Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Village of Barloch
The Road to Caerith
For a moment, Elara couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could barely focus.
A cloudy sky hung over the Hunters who stood in formation, as still as carved stone, their dark garments glistening faintly with dew. The faint metallic scent of oiled leather and iron filled the air.
Dar was every inch the image she’d come to fear: tall, commanding, draped in black leather that fitted his sculpted chest like a second skin.
The morning light caught the silver clasp at his throat, that no other but he wore marking him as someone important, someone of authority.
His dagger was sheathed at his waist and the steel of a fine sword gleamed at his side.
His gray eyes were blank as they fixed on her. They were no longer the eyes of the man who had traveled beside her, shared her smiles, listened to her worries by the fire. Once warm and concerned, they were now icy cold.
Her mind fought to make sense of what her eyes refused to believe. Gone was the rough cloak, the easy stride, the faint smile that always lingered in his eyes. The man before her looked carved from shadow and iron. The simple wanderer, her protector was gone.
“Step outside,” he ordered, his voice carrying the unquestioned authority of a man long accustomed to obedience.
Elara turned briefly to Feena, her hand tightening protectively around Adira’s. The lass pressed closer to the older woman, her wide eyes darting between Elara and the Hunters.
Elara’s feet felt rooted to the floor. Her heart pounded, each beat sounding louder in her ears. Her feet refused to move. Her mind struggled to make sense of what she saw. Then the truth settled, sharp and merciless.
The strange looks at the inn.
The deference in the innkeeper’s eyes.
The way the villagers had watched him.
They had known.
They had known all along who he was… a Hunter.
Dar took a slow step forward, his movements measured, his expression stoic. “Elara, do not force me to come get you.”
She stood staring at him, words shouting in her head but not reaching her lips. “You lied to me. Every word, every kindness. It was all a lie. You used me to your own end.”
She said none of it. She would not say what she felt. She would not look like a fool in front of others.
But the words continued in her head, her heart hurting. “You traveled beside me, slept nearby, swore you would keep me safe when all the while, you were one of them. And worst of all, you made me believe you truly cared what happened to me.”
“One last time, Elara,” Dar shouted. “You and the other two women step out of the cottage.”
“We should do as he says,” Feena urged and gave Elara a nudge in the back.
Where she found the strength, she didn’t know, but Elara moved, Feena and Adira following behind her and stopping when they reached the fence, Dar standing on the other side of it.
He stepped forward and kept his voice low. “I gave you my word to protect you, and I keep my word.”
She desperately wanted to believe him, but his eyes held the cold fierceness of a Hunter.
“I am not your enemy,” he said.
“And you are not my friend,” she said bitterly. “That leaves the question, what am I to you? A task? A duty?”
He hesitated briefly. “I serve the king.”
The answer struck like a blade between her ribs.
Elara’s chin went up. “It is good to know that, and I will remember it well.”
His jaw tightened in anger. “The three of you will come with us.”
“Where to?” Feena asked bravely.
“You will find out when we get there,” Dar said.
“I have a request, Hunter,” Feena said before Dar could turn away.
“I don’t take requests,” Dar snapped.
“I beg of you to at least hear it,” Feena pleaded.
“It is true then,” Elara said softly, “Hunters have no hearts.”
Feena spoke before the two could trade more barbs. “Adira here is a mute. I ask that you keep her safe from your men.”
Adira pressed herself against Feena’s side, her eyes wide with fright.
Feena hurried her arm around Adira, patting her chest, then Adira’s to calm the fearful lass.
Elara stepped closer to the fence, to Dar, her voice soft and pleading. “Please, Dar, please let no harm come to Adira.”
Dar turned away from them and Elara’s heart sank, but then she heard his words.
“The lass with the older woman is a mute. If any one of you touch her—you die—” He cast a slow glance around, his icy glare landing on every man there.
“And it won’t be a quick death.” He turned to a lean man with sharp-angled features and a bloody cloth wrapped around his arm.
“Muir, take another with you and find a cart in the village for the women to travel in.”
Muir nodded and signaled to another Hunter, and they took off.
Elara could not deny the anger and bitter disappointment she felt, but a single truth refused to die. He had sworn he would keep her safe, and some part of her, a foolish part perhaps, wanted to still believe him.
Dar’s eyes caught with Elara’s. “We will talk later.”
With barely a shake of her head, she said, “What is there to say? You lied to me and you betrayed me. I have no words for you.”
