The Adani Chronicles: Birthright

It had been twenty days since that strange situation with the mountain troll, and they were within a week of Thaliondris now. The mountains rose majestically before them as they traveled; slowly, but inexorably taking over the horizon. Ryn didn’t mind; she liked the rugged beauty of the dangerous peaks, snow-capped even in high summer.

Tonight, Ryn watched with gentle amusement as Kota, in a fit of kitten-like enthusiasm, chased a moth through the field in which they stood. She was using the last light of day to gather some marjoram leaves about a quarter of a league from their camp. The leaves were generally best when they were used just before the plant flowered, so these were a little early, but they would still make a tasty addition to whatever Evin cooked up that night for dinner. He always appreciated her knowledge of herb lore, especially when it made his food taste better. Early on, when the brothers had both been extremely—and stiflingly—clingy, they had tried to stop her from leaving camp to hunt or gather or scout. She had tolerated that attitude for about ten seconds, and it had led to the first true fight within their small party; a conflict that had been only very slightly assuaged when Ryn promised to take Kota with her any time she left camp. Even they, Evin had argued, took one another when making short jaunts away. No one went anywhere alone, he had said, not even the toughest among them. Not in this wilderness.

Ryn had struggled through the most extraordinary combination of affection and annoyance at that, but had conceded. She needed that information from the archives, and thus she needed this job. So she took Kota wherever she went; which was hardly an inconvenience, he went with her everywhere anyway.

Her thoughts were interrupted when her lynx stopped short and sniffed the breeze, his hackles rising, ears twitching. She straightened, looking for danger but finding none. The long grass in the field swayed with a slight breeze, and the sun was just disappearing behind the mountains to her west. Kota was still about twenty feet away, there was no trouble in sight, and all was quiet.

Too quiet.

The birds had too suddenly ceased their song, and the only sound she could hear was the wind in the trees. Instantly, her senses sharpened, and she recognized the feeling as a punch of adrenaline—she could smell the scent of the marjoram and wildflowers around her, feel every ridge and fold of the leaves in her hand, see vividly the field they were standing in, each contrast more distinct and every detail more obvious.

"Kisa,” she called quietly, infusing a tiny bit of urgency into her voice. Kota bounded to her in three strides. Ryn dropped the herbs and turned slowly, nocking an arrow to her bow, always strung and warmed when she left camp, alert for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing revealed itself, but something was out there, and she wasn’t about to stand here and wait to be hunted. “Come,” she ordered, and the lynx needed no more encouragement than that. He bared his teeth and pasted himself to her side as she began moving backward, back toward camp.

That was when all seven hells broke loose.

An arrow came flying, stabbing the dirt not far from where she had stood mere seconds before; she danced back at the same moment, and three leather-clad nagrat emerged from the long grass, blades held up in a ritualistic gesture that was more frightening than dangerous.

That wouldn’t last but a moment, she knew.

“Kota, run!” She shouted, turning on her heel.

Only to find two more at her back, crude axes held high. Kota darted between their legs in a move that would trip up a mere bandit, but only vaguely knocked one monster momentarily off balance. Ryn wasted no time watching, dodging under the arm of the least steady one and rolling so they didn’t catch her outright. Kota paused just long enough to see it, then took off at a dead run toward camp.

The lynx was faster than her by far, of course, but the thought relieved Ryn rather than upset her—Brandt and Evin would be on guard when she got there. She heard one of the nagrat behind her shout a word in their guttural language that made her hair stand on end, and she threw herself to one side as a knife the size of her thigh whizzed by her ear, missing her by inches. She shouted as she stumbled for a moment, caught her feet, and began zigzagging her way back toward reinforcements as quickly as she could.

The brutes were following; she could hear their booming voices, feel the displacement of air as their arrows and throwing knives rushed by on all sides.

And more was wrong. As she neared camp, she could hear battle sounds—Evin’s challenging shout, the clang of swords, and the snarl of an attacking lynx, calling her to them. The nagrat had hit the camp at the same time they surrounded her in the field. Ryn put on a burst of speed; she had to reach her friends.

The knife hit her so fast she never saw it coming.

Steel met bone with a sickening crunch as Evin brought his sword down in a powerful arc, severing one nagrat’s arm completely and snapping the knee joint of another. Neither made a sound, only fell back and let their brethren take their place, which frankly was more eerie than if they’d screamed and dropped. Evin didn’t have time to consider it as he fought off three of the fiends, two at his front and one that thought to make a bid to get between him and Brandt.

