as the man fell. He looked around to see where the next assault was coming from, but his eyes were drawn back to the writhing man burning to death on the ground near his feet.
The other bandits were staring, mouths agape at the bonfire that only moments ago had been their comrade. "Forget the boy. Kill him!"
The leader charged at Arcon. Arcon didn't speak, just stabbed his finger at each bandit, one by one. It happened so quickly that Blayke hadn’t had a chanc e to move during the encounter. He now stood staring at the four bodies aflame, screams no longer escaping tormented throats. The horses bolted in fright.
"Damn horses. If this gang were only part of a contingent sent to capture us, the horses will be fleeing right back to reinforcements. Quick, we'll have to get away from the road."
Blayke didn’t move, except to place his hand over his mouth and nose. He had never seen such carnage, and the smell. Burning flesh had a unique, sweet, sickly odour, and the smoke made his eyes water. He doubled over and vomited.
Arcon rushed to Blayke and helped him stand upright. He gently, but firmly, took Blayke's face in his hands. The same hands that had wreaked horror a moment ago were now the loving hands of his surrogate father. "Look at me , boy. I’m sorry I had to do that, but if I hadn't, we would both be dead. Well, you would be anyway. I’m ashamed to say I was unprepared. Flame was the first thing I thought of, and I might’ve panicked just a little. Come on, we can't stay here a moment longer." Blayke's face barely registered what Arcon was saying. There was no time so Arcon slapped his face.
Blayke felt the sting and bent over again, this time vomiting on Arcon's shoes. When he stood straight, his eyes held a new grim understanding of life and its other side. "I've never seen someone killed. It's sickening. I don't think I could ever do something like that." Arcon looked hurt. "Not that I think you're evil or anything." Blayke winced, knowing his reply was lame and did nothing to detract from the insult he had thoughtlessly given his uncle.
Arcon understood what Blayke was going through. Arcon had killed a few people in his lifetime; it was never pleasant. What was more than a little frightening was that the killing was easier each time. This time, when Arcon jogged away from the road, Blayke followed, eager to get away from the now-blackened corpses, and unaware of the extra weight in his pocket.
Arcon hated himself at that moment, for he knew Blayke would have to kill (probably many times) and it was he, Arcon, who had led him down that path. He told himself it couldn't be helped, and for the moment all their energy needed to be saved for the long road ahead. Unfortunately logic couldn’t smother the lamenting guilt and pain, which now inhabited the space left by an innocence destroyed—his or Blayke’s he wasn’t sure.
Breathing deeply and clenching his fists, Arcon dismissed all thought and focused on moving forward. His legs worked more quickly now, for he felt an urgency that couldn't be ignored. He had to communicate with Avruellen and warn her. Arcon hoped she was alright. If he had felt any complacency, it was well and truly gone, scoured away by his own murderous flames. The freedom he had felt as they left the mountains had been replaced by a nervousness that was new to him. They were nowhere near finding what they sought, and now their enemies were looking for them. He felt hunted and could suddenly sympathize with the rodents on which Phantom sustained himself. They needed a plan, but only one came to mind: he ran faster.
7
Bronwyn watched her aunt watching her friend. "Aunt, please don't hurt her."
"Don't be silly. I wouldn’t do that." She crouched down and placed fingertips on Corrille's brow, mumbled a few words, then stood back. Corrille's eyes fluttered opened, and she slowly sat up.
Her words raced one another in their haste to leave her mouth. "I'm sorry ,
The other bandits were staring, mouths agape at the bonfire that only moments ago had been their comrade. "Forget the boy. Kill him!"
The leader charged at Arcon. Arcon didn't speak, just stabbed his finger at each bandit, one by one. It happened so quickly that Blayke hadn’t had a chanc e to move during the encounter. He now stood staring at the four bodies aflame, screams no longer escaping tormented throats. The horses bolted in fright.
"Damn horses. If this gang were only part of a contingent sent to capture us, the horses will be fleeing right back to reinforcements. Quick, we'll have to get away from the road."
Blayke didn’t move, except to place his hand over his mouth and nose. He had never seen such carnage, and the smell. Burning flesh had a unique, sweet, sickly odour, and the smoke made his eyes water. He doubled over and vomited.
Arcon rushed to Blayke and helped him stand upright. He gently, but firmly, took Blayke's face in his hands. The same hands that had wreaked horror a moment ago were now the loving hands of his surrogate father. "Look at me , boy. I’m sorry I had to do that, but if I hadn't, we would both be dead. Well, you would be anyway. I’m ashamed to say I was unprepared. Flame was the first thing I thought of, and I might’ve panicked just a little. Come on, we can't stay here a moment longer." Blayke's face barely registered what Arcon was saying. There was no time so Arcon slapped his face.
Blayke felt the sting and bent over again, this time vomiting on Arcon's shoes. When he stood straight, his eyes held a new grim understanding of life and its other side. "I've never seen someone killed. It's sickening. I don't think I could ever do something like that." Arcon looked hurt. "Not that I think you're evil or anything." Blayke winced, knowing his reply was lame and did nothing to detract from the insult he had thoughtlessly given his uncle.
Arcon understood what Blayke was going through. Arcon had killed a few people in his lifetime; it was never pleasant. What was more than a little frightening was that the killing was easier each time. This time, when Arcon jogged away from the road, Blayke followed, eager to get away from the now-blackened corpses, and unaware of the extra weight in his pocket.
Arcon hated himself at that moment, for he knew Blayke would have to kill (probably many times) and it was he, Arcon, who had led him down that path. He told himself it couldn't be helped, and for the moment all their energy needed to be saved for the long road ahead. Unfortunately logic couldn’t smother the lamenting guilt and pain, which now inhabited the space left by an innocence destroyed—his or Blayke’s he wasn’t sure.
Breathing deeply and clenching his fists, Arcon dismissed all thought and focused on moving forward. His legs worked more quickly now, for he felt an urgency that couldn't be ignored. He had to communicate with Avruellen and warn her. Arcon hoped she was alright. If he had felt any complacency, it was well and truly gone, scoured away by his own murderous flames. The freedom he had felt as they left the mountains had been replaced by a nervousness that was new to him. They were nowhere near finding what they sought, and now their enemies were looking for them. He felt hunted and could suddenly sympathize with the rodents on which Phantom sustained himself. They needed a plan, but only one came to mind: he ran faster.
7
Bronwyn watched her aunt watching her friend. "Aunt, please don't hurt her."
"Don't be silly. I wouldn’t do that." She crouched down and placed fingertips on Corrille's brow, mumbled a few words, then stood back. Corrille's eyes fluttered opened, and she slowly sat up.
Her words raced one another in their haste to leave her mouth. "I'm sorry ,
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