The Silver Arrow (18 page)

“I have never been to Bremah
before, but I’ve been to Orie and Bayshia.”

“Did your family go to the last
harvest festival?” Iseac asked.

“Yes! That is one thing we look
forward to doin

of themselves against their
surroundings. When the connection is made after a person’s mind is
unlocked, things that appear extraordinary become ordinary.”

Samuel, a few days ago,
wouldn’t have considered asking such question of an Ackalans,
considering it as foolish or even childish. However, after seeing
his family disappear in a flame of fire, nothing was outside of the
realm of possibility. He wasn’t going to presume anything on things
he’d once questioned, and it was in this same manner that Mosley
responded to this question.

“And no…we can’t disappear,”
Mosley said, “but I can see how someone might believe that. People
don’t always see what is in front of them because of their
preconception. They only see what their eyes tell them should be
there.”

“Is that what you mean by
unlocking the mind?” Samuel asked.

“No, it is more than that. It’s
something that can’t be explained in any way that would make sense
to you.”

“Why can’t it be explained?”
Samuel thought, but before he could ask, Iseac cut in on their
conversation.

“Hold it,” he said, and they
turned to look at him.

“We have—” and before he could
finish his sentence, an arrow came flying. He didn’t have enough
time to react, and the force from the arrow pushed him even farther
to his right as he tried to move away from it.

It pierced his shoulder just as
Mosley rushed in front of him.

Everything happened in a flash.
By the time Samuel could react, Mosley had deflected several arrows
aimed at them. His hands moved with such speed and grace that
Samuel could only stare in awe.

Samuel went pale, then, when he
heard the familiar grunting sound that haunted his dreams. It sent
a chill down his spine just before they emerged from woods.

The creatures he now knew as
Agoras. Behind them, three people on horseback appeared, with their
arrows aimed at them.

Gritting his teeth, Iseac
pulled the arrow out of his shoulder in a single motion. He turned
to Samuel as the spot where the arrow once was began to soak in
blood.

“We’ll hold them off, but I
need you to promise me that you’ll go to Bremah and not do anything
else.”

Samuel nodded his head in
response.

“If you want to find your
family, he is the only one who can help you. Durack will get you
there, and we’ll catch up with you later.”

Samuel had a flashback, then;
remembering that those were the same words his father uttered, and
he never came back for them.

“Now go!” Iseac said, cutting
in on Samuel’s thought. Iseac turned, brushing his hand along
Durack’s neck.

Samuel knew arguing with Iseac
would only get them both killed, and this was not the time, so he
reluctantly mounted Durack. Iseac whispered something in his
horse’s ear. Iseac turned to look at him.

“Hold on,” he said just before
tapping Durack on its side.

Whatever he said sent the horse
galloping with incredible speed, and Samuel had to hold on tight.
His surroundings became a blur within minutes as the air rushed
past him. The wind muted every other sound except the rhythmic
sound of Durack’s smooth gallop. Samuel did not turn his head for
fear of what he might see; instead, he leaned forward to protect
himself from tree branches as the horse raced through the
woods.

Iseac caught a glimpse of
Samuel at the of the corner of his eye as he disappeared into the
woods with the Agoras encircle them. They were not attacking, but
snarled at them as they waved their weapons. Iseac suspected the
reason the first arrow didn’t kill him was because they wanted him
alive. Golans rarely miss.

This was confirmed by the
apparent standoff by the Agoras; someone had given the order not to
attack. Iseac could see, behind their hunger for blood, the anger
and frustration of not being able to act on it.

“Drop your weapons,” a voice
that sounded like splintering wood said from outside the circle.
Iseac was focused on the Agoras, but his eyes drifted up briefly
above their heads to see a rider approach. The rider’s face was
hidden inside the cowl of his cloak and next to him were three
other horsemen, their arrows aimed at them.

The arrows were held in place
by the unwavering hands of Golans, with their battle colors of red
and green splitting their face.

