A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

buckler. When I rose, the two lead Golmere had Jaeron by the arms.

“Faerin!” he called out as they dragged him away. “Help me!”

Two broke away from the main force, barring my path while the others spirited Jaeron away. I ran towards them, ignoring their threat as another volley landed around me. I held Nahdril high above my head, screaming wildly.

The Golmere to my left stabbed forward with a thrust of his spear. I stepped right and swung, cleaving the stone spearpoint from the weapon. He thrust again with the broken shaft. I dodged to the left, but the sudden move took me off balance. I carried the momentum into a backward roll and was on my feet in an instant, but he pressed his attack while his partner worked to get behind.

My footing was off, and stance unbalanced, but this was no time for forms. I swung anyway, warning him enough to gain some distance. When I recovered, I planted my foot, dropped my shoulder, and spun in a low arc, extending Nahdril at arm’s length. I felt contact as the blade nicked one of the Golmere in the leg. He fell, holding the back of his knee. I slashed again, taking his upraised hand.

The second Golmere took a step back, holding his stone ax firmly with both hands. That hesitation was all I needed. I lunged, then stopped the attack midway, and slashed. It was a clumsy maneuver, but the speed of the attack caught him off guard. As he tried to jump back, the tip of Nahdril found the soft flesh of his stomach. He dropped his ax to try and hold his guts together.

I picked up my feet, but a searing pain stalled me. I looked down and saw the broken spearpoint jutting from my leg. The dying Golmere slumped to the ground and smiled a bloody smile.

I turned to the fleeing band. There was no hope of catching them now even without a wounded leg. All I could do was stand and watch.

They stopped a hundred yards beyond the arrow line. Close enough for all to see. Jaeron was dragged before the prime, pressed to his knees before him. Jaeron reached for his belt and pull free his bronze dagger. He stabbed one of the assailants in the eye, then another in the chest before the prime grabbed him by the neck. The pale creature held Jaeron in the air as he kicked and thrashed, but he did little more than assault the air around. He tried to slash at the prime’s arm, but the creature caught him by the wrist and pried the weapon free. The prime turned to face us then, to face me. Holding Jaeron up for all to see, he took the boy’s dagger and sliced across his throat.

Jaeron brought his hands to his throat. Blood covered them. His legs kicked out, once, twice, but not a third.

I fell to my knees as I watched them dance and chant around his lifeless body. I saw the blurred image of Golmere rushing towards me. I thought to stand, but I closed my eyes instead. All went black around me. A horn echoed in the distance, followed by the sound of hoofbeats. Riders, I thought, but it didn’t matter. There was shouting and the sound of death all around, then silence once more.

“Can you stand?” a voice asked, waking me from my dream.

I opened my eyes to see Rick standing over me. He was flecked in blood; when I saw his sword, I knew it not to be his own.

“Yes,” I said, wincing as I put weight on my injured leg. “Did you catch them? Did you catch him?”

Rick looked off into the distance. “We caught a few. The rest made it to the trees before we could catch up to them.”

“The pale one?”

Rick nodded. “They headed north. I’ll send scouts out at dawn to try and pick up the trail. We can’t hope to follow them into the trees at night.”

I scanned the battlefield. “Where’s Crylwin?”

“Had some of the boys carry him back,” Rick answered. “Tough son of a bitch took some licks up there.”

I looked to the shallow hill. Bryson and Tenny rested atop, spears in hand. More than a dozen Golmere lay around them.

“Come on, lad. Let’s get you back.”

“No!” I said, pulling free from his arm. “We need to get Jaeron.”

“There’s nothing to be done for him, mate. He’s gone.”

“Don’t you think I know that, Rick? I saw it happen with my own fucking eyes!”

Rick stepped back with his palms raised. “Easy mate, just sayin—”

“I need to bring him home,” I said, fighting off the tears forming.

“Alright, mate, alright.”

I led him to where Jaeron fell. Bryson and Tenny followed. Jaeron lay on his back, cold eyes staring up at a moonless sky. Flowers surrounded him, flowers he had picked for me. Two Golmere lay next to him.

“Give us a hand, Tenny,” Rick said. “Let’s get him on the horse….”

“No,” I said. “I will carry him.”

“Faerin, your leg. Maybe you should—”

“I said I would carry him.”

“Alright. Let me just gather up some of his things here.”

“Hold!” Bryson shouted, stabbing forward with his spear. “This one is still alive.”

He turned the creature over with his spear point. Its eyes were yellow and distant. The creature mumbled softly in his native tongue, holding one hand to the wound on his chest, the other to a bracelet of small bones.

“Then kill him and be done with it,” said Rick.

“Na… nasha dal druin,” the creature croaked, spraying blood from his mouth. “Nasha dal druin.”

His head lifted, and his lips curled into a thin smile. He stared at me then—only at me. His yellow eyes faded, clouded over by darkness as black as the fell moon. He began to laugh, softly at first, then louder and louder until Bryson thrust forward with his spear. The smile faded with the blackness of his eyes, but the cackle lingered as it echoed upon the wind.

“What did he say?”