“We will see about that,” he said and walked off.
“These are difficult times, lass,” Feena said. “The truth often hides, so do not rush to judgement.”
“It stares me right in the face. What else am I to do?” Elara asked, desperate for an answer.
The sound of a cart drawing near left no room for further talk.
Elara went to help Feena up into the cart, but Adira hurried to assist her and climbed in afterwards, settling snugly against the elderly woman. She followed, sitting opposite them, relieved that a thick layer of straw filled the bottom of the cart, making for a more comfortable ride.
“Let not your thoughts trouble you,” Feena advised. “It is better to keep a clear head for what may await us.”
Elara nodded, though her thoughts had turned to one thing alone… escape.
The road narrowed as the Hunters turned east, the autumn wind slipping through the trees and dropping a few leaves ready to fall. Dar rode at the head of the column, his expression carved into the hard, stoic lines expected of one who commanded.
Muir nudged his horse forward until he drew even with Dar. The others instinctively gave them space. Few men willingly rode too near Dar when his temper skimmed the surface.
For a long stretch, only the rhythmic thunder of hooves filled the silence.
Finally, Muir broke the quiet. “Do you think she’s the one, the one with the silver hair?”
Dar didn’t look at him. “That is not my judgement to make.”
Muir smirked. “She is different. Her silver hair. Her amethyst eyes. Her way of surviving—”
“She survived because of me.” Dar’s jaw tightened until the muscle jumped. “And I have seen nothing to prove she has extraordinary healing powers.”
Muir gave a thoughtful grunt. “The king believes she exists. Scotara whispers her name. A healer who can combat death.” He cast a sideways glance. “The king will be pleased that you succeeded where others failed.”
Dar’s grip on the reins tightened. “That has yet to be determined.”
Muir leaned back in his saddle. “Regardless, you played your part well. The wanderer who wasn’t really a wanderer. The man who hid his identity, his skill, his blade to find the silver-haired woman.”
Dar remained silent, a task he once thought would be simple to accomplish had become more complicated than he could have ever imagined.
Muir grinned. “Aye, King Dravic will be pleased you return with the prize.”
Dar continued his silence.
“Have you grown soft?” Muir asked with a chuckle that quickly faded. “Or perhaps you have grown… attached.”
Dar turned his head then, slowly, the cold fury in his eyes was unmistakable. “Say that again and you’ll ride to Caerith missing your tongue.”
Muir raised his hands in surrender, and his grin returned. “So, she has gotten under your skin.”
Dar faced the road ahead, refusing to acknowledge the barb.
“Silence often speaks louder than words,” Muir said. “Tell me, does she know who you are?”
“She will soon enough.”
“Does she know she’ll be tested?”
Dar turned his head sharply. “How many have been lost because of this testing?”
Muir shrugged. “No more than a few healers.”
“Healers will be needed if we go to war. The king should not be wasting even one healer.”
“Not if we go to war, but when we do,” Muir corrected him. “And one powerful healer can surely make up for a few lost ones.”
Dar scoffed. “I forget you are a half-blood Hunter. A full-blooded Hunter would understand.”
Muir spoke with an angry tongue. “I may be a half-blood, but I am more worthy a Hunter than many full-blooded ones and I understand our creed… kill only what is necessary.”
“There is more to our creed than that—”
“Aye, loyalty to our clan and our king above all else.”
Dar glared at him. “Spit it out, Muir. What do you accuse me of?”
“I do not accuse. I simply remind you. The silver-haired woman is a beauty who could easily turn a man’s head.”
“And you think she turned mine?”
“Did she?” Muir asked.
Dar’s glare deepened. “If she did, why would I bring her to the king?”
Muir threw his head back and laughed, those around casting curious glances his way.
“And that is why you are a commander and I am not,” Muir said after his laughter subsided.
“Go and see that we stay on course. I want no delays in reaching the king.”
Muir nodded and turned his horse to do as ordered.
Muir soon had the Hunters settled into a steady rhythm after a turn in the road, hooves striking the packed earth in a dull cadence that echoed against the gathering clouds. Dar eased his horse slightly ahead of the line, needing the small pocket of space the way a man needed air.
He drew the stallion to a slow halt beneath a low sweep of branches. The wind shifted, carrying the damp scent of coming rain, and he let it hit his face, cold and sobering. His fingers flexed once against the reins before he forced them still.
I serve the king.