Author's Notes: 843 words. Wrapping up Chapter 3. This part annoys me; I don't like making up swears (even if this world has concepts that would invalidate plenty of our swear words, I prefer using the ones that still apply, though I might go for the middle ground and alternate between made-up ones and more familiar ones). I hate how paranoid and suspicious everyone is, even if it's not a bad mentality (and, in this case, pushes the plot along). The final words are also too long. But hey, that's what editing is for.
"Caztaranca,"
mouthed Jonah, before his sister slugged in the arm for the use of such a
powerful invocation.
Silence was the rule for
the next minute, as everyone tried to grasp with his final statements.
The butcher then gestured to his stall, where the kid he worked with grabbed a
few sacks and ran over to them. "These are some hard biscuits and
jerky for the travel. I'd hand you a glass bottle for water, but glass is
rare in these parts, and I don't know what troubles you'll find on the
way. As a word of advice, I'd say you go for Exedor. That kid saved
your life, sure, but he had the royal animal of Eimhin. He could easily
be springing a trap, and I don't think that garrison could get the news
and react quickly enough. You're better off leaving as quickly and
fleeing as swiftly as you can."
"My exact
thoughts," replied Yorew, nodding his head calmly. "In that
case, I bid you adieu, and may He grace you and preserve your strength.
Come now, children." Eremia clasped his hand obediently, and Jonah
threw aside the rope before grasping Yorew's other hand with his non-knife
hand.
The butcher and kid waved
a goodbye as the trio walked away from the bloody battlefield into what
everyone was sure was going to be a firestorm all its own.
******
It was midday, when the
sun was at its hottest and brightest, when the sound of descending wings
consumed the dark and bloodstained alleyway. Talons ungracefully scraped
against the cobblestones and slipped over the remnants of the earlier
fight as the eagle descended onto the ground, shifting into a young adult in
the process. The smell was awful, even though the lifeless corpses looked
fresh and new. Clearly, the struggle had only taken place a few hours
ago.
Even though it was hard
to see at all, what was visible was wretched. As the eagle’s eyes
adjusted to the light, and his own keen vision took hold, a series of bodies
were haphazardly arranged in the alleyway. Many slumped against walls,
some with arrows sticking out of their bodies. The whole area was
smattered in blood, and expressions of horror were frozen on many of the
victim's faces. The eagle stepped over some of them, taking care not to
get blood on the brown-and-white outfit that was a few sizes too large for him,
and would always billow in the wind.
And, to his amazement,
there was still one individual faintly breathing. He could hear a whisper
in the air, and focused on the back of the alleyway, where a man in a green
shirt and torn chainmail gasped and quivered. His red bandana lay on the
ground, and blonde hair billowed outwards, now stained crimson. As the eagle
grew closer, he realized that the man was covered in stab marks, forming the
pattern of an eye across the victim's chest. Too, when he drew near, he
realized that the whisper was, in fact, a voice. A mantra of some kind,
repeating itself over and over again.
"I am Favrhid.
I am not petty. I am not weak. I scorned my father. I did my
uncle's bidding. I was a ruler of men, antagonized a country. That
child is not normal. That child is evil. My c...I am Favrhid."
The dying criminal looked
up at the wide eyes of the hapless recon soldier, but seemed to be staring
right through, up at the blue sky above. And so he repeated the mantra to
the horrified and disturbed figure, his eyes gradually clouding with mist,
wording becoming ever more unclear, garbled, and mad. As the eagle took
several steps back, sprouted impressive wings, and soared into the air, the
criminal raised his hand out towards him, spat out blood, and died.
Now the eagle flew in the
air, swooping over the small town and searching it intently. He was
disgusted and sickened by having to see such a spectacle, though it had not
been the worst that had crossed his path by far. His job had placed him
in some interesting and despicable circumstances in the past.
Nevertheless, that was not something he wished to think of. Rather, he
chose to focus on the sensation of relief that began to pour through him.
He had been informed by his superiors that Jonah had had a dagger. Too,
he recognized the impressions of a horse's tracks in the form of crushed grass
providing a trail from a small pond and creek.
Here was his
quarry. All he had to do now was follow the path, find his targets, and
send word through the ranks that the children of the King Exedor and their
servant were on the cusp of being caught. And then he would no longer
have to fear. His superiors and peers had threatened him, placing his
life upon this operation. He had worried that he would come back
empty-handed and be slain on the spot.
Such was not the case
anymore.
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