‘I’m all right,’ she lied, feeling a spasm of pain rush across her face, a searing sensation that brought tears to her eyes.
‘No, you’re not,’ Versen replied and gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘But you will be in time.’
Deciding not to fight, Brexan lay back and closed her eyes. Tears began to well up behind her lids, but she fought them off. Inhaling sharply, she asked, ‘Are they going to kill us?’
‘I don’t think so, not yet.’
Swallowing hard, she ran two fingers over her swollen face. ‘How can you be sure?’
Versen pulled her hand away and touched her cheek, not the gentle touch of a friend, but the diagnostic touch of a healer. ‘It’s not too bad. I tried to set the bone while you slept, but it wouldn’t move and you kept screaming when I pushed on it.’
‘Well, thanks. Remind me to run you through the heart when I get my sword back.’
‘Better than doing it now while you’re awake. Good news is if it didn’t move, it’s probably just a fracture, a hairline crack.’
‘Grand.’
‘We need to get you to the river. The cold water will help with the swelling.’
Brexan lifted her head far enough to see they were still in the camp near the grove. She could hear the sound of the river and felt better, despite the pain. Their saddlebags and packs had been pillaged and lay about where the Seron warriors had tossed them. It looked as if the last of their food had been eaten; their weapons were now in the hands of the Seron. Resting her head once again in Versen’s lap, she asked, ‘You didn’t answer my question. How do you know they won’t kill us?’
‘They’re looking for something and they haven’t found it; until they do, they have to keep us alive.’
‘Find what?’
‘A key.’ Versen paused, searching for the best way to explain. ‘A key to operate a magic chamber that will give Prince Malagon enough power to destroy the world, and all the other worlds as well, I suppose.’
‘Other worlds.’
‘Yes. Steven and Mark, the two strangers you watched on the beach. They’re from another world, a world they call Color-ado, or something like that.’
Brexan agreed for the moment to give him the benefit of the doubt, no matter how crazy his explanation. They were still alive, after all and there had to be a reason for that. ‘So, they’re looking for Gilmour, because they believe he has this key?’
‘That’s right, but he doesn’t.’
‘Who does?’
‘At the moment, no one.’ Brexan looked confused, so Versen tried again. ‘Right now, it is in Color-ado, where Steven left it. You see, he mistook it for a rock.’
‘A rock? The key to enough magic to destroy Eldarn-’
‘And other worlds as well-’
‘And other worlds as well… The key to more magic than anyone in their right mind can imagine was left somewhere, because some foreigner thought it was a rock.’
‘That’s right, at least as far as I can gather.’
‘So that’s why you’re travelling north. To find this key.’ Brexan was fascinated.
‘In a matter of speaking, yes. We have to get to Welstar Palace to reach a portal that will take Gilmour, Steven and Mark back to Colorado where Gilmour can retrieve the key.’ Versen realised he had been speaking too loudly and lowered his voice. ‘Then Gilmour can use the key to destroy Prince Malagon- well, Nerak, really.’
‘Nerak?’
‘Never mind now; I’ll explain later. You should rest if you can. We don’t know what these monsters have in mind for us today. We should save our strength.’
Brexan suddenly noticed the bruise along Versen’s jaw. ‘He clobbered you pretty well, didn’t he?’
‘This?’ Versen grinned broadly down at her. ‘Oh no, I’ve been hit much harder than this!’
She tried to return his smile, but her cheek reminded her it would be some time before that would be possible again. Instead, she asked teasingly. ‘Oh yes? By whom?’
‘Women in taverns mostly,’ he replied, deadpan, which made her laugh.
‘Don’t,’ she begged, ‘don’t make me laugh, Ox. My face hurts.’ Brexan closed her eyes, caught the distinctive aroma of wild herbs and woodsmoke on the brisk wind and managed a crooked smile despite the painful swelling in her cheek.
The midday aven had just begun when Lahp appeared, hulking across the clearing to where Versen and Brexan were still sitting together. Worried the Seron might strike her again, Brexan moved closer to Versen and pressed her cheek softly against his chest. Please don’t, she thought, clenching her teeth in anticipation of another bone-rattling blow.
It never came. Instead, Lahp stood before them and gestured firmly with one hand for them to stand, grunting, ‘Up, up!’ as he did so.
As Versen helped Brexan to her feet, Lahp roughly shoved them in the direction of the horses and motioned towards the saddles that were lying nearby.
‘Saddle the horses?’ Brexan guessed. Her face twisted with pain and a thin trickle of spittle ran down her chin.
‘Ah, ah,’ Lahp grunted and shoved them both again before returning to directing the Seron preparations for travel.
Versen picked up Renna’s saddle, watching as Lahp gave orders to his platoon. Teams of leather-clad warriors scurried about, preparing weapons, distributing food and wineskins and scratching rudimentary maps in the dirt.
‘We don’t seem to be too well guarded,’ Versen whispered. ‘What’s to keep us from saddling up and riding away?’
Brexan considered his question for a moment, then said, ‘I don’t know exactly, but I think I’m afraid to risk it.’
‘Look at them, though,’ he pressed, trying to convince her. ‘It looks as if they’ve mostly forgotten we’re here. They knocked us out, searched our bags – and then ignored us the rest of the day. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Versen, no. We don’t have any weapons. If they ran us down, they’d kill us for sure.’
‘Yes, but we have Renna.’ He draped Garec’s saddle over the mare’s back and patted the horse affectionately. ‘She’s fast, Brexan, faster than any horse I’ve ever known. She outran a pack of grettans once. She’d have no problem with this lot of crippled plough-horses.’ Renna tossed her mane, as if anticipating the coming chase with enthusiasm. Even after the smooth hair along the horse’s neck came to rest, the wind lifted it once more in a momentary illusion of speed and strength.
‘All right,’ Brexan whispered. ‘Let’s do it – but I am not going to get hit again. If we get caught, I want to go down fighting. I don’t ever want to be that frightened again.’
She was preparing the second horse when she caught sight of Lahp coming towards them, this time with three tough-looking Seron in tow.
As if reading her mind, Versen said quietly, ‘Hold fast. Let’s see what this is about.’
Without speaking, Lahp pushed Versen towards Renna and he climbed into the saddle. Grabbing Brexan by the upper arm, the Seron leader shoved her towards the mare as well. Versen reached down to help her up behind him.
Resting one enormous paw on Renna’s pommel, Lahp handed Versen and Brexan two blankets and a wineskin filled with river water. Uncertain if she was allowed to drink from the skin, Brexan held it firmly against her swollen cheek.
Lahp laughed, an ugly, wet and raspy sound. It reminded Brexan of the cry of a beaten dog.
Then the Seron leader grunted a series of orders and the three warriors with him donned packs and climbed onto three of the remaining horses.
One turned to them, balled up his fist and slapped it against his chest. ‘Karn,’ he said malevolently, as if the name meant famine, or death, or some other equally unpleasant thing.
Not wanting to anger their escort, Versen in turn pointed to himself and then to Brexan and said their names clearly: ‘Versen. Brexan. Happy to meet you.’
Brexan nearly cried out in horror when she realised one Seron, the smallest of the group, was a woman – or at least had been a woman, before Prince Malagon purloined her soul and turned her into a monster.
‘Brexan,’ she said quietly, pointing a finger at her broken cheek.