Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Twelve: Deathtrap

Later in the evening, Reka’et waded through river shallows to the steep muddy riverbank where he paused, listening for any hint of danger. The search throughout Kandalare was spreading. Distant shouts echoed in the air from the direction of Port Bardow’s Shipping Gates. Over it all, the Watch Tower bells kept continually ringing.

Before Reka’et was a vast wood, which bordered the river on one side and extended up into a series of large hills, on the other, the killer’s hideout was on the opposite side of the river. For now, he wouldn’t try to cross with so many looking for him and the moon so bright. Rapidly, he picked his way through a maze of trees and bushes toward some distant mounts. For a few minutes, the Meer paused within a tree’s shadow, searching for any sign of danger. The surrounding forest was silent and dark, as scudding clouds blocked the moonlight. The assassin dashed briefly across a corner of an open meadow, slipping into the woodland beyond.

Shortly afterward, the Meer broke into a ground-eating pace, putting distance between himself and Kandalare. He topped a ridge, pausing here and there to listen. The assassin was starting to believe he had successfully escaped, until he heard several pursuers galloping toward him. Reka’et threw caution to the wind and bolted toward heavy brush growing along the meandering stream below.

Without hesitating, Reka’et entered thick cover and hastily traveled upstream and after a minute, doubled back, creating a false trail. He squatted and listened to the cracking and popping of brush as his pursuers went upstream. Silently, the assassin eased through cover to the streambank. With quick, agile steps, the Meer bounded from stone to stone across the shallow stream. Moments later, he entered some brush on the opposite shore and ducked within the heavy cover.

The Meer grimaced in pain from his wound. He paused in the moonlight to inspect the makeshift dressing he had applied to stop the bleeding. The assassin wasn’t surprised to find it now soaked with blood. His left hand pressed the bandage firmly to his wound as he stood up. Reka’et ran silently over damp leaves, which covered the ravine floor he was following. It led into forested hills up ahead.

Suddenly, a wolf’s shadowy form started running along the top of the ravine, within which the Meer was running. Abruptly, another wolf appeared on the left ridge. A third wolf was now keeping pace with him, as the assassin ran ever faster. The slayer glanced back and noted two more wolves were following behind him. Dim fleeting forms in the forest showed Reka’et the wolves had him surrounded. Drawing his swords, he backed up against a sizable upright boulder jutting up from the forest floor. Slowly, the wolves were tightening the circle around him, no longer keeping to the shadows.

Reka’et stretched corded muscles, preparing for the upcoming battle. There were too many wolves to fight his way through all at once. The assassin needed to change his plan. He would kill as many wolves as he could, to escape their trap.

The sound of growling drew Reka’et’s attention to a single wolf that was approaching with fangs bared. It stopped short of his effective striking range. Faking an attack on the single wolf, Reka’et spun in midair to meet another wolf’s rush behind him. With a lunge, the assassin thrust his gleaming blade into its chest. The wolf fell at his feet, tried once weakly to rise, and collapsed on the ground. At the last instant, the single wolf leaped to the side, evading his other blade.

Before the assassin could once more back up against the boulder, a weight slammed into his back, sending him sprawling. A wolf had jumped from the rock and leaped to the side, avoiding Reka’et’s spinning sword thrust. Sharp teeth ripped into his left forearm, forcing a cry from the Meer. The killer replied with a blinding strike from his other blade, resulting in another dead wolf.

The smell of blood filled the fresh night air, as did savage snarls and growling. The fight became fast and deadly, with more enemies closing in. “Whoever falters, will die,” Reka’et thought.

Blood, sweat, and saliva made the thin hair glisten on Reka’et’s muscular forearms. Repeatedly, he fought the wolves off. Reka’et’s twin blades now glistened wetly in the moonlight. A third wolf limped to the side and collapsed.

With a great leap, Reka’et vaulted from the shallow ravine and landed upon its right wooded ridge. The move caught the wolves by surprise, for he left them behind. The mighty river he had left earlier, turned in a great bend to the East up ahead and returned to flow past Kandalare. The assassin saw it as his only chance to escape and abruptly changed direction.

