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Authors: Tim Marquitz
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his feet , seemingly unhurt . The Velen lay in the dirt, his eyes wide, terror carved across his obsidian face. Kirah shook her head and stumbled toward Domor.
Arrin was hit from behind before he could move . The sturdy blow crashed into his shoulder blades and sent him tumbling forward. As he fell, he saw Domor go limp beneath the stone fist of the Ruhr , Kirah too far away to protect him . Arrin hit the ground and popped to his feet , ignoring his battered body’s complaints . The creature plucked Domor up and turned toward the rest of its kind before the Pathra arrived to help . Arrin glanced to Jerul, who barely stirred, and then to Kirah. She raised her sword , but Arrin could see she had yet to recover from the blow to her head. Her legs wobbled as she walked. Cael stood frozen nearby , and Arrin knew the battle was lost.
“Cael ! Kirah! R un !” he shouted. “Run for the trees.”
The boy hesitated as Arrin spun about and raced to Jerul’s side. He sheathed his sword and hefted the Yviri warrior with his good arm. Without ceremony, he slung him ove r his shoulder . Jerul groaned and spit warm blood down Arrin’s back, but he couldn’t stop to check on the man.
Heedless of Jerul’s discomfort, Arrin ran. He reached out and spun Cael about as he passed, shoving the boy into motion. “They’re lost,” he screeched. “ Run !”
His words sunk in and Cael broke free , sho o t ing toward the woods. Kirah got the message, as well, and followed on the boy’s heels. She moved a little slow at first, but seemed to gain her legs quickly. Once they were ahead, Arrin ran after . He could hear the scuff of the Ruhrs’ feet over his labored breaths as they followed behind , and dared a glance back. There were only two that gave chase . The shadows of the Dead Lands looming ahead, he had only a moment to ponder if he’d made the right choice before they broke past the tree line and slipped into the murky forest.
His failure wouldn’t just kill him and what was left of his companions ; it would damn the whole of Ahreele.
Chapter Eleven
Uthul raced on the breeze. The sting of Ree’s magic stung his senses as he pushed the collective O’hra to their limits. He had flown across the open fields of Fhen, spending no time mourning the ruin of its capital city, Fhenahr, its wreckage little more than a blur that flickered past.
The surrounding land was near deserted. He spied only a small number of pitiful survivors who had escaped the fury of the Grol, but like those he left behind at Lathah, he could spare them no mercy. He ran on without slowing, keeping his eyes averted to remain focused on what he must do. The smell of charred meat and burnt wood faded into the distance, the shouts of the Fhen people along with them. All he heard now was the whip of the wind and the slightest scuff of his boots that skimmed the surface he trod on.
Near the border of Gurhtol, the land of the Grol, Uthul had turned northeastward. The number of beasts at Lathah told him there were little to none of the nomadic creatures still in their own land, and he was unlikely to encounter any en masse , if any at all. What few he might run across would be no threat even sans the O’hra. Unconcerned, he pressed on toward the narrow river that split the lands of Korme and Tolen. He wished to speak to the warrior people of Tolen as he made his way to Ah Uto Ree, in hopes of recruiting them to the effort of ending the Grol threat. Natural enemies, and far more skilled in the ways of battle, Uthul felt they would be the best choice to confront their wayward brethren.
As he thought of what best to tell the Tolen to garner their aid, Uthul spied a lone traveler out of the corner of his eyes. She ran across the barren Gurhtol soil at haste, but also with confidence. A flicker of green and silver and the sudden waft of Ree’s energy brought Uthul to a halt. He turned toward the woman and stared as she spied him in turn. She pulled up short and
Arrin was hit from behind before he could move . The sturdy blow crashed into his shoulder blades and sent him tumbling forward. As he fell, he saw Domor go limp beneath the stone fist of the Ruhr , Kirah too far away to protect him . Arrin hit the ground and popped to his feet , ignoring his battered body’s complaints . The creature plucked Domor up and turned toward the rest of its kind before the Pathra arrived to help . Arrin glanced to Jerul, who barely stirred, and then to Kirah. She raised her sword , but Arrin could see she had yet to recover from the blow to her head. Her legs wobbled as she walked. Cael stood frozen nearby , and Arrin knew the battle was lost.
“Cael ! Kirah! R un !” he shouted. “Run for the trees.”
The boy hesitated as Arrin spun about and raced to Jerul’s side. He sheathed his sword and hefted the Yviri warrior with his good arm. Without ceremony, he slung him ove r his shoulder . Jerul groaned and spit warm blood down Arrin’s back, but he couldn’t stop to check on the man.
Heedless of Jerul’s discomfort, Arrin ran. He reached out and spun Cael about as he passed, shoving the boy into motion. “They’re lost,” he screeched. “ Run !”
His words sunk in and Cael broke free , sho o t ing toward the woods. Kirah got the message, as well, and followed on the boy’s heels. She moved a little slow at first, but seemed to gain her legs quickly. Once they were ahead, Arrin ran after . He could hear the scuff of the Ruhrs’ feet over his labored breaths as they followed behind , and dared a glance back. There were only two that gave chase . The shadows of the Dead Lands looming ahead, he had only a moment to ponder if he’d made the right choice before they broke past the tree line and slipped into the murky forest.
His failure wouldn’t just kill him and what was left of his companions ; it would damn the whole of Ahreele.
Chapter Eleven
Uthul raced on the breeze. The sting of Ree’s magic stung his senses as he pushed the collective O’hra to their limits. He had flown across the open fields of Fhen, spending no time mourning the ruin of its capital city, Fhenahr, its wreckage little more than a blur that flickered past.
The surrounding land was near deserted. He spied only a small number of pitiful survivors who had escaped the fury of the Grol, but like those he left behind at Lathah, he could spare them no mercy. He ran on without slowing, keeping his eyes averted to remain focused on what he must do. The smell of charred meat and burnt wood faded into the distance, the shouts of the Fhen people along with them. All he heard now was the whip of the wind and the slightest scuff of his boots that skimmed the surface he trod on.
Near the border of Gurhtol, the land of the Grol, Uthul had turned northeastward. The number of beasts at Lathah told him there were little to none of the nomadic creatures still in their own land, and he was unlikely to encounter any en masse , if any at all. What few he might run across would be no threat even sans the O’hra. Unconcerned, he pressed on toward the narrow river that split the lands of Korme and Tolen. He wished to speak to the warrior people of Tolen as he made his way to Ah Uto Ree, in hopes of recruiting them to the effort of ending the Grol threat. Natural enemies, and far more skilled in the ways of battle, Uthul felt they would be the best choice to confront their wayward brethren.
As he thought of what best to tell the Tolen to garner their aid, Uthul spied a lone traveler out of the corner of his eyes. She ran across the barren Gurhtol soil at haste, but also with confidence. A flicker of green and silver and the sudden waft of Ree’s energy brought Uthul to a halt. He turned toward the woman and stared as she spied him in turn. She pulled up short and
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