Whispers Of Peace And War

12

12

Falling back onto the ground, Mythrd tried to steady his breathing, fingers digging into the soil on either side, the axe and the Abbot's cane dropped beside him. He almost felt like laughing, but the visions of all those dead people, the Gaeradine smashed into the ground by the pillar of topsoil, all flashed before his eyes. He couldn't find that much happiness at surviving the ordeal.

About to regain his feet, he heard the sound of horses hooves pounding towards him. His hand scrambled for the axe, fingers touching, but not managing to grab the shaft as a horse and rider erupted from the fog. The horse snorted, eyes widening as it neared Mythrd, before leaping over his head. Mythrd followed the path of the horse as it jumped over him, the hooves missing him by a whisker.

The rider drew his horse to a halt, tugging at the reins to turn it, and he glared down towards Mythrd, Gythryn and Abbot Llwnthrn. The Ground Shaker Mage. Blood dripped from one arm, gripping the horse's reins and the horse, itself, had four wicked looking gashes upon its rump. The mage raised his hand towards the fog, a desperate look in his eyes.

"What are you sat around for? Run!" The horse, fidgeted beneath the man, skittish, ready to tear into a gallop at the first opportunity. "There's too many of them!"

"It's alright. You're within the stone circle. You're protected." Clambering to his feet, Mythrd held out his hands, showing he had no weapons. "The Traal cannot enter. Look."

He pointed to the invisible barrier, where the fog ended and the circle of stones began. Vague figures pressed against that barrier, but did not enter, as though they could not see, smell, or hear anything that happened within the henge. Mythrd looked back at the mage, hoping that he understood what that meant.

Blinking, hesitant, the mage lowered his hand. After a second, he slumped forward, over the neck of his horse, and groaned as he gripped his bloodied arm. Mythrd could see, now, the armour upon the mage's forearm dangling, held on by only one strap, a deep tear in his jacket and a cut beneath. It didn't look life-threatening. Neither did the scratches upon the horse's flank, though that looked painful.

"The Abbot!" As though he only this second remembered, the mage ran his eyes to Llwnthrn, dismounting and racing to the Abbot. "She came from nowhere and almost at the same time, the Gaeradine attacked. How is she?"

"Shaken. A little cut, but she's fine." Gythryn eyed the mage up and down with suspicion, the Abbot's head laid upon her lap. "How did you get here so fast? We thought at least another day before help arrived."

"The village's rider caught up to us on our way back to the capital. We thought we'd put a stop to this Gaeradine incursion." The mage crouched beside the Abbot, checking her from head to toe, none-too-gently. He appeared used to people receiving injuries. "When the rider told us about the Traal threat, we sent him on and headed back as fast as our horses could carry us."

The mage stopped checking the Abbot for injuries and looked towards Gythryn and then Mythrd. His eyes fell upon Gythryn's sword, by her side, and Mythrd's axe, before giving them a long, examining look. Satisfied the Abbot would live, he rose to his feet and opened one of his horse's saddlebags, pulling out a water skin.

He took a long drink, himself, wiping his mouth with his hand and then poured some water onto his wound, grimacing. He held out the water skin to Gythryn and pointed to the Abbot as she took the skin from him. Gythryn dripped water onto the Abbot's lips, eliciting a groan from the older woman. Meanwhile, the mage checked the injury to his horse, patting the poor creature and whispering comforting words.

"Will the capital send a detachment? Soon?" Mythrd passed by Gythryn, pressing a hand upon her shoulder. "This is bigger than the Traal and a few Gaeradine trackers. It's heading to war."