breathing through her nose, matching each breath with the sound of the birdsong. The singing stopped, and Lark opened her eyes to see the little bird hop down to a lower branch, then again onto the ground as it scratched between the leaves to find a grub.
It fluttered back to the branch, but Lark’s gaze was fixed on the spot where the bird had landed. Lying between the leaves was a small knife, eight inches from the tip of the blade to the end of the handle. She had no doubt that it belonged to the man who had died just a few feet away, and she sent him her silent thanks for his parting gift, even if it was given unintentionally. Stretching out her leg, she reached the blade with the heel of her boot and dragged it closer. The sounds of the battle were dying down, the noise replaced by an eerie silence. She drew the knife another inch, and then another, then sighed in frustration when the angle of her leg could not draw it any closer. Shifting painfully against the rough tree bark, she repeated the maneuver.
There was a sound between the trees, and she twisted herself further, grimacing in pain at the awkward angle of her body and the scratching of the tree trunk, until she managed to bring the blade closer to her body and hide it beneath her leg. Another man stumbled into the clearing, clutching his arm, which was dripping with blood. He was grinning, however, and he kicked the man lying on the ground with a laugh.
“That’ll teach you to go messing with Rhymers,” he said.
“Think they’re invincible, but our day has come,” said Twig, striding up behind him. “Did ya see how they turned tail and ran!” He stopped when he saw Lark, then rubbed himself provocatively to the grunts of amusement from the others, and she turned away in disgust to see a figure approaching, his gray skin covered in blood. Carefully, Lark inched to the side, ensuring that the blade she had hidden was well covered as the Shadow Warrior’s gaze suddenly snapped around to her. He stared at her a moment, his tongue flicking between his teeth, as he breathed in deeply. The markings on his chest seemed to be moving, slithering around his body, and she stared at them, then shuddered when he dropped to his haunches before her. Her heart raced furiously as he brought his mouth to her ear.
“I love the taste of Cambrian blood,” he hissed. “Should I taste yoursss?” He leaned back, and she stared in horror as his tongue flicked the air.
Abruptly the Shadow Warrior rose and yanked the dagger still protruding from the back of the fallen Guardsman, then strode out of the clearing. There was some nervous laughter amongst the men, which became more confident when the Warrior did not reappear.
“Well, well,” Twig said, “’e’s left ya to our desires.”
“Forget the girl,” one of the men snapped. “Let’s bury our dead and collect what we can from the fallen. The Drameara’ll be back soon.”
“’E wasn’t in the fight, I noticed,” another of the men said.
“The Shadow Warrior sent him scouting, you idiot,” snarled the first. “Now let’s get moving.”
“What about the girl?”
“We leave her for the wolves.”
Twig gave her a sneering look but followed his comrades as they marched away, and Lark let out a sigh of relief.
The men did not return, and her relief turned to concern, then panic as the hours wore on. The bindings that held her to the tree were too secure to loosen, and while she had the knife beneath her leg, she could not bring it near enough to reach with her hands. Flies were gathering on the body of the fallen Guardsman, and she looked away in horror.
The sun was already starting to drop towards the horizon when she heard the sound of footsteps and the Drameara stepped into view. He crouched down and slipped the gag from her mouth so that it hung loosely around her neck. She sucked in a deep breath as he reached for the rope tying her to the tree.
“Nice of you to come back,” she snapped, and he paused, leaning back on his heels as he glared at her.
“Believe me, I would be quite happy to leave you here to die,” he snarled.
“Then why don’t you?” she demanded angrily.
For a moment she thought he was about to do just that, but then he leaned forward and sliced a knife through her bonds, and she fell to the ground, the sudden release of pressure leaving her weak. “If it were up to me, I would,” he said as he rose and stepped away. She slipped the knife she had been hiding into her boot, then grabbed hold of the tree trunk and pulled herself to her feet, standing unsteadily as she regained her balance.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“I need some water, and then a moment of privacy,” she said.
“There’s a river close by.”
“I still need a moment of privacy.” She turned haughtily on her heel and headed behind a tree, but as soon as she was out of sight she took a deep breath, steadying the nerves that had been taut ever since she woke up that morning. She returned a few moments later and followed the Drameara as he wove through the trees, into the open area where at least a dozen men lay dead, their bodies now stripped of their weapons and in some cases even their clothes.
“Why?” she whispered. She ran over to the man closest to her, and dropping to her knees, she gently closed his eyes. Her stomach was churning, and she spun around as the little that remained in her stomach spewed onto the ground. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she rose and turned to face the Drameara, her voice trembling with rage as she stepped right up to him.
“Why?” she shouted. “Why do you do this? What did these men do to you?”
“Do?” he said. He leaned forward, and she resisted the urge to step back. “The fact that they are Cambrians is reason enough. Add in the fact that they ransacked a Rhymer town not far from here, searching for leaders of the uprising and burning down half the town, and there is plenty of reason to kill every last one.”
“Then you should be stopping the uprising, not supporting it,” she shouted.
“Stopping it?” He laughed derisively. “The Cambrians deserve what they are getting. They did not stop Valor when he rose up against the Ancients.”
“That was centuries ago!”
“Valor’s descendants will pay even more dearly for his sins.”
“Why? Valor defended himself from the Ancients when they attacked.”
“Is that what they teach you, princess? Valor rose up against the Ancients, not the other way around. And you and your kin will pay for his arrogance. My mistress will finally be avenged.”
He shifted his pack and turned away. “Try and run again, and you’ll live to regret it,” he said as he began to walk. “You should be learning by now that you cannot escape me, no matter how hard you try. And forget any thoughts of killing me. If your Guardsmen cannot kill me, then by the dragon, there is absolutely no chance that you could come close.”