five years later
Fifteen miles south of Elkenrim, Loria
Year 3075 After Doom
SHEETS OF RAIN HAMMERED down from charcoal skies as Dayne stood beneath the edge of the forest canopy, his hand extended, droplets breaking against his palm. Before him, the ground rolled downwards towards an old dirt road, now mostly muddied, and then back up into the woodland on the other side.
The night air whipped around him, nipping at his skin, causing his cloak to ripple and billow. Even beneath the protection of the canopy, his clothes were near soaked through, and droplets fell from his nose and chin.
They had arrived almost two hours ago, so as to set themselves and to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Even in the dim light of the waning moon, he could see the ripples of raindrops in the puddles on the road. "Are you ready?"
Belina stepped up beside him, a black mantle draped over her shoulders. She stared at the road for a few moments before turning to face him, dark hair matted to her skin by rainfall. "Five years and you still ask stupid questions."
Dayne couldn't help but laugh, the white of Belina's teeth betraying her smile. "Five years and you still don't give straight answers."
"And I never will." Belina winked, turning to look back out over the road below. All mirth left her voice as she stared off into the blackness. "This is the last one, Dayne. We do this, and I am free. Then we take you to Sylvan Anura." Belina looked back at him, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Don't fuck it up."
Dayne let the slightest of smiles touch his lips. There was no happiness in it; it was more a reflex than anything else. "I'll try not to."
It was at least another half hour, by Dane's reckoning, before the slopping, sucking sounds of horse hooves in mud travelled through the valley, carrying on the night air. A few moments later, the dim orange glow of lanterns broke through the blanket of night.
"Sixteen riders and a two-horse carriage, large enough for four. They're already struggling with the mud," Dayne whispered, threads of Fire and Spirit enhancing his vision aided by the light from the lanterns that hung from the carriage.
"Good. Remember, this needs to look like bandits. Do what we planned, and no more of that hand wavy shit than is needed."
"I don't wave my hands."
"I've seen you do it.
"Fuck off, Belina."
Dayne could only see the back of Belina's hood, but he didn't have to see her face to know she was grinning from ear to ear.
Shaking his head, Dayne reached back and pulled his leather bow sleeve from around his shoulders, opened the straps, and removed his bow and string. He tossed the sleeve back into place and set about stringing the bow. He ran his finger along the string, plucking at it, more from habit than anything else.
"Wait for it…" Belina whispered, her voice only just rising over the drumming of the rain on Dayne's hood.
"Belina, I know—"
"Waaait for it…"
"I fucking hate you," Dayne whispered, shaking his head. He closed his eyes, the world turning black, his mind illuminated by the elemental strands pulsating with energy, twisting and snaking around each other. Still pulling on threads of Fire and Spirit, he reached out and plucked at threads of Earth and Water, pulling them into his body, feeling the cool touch of the Water wash over his skin and the rough grate of Earth as it filled his bones.
"Wait…"
The drum of hooves grew louder, battering against the sodden earth. With his mind open to the Spark, everything felt clearer, sharper.
"…now!"
Opening his eyes, Dayne pulled harder on the threads of Earth and Water, driving them forward, funnelling them into the ground below, softening the earth even further, saturating it to a point that it became nothing short of quicksand.
The cries of the horses echoed through the valley as their hooves sunk into the liquid earth, their momentum sending them tumbling, legs breaking, blood spraying. Pure chaos.
Dayne didn't have to look to know Belina was already halfway down the hill, her knives drawn, her line set for the carriage. He cast his eyes over the scene, assessing. Five riders had fallen, two crushed beneath their horses, three scrambling to regain their footing. Two riders were stuck in the mud but had managed to stay on horseback. The other nine were circling around the carriage. He pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, nocking it, drawing in a breath as he drew the string. Loose. The rider closest to the carriage fell, the arrow taking him in the side of the head.
Dayne drew again, raindrops snaking down his forehead, dripping from his eyebrows. Loose. Another rider fell from his horse, an arrow slicing through the side of his neck, blood pluming out the other side.
Six more times he drew, and six more times blood spilled into the mud, pooling in murky water. By the time Belina reached the carriage, only six of the guards remained; two were still on horseback, four now on their feet.
Taking his bow in one hand, Dayne started down the hill towards the road. The rain had turned the ground beneath his feet to sludge, and it was all he could do to stay on his feet. Belina had made it look so easy, as she always did.
Halfway down, a glint of steel flashed in the night to Belina's left. Dayne stuck out his left foot and pushed himself back, letting his backside slam into the mud. As he did, he slipped an arrow from his quiver, nocking and loosing it as quick as his hands could move. A brief whistle ripped through the air and then stopped, the arrow punching into the man's chest.
Heaving himself to his feet, Dayne continued down the hill, his legs and torso burning as his muscles struggled to keep him upright. Five guards left, two on horseback, three on foot.
Belina moved in a flash of steel. Four guards left. One on horseback, three on their feet.
As Dayne reached the bottom of the hill and stepped out onto the road, he pushed threads of Earth and Water into the soil, solidifying the ground in front of him as he moved. He lengthened his strides, sprinting towards the carriage. Belina had disappeared around the other side, but the sounds of steel on steel let him know that she had found at least one of the guards.