The hooded man dismounted and
walked toward Iseac and Mosley. The Agoras parted as he entered the
circle.

“Now,” he said, gesturing for
them to drop their weapons as he stood in front of them.

“What do you want with us?”
Iseac asked as the man pulled his hood off.

The person who stood in front
of them was like a corpse that was forced to remain in his body. He
was almost as pale as the Agoras, but he had thinning silver hair
that was shoulder length, and his eyes were venomous red. He did
not respond to Iseac’s question, but said instead “Ah…It’s been a
long time since I’ve seen your kind.” He turned his head slightly
to look at Mosley, then returned his gaze to Iseac. “If I give the
order, you will be dead, and even the Ackalan can’t stop so many of
them.”

Iseac knew he was right; while
he was able to block the pain, he was losing the feeling in his
arm. He looked at Mosley, moving his head slightly as he dropped
his quarterstaff. Mosley did the same, releasing his weapon and
letting it drop to the ground. As he did, the Agoras rushed them to
the ground and they were both restrained.

“Tie him with that,” the man
leading the group said, pointing to Mosley. “They are a lot more
dangerous than they appear. Take care of the rider,” he said,
looking at the Golans, and they rode off after Samuel.

Iseac and Mosley were pulled to
their feet and pushed forward as the man lifted his hood over his
head again and began walking away.

He stopped after a few steps,
turned his head to the side, and said casually, as if talking to
himself, “They said to bring you alive, but no one mentioned
anything about your companion.

“Take care of him,” the man
said to the Agora next to him, and he started walking again to his
horse. The Agora that was giving the command ran toward the group
that was holding Mosley, and he was pulled away. At the same time,
Iseac was hit hard in the back. It sent flashes of pain across him,
joining the one in his shoulder. He clenched his teeth as he
stumbled forward from the force.

“Move it…” the Agora that
struck Iseac said, the words foreign to his tongue. They spoke in a
strange tongue that Mosley did not recognize or understood as he
was led away. While Iseac’s hands were tied behind him, Mosley had
a wooden log placed over his shoulders so his hands were tied
apart.

While most of the Agoras’
dominating thoughts had to do with killing humans, their leader was
determined not to take any chances with Mosley.

He was about forty yards from
Iseac when the leading Agora kicked him in the back of his leg,
bringing Mosley to his knees. He had been studying the small group
that was leading him to his execution, and knew this was it as he
watched them form a semi-circle around him.

The leading Agora walked to
Mosley, his scarred face visible inside his helmet as he stared at
him with his deadly blue eyes that held an unknown hatred for
humans.

Sunlight glittered off the
Agora’s jagged blade as he raised his hand to the air. Mosley
moved, taking advantage of the split−second opening. He swung the
left end of the log that held his hands apart as he rose from his
knee. It caught the Agora under his chin, snapping its neck as the
force pushed it back. Caught by surprise, it took a second for the
other Agoras to react as they rushed forward, determined to end his
life.

So he spun the log around,
shifting from right to left as best he could with his legs tied
closely together, which left him no real room to move. As Mosley
fought for his life, he received several cuts to his arm, side, and
thigh. An ax was thrown in his direction and he shifted.

It flew past him landing in the
forehead of an Agora, who dropped to the ground behind him. The ax
handle resting in the forehead of the creature as he glanced at it
was an Ackalan. Help had arrived, and in the nick of time.

Just then, other Ackalans
appeared. The Agoras around Mosley became unsure of what to
do−continue with their attempt to kill him, attack the approaching
Ackalans, or flee.

They chose the latter and began
to flee as they were pursued by the Ackalans on horseback.

“Where is Iseac?” Tremay asked
while Mosley was still trying to catch his breath.

“He’s been taken by a different
group not more than forty yards from here—”

Before Mosley could finish his
sentence, Tremay was already gone. Several of the Ackalans followed
after him, trying to catch up. The soil was damp from morning dew,
but they all felt the earth shake as if from a minor tremor. It
caused the horses to slow down with fear. Tremay could see, between
the trees, what looked like flames with images of people inside
them. He jumped off his horse and began to run toward it when the
flame disappeared.

