Sins of Calate: BOOK II OF THE FOUR REALMS SERIES

Part XIV | Theodan

As Fara's image melted into the night he lifted his gaze, content for his final images to be that of his beloved and his brother in Valka. It was subtle; the gesture Draden gave him. One he would not have noticed had they not trained side by side for many years. His mouth tugged down on one side, then a fleeting look down to his left.

Hope lit like a beacon in his chest.

Draden swung the sword hard. Theodan ducked and rolled to the left while Draden turned full circle to swing his sword instead at the Menodice to his right. Theodan angled his body upward from the grass and kicked out at one of the guards holding Vala. As he staggered backwards she was able to twist her body and break loose. He scanned the grass for his sword, glancing up to see that Draden now moved toward the guard holding Ismene. Where in the Gods was his sword?

A small glimmer of assistance please, Dark One, he pleaded.

The sound of cries rose all around him as the grove broke out into battle.

Warriors, Draden's warriors - his warriors - streamed into the grove then, their swords raised and battle cries loud as they charged toward the black armed men of the Court.

Draden had chosen. Had chosen him. Gratitude and hope caused his heart to soar.

He scanned the forest floor for the sword again.

'Looking for this?' Said a Menodice from behind him. He turned, fangs bared and prepared to strike. But then blinked in surprise as the image shimmered. Panos of Calate. Not a Menodice. He held out Theodan's sword to him, wary.

'Then you see it too?' He said, marvelled. He gazed over Theodan's shoulder to where Ismene stood. 'She said they would see me as one of them.'

Theodan took the sword and stood. 'Now we see whether you can fight true soldiers and not merely untrained stewards.'

Panos of Calate scowled at him. 'I have trained my whole life to fight your kind, Leoth.'

'Then fight any dressed like you. If you can down them without a kill, then do it.' A thought occurred to him. 'And avoid any who are not dressed as you are.' He could only hope Ismene had considered this in her plan to disguise Panos.

Theodan twisted his body just in time to dodge the sword of a Menodice who had rushed toward them. With his elbow he smashed hard into the guard's helmet, causing him to stagger, then crouched to draw his blade across the vulnerable gap in armour behind the soldier's knee. He fell forward in pain, clutching at his wound. For good measure, Theodan gripped his sword at the hilt and drove it down into the soft leather of the guard's foot.

Then spun away from him as he fell to the grass. A quick survey of the grove counted around fifteen warriors against twenty or so Menodice. It would be an easy won fight for them. He caught Draden's gaze, a moment passing between them that was both fleeting and powerful. A recognition. Gratitude. Loyalty. Theodan gave a slight nod before turning to scan the melee for Paeris. The white cloak of the Isdar flared out behind him as he fled across the clearing before he disappeared through the gated passageway toward the prison. With a growl of rage, he tore off in pursuit, though an instant later, froze.

Mor.

You know what to do if anything should occur.

Needles of panic stabbed at him, savage, digging deep into his chest. If anything were to happen to her. An innocent. He spun around and flew in the opposite direction, parrying the swing of a Menodice's sword that came toward him, then vaulting over the low swing of another. He countered the last with a thrust which rattled through his body, before using the guard's stunned state to smash his fist against his lolling head. Then he continued in the direction of Mor.