A shout rose to Dayne's left as a guard charged towards him, the hood of the man's black cloak blowing off his face as he hefted his sword.
Shifting his feet, Dayne moved to meet the man's charge. He gripped his bow in one hand, then tossed it in the air towards the guard, who raised his arm to protect himself. As the bow clattered off the man's forearm, Dayne slipped a knife from the strap across his chest and launched it into the man's throat, blood spraying black in the dark.
Feet slapping against the mud sounded to Dayne's right. He reached up, snatching his bow out of the air before dropping to one knee, twisting towards the sound. His fingers brushed against the goose feather fletching as he pulled an arrow from his quiver. Two beats of his heart. He loosed, close enough to hear the thunk as the arrow sank into the charging guard's neck. Blood poured out over the shaft, the guard dropping to their knees in the mud.
Slowly, dragging air in through his nostrils, Dayne rose to his feet. He walked over to the guard and placed his hand around the shaft of the arrow. "May The Mother embrace you," he said as he planted his foot on the guard's chest and kicked forward, pulling the arrow free.
The guard fell into the mud with a slap, gasping as blood spurted from the now open wound in his neck.
Wiping the arrow on his trouser leg, Dayne slipped it back into his quiver, slung the bow over his shoulder, and drew his knife. Except for the pummelling of rain, the night was silent.
When he reached the other side of the carriage, Dayne found Belina standing in the rain, her hood drawn, her cloak and hair saturated, a knife in each hand, and two bodies lying motionless at her feet.
"That's all of them," he said, looking over the two bodies.
Belina didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on the carriage door, her chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, the rain falling around her, streaks of water rolling down her face. She gave a nod, then approached the carriage.
Reaching forward, she pulled down the handle and swung the door open, blocking Dayne's view.
"I knew you would come for me." The voice was followed by a hooded figure who stepped from the carriage, his feet sinking into the mud. The man walked past Belina, as though she didn't have murder in her eyes. He took three steps then turned. "When I heard of the others, I knew it was you."
Dayne tilted his head, trying to get a look at the man beneath the hood, but shadows obscured his face.
"If you wanted out, you should have just asked, Belina."
Belina took a step towards the man. Dayne recognised the look that flashed across her face: pure hatred. It was the same thing that festered within him whenever he thought of Sylvan Anura. "You and I both know you never would have allowed that. You would have had me killed. This was the only way. Now kneel."
"Yes," the man said, his voice almost a whisper, his fingers clasped together in a thoughtful pose. "You are probably correct."
"Kneel."
"Surely, you will allow an old man to die on his feet?"
"I said kneel!" Belina kicked the side of the man's knee, eliciting a gasp as he fell, mud splattering as he crashed into the churned earth, catching himself with his hands.
Dayne reached his hand out, his voice soft, "Belina—"
The look in Belina's eyes cut Dayne short: sorrow, fury, loss.
"Do you regret anything?" Belina asked, her words pushing through gritted teeth as she stood over the man. Dayne could see the knife shaking in her hand. In five years, he had never seen her like this. Belina never faltered. Who is he?
"I have many regrets, contrary to what you might believe." The man lifted his head to meet Belina's gaze. "Many things I wish I could change. Many paths I wish I had trodden."
Reaching down, Belina pulled back the man's hood, revealing the face of a man who had seen at least sixty summers, his skin dark and furrowed by time, his hair white as bone.
"To which god do you pledge your soul?" Belina asked, wrapping her fingers through the man's hair, pulling his head back, staring into his eyes.
Silence followed, the drumming of rain the only sound.
A resigned sigh escaped the man. "I pledge my soul to Elyara, The Maiden, wisest of all, in hopes that she may guide my mind."
Belina nodded. She looked as though she were going to say something, but her lips remained shut. Dayne had never known a sharper mind than hers. Always so full of wit. It unsettled him to see her so silent. "I pray she accepts your pledge."
With that, the man closed his eyes and tilted his head back even further, exposing his throat. "It is good that it is you."
No sooner had the words left his lips than Belina drew the blade across his throat, parting skin and drawing blood. The man fell backwards into the mud, blood spraying from his neck, his body jerking as it attempted to cling to life.
Belina stood still as he died, rain soaking her, dripping from her nose and the ends of her hair. Dayne had seen her take countless lives in the years they had travelled together. She never took pleasure in it, but neither had it ever seemed to unnerve her. This was different.
"It is done," she said, kneeling beside the body, running her hand along the man's cheek. "Thank you, Dayne. This wouldn't have been possible without you." She rose to her feet, the knife still shaking in her hand. As she turned to Dayne, he could have sworn he saw tears running down her cheeks, but it was near impossible to tell with the rainfall. "Now it is time I honour my end of our agreement. We ride for Gildor in the morning."
Belina made to walk past Dayne, back up the hill to where they had tied their horses, but Dayne placed a hand on her shoulder, halting her. "Who was that, Belina?"
When Belina lifted her gaze to meet his, Dayne was sure tears filled her eyes. "My father."