“We have to find him,” Tremay
said as he picked up Iseac’s quarterstaff from the ground and moved
toward the spot where Iseac would have been standing.

Several of Tremay’s companions
stood behind him, studying their surroundings. Tremay started
walking back when one of his men came up to him.

“We have several of them that
are still alive,” he said, referring to the Agoras.

“Good,” Tremay responded in a
tone that held the low current of a tidal wave. “I need some
answers,” he said under his breath as he made his way to
Mosley.

“Join me when you’re done,” he
said to Mosley, who was free of his restraints and attending to his
wounds.

The woods were becoming denser
the farther in Samuel went. Little rays of light snuck between the
trees that seemed to hold the fog in place.

Samuel was holding tightly to
Durack’s reins as the horse continued to gallop in full stride and
with poor visibility. It was hard for Samuel to see where he was
heading, and this kept him on edge. He hoped the horse’s keen
senses would keep them both alive; while his present predicament
was at the forefront of his mind, the other part of him still felt
guilty for leaving Iseac and Mosley even though he knew he was
weaponless, as his quiver was empty of arrows.

“You could do nothing; you
would have only been a hindrance,” the rational part of him kept
saying, but it provided no consolation. Tightening his grip on
Durack’s reins, Samuel slowed the horse down to a canter, and then
to a trot to give himself time to think.

He remembered his promise to
Iseac that he would go to Bremah, and if he turned back to help, he
would be breaking that promise.

Durack continued to move,
slowing some as Samuel contemplated what to do next. Deep in
thought, Samuel did not notice the needle from a piece of broken
branch dangling on his trouser just above his right boot. The
needle pricked his leg, drawing him out of his musing as he jerked,
instinctively bending down to remove the branch. At that instant,
he heard three darting sounds in rapid succession on the tree
beside him.

He did not have to look at what
he knew were clearly the sounds of fired arrows or where they came
from. Without thinking, Samuel tugged on Durack’s reins, sending
the horse into motion. He knew instinctively, even as fear took
hold of him, that riding from right to left in a zigzag pattern
gave him less chance of been hit, so he held on as tree branches
swatted his sides along the way.

Upset at their wasted chance,
having been so close, the Golans sat on their horses, watching with
their arrows drawn, looking for a better shot. Samuel disappeared
into the fog.

One had aimed for his head, the
other two his heart. If it wasn’t for his sudden move, they would
have been done, but now he was on the move again with the fog
obscuring their vision.

They sent their horses into
motion following after him; soon enough, they would get their
shot.

Samuel kept Durack at a gallop
while laying low, now that he knew he was being followed by the
same horsemen that had appeared with the Agoras.

“Idiot, did you think they were
just going to let you leave?” he said to himself, his cloak tugging
his neck as it flapped behind him.

Ignoring the choking sensation,
Samuel kept his pace, not wanting to take any chances.

The land sloped down slightly
as he rode, his teeth chattering at the hard pace he was going. It
wasn’t long before he could feel a difference in the air. It was
heavier, with the cool breeze of the coast mixed with the smell of
fish, smoke, dirt, and an assortment of other things. A few minutes
later, he could hear the lively buzz of a busy town. He was getting
close. In between the trees, he was soon able to see rooftops, then
people moving along a footpath about twenty yards from his
clearing. He shifted Durack to his right, staying inside the tree
line.

He spotted several old
buildings ahead that looked like inns, from what he could see. The
fourth building would be the shortest distance from his
position.

Samuel burst into the clearing,
slowing Durack to a canter halfway from the crowd, and even as the
horse was coming to a stop, he dismounted. He barely kept his feet
under him as he landed. The momentum sent him into a running motion
as he ran into the crowd holding on to Durack’s reins.

********