Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Thirty-Four: Survival

The bright morning sun shone down brightly upon Donovan’s face, giving him warmth. Without moving, the prince studied a black and yellow spider spinning a web. It tirelessly worked back and forth, creating a masterpiece. Any attempt to move brought a moan of pain from Donovan’s dry, cracked lips. Battered and bruised from the night’s ride down the river, the prince had no idea where he was now. The now constant pain in his head was threatening to overwhelm him, once more.

The sound of splashing in the river shallows alerted Donovan to the presence of something nearby. Turning his head, the shape of a dog came into view. No—not, a dog, it was a wolf, the prince thought helplessly, as fear took hold of him. Stories of scattered remains of farmers and woodcutters who were killed and fed on by hungry wolf-packs filled Prince Donovan’s mind.

Donovan tried to yell at the predator, to frighten it away. Instead, he made a sound, which was not even a whisper; it was more like a croak. Besides the first wolf, appeared a second, and a third. “The situation was getting substantially worse, by the second,” the prince thought fearfully.

Weakly, Donovan attempted to drive the wolves away. At first, the wolves scattered from him. They stopped running and stared at him. Slowly, he laid his head down, and while barely conscious, he felt a pair of hands lift him gently from the log, along with the help of others. His unknown benefactors lowered Prince Donovan to the ground as the darkness swept him away.

The sound of rustling wings announced the arrival of a large green darter, which sat perched upon a low overhanging branch. The sun glistened from the many shiny green scales which covered its small, slender body and tail. The creature’s full attention was locked upon him, for it stared at him with gold unblinking eyes. Quietly, the winged lizard studied him intently for a few long minutes. Abruptly, the small creature gave a high-piping cry and flew away. Moments later, Donovan slipped into the darkness once more.

With growing awareness, Prince Donovan knew many hours had slipped by as he lay unconscious. The sun now sat low on the skyline and was beginning to set. The warmth he felt made him drowsy, and he wanted to rest a little longer. How could he be warm? With a flinch, the prince raised his head when he felt the presence of bodies in front and behind him. In a flurry of motion, three, no four wolves scattered for the safety of the forest. The wolves stopped a short distance away and stared. One of them separated from the rest and barked repeatedly. Donovan knew, had they wanted to kill him; they could have done so.

With one last bark, the wolves disappeared into the forest. Slowly, Donovan forced himself to sit upright. He attempted to move his left arm and felt a sharp burst of pain and a loud pop. Although it hurt badly, the prince could now move his left arm back and forth, some. The sound of water gurgling led the prince to a clear spring-fed brook. The stream flowed from under a rock ledge, forming a small waterfall that tumbled into the river.

With a cupped hand, the prince gladly drank his fill. The cold water helped ease his parched throat. Donovan surveyed the land around him, and he immediately realized how vulnerable he was. His instincts kicked in rapidly. Prince Donovan left the river behind, as he searched intently for any cover where he could hide and rest. It wouldn’t be long before enemy search parties would be combing this neck of the wood, looking for him.

At least, the few fluffy clouds and the balmy air indicated a pleasant night. For this, Donovan was profoundly grateful. Right now, he needed someplace to hide. Tomorrow, there would be time to search for something to eat. Prince Donovan doggedly searched for the natural shelter he desperately needed. He finally approached a couple of fallen trees, around which a tangle of small trees and berry bushes grew. Within was a natural hollow, beneath the logs.

As quietly as possible, Donovan scooped out the debris which filled the depression. He replaced it with a bed of pine boughs, leaves, and ferns. Dry leaves piled at the side could be used if the night turned chilly. As it was, the prince climbed into his makeshift shelter, not a moment too soon. The sound of crashing hooves marked the approach of many riders upon horseback, scattered among the trees. Hardly daring to breathe, he froze, not moving a muscle.

“How far could he go?” a voice rasped. Dead branches popped here and there, echoing among the trees and were followed by the neighing of a horse to his right.

“Keep looking. You heard General Anktar. We must keep searching for Prince Donovan and make sure he’s dead,” another voice commanded.

“Yes, but do you believe he survived such a fall? Chances are, we’ll find his drowned carcass bobbing in the shallows of the river close by.”

“Belka, you never fail to cheer me up. Still, it is best not to take any chances. For if the prince is alive and escapes, General Anktar will kill us for sure,” the commanding voice said.

Slowly, the riders picked their way through the forest, searching carefully. One horse stopped beside the log and tree tangle, within which Donovan quietly lay. Peering through a c***k between two boughs, Donovan saw the pale face of a Nyen searching the forest for any sign of him. With a sound of disgust, the savage turned away and worked its way down the ridge. Branches snapped here and there, announcing the gradual passing of the search party.

