searched for the Ulrog. Quickly he came upon their presence. Ader was correct. They were close.
However, Kael was puzzled by the myriad thoughts he sensed behind him. Certainly he sensed rage and hatred. The Ulrog’s minds clamored for the death of the Seraph. Also, he recognized pleasure. They ran for nearly four days and finally neared their quarry.
Yet he discovered something else. On the edges, just out of reach, the boy discerned something else. His mind fought to reconcile it with his understanding of the Ulrog. The emotions he perceived did not fit the Ulrog. Kael studied them all. Honor. Duty. Even pity.
Hnarg reveled in his element. His pack surrounded him as they charged through the steep sided ravine. The Seraph fled a mere three hundred yards ahead and the mounts he and his companions rode looked wasted. The kill should prove relatively easy.
However, the Seraph was no fool. He did not live this long being powerless. Hnarg knew the encounter at the crossing probably sapped the Seraph of most of his spirit force, but a battle with Ader DeHartstron still held danger. Slowly the Ulrog priest fell back in the pack. Possessing the head of the Seraph was important, not the kill. Hnarg would allow one of the Hackles to perform that duty, but he would take most of the glory in Kel Izgra. Why should a priest of Amird expose himself to the cornered lion when he commanded servants for such tasks?
The pack rounded a corner in the ravine and Hnarg saw the flash of white ahead. The Elf’s stallion acted like a beacon in the moonlight, drawing the pack forward toward salvation. They closed the gap and ran a mere hundred yards behind the Seraph now. With each stride he sensed the energy of the pack grow. They thrilled for the kill. They tasted blood.
Hnarg could hear the pounding of the hooves of the Eternal Horse. The river rock cracked and sprayed from beneath the creature’s step as it fought frantically to keep ahead of the nightmare Hnarg and his pack represented. The pounding grew louder and louder and the pack closed the gap.
Eidyn guided the white stallion with his knees as he leaned backward and released another arrow into the tightly packed group of Hackles. The ravine grew narrow and the sides steep, forcing the Hackles together. This gave the Elf prince his best opportunity.
Kael would have joined in the attack, but he fought hard to simply stay upon the back of Tarader. The mighty stallion lurched and scrambled over the rocks of the riverbed, tossing his riders to and fro.
“Kael,” wheezed an exhausted Ader. “I can do no more. If we are to stay alive, it is up to you.”
The boy’s eyes widened and he glanced to the pack, a mere fifty yards behind them. He gathered himself and attempted to touch the power he knew he possessed.
The cursed Elf fired arrows into the pack. Several of Hnarg’s Hackles were struck, but they never slowed. Others shoved the injured aside and took their place, howling and screaming curses to the old man and his companions. Excellent, thought Hnarg. They are properly motivated.
Once again the priest allowed the slower runners to advance past him. He did not brave the realm of the horsemen to be killed by a stray Elven arrow. His smile of satisfaction grew. It was difficult to see over the heads of his brethren, but the sound of horse’s hooves grew over the howls. The Hackles raised their cleavers.
Hnarg’s eye caught a flash of color on the ledge five yards above him. He glanced up the walls of the ravine and saw nothing for a moment. Then a glint of steel illuminated by the moonlight appeared then vanished. The sound of hoof beats grew, too many to be just the echoes of the old man and his Elves. Panic gripped the Ulrog priest. The horsemen found him.
As Kael prepared himself, conflicting emotions from the trailing creatures again struck him as odd. Anger, hatred, honor, sacrifice, greed, duty. Instantly the boy knew.
“We’re not alone,”
However, Kael was puzzled by the myriad thoughts he sensed behind him. Certainly he sensed rage and hatred. The Ulrog’s minds clamored for the death of the Seraph. Also, he recognized pleasure. They ran for nearly four days and finally neared their quarry.
Yet he discovered something else. On the edges, just out of reach, the boy discerned something else. His mind fought to reconcile it with his understanding of the Ulrog. The emotions he perceived did not fit the Ulrog. Kael studied them all. Honor. Duty. Even pity.
Hnarg reveled in his element. His pack surrounded him as they charged through the steep sided ravine. The Seraph fled a mere three hundred yards ahead and the mounts he and his companions rode looked wasted. The kill should prove relatively easy.
However, the Seraph was no fool. He did not live this long being powerless. Hnarg knew the encounter at the crossing probably sapped the Seraph of most of his spirit force, but a battle with Ader DeHartstron still held danger. Slowly the Ulrog priest fell back in the pack. Possessing the head of the Seraph was important, not the kill. Hnarg would allow one of the Hackles to perform that duty, but he would take most of the glory in Kel Izgra. Why should a priest of Amird expose himself to the cornered lion when he commanded servants for such tasks?
The pack rounded a corner in the ravine and Hnarg saw the flash of white ahead. The Elf’s stallion acted like a beacon in the moonlight, drawing the pack forward toward salvation. They closed the gap and ran a mere hundred yards behind the Seraph now. With each stride he sensed the energy of the pack grow. They thrilled for the kill. They tasted blood.
Hnarg could hear the pounding of the hooves of the Eternal Horse. The river rock cracked and sprayed from beneath the creature’s step as it fought frantically to keep ahead of the nightmare Hnarg and his pack represented. The pounding grew louder and louder and the pack closed the gap.
Eidyn guided the white stallion with his knees as he leaned backward and released another arrow into the tightly packed group of Hackles. The ravine grew narrow and the sides steep, forcing the Hackles together. This gave the Elf prince his best opportunity.
Kael would have joined in the attack, but he fought hard to simply stay upon the back of Tarader. The mighty stallion lurched and scrambled over the rocks of the riverbed, tossing his riders to and fro.
“Kael,” wheezed an exhausted Ader. “I can do no more. If we are to stay alive, it is up to you.”
The boy’s eyes widened and he glanced to the pack, a mere fifty yards behind them. He gathered himself and attempted to touch the power he knew he possessed.
The cursed Elf fired arrows into the pack. Several of Hnarg’s Hackles were struck, but they never slowed. Others shoved the injured aside and took their place, howling and screaming curses to the old man and his companions. Excellent, thought Hnarg. They are properly motivated.
Once again the priest allowed the slower runners to advance past him. He did not brave the realm of the horsemen to be killed by a stray Elven arrow. His smile of satisfaction grew. It was difficult to see over the heads of his brethren, but the sound of horse’s hooves grew over the howls. The Hackles raised their cleavers.
Hnarg’s eye caught a flash of color on the ledge five yards above him. He glanced up the walls of the ravine and saw nothing for a moment. Then a glint of steel illuminated by the moonlight appeared then vanished. The sound of hoof beats grew, too many to be just the echoes of the old man and his Elves. Panic gripped the Ulrog priest. The horsemen found him.
As Kael prepared himself, conflicting emotions from the trailing creatures again struck him as odd. Anger, hatred, honor, sacrifice, greed, duty. Instantly the boy knew.
“We’re not alone,”
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