“My lady!” one of the elves called to her, his cool voice breaking into her thoughts. “You must get inside the city walls!”
The latest volley of arrows from the soldiers below struck at that moment, shattering against the wall of the city, lodging themselves into the shields the elvin guardians lifted just in time, and hitting the ground at Phrym’s feet. Another handful slammed into that strange bubble surrounding Ellyesce, but to Jahrra’s shock and immense relief, bounced right off.
“Now!” the Cahrdyarein elf demanded. He reached up and grabbed Phrym’s reins just below the bit.
Jahrra swallowed and nodded, coming out of her slight daze. “It’s okay, Phrym. He’s a friend.”
As the elf pulled them inside, Jahrra turned to check if Ellyesce was following them. What she saw, however, made her gasp in horror. Her companion was slumped over in the saddle, the bloody tip of an arrow protruding from his back.
“Ellyesce!” she screamed, trying to jerk Phrym in his direction.
Only, the guard’s hold remained firm. “We’ll see to him. You must get inside and out of range.”
How could he be so calm? She wanted to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business, but just then a huge emerald shape came speeding around the bend in the mountain below. A jet of blue-green fire shot forth, engulfing the small army of red and black clad soldiers.
“Jaax!” Jahrra screamed, her relief and delight making her sway in the saddle.
Before she could see what happened next, a swarm of people, like a tenacious ocean wave, overwhelmed her and Phrym.
“Lady Jahrra! Quickly, we must get you into the city!” an elvin woman in leather armor said.
She took a hold of Jahrra’s arm and tried to help her down from Phrym’s back, but Jahrra protested.
“No. Ellyesce,” she said, her voice scraping against her raw throat.
“We’ve got him, milady,” another elf grumbled.
Jahrra blinked down at him. It wasn’t the one with the calm voice, but a taller, broader elf. Other than that, she couldn’t make out any more details. The elves who had been outside the gate when she arrived were armored, complete with helmets that hid most of their faces.
A small commotion closer to the gate snapped her attention back in that direction. She hadn’t realized they had moved so far behind the wall.
The armored elves led a horse, no, a semequin, by the reins. A stream of bright red blood painted the side of his white neck like a scarlet banner. The figure in the saddle sagged forward, one arm draped limply down the semequin’s shoulder, more blood dripping from his fingertips.
Jahrra cried out again. “Ellyesce! Please! Help him!”
“We will do what we can.”
Jahrra turned toward the soft voice. It was the woman soldier again. She was the only one of the warriors present who wasn’t wearing a helmet. Long, pale blond hair, so pale it was nearly white, fell in a neatly braided rope down her back. Her eyes, clear blue as ice, held sympathy and she possessed the harsh beauty of the elvin races.
Before she could study the elf further, a sickening wave of dizziness overcame Jahrra and she listed in the saddle. Dervit, who she’d nearly forgotten about in the chaos at the gate, called out her name and leapt onto Phrym’s neck as she began to fall.
“I’m okay,” she breathed, holding a hand to her forehead as spots swam before her eyes.
“No, you’re not,” the elf said again, taking her by the shoulders. “You’ve just had a run for your life, and this thin air can get the better of you if you’re not used to it.”
“Huh?” Jahrra murmured, a second wave of nausea and dizziness stealing her concentration.
“Shock and altitude sickness,” the younger elf, the one with the voice she liked so much, answered.
She tried to turn to look at him, to catch a glimpse of his face. He had finally taken off his helmet, and when she got a clear view, she caught her breath. Jahrra had seen good-looking young men before. As a matter of fact, all elves had that air of beauty around them, including Ellyesce and her friend Dathian back in Lidien. But something struck her about this elf in particular. He had the same pale blond hair as the woman, but his eyes were even clearer than hers. And they were so intense. Almost as intense as Jaax’s eyes when he was angry about something. Unlike Jaax, however, the elf held himself confidently without the extra arrogance her guardian often displayed.
“I hope my visage doesn’t frighten you,” the object of her interest crooned in that calming voice of his.
Jahrra’s brain resurfaced from its sea of wooziness just long enough for her to register embarrassment. Her cheeks flared scarlet.
“No,” she breathed. “I–”
Jahrra paused and took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she form words? Before another thought could surface to her mind, the vertigo, which had only been teasing her moments ago, flooded in like a deluge, filling her skull to the brim and plunging her into darkness.
-Chapter Eight-
Cahrdyarein
Jahrra woke to the familiar sound of a crackling fire and an image of two, big brown eyes framed by a lightly freckled face gazing down at her.
“Jahrra? Jahrra, are you alright?”
She groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. Had she fallen off Phrym? Where was she? What had happened?
“Jahrra?” the limbit repeated.
Jahrra turned her head and caught a glimpse of her surroundings. She was in an unfamiliar bed, and Dervit was standing on the seat of a wooden chair, leaning over her.
“You were mumbling in your sleep.”
Jahrra moaned again and threw her forearm over her eyes.
“What happened?” she rasped.
“You don’t remember?” The limbit’s voice squeaked in disbelief. “The Crimson King’s men were after us, and we had to make a run for it. You got sick and lost consciousness. We’re in Cahrdyarein, and Ellyesce is with the healers. Jaax said–”
But that was as far as he got. Jahrra shot bolt upright. “Jaax! Ellyesce, are they …?”
She trailed off as bile rose up her throat. She had to press the back of her hand against her mouth and take deep breaths to will the sick feeling away. Her head spun, and there was a pounding ache in the center of her skull.
“They’re fine,” Dervit assured her. “The arrow hit Ellyesce in the middle of his abdomen, on the far left, and went straight through.” The limbit demonstrated with his hands. “Didn’t even nick any organs. It just bled a lot.”
“And Jaax?” Jahrra rasped, recovering a little.
“The elves had to remove some arrows from his wings, but I think he’s angrier at being held up than getting shot.”
Jahrra took a deep breath and leaned back against the mountain of pillows piled behind her. She glanced down quickly, just long enough to realize she was wearing the same clothes she’d had on during the attack. The elves must have carried her from where she collapsed. Ugh. How mortifying.
“How did the Red Flange get past Jaax?” she asked.
Dervit shrugged in response to her question. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. When you, um, passed out, he snapped at the elves to bring us here and for me to watch over you.”
Jahrra smiled at him, despite the situation. He seemed very determined to prove a sound and reliable guardian. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, surveying her room in the process. It was in the shape of a near-perfect circle, a cabin of sorts made mostly from pine logs. Her bed was comfortable, and the sheets smelled clean. Several small windows built into the continuous wall let in the weak, early spring sunlight, and a wood plank door was located off to the right. The only other furniture in the room was the chair Dervit stood upon, a bedside table, a trunk at the foot of the bed and a rustic sitting couch, complete with large cushions. Directly opposite her was a stone fireplace with a cheerful blaze brightening and warming the room.