Reka’et knew there was only one chance of throwing these vermin off his trail and surviving. He ran with all of his might, in great bounding strides through the forest. The assassin forced his way through some briars and leaped over a dead tree laying on the ground. He bobbed and weaved, avoiding entangling branches that seemed to be grasping for him from both sides. One flat boulder buried in the dirt served as a stable point of departure from which the killer gave a mighty leap. The Meer landed and hit the ground running, leaping over rotting logs and sprinting toward his destination.

Motion to Reka’et’s left became a wolf racing towards him. It was seeking to delay him so other wolves could catch up. Reka’et paused briefly, drawing his right sword in a blur. His cold steel blade rose to meet the wolf in mid-leap and embedded itself. The wolf cried out with a high piercing whine when the Meer twisted the sword and withdrew it. The assassin heard other wolves approaching. Seconds later, the killer was once more running towards the broad river, as he sheathed his blade.

Only trees and a little brush stood before him and the promise of survival. Here, there was a high sandy ridge, which towered seventy or more feet above the river. The river below was extensive, and its waters were deep. Some giant oaks and pines hid the crest from his view, but Reka’et had thoroughly scouted this territory. He knew the lay of the land. With a desperate burst of energy, Reka’et ran past the trees and leaped off from the ridge into the still night air. It had not been a moment too soon, for Reka’et had heard at least two pursuers right behind him. As he hurtled downward, he positioned his arms below his head, to break the impact of his dive.

The assassin entered the river cleanly and did not fight the current as he swam towards a washed-out riverbank. The water was cold, but it served to help him with his pain. Here the water was deep, yet the current was manageable. Downstream sat a great log-jam, composed of logs, driftwood, and floating debris. Reka’et carefully felt his way along the bank, which was concealed by bulrushes and the log-jam.

It was there, where he found a washed-out gravel run, which extended under the riverbank. It was an old abandoned beaver-den grown over with dense foliage, within which was a shelf made of tree roots and gravel. It was high enough to enable Reka’et to get out of the chill water. The Meer explored it with his right hand and found it roomy enough to conceal him. The assassin didn’t have to worry about wolves catching his scent. For his scent-glands had been removed when he had first started his formal training with the teachers from the Black Claw.

With some effort, Reka’et crawled into his temporary hideaway. It was not a roomy place, but it would conceal him until the hunters moved on. A little light and air managed to make its way to him from the slightly washed out top of the den entrance. Lying on his right side, Reka’et managed to cup his hand and after some time, drank his fill. He searched one of his pouches and drew out a piece of a dark purple stalk, and after carefully measuring it, he cut off a bit.

The assassin chewed the Dream Root. It would help with his pain and make him more comfortable. Something splashed along the riverbank, and Reka’et warily drew his left sword. Sand and gravel rolled into the river from the riverbank above and plunked outside the entrance to the den. Quietly, the Meer lay within the darkness prepared to strike and go out fighting.

A short while later, Reka’et could tell the Dream Root was beginning to work. The natural painkiller was steadily nibbling away at his agony. Its effects would continue to grow until his discomfort vanished. The sand and gravel stopped striking the water in front of the den. There was more splashing downstream from where he lay. The wolves were moving downstream. The Meer waited patiently, giving his pursuers time to leave the area. After about an hour, he slithered painfully out of his burrow into the river.

The assassin listened for any nearby enemy. Finally satisfied he was alone, the assassin started swimming across the river. The current carried him downstream, for he was too weak to swim powerfully. Reka’et finally managed to cross the river and painfully crawled onto its muddy riverbank. The Meer had a little under a mile hike to the narrow entrance of the cave he had been living in.

Reka’et had found the cave three months ago, after first accepting the contract to kill Prince Donovan. The cavern showed evidence of animals using it in the past. The Meer had spent an hour or so, cleaning out old bones, wind-blown leaves, and sundry litter from its confines. It was in an out of the way place, and its entrance was well concealed. So far, it had served him well.

Due to loss of blood, exhaustion, and pain, Reka’et’s journey from the river to his hideaway took longer than expected. The Meer managed to enter the cave, shortly after daybreak. He knew the trip back here was the easy part. The hard part would be when he started to treat his wounds.