Chasing the Prophecy
Page 3
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Galloran charged.
His sword glinting in the moonlight, Galloran pressed Groddic back. The conscriptor was barely quick enough to defend himself as the sword chimed against his war bar. Nedwin felt some of the tension leave his body.
Galloran slashed Groddic across the waist. The conscriptor tripped and fell. As Galloran sprang forward to issue the killing stroke, Groddic flung what looked like a handful of dust into his face. Galloran staggered backward, his sword falling from his hands as he pawed at his eyes.
Nedwin squeezed a branch as Galloran tumbled to the ground. What could Groddic have thrown at his master? Galloran was reacting like his face was on fire.
Using his war bar like a crutch, Groddic rose to his feet. His men surrounded Galloran, poised to pounce. The tall conscriptor gestured for them to wait.
“You’re finished,” the conscriptor told the fallen prince, a gloved hand cradling his bleeding abdomen. “Surrender and I can cool the burning.”
Rolling sideways, Galloran grabbed his sword, rose to a crouch, and lunged, stabbing blindly toward Groddic. The conscriptor sidestepped the thrust, then used his rod to knock the sword from Galloran’s grasp. Enemies surged forward and forced Galloran to the ground.
Nedwin averted his eyes. He could not bear to witness this private moment of shame. Galloran, the hope of all Lyrian, had finally been bested.
Nedwin considered the explosive sphere in his hand. He looked back at Groddic and his soldiers. Barely fifteen remained, and more than a few seemed wounded.
Bowing his head, Nedwin closed his eyes. Galloran had given him specific instructions. He could remember his master’s sober expression as he spoke the words.
“I have learned a precious word of power. Few know that I have been searching for it. Fewer know that I now possess it. This word is vital to our resistance of the emperor. Three syllables are now inscribed in locations known to my allies. I will tell you three others, which you must take to Nicholas of Rosbury. You must never divulge these syllables or let others know I shared them. Our lives, and the fate of Lyrian, depend on it. Should I fall, you must abandon the company and make your way home to Trensicourt with this knowledge. This is why I brought you with us, Nedwin. I regret bestowing this burden on one so young, but you are the most likely to succeed. Should I perish, you must not fail me on this last assignment. I need your word.”
Nedwin had given his word. He remembered the syllables and was committed not to speak them aloud until he could do so privately to Nicholas. Galloran had known he could keep a secret. Galloran had known he could sneak away if everything went wrong. And Galloran had known that others would not imagine he had entrusted this vital intelligence to one so young.
Nedwin opened his eyes. Galloran had been captured, not killed. He was alive. He had not yet truly fallen.
Groddic knelt beside Galloran, applying salve to his face. Two men held him down, but he no longer struggled. The other men loitered nearby, evidently awestruck that their unconquerable adversary now lay helpless before them.
Groddic stood up, his back to Nedwin. An owl hooted. Nedwin hefted the globe. If he could hit the conscriptor high on the back with an explosive sphere, most of the surrounding men would feel the blast. Groddic’s body should shield Galloran from the worst of it. All Nedwin had besides the sphere were a small crossbow and a knife. But with the men newly blinded and injured from the explosion, the knife and crossbow might be enough.
Nedwin tried to muster the courage to burst from hiding, but doubts restrained him. What if he failed and got captured? The precious syllables would be lost. With Galloran in custody, Groddic and his men already had their prize. Nedwin felt confident that if he held still and kept quiet, he could eventually make his way back to Trensicourt and successfully deliver the essential message.
He hesitated. The word of power might be important, but what would become of the resistance without Galloran? Nedwin tried to imagine living with himself if he did nothing to intervene.
Galloran understood how much he mattered, both as a leader of the resistance and as a symbol of hope for all of Lyrian. But when his men had faced execution, he had put himself at risk. Didn’t he deserve to have his squire show similar courage?
Nedwin silently eased himself out of his hiding place. If he failed, Galloran would regret having put his trust in him, and the cause he had fought for his entire life would be irreparably damaged. If he succeeded, Galloran could finish his mission and bring down the emperor. So Nedwin only had one option. He had to succeed.
