Phae made it through the grove and reached the edge of a dilapidated fence. The moon provided fragile light, and she slowed to gauge the distance. She planted her hands on the edge of the fence and jagged slivers bit into her palms. They stung, but she managed to cross the fence wall and start running into the overgrown meadow beyond. There was a steep hill ahead of her and she ran toward the base of it where she found a copse of trees that would help provide some cover.
An owl hooted and flew overhead, nearly making her shriek in fright. The sounds of the battle were intensifying behind her, carried by the breeze. Growls and snarls brought images of violence to her mind. Then a death cry sounded, a shriek of pain followed by silence. The sound came from the bear. She knew it instinctively. The Kishion had killed it.
Fear.
He had warned her not to run from him. He had threatened her. Panic lengthened her stride. She was huffing to breathe, desperate for wings to carry her away. What would he do when he caught her? Her stomach coiled with dread. Of course he would catch her. How could she run from a man who did not sleep? Who did not even tire? Who could not be killed, even by a beast three times his size?
Why had she run? What was she thinking? What could she possibly hope to accomplish against the Arch-Rike’s most fearsome minion? She was nothing but a young woman. She had the fireblood, but she already supposed that fire would not harm him if bee stings did not. There was only her small axe to fight him off and she remembered how Trasen had fared against him. She had nothing. Nothing!
Phae’s mind was scrambled with horror and desperation. Maybe he wouldn’t bother taking her back to Kenatos now. She was too much trouble. He would just slit her throat and apologize to the Arch-Rike that she had been too difficult. Her legs thrashed in the long grasses, her stride increasing even more.
What could she do?
Should she go back? Should she apologize? Should she continue to try to escape and hope the battle with the creature had wounded him somehow? Perhaps it had. Perhaps it was a spirit creature that could damage him. Too many thoughts jabbed and poked inside her head, she could not decide which one to heed. Flee or stay? Submit or defy? Grovel or scorn? She hated the helpless feeling, the crack that drained her courage like a punctured cask. Trasen would know what to do. Master Winemiller would know what to do. Phae was only terrified and confused. She stole a look behind.
An uneven bit of earth and the tangle of scrub caught her foot and she went down hard again, landing in a patch of sharp brambles. The fall stole her breath and she lay gasping in the meadow grass, close to a copse of trees but still too far from it to hide. Her ear and cheek were cut on the brambles, causing sharp pain. She pressed her hand there and it came away wet with blood. It hurt, but she would not cry out and sucked in her breath to keep from sobbing. The distance to the hills was surprisingly great still, despite her run. It had seemed near on first glance. The rim of the hill slope was closer. Phae crawled, moving forward through the scrub, desperate. She gasped for air and risked a look back across the meadow.
A black smudge in the moonlight, parting the grass at a dead run.
He was following her.
A fresh spasm of dread fueled her to run again. Phae rose and sprinted, willing herself to reach the edge of trees, ignoring the pain of her ear. Perhaps she would find another oak there. Perhaps. Her stomach roiled with the jostling contents, bringing nausea to supplement the bile. Sweat streaked down her skin, but on she ran, pushing herself faster. She had to get away. She had to run to be safe.
The sound of his boots thumping on the ground behind her alerted Phae that she would not make the edge of the woods in time. The hill loomed above and then it seemed to split into two, as if next to a giant mirror of itself. Were there two hills instead of one? The false light of the moon was tricking her. The copse of trees was almost there before she realized it wasn’t a copse at all. It was a wall covered with vines and foliage. There was a gate in the middle of the wall. A stone archway rose above the tattered fragments of leaves and branches. The archway was derelict, with gaps of stone missing from it. There was an iron gate in the archway and the gate was closed.
Phae realized she had been running toward the safety of the woods only to find a barred door in her path. Defeat struck her heart like an anvil hammer. She slowed in despair, dropping to her knees in exhaustion, and fell down on her arms, gasping for breath and waiting with dread for the Kishion to reach her.
There was nothing else she could do but beg for her life.
