The Collectors of Peyka

Chapter 16

The villagers scrambled for their sledges while Phelim directed them toward the eastern lake. They filed out in three separate caravans while I stood in the village circle, testing the balance of my blade. I swung it out in front of me until it's weight was burned into my memory, and I was certain I could make quick work with it. When I found Phelim again, the village was almost empty, aside from a couple of dozen hunters that had chosen to risk their lives for Feywa.

Phelim took my left side with his bow in hand while we watched the trees. A subtle sway swallowed the branches while the drumming got louder. They were coming from the west, which didn't make much sense. Our miscalculations would've drawn them from the south, but as they approached, I knew their tactic was more than successful at unnerving Phelim.

He withdrew an arrow from his quiver and prematurely nocked it while he sucked in his bottom lip. He readied himself for the moment they broke through the trees. I clenched my fist around the hilt of the sword, waiting with the others that wore just as much fear as Begley on his initiation day. I knew, just like him, their pale faces would be painted red by the end of it.

When I spotted Madock, something in my guts stirred. He should've been behind a cauldron with a wooden spoon, but instead, he clutched to a shaking dagger he held out in front of him. I had to commend all of them, though. Despite all of their fears, they were still standing with me, ready to protect the element's sacred soil.

"Get ready!" Phelim shouted when the roar of the drum beckoned louder. "If we die here, we do not die in vain. The elements will guide us!"

The others stayed silent while he attempted to boost their morale. They weren't warriors. The few hours of training we did that morning would never suffice against an army. Without Alto, our chances of survival grew slim, but I couldn't run. I'd given my word that I would fight. As the last thing I had to my name, I'd let it die with me if I had to.

They didn't come from the west. We heard the drumming, but as war-painted bodies flooded in from the suspected southern tree line, we were caught off guard with our sudden adjustments. Phelim whipped around and fired an arrow into the chest of the first man that showed his face. A black hand-print had been painted onto his right cheek, and as he fell, his mouth gaped and the fingers climbed to his squeezed eyes.

Three more men darted around a set of trunks and our hunters sent forth a volley. Two of the men were downed, but one of them leaped out of the way at the last second. The arrow met the dirt by his feet and he began to sprint. I gripped my hilt and charged.

My sword slashed across his throat before he could raise his ax. It was one of the many reasons I enjoyed a lighter blade. In close contact, you never had the upper advantage. For me, I was just as light on my feet as I was with my precision. I danced around him and caught another man in his shoulder before an arrow cut over my head and lodged between his brows.

I turned a glance over my shoulder and Phelim was smirking. Something different took hold of him and he wasn't the passive leader I'd come to know. He almost looked like he was enjoying himself like we were playing a game and he was winning. Before I could get too caught up in analyzing his hold, he nodded his head and I swung my sword again.

Another blade screamed against mine as metal met metal. I pushed back but a boot planted against my chest and flung me to the ground. I raised the tip of my sword, saying a prayer to the elements that Phelim had an arrow nocked. But when it flew forward, the man adjusted his shoulder and it zipped past him, jutting from a tree trunk that sprouted several paces behind him. With his sword lifted, he stole a glance at Phelim and I used the opportunity to thrust my sword into his chest. From the angle, I couldn't withdraw it. I rolled backward and began my retreat toward Phelim.