We spend the rest of the day preparing, always with half an eye on the treeline, or an ear tilted and ready for the cries signalling an arrival, but nothing comes. We finish the spears, leaving them in an orderly pile ready to be collected at a moment’s notice, and spend the rest of the day strengthening the barricade with Faelyn.
I still catch Faelyn keeping an eye on me slightly more than is warranted, but apart from that he seems almost pleasant. It is hard to believe that it was not so long ago that the same man tried to kill Orrian and have me exiled. As Orrian supervises the entire operation, Faelyn makes no objections as he is issued an order or given new tasks to delegate by his king and has thrown himself entirely into the effort. There have been no smug comments, no pitches to reclaim his temporary power, but rather he has thrown himself into his work.
By the time the sun starts to lower, little else can be done but wait and pray that the spy has been lying about the colony’s pursuit. Faelyn has relieved us of our tasks, even commenting on the impressive sturdiness of my final section of wall and told us to take the opportunity to eat and rest whilst we still can.
Still struggling over the shock of Faelyn’s pleasantness, we catch each other’s eye once more before I leave the slender man behind me. His tattooed gaze matching my own for a second too long before he returns his attention back to the barricade. He looks lonelier, not quite right without a certain slightly shorter and more bullish companion by his side.
I think back to that first time he had given me his undivided attention, back in the doorway just after that dreadful meeting, how his eyes had spent so long on my birthmark and his suspicion towards me. Now that I know the truth about the Akanian and these people’s expectations of me, had his distrust been fuelled by jealousy? Clearly, he had wanted the power, enjoyed the position of leadership, and the tattoos certainly show his willingness to be the saviour. Was that really all it was? All because I had come into his tribe as a stranger bearing the marks that he so desperately craved?
I put my ponderings out of my mind, there are far more pressing concerns to deal with before an ally’s previous opinions of me. I almost stumble into the sand as I realise that I now consider Faelyn an ally, I suppose we’re all in this together now but still, I never thought I would consider him a friendly face. Will I one day grow to recognise Orrian as my king? Will I find another family in the tribe? Perhaps these really are my people now, my loyalty towards Avlym bruises my heart at the thought.
In the distance Orrian has moved on to discussing escape tactics with Ryfon in hushed tones, some way away from the children. The twins have collapsed on the sand next to our stockpile from earlier, drenched in the sweat of their hard labour and drinking greedily from a pair of waterskins. I make my way towards the pair of them, ready to quench my thirst.
Behind me Faelyn cries out, the shout is carried by others. Orrian has broken off from conversation and stares beyond me, Horas points past my shoulder.
Silhouetted against the crimson sky, a line of shadows grows on the hilltops.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They loom down over us, a dark outline coating the surrounding hills and clifftops, covering all sides but the sea at our backs. Some of them rise above the others, shifting constantly on horseback as they hold long flags and banners that trail in the soft ocean breeze. The setting sun, still some way off from the ocean horizon but approaching quickly, reflects off hidden chest plates and drawn swords.
Halpians, it’s easy to mistake them for the apocalypse now, these shadows highlighted by the sunset’s crimson. They may as well be demons, a wave of shadows bringing with them the night as they hunt for their victims. Horns begin to sound in the distance, their call echoing around the valley and surrounding us from all sides.
The marching stops, only one group still moves. Several horses canter over to the edge almost directly above, causing loose rocks to fall and add to the heap below. We crane our necks as a parting appears among the soldiers and the horns finish their tune.
A lone man dismounts. He is dressed similarly to his peers, except where his companion’s armour is shifting layers of silver his own is laced decoratively with gold. The sun catches some crest on his breastplate but struggle as I may I can’t make out what it depicts through the blinding golden reflections.
The man takes his time removing his helm, knowing full well that he is in complete control of the situation. As he tucks the elaborately decorated headgear under one arm, I get my first look at the colony leader.
Deep hazel hair sticks plastered with sweat his forehead, his eyebrows are bushy and his features thin. With high cheekbones, and a fleshless chin, the lowered sun makes the man appear skeletal. Greying temples betray his age but there is no denying that the man must have been handsome once. He stands tall, and with a chest enlarged by armour he surveys the group of us below him. He raises his nose and looks down upon our camp, although I suspect that if we were face to face his expression would not be any different. Even
