Dem'rick and the Dryhirian Stone

Chapter Three:

"Don't be foolish, Dem'rick," Benigno stated, "think of the possibilities and it does not come with people living."

Dem'rick bit his tongue, trying to focus on breathing, it suddenly had become difficult and his chest was tight. Benigno was right, and he knew that, but sometimes he really hated admitting it to the old man.

"Safe your strength, you will need it for the battle ahead." Yared pointed off into the dark woods, their forms shifting like shadows from the pyre, "follow the tree line and you will reach Bogonam."

"We cannot leave you with this—"

"You must," Yared took Dem'rick's shoulders in his hands; "you are not destined to die here."

Screams and yelling rung out from the other side of the pyre, sparks flew as someone was tossed into the flames their screams deafening to Dem'rick's ears. Families began to run away, no longer able to hold the barracked that kept them concealed behind the flames. Clicks from the crossbows quickly followed and bodies of mothers concealing their children fell lifeless to the floor, blood forming around their wounds.

A memory clicked into place, and Dem'rick could hear his own mother's screams freezing him in place.

"Run now!"

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

The orders were clear, as the men rounded around the fire spotting the three crouching on the ground. Benigno must have grabbed Dem'rick's arm because they were now running into the forest away from the fire and the carnage of the village. The pounding of his feet, the weight of his tired legs, and the ache in his chest as he breathed the cold air was nothing, a small sacrificed for the moment he abandoned those people and escaped like a coward. He hated himself. Wanted to slice those men from naval to throat and watch their innards spill before their last breath left their mouth.

Yared's words repeated in his head as he darted through the snow, you are not destined to die today. Of course he was not, but that is the funny thing about destinies. They change and shift according to the person and destinies change according to the other people around. Those soldiers can easily end his destiny by driving a sword through his heart, or simply striking his head off, whichever they prefer.

Benigno continued to race forward, and Dem'rick attempting to keep up. His vision blurred, hand burned, and was attempting not to trip over anything in the dark.  The trees covered the plethora of stars, their glorious dancing in the sky did diminish even as blood was spilt on the snowy ground.

A pounding sensation continued in Dem'rick's head, but he didn't dare slow down, following Benigno through the trees and every so often the old man looked back before pressing on. The ache did not seem to dissipate, and his vision faded out. He caught his foot on a tree root, stumbling, landing hard on his knees and they buckled underneath him.

He was on fire. Each breath was more difficult than the last; it felt as if he was drowning. Benigno rushed back to him grabbing a hold of his shoulders as he collapsed to the ground, "By all the dryads you are burning up—"

Benigno's voice faded out, his vision failed and he was plunged into darkness.

~~~

"Dem'rick,"

He could hear the voice, but it was far, distant. The excruciating pain in his hand was the only thing he could concentrate on, everything else was too minute.

"Stay quiet—" it must be Benigno, the deep and rough voice echoed through his head "—almost on us—"

Dem'rick couldn't move his body, something heavy pressed down on him. Benigno rustled something over his face before glancing up, and rushing out of Dem'rick's blurry vision. Everything went black once again.