He ran forward swiftly and quietly. As he left the cover of the trees, a couple of heads turned toward him. Groddic still faced away from him, standing over Galloran. Nedwin was not as close as he would have preferred, but Groddic was about to turn, and his men were about to scramble.
Nedwin threw the sphere with all his might. It flew true, straight at Groddic. But the conscriptor reacted to the stares of his men by turning and then catching the sphere in his right hand with an almost casual motion.
Nedwin skidded to a halt.
In order for the sphere to explode, the crystal casing needed to rupture. Groddic had caught it lightly.
Raising his undersized crossbow, Nedwin sighted at the sphere, but an arrow hit Nedwin in the shoulder, and his shot went wild. As he fell, other arrows whizzed past him. On his back, the feathered shaft protruding grotesquely, Nedwin felt despair flooding over him. His master remained an injured prisoner, no vengeance had been achieved, and the invaluable secret Galloran had shared would never reach Nicholas! Enemies gathered around him. Burning with frustration and shame, Nedwin closed his eyes and waited for death.
CHAPTER 1
ACOLYTE
Rachel . . . help me . . . Rachel, please!
Rachel awoke, clutching her covers. She sat up on the soft mattress. Shadows shrouded her bedchamber. The telepathic voice in her head was unfamiliar. The female speaker was not Corinne, and not Ulani, who had recently learned to transmit simple thoughts over short distances.
Who are you? Rachel conveyed with all her will.
Rachel! I can’t hang on much longer. . . . Come now . . . please hurry!
Despite the urgency behind the message, the mental outcry was fading. Rachel had worked with several of the acolytes on speaking in silence, but so far only Ulani had succeeded. Was it possible that in a desperate moment one of the girls had unlocked the ability? Rachel slept in the area of the temple set apart for the acolytes. They were all relatively near. Who else at Mianamon would be able to contact her like this?
Apart from the words in her mind, the night was still. No sounds intruded from outside her room. Mianamon was not under attack. So what was the problem?
His sword glinting in the moonlight, Galloran pressed Groddic back. The conscriptor was barely quick enough to defend himself as the sword chimed against his war bar. Nedwin felt some of the tension leave his body.
Galloran slashed Groddic across the waist. The conscriptor tripped and fell. As Galloran sprang forward to issue the killing stroke, Groddic flung what looked like a handful of dust into his face. Galloran staggered backward, his sword falling from his hands as he pawed at his eyes.
Nedwin squeezed a branch as Galloran tumbled to the ground. What could Groddic have thrown at his master? Galloran was reacting like his face was on fire.
Using his war bar like a crutch, Groddic rose to his feet. His men surrounded Galloran, poised to pounce. The tall conscriptor gestured for them to wait.
“You’re finished,” the conscriptor told the fallen prince, a gloved hand cradling his bleeding abdomen. “Surrender and I can cool the burning.”
Rolling sideways, Galloran grabbed his sword, rose to a crouch, and lunged, stabbing blindly toward Groddic. The conscriptor sidestepped the thrust, then used his rod to knock the sword from Galloran’s grasp. Enemies surged forward and forced Galloran to the ground.
Nedwin averted his eyes. He could not bear to witness this private moment of shame. Galloran, the hope of all Lyrian, had finally been bested.
Nedwin considered the explosive sphere in his hand. He looked back at Groddic and his soldiers. Barely fifteen remained, and more than a few seemed wounded.
Bowing his head, Nedwin closed his eyes. Galloran had given him specific instructions. He could remember his master’s sober expression as he spoke the words.
“I have learned a precious word of power. Few know that I have been searching for it. Fewer know that I now possess it. This word is vital to our resistance of the emperor. Three syllables are now inscribed in locations known to my allies. I will tell you three others, which you must take to Nicholas of Rosbury. You must never divulge these syllables or let others know I shared them. Our lives, and the fate of Lyrian, depend on it. Should I fall, you must abandon the company and make your way home to Trensicourt with this knowledge. This is why I brought you with us, Nedwin. I regret bestowing this burden on one so young, but you are the most likely to succeed. Should I perish, you must not fail me on this last assignment. I need your word.”
