Reyr the Gold (Dragonwall Series # 2)

Chapter 30 - Dining With The Queen

The Gable Forest

Jeanine screamed, urging the villagers of Kaljah onward to escape the Gobelins. "Run," she cried. "Run!" When she looked at the distance they had yet to cover, their fate became obvious. They wouldn't make it. A cold panic set into the pit of her stomach. They had been fleeing Kaljah for little more than an hour and already her flock was scattered; those in the back were far behind the leaders. The gap between them was growing larger. No one was able to run forever.

She turned Storm sharply and then backtracked, cantering to the rear. "Hurry!" she cried waving her arms. "Hurry!"

She saw a woman stumble and fall, crying out as she fell. Her name was Norah. Norah was middle-aged with four children grown and moved away. Jeanine led Storm over, jumping from the horse's back. She helped Norah stand.

"I canna go on," Norah cried. "I canna! Silah...Silah is back in the village. He's gunna die! We are all dead." Her anguish was a thing of nightmares.

"You mustn't cry! It will only make breathing harder," Jeanine said, losing her patience. "We are not going to die. Keep running. Keep going for Silah, for your children." She gave Norah a push from behind, spurring her forward.

The villagers continued to run. Every time she counted there were fewer. Some of the women were dropping like flies, scattered far enough back that she could no longer see them. There was only so much she could do to motivate them. After a while, she stopped looking behind her—it hurt too much.

By midday, even those in the lead stopped to rest. The children were crying for water; there was none. In the panic of escaping, water—like so many other things—was forgotten. She dismounted and lifted the young boy riding with her from Storm's back. He continued to hold the young child they had taken from a begging mother, who was likely dead; very few of the older folk had gotten this far.

She bent over and took hold of the boy's shoulders where she held him firmly. "What is your name?" she asked.

"Jorn, miss," he said, whimpering.

"Nice to meet you, Jorn. I am Jeanine. Do not let the infant out of your sight. Do you understand?" She kneeled down to his height. His eyes were wide and scared. He nodded and stood there, too stunned to move otherwise.

Rising, she began to assess the others. It was then she noticed that there were no men with them. Most of the children were barefoot, and many were crying. The few mothers who had made it were trying to comfort them. Everyone was in utter shock.

The hilly planes held little life and no promise of quenching their thirst. Any further west and they would be in the desert. She dared not take them eastward into the mountains crawling with Gobelins—that would be even more dangerous. They needed to reach the forest. She could see the green smudge looming on the horizon. They were close. Would they make it?

To get a better look at her surroundings, she climbed atop Storm's back. He was old and patient and held perfectly still as he ought. Storm was a horse bred for war. Like much else in her slice of the kingdom, he was a remnant of the brutal efforts to protect Dragonwall's homeland, just like her father, Jahl's father, and so many others. With extreme care, she first put her feet into the stirrups, and then worked her way onto the top of the saddle, slowly standing and holding her arms out for balance. Turning her head in the direction they had come, she squinted to see better. What she saw stilled her heart.

"They are coming!" she screeched, nearly toppling off Storm. All around her fresh cries rang out. Pitiful wails echoed from the lips of the mothers as they realized escape was impossible.