The Chosen, Kris Kramer [reading e books .TXT] 📗

caught the archer directly under the chin. The gut-wrenching sound of shattering teeth resounded in the quiet tunnel, and a high-pitched, keening wail filled the air with pure suffering as the archer’s mouth fell open once more. The impact knocked the poor archer’s blades from their hands as they fell forward onto both knees, groping futilely at their destroyed mouth.

In the heat of the moment, Eilidh drove an armored punch into the side of the archer’s head, sending a crimson spray of fragmented teeth to the ground. The emotional release of vengeance tingled in her bones, but Eilidh didn’t think she should beat down a defeated opponent like she would a wild dog. It didn’t seem right.

Eilidh loomed over her fallen adversary, her blunt sword pointed at the downcast head.

And she hesitated. What was she supposed to do? Execute the enemy? Leave them to wallow in their anguish? Provide a healing spell to ease their suffering?

The complexity of the decision increased tenfold when the archer’s battered face finally lifted to Eilidh’s.

An elf!

“Wha—? What are—?” Eilidh stammered, now taking a few steps back. There was no mistaking the telltale points of each ear, the alabaster skin hue, or the perfectly straight hair.

But why would an elf ever ambush her? They were both citizens of Andua together.

Obviously this Anduain sister of hers had mistaken her for an enemy. Eilidh could see how that mistake could happen, especially down in the depths where a person could hunt for days without encountering another soul. Paranoia would serve as an easy companion.

Upon closer inspection, Eilidh noted the dark green cloak, held together with an oval-shaped silver clasp depicting a soaring hawk. But that was impossible.

“Why did you attack me, tracker?” Eilidh yelled. Trackers served under King Darren, usually as scouts and snipers, and all wore the hawk emblem.

Embracing her anger, Eilidh approached, sword now directed at the tracker’s exposed throat, the tip of the sword pushing on the pale skin, but not breaking it. Blood dripped from the elf’s open mouth. The sight of the broken teeth turned Eilidh’s stomach, but her fury remained in control.

“I could’ve killed you!”

Upon further reflection, Eilidh realized that the elf could’ve easily killed her, too.

But what happens next?

Something in the elf’s clear blue eyes changed. The penetrating stare had picked up on Eilidh’s indecision, her failure to act. Resolution filled those burning eyes. The elf slowly stood up. Eilidh held her sword uneasily against the tracker’s throat. She gave up at least two hands’ breadths in height to the slender elf, but that physical difference didn’t concern Eilidh.

Her only concern was what this elf was thinking, and what she would do next.

Could she kill an ally, even one who’d attacked her first?

Her outstretched arm started to twinge under the sword’s weight. She didn’t know how much longer she could face this standoff, emotionally or physically.

Fatigued to failure, the sword arm dropped and the elf immediately grabbed at the weapon. Survival instincts kicked in for both fighters as the elf’s hands gripped Eilidh’s wrist. She twisted her arm back and forth, trying to break the vice-like grip of the elf, but the taller female held on for dear life. Knowing the fight was over if she lost her sword, Eilidh clamped her fingers around the handle with all her might.

The elf drove into Eilidh suddenly, forcing her up against the tunnel wall, where she smacked the back of her head. Stars bloomed before her eyes, obscuring her view of the tracker. Not knowing what else to do, Eilidh brought her knee up hard between the elf’s legs. The result of this attack on a male would’ve been more effective, but the elf loosened her grip on Eilidh’s wrist just enough for Eilidh to break free.

In one clumsy movement, Eilidh grabbed her hilt with both hands and drove the bottom of the sword’s handle down onto the elf’s forehead.

The tracker crumpled wordlessly. Eilidh breathed hard, hands on knees. The elf lay motionless, but Eilidh didn’t have the heart to check for a pulse. If she’d just killed an Anduain, she didn’t want to know about it.

Eilidh staggered towards the dimming torch and her helm, considered pressing on down into the pitch black tunnel, but then thought the better of it. The fierce struggle had left her feeling weak and drained, and her growling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day. Unfortunately, Ruaidhri carried the pack with all of their provisions.

I can’t survive another attack like this, she thought hopelessly, still breathing hard. I need to find Ruaidhri, but I can’t do it alone.

She resolved to head back up to the caverns’ entrance, to find some allies in her journey to reunite with Ruaidhri. He would still be down there, searching tirelessly for her while she fearfully ran away to the surface, but what else could she do?

Surely it was better if she lived to find him later rather than getting herself killed searching for him alone.

Before leaving the downed elf, Eilidh managed to remove the arrow and shield from her back. The arrow had snapped near the tip, freeing her shield from her cloak. That must’ve happened when the elf threw her against the wall. In the firelight she could see the deep scar that the arrow had etched into her shield, leaving a sizeable gouge in the green paint. The next time she saw one of her brothers, they would have to fix it for her. She smiled as she thought about how impressed they’d both be with her stories of valor and bravery. Finally, she’d acted in a way that she could find pride in.

She worked her way quickly through the maze of the caverns, seeking the exit. The deserted corridors helped speed her progress. While jogging through yet another tunnel, she thought about how her brothers had never encouraged her in her desire to become a soldier. They both thought that she would fail miserably. How she’d proved them wrong.

Of course, here she was, running away from her mission.

As she left the depths of the caverns behind, Ruaidhri could be dead or dying, screaming for her to help him. The image brought a tear to Eilidh’s eye, but there was no other option. She had to leave in order to return stronger, bolstered with the help of like-minded allies.

“Oh, Ruaidhri, please don’t die,” Eilidh prayed fervently.

