Chasing the Prophecy
Page 2

Some distance away Nedwin observed a minor tangle of dead branches on the ground. Perfect. The branches did not appear to offer terrific cover, but if he wormed deep beneath them, took advantage of the shadows, and camouflaged himself using the surrounding foliage, he could become virtually invisible.
Despite the distracting uproar of the battle, Nedwin stayed low and moved silently. There was no way to be sure who else was lurking in the woods. Since he had watched the arrows fly, he did not believe an archer was near his current location, but he had no guarantee.
No armor slowed him. When stealth is your best advantage, armor and cumbersome weaponry become more a hindrance than a protection. He carried only a knife, a small crossbow, and one of the precious explosive spheres that Galloran had entrusted to his care.
Nedwin made it to the deadfall and squirmed underneath, dry twigs crackling despite his best efforts. He brushed leaves and moist dirt over himself, moving efficiently. His position still provided a partial view of the skirmish. Breathing softly, he watched as archers converged on the remaining combatants, bows drawn, led by a very tall conscriptor who held a heavy iron rod.
“Hold!” the tall conscriptor bellowed.
Amazingly, the fighting stopped. Only five of Galloran’s men remained standing, winded and injured. Several manglers had fallen, as had many enemy soldiers. But plenty remained.
“You are surrounded!” the tall conscriptor asserted, leaning on his metal war bar. “This is over! Throw down your arms!”
Nedwin bit his bottom lip. The conscriptor was right. The archers were now near enough that they could easily eliminate the remaining defenders.
“Stand down, lads,” Lawson growled, dropping his short sword.
Nedwin scrunched his brow. Then he realized that taking five live prisoners would cost the attackers more time than five speedy executions. The current priority was to buy Galloran time to escape.
The other defenders surrendered their weapons.
“Where is Galloran?” the tall conscriptor asked, his deep voice carrying.
“You’re misinformed,” Lawson replied. “He was never with us, Groddic. You’ll have to settle for us as your prize.”
Nedwin felt his jaw dangling. The tall conscriptor was Groddic? He was the emperor’s right hand, the commander of the conscriptors. No wonder the attack had been so flawlessly coordinated!
Groddic turned to face the woods, raising his powerful voice. “I am willing to wager that Galloran can still hear me! Furthermore, I expect he will not be content to cower in the woods as I execute his men one by one.”
A jolt of panic coursed through Nedwin. Apparently, this conscriptor knew Galloran well. Nedwin wished Jasher were here. He and two other seedmen had gone ahead to scout the rest of their path to Felrook. Jasher might have been able to restrain Galloran or, that failing, might have successfully attacked Groddic himself. Could Groddic know that Jasher was currently absent? He had known when the moon would emerge. . . .
“Surrender yourself, Galloran!” Groddic demanded. “Come forth now, and I swear that your men will survive. Do not force them to pay for your inept leadership!”
Nedwin found a hand straying to the crystal globe Galloran had given him. What if he burst from hiding and threw the sphere at Groddic? No. He could not defeat the remaining foes alone, and if they caught him, they would have even more leverage to lure Galloran out of hiding.
“Don’t listen!” Lawson cried. “Honor us by succeeding! We are proud to die for this cause!”
Groddic made a small gesture, and multiple arrows pierced Lawson. The woodsman kept silent as he collapsed.
“As he requested, your companion has died honorably!” Groddic called. “You can still save the other four. Do not hide behind the corpses of your friends! We will track you and find you either way. Torivors are aiding us. No man can escape them.”
Groddic waited. His prisoners remained silent. Nedwin hoped his master was hurrying away.
“I am not a patient man!” Groddic bellowed. “Time for another of your comrades to perish.”
A blazing white flash suddenly brightened the night, followed by a thunderous boom. Nedwin closed his eyes and listened to the subsequent explosions. Galloran had taken the bait and was hurling explosive spheres at his enemies.
After the explosions ceased, Nedwin opened his eyes, blinking in an attempt to dispel the afterimage of the initial flash. Those explosions must have destroyed several manglers and soldiers and left the survivors temporarily dazzled.
As his vision returned, Nedwin saw his master engaging the enemy. He and his bodyguards would have shielded their eyes as they threw the spheres. They were seeing clearly while the others were half blind.
One of the bodyguards, Alek, had taken up a position atop a heap of worn stones, and he now fired arrow after arrow with lethal accuracy. The other bodyguard used his battle-ax to protect Galloran, who stalked implacably among his enemies, slaying them at will.
Nedwin could not see Groddic. Could the initial explosions have slain him? Could they have been so fortunate?
Galloran’s captured men were resisting, but as the enemy soldiers recovered from the initial surprise, the rebellious prisoners began to fall. There were too many enemies! Alek went down, injured by a projectile. Galloran and his remaining bodyguard ended up back-to-back, fighting for their lives.
When his bodyguard fell, Galloran charged forward, whirling and dodging and slashing, somehow carving a path through the crowd of opponents. Nedwin had never seen a man dispatch foes so efficiently. Against all odds, having rescued no men, Galloran might cut his way free. If he could just carve a path to the woods, he could leave behind not more than fifteen disorganized enemies. Galloran raged forward, his matchless sword cleaving helms and shearing through armor. He was going to escape! As had happened so many times before, despite his ill-advised bravado, Galloran would live to fight another day.
“Face me, coward!” a deep voice bellowed. Limping toward Galloran, Groddic shoved his own men aside. He wore no helm, and it was clear that part of his face had been charred.
“No,” Nedwin whispered. “Go.”
Groddic continued on a course to intercept Galloran. If Galloran turned away from the towering conscriptor, he only needed to fight his way past a few more men, and he could be running through the woods.
“Make way!” Groddic demanded, and those between him and Galloran hastened to comply.
Run, Nedwin mouthed, willing his master to flee.
Galloran hurled a knife at Groddic, which clanged off his rod. “Let’s see if you can give me more of a fight than your men did!” Groddic roared.