“I wonder still, with word of upheaval reaching such distant lands as Vel, if you do not have another purpose for your travels that you have chosen not to give voice to.”
Domor swallowed hard and scrambled to find the right words to assuage the warlord’s suspicion. “I-”
Erdor raised a hand, cutting him off. “Do not worry, Velen. Not yet, at least. I’ve no time to dig for your truths, but I know of one who may well wish to speak to you about them when we are done about our business.”
Warlord Erdor motioned to his men. “Bind the Velen and keep him silent. Bring his pet along, as well. Their words shall prove interesting, no doubt, when we return to Y’var in glory.”
Domor watched the warlord walk away, heading toward the jungle and his men. He grunted in pain as the Yviri warriors wrapped cords of rope about his arms and torso, pulling them tight with little mercy. Domor trembled, but not entirely in fear for himself or for Jerul.
Erdor had confirmed what the Sha’ree had said, that war had come to the world and it was not just the Grol who chomped at the bit to be a part of the bloodshed. The Yvir too wanted their share.
He glanced up as a cold shadow settled over him, the sun sagging behind the horizon of trees. A’ree stared down angrily from the sky as though in encouragement of the violence to come.
Like or not, Domor was now a part of it all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Close on his heels, the Pathran warriors kept stride and Arrin was amazed by their perseverance. After he’d reclaimed his blade from Waeri, moments before Kirah and her warriors arrived, much to her surprise, the siblings raced off toward Lathah. Their own rivalry pushed the pace beyond what Arrin’s jibes had stirred.
They had run long and hard, for nearly half the night, before tiring and finally slowing. After finding a small clearing amidst the swaths of massive oaks that dotted the Lathahn soil, Arrin called a halt to let them rest. Worried their competitiveness might wear them down too greatly, he decided it best to find game and cool the ardor of their familial contest over a warm meal. He left them behind to catch their breath.
He returned from his hunt with a deer hung limp over his shoulders. His left hand was entangled in its antlers and the tail was wrapped about his right hand to keep it steady. The assembled Pathra grinned with hunger in their eyes as he set his burden down beside the small, comfortable fire they’d built. Kirah came alongside him to examine his catch.
Her eyes narrowed as she sniffed at the air. “There’s no blood.” She grasped an antler and pulled the dear’s head up to peer beneath it. The subtle crackle of broken bones caused her to drop it, her purple eyes wide. “You ran this down with only your hands?”
Waeri came up behind Kirah, the rest of the cadre suddenly more interested in the conversation than the deer, their voices falling into a quiet hush.
Arrin nodded. “Blood draws predators.”
Kirah stepped closer, her pink nose just inches from Arrin’s. “You are not like any Lathahn I have ever seen. You run faster than the Pathra, and it would seem you are at least as strong as the Ruhr, judging by how cleanly the creature’s neck was broken.” She met Arrin’s eyes, questions whirling there by the dozens. She voiced only one. “What are you?”
“I’m but a pale shade of the terror that rides toward Lathah under the guise of the Grol.” He drew a deep breath and stepped away from Kirah. His movement slow, he drew his short blade and passed it to one of the Pathra, hilt first. “Cut us some flanks so we may eat and be on our way, before too long.”
The warrior took the blade and went about his business, but his ears flickered alongside his furry head, his focus clearly still on Arrin. Kirah and Waeri waited until he began again.
Arrin lifted the matted lengths of his hair to clear their view of the collar. Their gazes were drawn to it as he willed it to life, the runes glowing green.
“It is a gift from times past, a relic imbued with magic by the ancient hands of the Sha’ree.” He tugged at the silvery collar as all of the Pathran eyes watched. “Bound to my flesh, and much deeper still in ways I do not truly understand, it fills me with the strength and endurance of the great oaks, and makes me quick like the lightning that is cast likes spears from the clouds. It succors me when I cannot feed and dulls even the most dire of wounds, letting me fight on when all else have fallen around me.” He loosed a quiet sigh. “Despite all that, it is but one relic and I am but one man. The Grol march with hundreds of such relics.”
“And they come for Lathah?” Waeri asked.
“Today they advance upon my homeland with savage intent. Perhaps tomorrow it will be yours, and the day after…all of Ahreele.” He strode to the fire and warmed his hands before it, a sudden chill settling upon him at his words. “This is why I came to your father. I thought at first only of the safety of my fam-my people,” he corrected, “but there is no safe haven from the power I saw devastate Fhenahr. None of our people are safe as long as the Grol remain alive.”
“Were the warriors of Pathrale and Lathah to combine forces, we would far outnumber the beasts. Surely they cannot stand against our nations united,” Waeri said, his voice strong with certainty.
Arrin loosed a sickly laugh. “If only it were that easy. Our armies would be halved by the time we even closed to arrow range, our soldiers naught but ash on the wind and bitter memories in our soon-to-be-stilled hearts. We might well claim a few Grol lives in our attempt, but it would be upon us the crows fed. And they would feed well.”
“What if we harried them along their course, picking them apart in raids focused upon the power-wielders?” Kirah asked.
“That may well be the trick of it, but it isn’t entirely an issue of numbers. The relics can simply be passed onto the next Grol soldier, and though we might claim a number of their lives, the power yet remains.” He shook his head as he turned to face the siblings. “Our action must be so decisive it lays waste to the Grol in a single blow, or we run, striking out at them until such time that we might pick them apart, down to the last beast. Neither tactic is likely to succeed, made unlikelier still by Prince Olenn’s unwillingness to ride out to meet the beasts, let alone acknowledge they are a threat.”
“Then it would seem we are doomed?” Waeri shook his head, his ears flat.
“I can’t believe that,” Kirah said. “The answer has simply yet to avail itself to us.”
“I would hope true, sister, but if what the Lat-”
Arrin raised a hand to silence the brother. The Pathra went quiet and stared as Arrin focused his senses. A subtle scent wafted to his nose.
“To arms!”
Arrin grasped the Pathran siblings and pulled them bodily alongside their brethren as though they were but children. He spun past the deer carcass and reclaimed his sword from the wide-eyed warrior that had been cutting steaks from its rump. Blade in hand, he circled around to the front of the group just as five Grol strolled from the trees. He knew instantly they were possessed of power. Even if he hadn’t realized the stealth of their approach, or the confidence of their swagger, he would have known. His collar resonated at his throat as it sensed the kindred spirits carried by the Grol.
“Stand your ground or die, beasts. You’ll not find us easy prey.” Arrin kept his uncertainty from his voice as he heard the clatter of weapons being readied behind him. It would do the Pathra no good to believe he feared for all of their lives.
One of the Grol bared its jagged teeth and growled a command, though Arrin could make no sense of it. The warriors at its side began to slowly spread out, moving away from each other by degrees while they closed on Arrin with short steps.
Arrin could see the bronze that ringed their wrists, the glimmers of green that flickered at the symbols set upon their bracers. He knew not the measure of power the beasts wielded, but he did know the savage nature of the Grol well enough to guess.
Selfish and vain, born of a society where the biggest and strongest ruled by force, the beasts’ leader would share as little of his power as possible. He would not want to arm prospective challengers to his rule.
Arrin gathered a little confidence from that thought, though the numbers still worried him, but he showed