He and his brother fought back to back, as they’d been taught since they were big enough to wield tiny wooden swords. Fire and ice, their coaches had insisted, fire and ice they were; Brandt’s quiet coolness and steady deadly blows a perfect complement to Evin’s shouted taunts and whirling dervish attacks. Brandt was strength, an immovable rock that could easily take out two or three opponents with a single blow, and Evin was speed, laughter and menace in equal measure as he struck from all sides. Even nagrat could be defeated, and these were clearly unaccustomed to hunting prey that fought back as the Princes of Laendor did.

And glad he was that they didn’t know that particular bit of information, else he and Brandt may have been prime targets for ransom. As it was, this group seemed to be out simply looking for a sacrifice to Skeðu.

Which meant they’d snatch the first of them to go down and then melt into their surroundings in that way they had, leaving whoever was left to lick their wounds and mourn their losses.

Evin growled at the thought, impaling another of the beasts on a long blade.

A snarl to his left alerted Evin to Kota’s arrival, and he turned in time to sever one of the ragged creatures’ windpipe before it could make a bid for the large spotted lynx. He spared a bare moment to search for Ryn, but did not see her before he was swept away in the rhythm of battle once more.

Turn, parry, dodge, thrust, strike.

One of the creatures appeared at Brandt’s side, bellowing a victory at finding his ribs unprotected as it brought a mean-looking club around for a swing. Evin lunged, his heart in his throat as he saw the blow land. Brandt’s leather armor protected him somewhat, but did little to mask the crunch of wood meeting bone, and time slowed to a crawl for Evin when he saw his brother fall. Then he was face to face with Brandt’s attacker, running the creature through with his sword before the smirk had even left its twisted, ugly face. He turned to find Kota standing over Brandt, who was struggling to rise. The lynx was snarling, nimbly dodging a nearby nagrat’s attempts to stab him before pouncing, jaws locking around its throat as he rode it into the ground.

Evin reached for Brandt, giving the man a hand up. Once his brother was back on his feet, he was a force of nature again, destroying anything that got in his way. Evin stayed at his back, rage coloring his blows now; he always took it personally when someone tried to kill his brother.

He had just disposed of a lumpy-faced nagrat on his left when a booming shout echoed over the remains of their camp. It was a word he did not recognize, but the meaning was clear when the nagrat left standing retreated soundlessly, disappearing into the shadows of the forest before anyone could protest. Brandt stood beside him, trembling with tension, his breathing jittery. He stood still in a defensive stance with one of his battle axes dripping blood onto the grass. The other was a few feet away, buried in a misshapen skull. A few bodies littered the clearing, one or two moaning and writhing slowly on the forest floor, but their attackers were gone entirely.

“By the Light,” Evin panted, spinning to check on his brother. In the absence of a threat, Brandt’s axe had dropped slightly as he curled in on himself. His face was twisted in a grimace of pain that brought the younger to his side immediately. “That...thing...landed a blow,” he said breathlessly, needlessly, reaching for Brandt before pulling back, a little aborted gesture of concern. He knew if he demanded too much information too quickly, his older, too-tough brother would retreat and refuse his assistance.

Brandt lowered his weapon entirely and moved his free hand to the side that had been struck. He pressed gingerly, a grimace contorting his face, then nodded once. Evin breathed a sigh of relief; Brandt was in pain, but well. He dug dirty fingers into Kota’s fur as he turned to find Ryn. “That was—”

Brandt. Kota. Him. No one else was standing.

“—was—”

No one else.

Dread punched him hard in the gut when he did not see her as he had expected to. The press of battle, the chaos of bodies and weapons and armor, he’d been sure she was nearby even though he hadn’t been able to see her. But now...beside him, Kota was mewling softly, nosing the air in an apparent attempt to locate his mistress.

“Ryn?” Brandt called, even as Evin searched the few scattered corpses in the clearing and knew she was not among them. He started toward the forest, in the direction from which Kota had originally come, hoping to retrace her steps, but Brandt caught his arm and held firmly.

“Evin, no.”

“But—”

“We cannot separate right now, it is too dangerous.”

“She’s out there—”

“She might not be,” his brother argued, low and urgent. “They may have taken her. If they did not, then she will find us.”

“And if she’s hurt?” Evin’s voice was rising, too wound up to notice how wound up he was. “If she is unconscious and cannot come to us?”

His brother’s blue eyes spoke volumes, and he continued, low and calm. “We will search the area where she and Kota were, briefly, before we leave. But we cannot stay here. If they have her, we must close the gap.”

Evin blinked hard as he realized what Brandt had just said.

He meant not to abandon their guide, their friend, to the nagrat’s tender mercies. He did not intend to leave her behind and continue their quest as though nothing had happened.

Brandt meant to hunt.