Blood Song

Vealin whirled, his sword coming free from the scabbard in a blur.

“DON’T!” Nortah’s shout coming too late as something large and immensely strong slammed into Vaelin’s side, the force of the charge jarring his sword from his grip and sending him into the air to land a good ten feet away, his breath forced from his lungs by the impact.

He scrabbled for the dagger in his boot, dragging air into his lungs and trying to ignore the sharp pain in his chest which told of at least one broken rib. He pushed himself upright, shouting with pain, and promptly fell again as a wave of nausea blurred his vision and tipped the ground beneath his feet. More than just a broken rib. He struggled, waving his dagger wildly, trying to rise and finding Nortah standing over him. Vaelin drew back expecting an attack, reversing his hold on the dagger to parry a thrust…

Nortah had his back to him, standing with his hands raised above his head, waving frantically. “NO! No! Leave him!”

There was a sound, like a snarl mixed with a growl. But it was not a sound any dog would ever make.

Vaelin had seen wild cats in the Urlish and the Martishe but the beast that confronted him now was so different in size and shape he almost concluded it was from another species altogether. It stood over four feet tall at the shoulder, its lean, powerful frame covered in snow white fur shot through with dark black stripes. Massive paws scraped at the ground with claws more than two inches long, and its eyes, bright green and shining out from the complex striped mask of its face, seemed to glow with malevolent intent. Meeting his gaze it hissed, bearing fangs like ivory daggers.

“NO!” Nortah yelled, placing himself between the cat and Vaelin. “No!”

The cat snarled again, raising a paw to slash the air in annoyance then shifted to the left, seeking to edge past Nortah. Vaelin was amazed. Does it fear him?

A hand clap sounded, loud and sharp in the chilled mountain air. Vaelin tore his gaze from the snarling cat and saw a young woman standing a short distance away, a slender young woman with auburn hair and a familiar and very pretty oval face.

“Sella?” he said, wincing as a fresh wave of pain swept through him, his vision swimming. When it cleared he found her standing over him, smiling warmly, the cat was at her side now, nuzzling her leg as she played a hand through its fur. Behind her he could see other figures emerging from the ruins, dozens of people, young and old, men and women.

“Brother?” Nortah was kneeling next to him, his face pale with concern. “Are you hurt?”

“I…” Meeting Nortah’s gaze and seeing the worry in his eyes he felt a great swell of shame in his breast. I came here to kill you, my friend. What kind of man am I? “I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself upright and promptly passing out from the savage flare of agony in his chest.

Chapter 8

He was woken by voices, softly spoken but tense with conflict.

“…a danger to us all,” a man was whispering heatedly.

“No more than I,” answered a familiar voice.

“You are us much a fugitive as we are, brother. He is a member of an order that kills our kind.”

“This man is under my protection. No harm will come to him.”

“I’m not talking about harming him. There are other ways, we can keep him sleeping…”

“A bit late for that,” Vaelin said, opening his eyes.

He lay on a bed of furs in a large bare room, the walls and the ceiling richly decorated with faded paintings of animals and strange sea creatures he couldn’t name. The floor was covered in an elaborate mosaic showing a pear tree laden with fruit surrounded by unfamiliar symbols and intricate swirling patterns. Nortah stood near the door accompanied by a slightly built man with greying hair and wary eyes.

“Brother,” Nortah said with a smile. “You are well?”

Vaelin felt at his side, expecting to find it tender to the touch but there was no pain. Pulling down the furs he saw the livid bruise he expected was absent, his flesh smooth and unmarked. “It appears so. Thought that beast had broken a rib at least.”

“She did more than that,” the slightly built man said. “Weaver had to spend half the night on you. Snowdance is not a easy animal to control, even for Sella.”

“Snowdance?”

“The cat,” Nortah explained. “A war cat left behind by the Ice Horde. It seems some of them made the mistake of wandering into Lonak lands after the Tower Lord sent them packing. Sella found her when she was a kitten. Apparently she’s not yet fully grown.”

“Grown large and ferocious enough to keep us safe,” the other man said, giving Vaelin a cold look. “Until now.”

“This is Harlick,” Nortah said. “He’s scared of you. Most of them are.”

“Them?”

“The people who live here, and a very strange bunch they are too.” He went to a corner where Vaelin’s clothes and weapons were neatly arranged and tossed him a shirt. “Get dressed and I’ll give you a tour of the fallen city.”