The prince lay back with a sigh and attempted to calm down. Upon inspecting his left shoulder, the prince found it to be swollen and heavily bruised. Donovan slowly moved his left arm and judged everything was intact. The left side of his head was swollen and tender. “During his fall and ensuing passage downriver, he had somehow retained his sword and dagger. His bow and quiver of arrows were with Thunder,” he realized.

Donovan moved to ease the strain on his left shoulder, which was throbbing steadily. It would be hard to get any rest tonight, for it was almost impossible to get comfortable. The pain in his head was another matter entirely; if he moved too fast, the pain was excruciating.

Sometime later, the prince thought of Amanda and the others who had died in Drennard, Mern, in the logging camps, and farmsteads. Around Donovan gathered the faces of those who had already fallen. “How many more of his countrymen needed to die before it was enough?” the prince pondered wearily.

With a sad heart, Donovan vowed never to forget those who had sacrificed everything. Others huddled around him, digging their graves. In horror, the prince watched as they pulled in dirt upon themselves. He managed to stand, covered in sweat, while feverishly brandishing his makeshift club.

Donovan raged at the dark trees around him and the night sky. Delirious, he cried out to Elliana, asking for protection and staggered back and forth on unsteady legs. His body felt as if it was on fire. His throat was parched; he could barely manage a croak. Chills swept over the prince, making him collapse into a quivering heap. From time to time, brief bouts of sanity intervened. The thought entered Prince Donovan’s mind he was about to die. He laughed weakly, welcoming the idea of no more fear, pain, or suffering.

While huddling, miserable, and alone, the prince wept for the dead. They had died because of his failure to stop the attacks. The people depended upon the king, as well as himself, for protection. How could one protect against the unknown? As Donovan lay there, exhausted and cold, he grasped with a startling clarity no one could have prevented this tragedy.

The efforts by the enemy up until now appeared to be designed to accomplish two objectives. The first objective was to isolate the various members of the alliance. The enemy knew great strength lay within the alliance’s numbers, which he must not ignore. The enemy had attempted to kill Donovan three times. Which made him vow he would make the enemy tremble wherever they stood, in the future.

All was quiet, save for the faint rush of the river downhill from Donovan. The night sky revealed a full-moon, which cast everything around the prince in gleaming silvery light. Nothing moved in the forest around him. Perhaps, this was why Donovan first heard the peculiar sound. In the distance, the sound repeated, only slightly louder this time.

Prince Donovan lay there, upon his bed of pine boughs, dried ferns, and grass, covered by dried leaves, which were helping to keep him warm. The prince closed his eyes for a few moments, wondering what the sound as he was hearing. It sounded almost like the sound of the wind filling large sails. His eyelids snapped open as he recognized in horror, what the noise was.

In the battle for the town of Mern, Donovan had seen the terrible form of the Dragon land within the fire and smoke. It had unfurled its black wings and roared. The prince knew without seeing the beast; he was now hearing the flapping of those great black wings.

Donovan guessed the Dragon was silently searching for him. In the distance, he saw the creature faintly at first. Its wings flapped powerfully as feet the winged-death drifted across the night sky. The full moon’s silvery light revealed his horrifying nemesis in all its formidable glory. Silently, the prince tracked the great winged-beast across the partially moon-lit sky. The great Dragon bellowed in the distance. The sound of its roar echoed through the night air. It must be trying to fill him with panic, to make him flee.

Instead, Donovan lay there quietly beneath the two dead trees, peering up into the night sky. Back and forth, the Dragon drifted over the forest, searching for any sign of him. The prince saw it glide towards where he was hiding within the cover. The Dragon chose this exact moment to split the night-sky with another mind-numbing roar. In the following moments, the same terror filled him as he had felt when the beast had first roared in Mern. Prince Donovan felt within him a growing impulse to run as far away as he could.

Within him, a battle raged, as Prince Donovan fought to retain his sanity. In desperation, he bit down hard upon his forearm. The pain snapped the prince out of whatever was compelling him to flee. In the next few moments, the form of the Dragon drifted by, and he once more felt in control of himself. The experience had exhausted the remainder of Donovan’s strength. The prince lay there, spent, waiting for the winged-killer to return.

Instead, Donovan heard another roar in the distance, somewhere far behind him. For some time afterward, the prince lay there, not willing to believe the creature had moved on. The prince tried to relax upon his makeshift bed, pulling the remains of his tattered cloak about him. Only, his left forearm hurt like the blazes. “Better the forearm instead of the whole body,” Donovan thought tiredly. While listening for any other sounds of approaching danger, he fell fast asleep.