Trying to squelch her panic, she pushed up and turned to face the Kishion. Her chest was heaving.
“I’m…sorry!” she pleaded, holding her hands in front of her wardingly. “Please! Please! Don’t kill me!”
An owl hooted and flew overhead, nearly making her shriek in fright. The sounds of the battle were intensifying behind her, carried by the breeze. Growls and snarls brought images of violence to her mind. Then a death cry sounded, a shriek of pain followed by silence. The sound came from the bear. She knew it instinctively. The Kishion had killed it.
Fear.
He had warned her not to run from him. He had threatened her. Panic lengthened her stride. She was huffing to breathe, desperate for wings to carry her away. What would he do when he caught her? Her stomach coiled with dread. Of course he would catch her. How could she run from a man who did not sleep? Who did not even tire? Who could not be killed, even by a beast three times his size?
Why had she run? What was she thinking? What could she possibly hope to accomplish against the Arch-Rike’s most fearsome minion? She was nothing but a young woman. She had the fireblood, but she already supposed that fire would not harm him if bee stings did not. There was only her small axe to fight him off and she remembered how Trasen had fared against him. She had nothing. Nothing!
Phae’s mind was scrambled with horror and desperation. Maybe he wouldn’t bother taking her back to Kenatos now. She was too much trouble. He would just slit her throat and apologize to the Arch-Rike that she had been too difficult. Her legs thrashed in the long grasses, her stride increasing even more.
What could she do?
Should she go back? Should she apologize? Should she continue to try to escape and hope the battle with the creature had wounded him somehow? Perhaps it had. Perhaps it was a spirit creature that could damage him. Too many thoughts jabbed and poked inside her head, she could not decide which one to heed. Flee or stay? Submit or defy? Grovel or scorn? She hated the helpless feeling, the crack that drained her courage like a punctured cask. Trasen would know what to do. Master Winemiller would know what to do. Phae was only terrified and confused. She stole a look behind.
An uneven bit of earth and the tangle of scrub caught her foot and she went down hard again, landing in a patch of sharp brambles. The fall stole her breath and she lay gasping in the meadow grass, close to a copse of trees but still too far from it to hide. Her ear and cheek were cut on the brambles, causing sharp pain. She pressed her hand there and it came away wet with blood. It hurt, but she would not cry out and sucked in her breath to keep from sobbing. The distance to the hills was surprisingly great still, despite her run. It had seemed near on first glance. The rim of the hill slope was closer. Phae crawled, moving forward through the scrub, desperate. She gasped for air and risked a look back across the meadow.
A black smudge in the moonlight, parting the grass at a dead run.
He was following her.
A fresh spasm of dread fueled her to run again. Phae rose and sprinted, willing herself to reach the edge of trees, ignoring the pain of her ear. Perhaps she would find another oak there. Perhaps. Her stomach roiled with the jostling contents, bringing nausea to supplement the bile. Sweat streaked down her skin, but on she ran, pushing herself faster. She had to get away. She had to run to be safe.
The sound of his boots thumping on the ground behind her alerted Phae that she would not make the edge of the woods in time. The hill loomed above and then it seemed to split into two, as if next to a giant mirror of itself. Were there two hills instead of one? The false light of the moon was tricking her. The copse of trees was almost there before she realized it wasn’t a copse at all. It was a wall covered with vines and foliage. There was a gate in the middle of the wall. A stone archway rose above the tattered fragments of leaves and branches. The archway was derelict, with gaps of stone missing from it. There was an iron gate in the archway and the gate was closed.
Phae realized she had been running toward the safety of the woods only to find a barred door in her path. Defeat struck her heart like an anvil hammer. She slowed in despair, dropping to her knees in exhaustion, and fell down on her arms, gasping for breath and waiting with dread for the Kishion to reach her.
There was nothing else she could do but beg for her life.
Trying to squelch her panic, she pushed up and turned to face the Kishion. Her chest was heaving.
“I’m…sorry!” she pleaded, holding her hands in front of her wardingly. “Please! Please! Don’t kill me!”
