Read Online The Gods of Garran by Meredith Skye - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Meredith Skye
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blood that spurted forth. Soon the beast fell dead, its jaws still clinging to Moorhen's arm.
Fighting nausea, Moorhen struggled free of the creature, realizing that much of the blood on the beast and his arm was his own. A wave of dizziness passed over him. His jacket had protected his arm somewhat from the voltche's fangs but still he was wounded. He could barely feel his arm--and he couldn't move it.
Moorhen pulled his knife back out and pushed the creature back from him. Hastily wiping the blade and sheathing his weapon, Moorhen scrambled over to Tylol to check him. His cousin's eyes were frozen open in a look of pain. Blood covered his chest. He was dead.
Moorhen staggered backward and ran away a few steps. The nausea overcame him and he threw up, repeatedly. Never had he seen death so close up, not even that night with Norbi in the Black Hills.
Dazed, Moorhen sat there a moment or two. Slowly feeling came back to his arm. He flexed it carefully, fearful of another attack. Then he remembered Rollech, scrambled up and ran over to his side.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Rollech? Can you stand?"
Rollech was regaining consciousness but moaned in pain. His right leg was torn up.
The battle was over. The clan slowly recovered. Ashtan made his way over to Tylol, saw his lifeless face. "What happened?" he asked Rollech.
"They attacked from behind." said Rollech. "This one ran." He pointed to Moorhen. Ashtan glared at him.
"No," said Moorhen. "I … I didn't." What had he done? He felt dizzy. "I wanted to--"
"Silence, coward," said Ashtan with disgust. "I have no ears for your excuses."
"But--"
"Shut up!" Ashtan took a few steps toward him and Moorhen recoiled. "Help him, before I decide to leave you for the salt dogs!"
Moorhen stared after him. He hadn't run; he had moved back to shoot his bow and warn the others. The dark color of his jacket concealed his own wound. Frustrated, Moorhen bent down to help Rollech.
"Don't touch me," spat Rollech. "I once heard you were a half-garr. Maybe they were right. Coward." Moorhen stared at him. A half-garr? No one had ever said this to him. It was a great insult. "Go take care of Tylol," said Derish.
Mirrhia hurried over to Rollech's side to tend to him, pouring out water to clean the wound.
Without arguing, Moorhen moved over and closed Tylol's eyes. He removed the pouch he wore with his personal things and laid his body out, ready for a ceremony. Ashtan raised his tribal medallion and spoke a blessing over Tylol, commending his spirit to the winds. Then they buried him.
The evening turned cold.
Sonthhe was north of there a few hours. They camped well outside the city that evening. Ashtan and ten warriors, including Draihe and Channik, accompanied him to Sonthhe, searching for Nevehan and the Red Sun Clan.
^ ^ ^ ^ *
A night passed and a day. Still there was no word. The clan grew restless but Ashtan had been clear. They were not to move nor approach the town, afraid that the Chanden would spot the group. Sometimes the Chanden patrolled these remote villages.
"I don't like this," said Gudhel, fretting about Draihe's absence. "They've been gone too long."
"Negotiations take time," said Moorhen, but he also worried. Gudhel and many others spent the day hunting and caught a few eke. It made for a good meal that night. Moorhen regretted that they didn't have time to dry any of the meat. He saw that the meat was well cooked. It would last several days.
Another night passed. No one was happy but few complained.
In the morning, Ashtan and the warriors returned with the four travelers: Nevehan, Kresha, Shann and Serra.
Having the Red Sun Clan among them gave Moorhen a sense of foreboding.
"I have spoken to the other clans and we are in agreement. We will ride to the Upper Steppes," said Ashtan, determined. "Where we will hold a council on what to do."
It felt like they were going to war. Moorhen worried what the outcome to this would be. The Chanden were powerful. They
Fighting nausea, Moorhen struggled free of the creature, realizing that much of the blood on the beast and his arm was his own. A wave of dizziness passed over him. His jacket had protected his arm somewhat from the voltche's fangs but still he was wounded. He could barely feel his arm--and he couldn't move it.
Moorhen pulled his knife back out and pushed the creature back from him. Hastily wiping the blade and sheathing his weapon, Moorhen scrambled over to Tylol to check him. His cousin's eyes were frozen open in a look of pain. Blood covered his chest. He was dead.
Moorhen staggered backward and ran away a few steps. The nausea overcame him and he threw up, repeatedly. Never had he seen death so close up, not even that night with Norbi in the Black Hills.
Dazed, Moorhen sat there a moment or two. Slowly feeling came back to his arm. He flexed it carefully, fearful of another attack. Then he remembered Rollech, scrambled up and ran over to his side.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Rollech? Can you stand?"
Rollech was regaining consciousness but moaned in pain. His right leg was torn up.
The battle was over. The clan slowly recovered. Ashtan made his way over to Tylol, saw his lifeless face. "What happened?" he asked Rollech.
"They attacked from behind." said Rollech. "This one ran." He pointed to Moorhen. Ashtan glared at him.
"No," said Moorhen. "I … I didn't." What had he done? He felt dizzy. "I wanted to--"
"Silence, coward," said Ashtan with disgust. "I have no ears for your excuses."
"But--"
"Shut up!" Ashtan took a few steps toward him and Moorhen recoiled. "Help him, before I decide to leave you for the salt dogs!"
Moorhen stared after him. He hadn't run; he had moved back to shoot his bow and warn the others. The dark color of his jacket concealed his own wound. Frustrated, Moorhen bent down to help Rollech.
"Don't touch me," spat Rollech. "I once heard you were a half-garr. Maybe they were right. Coward." Moorhen stared at him. A half-garr? No one had ever said this to him. It was a great insult. "Go take care of Tylol," said Derish.
Mirrhia hurried over to Rollech's side to tend to him, pouring out water to clean the wound.
Without arguing, Moorhen moved over and closed Tylol's eyes. He removed the pouch he wore with his personal things and laid his body out, ready for a ceremony. Ashtan raised his tribal medallion and spoke a blessing over Tylol, commending his spirit to the winds. Then they buried him.
The evening turned cold.
Sonthhe was north of there a few hours. They camped well outside the city that evening. Ashtan and ten warriors, including Draihe and Channik, accompanied him to Sonthhe, searching for Nevehan and the Red Sun Clan.
^ ^ ^ ^ *
A night passed and a day. Still there was no word. The clan grew restless but Ashtan had been clear. They were not to move nor approach the town, afraid that the Chanden would spot the group. Sometimes the Chanden patrolled these remote villages.
"I don't like this," said Gudhel, fretting about Draihe's absence. "They've been gone too long."
"Negotiations take time," said Moorhen, but he also worried. Gudhel and many others spent the day hunting and caught a few eke. It made for a good meal that night. Moorhen regretted that they didn't have time to dry any of the meat. He saw that the meat was well cooked. It would last several days.
Another night passed. No one was happy but few complained.
In the morning, Ashtan and the warriors returned with the four travelers: Nevehan, Kresha, Shann and Serra.
Having the Red Sun Clan among them gave Moorhen a sense of foreboding.
"I have spoken to the other clans and we are in agreement. We will ride to the Upper Steppes," said Ashtan, determined. "Where we will hold a council on what to do."
It felt like they were going to war. Moorhen worried what the outcome to this would be. The Chanden were powerful. They
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