She repeated the chant over and over, the repetition easing her mind’s frantic worry. The mantra stopped when a tall figure in blue shot across the tunnel intersection ahead of her.

Could it be?

“Ruaidhri!” she yelled.

Eilidh ran down the gloomy tunnel faster than she’d ever thought possible. The air itself seemed to assist her, pushing her forward with supernatural speed. Rounding each corner brought a new pang of disappointment as her companion continued to evade her. Did he even know she was chasing him?

The sound of growling greeted Eilidh around one brightly lit corner. There she stood in great contrast to her surroundings, a small woman in a large hallway. Four giant bears now faced her, beating the ground with their paws, building up an unstoppable rage. Their eyes burned ferociously, their murderous intent blatantly apparent.

Frozen in time and space, Eilidh could swear that plumes of smoke flowed from the angered nostrils. The enraged creatures now moved as one, stampeding towards her.

Terror gave way to common sense as she turned on her heels and galloped back through the tunnels, her mind filled with visions of the bears catching her. Seeing her small body slashed to a bloody pulp forced her legs to pump harder. The deep roaring behind her invaded her body, more of a feeling than a sound. The ground beneath her feet rumbled under the weight of the stampede.

The tunnels passed by in a flurry and the irritated bears finally gave up their pursuit. But Eilidh didn’t give up on her flight. She felt far more invigorated than ever before. Gravity struggled to keep her tethered to the ground as she flew down one tunnel after another.

The familiar sounds of Anduains fighting cave spiders floated down a tunnel towards her. Eilidh slowed to a careful walk. She yearned for friendly faces to assist in her mission, but a friendly face had just shot her in the back. She pulled up short at the intersection from where the cries and roars of battle resounded.

Did she dare step into the light, into the open for the Anduains to see? What if they no longer honored their allegiance to King Darren and the High Priestess? Had the elves deserted Andua? The unanswerable questions spiraled through her mind, adding and multiplying endlessly.

“Ruaidhri, I need you,” she whispered.

Chapter 12

 

“Brian, stop flinging those swords around like floppy wet fish!”

Liam watched in horror as his new apprentice attempted to fend off a medium-sized cave spider in Teekwood Caverns. Thorns trained in the ways of fighting with a weapon in each hand, but Brian might as well have been poking at the spider with a pointy stick.

“Brian, you’re trying to kill it, not trim its hair. Keep your wrists loose, but swing those arms with some machismo,” Liam instructed, exasperated with the young firbolg.

In general, firbolgs made fantastic Thorns, so Liam had been overjoyed to finally receive one as a student. Brian was well over seven feet tall and boasted fantastically broad shoulders. At first glance, this trainee represented all the physical traits that formed one of the great Thorns, who killed seemingly limitless numbers of enemies with deft strokes of their swords and an air of well-earned self-confidence. The teacher of such a powerful Thorn would surely receive endless accolades and praise, quickly moving into the position of Master Trainer. Liam salivated at the thought of that prospect, despite his original reluctance in accepting his mandatory reassignment to the teaching corps.

Unfortunately, Liam’s overhyped hopes faced a grim realization: Brian couldn’t fight his way out of a damp wicker basket. The oaf would’ve had better luck just kicking the spider rather than flailing his arms around with all the grace and coordination of a three-legged dog learning to dance. Liam had hoped the trip out to the caverns would excite and inspire his young follower into revealing some hidden talent for extreme greatness, but the journey had proved fruitless thus far.

And, mercifully, the fight ended. The odds were good that swinging two large swords at a target long enough would eventually result in hitting and killing that target. When the target was a mostly decrepit and harmless spider, the odds increased dramatically for most people, but apparently not for poor Brian.

Liam’s dreams of grandeur all but slipped away.

One look at the firbolg told Liam that reality had started to attack Brian’s self-confidence: The slump of the gigantic shoulders, the sadness on his wide face. Firbolgs weren’t known as a particularly happy race, but Brian looked that much glummer.

“Maybe I’m not a Thorn,” he whined with the trademark deep bass voice of the firbolg race.

“With that kind of attitude you certainly aren’t,” Liam stated with perfectly choreographed hand gestures.

Brian’s whole body seemed to implode even further.

“Yet,” Liam added, marveling at his own timing.

The firbolg’s face rose, his large eyes meeting Liam’s.

“You have all the makings of a Thorn, Brian, but you’ve got to find that swashbuckling, adventurous spirit within you!”

For added emphasis, Liam bounded towards the tunnel wall and leapt into the air, performing a series of jumps and spins off of the stone surface.

“We are the proudest of all Andua’s guardians,” he yelled in mid-flight. “Some might say too proud, but I say ‘too proud’ does not exist!”

As with all of Liam’s intense displays of physical prowess, Brian looked thoroughly impressed.

As he should be! Liam thought in the middle of an inverted spin.

Liam stuck the landing with a flourish and a flashy smile, his black cloak swirling epically behind him, only to see his trainee staring down towards the opposite end of the tunnel. The smile disintegrated. Why wasn’t this peon worshipping his grand feats of agility?

“What’s so interesting, Brian?” he asked politely. A gallant Thorn was always polite. Well, usually.

“Um . . . I think some nuathreens are in trouble down there,” Brian said, a little unsure of himself. “Can’t you hear it?” he added cautiously.

Despite hearing nothing of the sort, Liam couldn’t help himself.

“Of course! Let’s save the day, young one,” he exclaimed, charging in the supposed direction of the supposed altercation.

The startled cries of a pair of nuathreens did indeed meet Liam’s ears about halfway down the tunnel. So the student did have at least some small advantage over the teacher. Interesting, but of course superb hearing did nothing to increase proficiency with