Raising the bow, he let his vision fade – feeling the connection between himself and the lead Drugaen. He pulled the arrow back to his ear. The space between tied them together, a single point of time and distance. He forgot his fear. The arrow hummed, finding its target with a thud and shock. The Drugaen went down, clutching a shattered knee. Ban it, too low!
Before his second arrow took flight, four tapered short swords glowed in the darkness as the Krag reacted to the attack. Thealos let another arrow fly and struck the second in the chest. He heard the armor ping, and wasn’t sure if the sharp head had penetrated the steel or not.
Flent roared the rallying cry of the Drugaen Nation, brandishing the Sheven-Ingen axe. “For Faradin and Eroth!”
The trailing Krag slammed the hilt of his short sword against the captive Shae, dropping him like a stone and probably killing him. Thealos seethed a curse, unable to fix the man quickly enough. The Krag scattered four different directions, but they charged Flent in a swarm.
Flent let out a throaty challenge. “Come as one or take your turns! I’ve got a whooping for each of you.”
Thealos fixed another arrow and let it loose, catching the nearest Krag in the arm. The arrow transfixed his arm, but it didn’t slow the attacker. Grabbing another, he let it fly. The Krag went down, the shaft buried in his neck. Only three left. From the huge cedar tree, the knight from Owen Draw swung around, knocking another flat with his double-handed sword. With no room to press the advantage with his bow, Thealos sprinted around the side, hurrying to the fallen Shae.
When he reached the still body, Thealos felt for a pulse while tugging the bag of Everoot loose from his tunic pocket. Blood trickled from the wounded Shae’s pale forehead, matting the silver hair with a dark stain. The Shae’s heartbeat was a dull throb, growing slower and slower. Cursing himself for not being quicker, Thealos removed a handful of Everoot and pressed it against the bleeding scalp. Silvan magic shot through him, exploding in his ears like the purest strains of music. He looked over his shoulder, watching as Flent and the knight fought off the remaining two Krag. Both fought back to back, hammering at the wicked glint of the short swords.
The Shae at Thealos’ feet stiffened, blue eyes wide with shock. He was handsome with long, silverish hair, but so thin he was almost gaunt. Had the Krag starved him? The Shae looked up at Thealos in amazement and then raised his hand, as if he were going to choke him. Thealos recoiled when the rush of Earth magic swept from the Shae’s hand. It came out as a streak of blue light and swept past him, catching the Krag with the shattered knee as he struggled up behind Thealos to kill him. The light hammered into the white-gold marking, throwing the Krag like a windblown leaf into a huge pine. He impacted violently against the bark, and when he collapsed to the earth, his armor was nothing but a smoking black char of twisted metal and gaping ash. The blue light sizzled, spreading across the armor, consuming it whole.
A Shae Warder!
Thealos stared at him in awe. The bloody gash in his head was gone, folded over and healed. On his feet quickly, spreading his robes, the Shae stepped around Thealos and raised both hands. Twin bolts of blue light flashed out again, smashing the other two Krag Drugaen from behind. Both shuddered from the blast and roared with pain and horror as the blue light ate their armor, charring their skin and swallowing them. Then the fire was gone, leaving only smoking gray ashes. The Shae looked down, breathing in heavy gulps. He nearly collapsed in a faint as if he’d run ten leagues. Using the magic had exhausted him.
“Thank you,” the stranger whispered to Thealos in Silvan. “Thank you for saving me.”
“I know you’re a Warder, but who are you?” Thealos demanded, steadying the man.
The Shae clutched his head, shaking it. “My name is…” He winced and shuddered. “My name is…I am…” His face contorted with anger and desperation. “I am the Warder Shae of Jenterhome. My name is…” He looked at Thealos in a panic. “By Shenalle, why can’t I remember it?”
XVIII
They gathered the remains of the Krag and their weapons into a heap, and the nameless Warder Shae summoned the Earth magic again. He opened his hands and seemed to draw the power into the mound of the dead as he breathed in. Blue fire consumed the remains of the Krag Drugaen, leaving a black scorch mark on the forest floor. The sharp tang of dross stung Thealos’ nose as he watched the embers gutter out. Flent snorted and scuffed his boot in the ashes. The Krag Drugaen and their dark magic were no more. The Warder Shae lowered his hands. His eyes glowed in the firelight, speaking of his heritage as much as the pale skin and silver hair.
“Will there be others?” Thealos asked as he began covering the scorched earth with sapple dust and forest debris. The other Shae shook his head.