Emerali: A War Song Tapestry

Chapter 13

The icy air was filled with the sounds of Emerali's harp as she battled hard against the onslaught of Asmodian archers attacking her. The odds were against her, however, and she was forced to run, showered by arrows every step of the way. The snow hampered her greatly, and she rushed past bare bushes that entangled her cloak and supply sack. She gave a hard tug to free herself, succeeding at the cost of leaving her sack dangling from the bush.

Emerali sought a clear spot to open a portal to return to her home, but as her eyes were scanning the area, she suddenly felt a sharp blow, and a searing pain tore through her. She looked down at herself and saw a dagger protruding from her abdomen, blood streaming from the wound onto the virgin snow where it seemed to glow an angry red. Emerali was no stranger to pain, but this was agonizing--pain that felt as if it would tear her very soul. She grasped the hilt and pulled the dagger out, but she couldn't take a step. She fell to the ground, bleeding profusely.

While Emerali lay writhing weakly on the ground, she could hear approaching footsteps and fragments of conversation from the Asmodians. As she struggled to maintain consciousness, Emerali suddenly heard a loud rushing noise, and the next instant angry cries, mingled with the sounds of grating steel filled the air. Emerali tried vainly to see what was happening, but being unable to see anything, she lay still, straining to make out what was going on.

Now Emerali heard heavy footfalls coming closer and closer. Breathing heavily, she closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer. She heard a low exclamation close beside her, and the next thing she knew, she was being picked up gently. Emerali then realized that she was being carried up into the air. She was vaguely aware of the distinct odor of Scolopen poison and the lingering smell of leather. "Devaen?" she murmured.

"I've gotcha," Devaen replied.

"You're... flying? But how? There's no Aetheric energy here," Emerali asked, weakly.

Devaen chuckled mirthlessly. "Remember the invention I told you about during the Solorius Festival? I'm giving it a test run right now."

"How'd you find me?"

Before Devaen could respond, an arrow struck him dead in the back. He cried out and groaned, but he didn't drop his charge. Summoning every ounce of strength, Devaen headed for the mountains, seeking a ledge on which to alight. Fortunately, he found one and quickly landed.

"Devaen... you're hit," Emerali gasped.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Devaen panted. He yanked the arrow out with a loud grunt and tossed over the ledge then he quickly drew a flask of health serum and drained it. Before he had recovered fully, Devaen was hovering over Emerali, his face taut with concern.

"I don't like the way this looks," he said, still drawing breath with difficulty. "The blood, it's turning almost black."

Emerali looked up at Devaen, her face was beaded with perspiration. "Black?!"

Devaen began tearing at Emerali's bodice. She pushed his hand away feebly. "Don't."

"I'm sorry, Emerali; I have to see the wound. I think I know what you've been poisoned with. I hope I'm wrong." Emerali turned her face away ashamedly as Devaen tore open the bodice and exposed the wound to his full view. Immediately he turned away with a groan of distaste.

"What is it?"

"The Vile Death. It's a concoction of poisonous plant extracts and black magic so... vile that even the Asmodians themselves hesitate to use it except on 'special' occasions. Its symptoms include heavy bleeding, alteration of blood color and... malodorousness of the wound," Devaen explained.