Nedwin had given his word. He remembered the syllables and was committed not to speak them aloud until he could do so privately to Nicholas. Galloran had known he could keep a secret. Galloran had known he could sneak away if everything went wrong. And Galloran had known that others would not imagine he had entrusted this vital intelligence to one so young.
Nedwin opened his eyes. Galloran had been captured, not killed. He was alive. He had not yet truly fallen.
Groddic knelt beside Galloran, applying salve to his face. Two men held him down, but he no longer struggled. The other men loitered nearby, evidently awestruck that their unconquerable adversary now lay helpless before them.
Groddic stood up, his back to Nedwin. An owl hooted. Nedwin hefted the globe. If he could hit the conscriptor high on the back with an explosive sphere, most of the surrounding men would feel the blast. Groddic’s body should shield Galloran from the worst of it. All Nedwin had besides the sphere were a small crossbow and a knife. But with the men newly blinded and injured from the explosion, the knife and crossbow might be enough.
Nedwin tried to muster the courage to burst from hiding, but doubts restrained him. What if he failed and got captured? The precious syllables would be lost. With Galloran in custody, Groddic and his men already had their prize. Nedwin felt confident that if he held still and kept quiet, he could eventually make his way back to Trensicourt and successfully deliver the essential message.
He hesitated. The word of power might be important, but what would become of the resistance without Galloran? Nedwin tried to imagine living with himself if he did nothing to intervene.
Galloran understood how much he mattered, both as a leader of the resistance and as a symbol of hope for all of Lyrian. But when his men had faced execution, he had put himself at risk. Didn’t he deserve to have his squire show similar courage?
Nedwin silently eased himself out of his hiding place. If he failed, Galloran would regret having put his trust in him, and the cause he had fought for his entire life would be irreparably damaged. If he succeeded, Galloran could finish his mission and bring down the emperor. So Nedwin only had one option. He had to succeed.
He ran forward swiftly and quietly. As he left the cover of the trees, a couple of heads turned toward him. Groddic still faced away from him, standing over Galloran. Nedwin was not as close as he would have preferred, but Groddic was about to turn, and his men were about to scramble.
Nedwin threw the sphere with all his might. It flew true, straight at Groddic. But the conscriptor reacted to the stares of his men by turning and then catching the sphere in his right hand with an almost casual motion.
Nedwin skidded to a halt.
In order for the sphere to explode, the crystal casing needed to rupture. Groddic had caught it lightly.
Raising his undersized crossbow, Nedwin sighted at the sphere, but an arrow hit Nedwin in the shoulder, and his shot went wild. As he fell, other arrows whizzed past him. On his back, the feathered shaft protruding grotesquely, Nedwin felt despair flooding over him. His master remained an injured prisoner, no vengeance had been achieved, and the invaluable secret Galloran had shared would never reach Nicholas! Enemies gathered around him. Burning with frustration and shame, Nedwin closed his eyes and waited for death.
CHAPTER 1
ACOLYTE
Rachel . . . help me . . . Rachel, please!
Rachel awoke, clutching her covers. She sat up on the soft mattress. Shadows shrouded her bedchamber. The telepathic voice in her head was unfamiliar. The female speaker was not Corinne, and not Ulani, who had recently learned to transmit simple thoughts over short distances.
Who are you? Rachel conveyed with all her will.
Rachel! I can’t hang on much longer. . . . Come now . . . please hurry!
Despite the urgency behind the message, the mental outcry was fading. Rachel had worked with several of the acolytes on speaking in silence, but so far only Ulani had succeeded. Was it possible that in a desperate moment one of the girls had unlocked the ability? Rachel slept in the area of the temple set apart for the acolytes. They were all relatively near. Who else at Mianamon would be able to contact her like this?
Apart from the words in her mind, the night was still. No sounds intruded from outside her room. Mianamon was not under attack. So what was the problem?
