The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Chapter 46: Caith - Revenge

She answers with a slight inclination of her head.

My horse's legs threaten to buckle under the extra weight as I pull Aebbé up behind me. She wraps her arms around me before burying her face in my back. The cold blood seeping from her clothes to mine barely bother me as she moulds her body into mine.

Shit. This is close.

Shit. She shifts behind me, pressing her legs closer to mine.

The following hour is filled with silent cursing at how comfortable her body against mine is, that, and some other inappropriate thoughts.

The moment I knew would inevitably come, arrives as my horse's legs warp beneath us. In a rather impressive movement (even if I have to say so myself) I jump off, pulling Aebbé with me. I draw her closer to me as we slam into the ground, hopefully breaking the impact for her. Not allowing the birth of another tricky encounter, I hurriedly let go of her.

After years of living past the age of death and seeing friends turn grey, then white, and then to ash, I would have liked to be able to say that the end of life doesn't affect me anymore. But that would be a lie. The time that has passed has just allowed me to withdraw deeper into myself and hide the pain more effectively. Eoghan and Walter used to jokingly say that I am the man that death itself wouldn't be able to scare.

Nothing has ever been further from the truth. Death still scares me, perhaps more so because it is mostly utterly unobtainable.

My horse's lips tickle my palm as I feed him the last of my apples. “Sha helam, sha fiet, sha atral, et deeye ni inde sha,” I whisper to my companion before doing what Aebbé had to do to her horse.

“Hayward was a good horse. He has been my loyal companion for a few years,” I tell her when wiping my bloodied hands on my tattered shirt.

She offers me her hand and a sympathetic smile before we start to run the last stretch to the abandoned town.

The buildings loom against the grey steely air. The paint of the wooden planks chip off. The buildings seem as if a giant mountain mole, like the one from Korr's stories, have bitten into them. A water trough, empty and faded, stands in front of one of the buildings. The wind picks up and howls between the buildings.

“Damn, we're far from the stream,” I whistled.

“Do you have a plan on how we survive this?”

“Always.” Even though the circumstances were less than ideal, I could feel water pulsing beneath us - and where there is water, there is hope. The stream would have been more accessible and less exerting, but something is better than nothing.

I open my palm, signalling the water to come to me. It takes a minute for the small amount I called for to travel to my palms. Sixty eight seconds. A lot can happen in a minute.

The stairs threaten to give way below us as we make our way up to the attic. Thick carpets of dust billow out around us.

We huddle on the top floor as I count my arrows. I would have liked to have more of them, but at least Aebbé is a fair shot. She takes a peek through the window, but jumps back barely a second later. So they have arrived. She slides down to the ground.

“They are everywhere,” she whispers. The circle of our pursuers grow closer, threatening to suffocate us out of our stronghold.

“I'll take a look with the water.” Just before we entered I called for more water and left it at some strategic points that would allow me to see their whereabouts.

Aebbé stares at the ball of water in my hands. We study the shapes of the men huddling behind broken houses.

The one called Hoyt climbs off his horse. His apathetic eyes scan the buildings until they settle on our building. He points toward us, and then say something to his men. They nod and some of them start to scuttle away.

Aebbé stiffens next to me. I place my hand on hers and she immediately relaxes. “Just breathe.”

She takes an arrow and silently draws it. After giving me a hesitant smile, she steps out, aims it and fires. Through the water I watch the arrow lodge in the heart of one of the men. Immediately taking refuge again, she gives me a nervous smile as the men yell something profane.

I place the water on the floor, rolling it away until it is the perfect distance from me. Taking less than the blink of an eye, I aim through the water for one of the men hidden behind an old wagon. He barely registers his death as the arrow flies seemingly out of nowhere and lodges in his right eye. His body goes limp and blood pools on his collar.

We manage to get a few more shots before Hoyt's men breach the door. The crash of it splintering reverberates through the house. Their footsteps rush up the creaking steps. A yell and a boom alert us that one of them fell through that hole that almost injured my ankle when we made our way up them initially. Barely breaths later they come into the attic.

We train our arrows on them. The advantage we have is that they won't use arrows, because the chance of them harming Aebbé is greater that way.

Hoyt sends his men first. “Princess! It has been a while! How are you? Are you plagued by nightmares of the bastard's death?”

Aebbé frowns. This time I let go of my arrow first.

As the men make their way to us, a determined scowl settles on her face. A flash of orange in the corner of my eyes, followed by an earth-splitting boom precedes the building erupting into flames.

The heavy smoke push our attackers further from us. Hoyt snaps his fingers and the fire dies out without any resistance.

“That was impressive, Aebbé of Ardam, but I have forgotten the things you still have to learn about fire.

I reach out for the water that should be around us, but I encounter nothing. A peek through the window tells me that Aebbé set more than just our building on fire, but Hoyt only put this fire out.

Cold rage and hate fill Aebbé's eyes before she withdraws the sword and storms to him. Their swords clash and a deadly dance ensues.

I stand back, but start to reach out to the water from the well.

Aebbé slips. My heart stops as I watch Hoyt swinging the sword towards a certain hit. Then a coy smile follows before the sword flies out of his hand and she brings the tip of the sword to rest against his Adam's apple.

With no second thoughts on my side, the water rushes in, slamming Aebbé away from her wanted, but unnecessary, revenge. Hoyt sees his chance and scurries to his sword, but my sword bores through him at the place where Aebbé's sword was barely a moment ago.