The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering by Ben Hale Page B

Fisk’s
command, the entire eastern flank broke north in a clean turn as Aroet and his
chosen men launched several volleys of arrows into the roiling dark mass. They
were rewarded with yelps of pain and several of the dogs crashed into trees.
Although a few followed the riders north, the rest turned with a fury towards
Aroet.
    “Fisk,” Aroet
said in a rising tone, sending an arrow winging to take one down that was about
to leap towards one of his men. “Time for you to get going.”
    “I will see
you after you lead them away Captain,” he yelled, yanking his horse north.
“Ride safe!”
    Aroet nodded,
sending another shaft to bury into one of the hounds as it peeled off in
pursuit of Fisk. Then he turned his horse and slapped his rump. Zel leapt west,
away from the enemy patrol. The five riders followed him, and at a word, began
fanning out to present a larger quarry. Behind him, howls of anger rose as they
sped away.
    “Give it all
you’ve got men!” Aroet yelled. “But pace yourself. We will go a few miles and
lose them in the marshes before regrouping farther north.”
    Bending down
he tried to balance himself so Zel could have free range of movement, and the
big steed ate up the ground in great strides. The pounding hooves thundered
across the ground as the six horses galloped towards the great lake, gouging
the road as they wound through the trees.
    Aroet threw a
look back to check on their pursuers, and saw that only one of his men was
close to him. The other four had begun to lose ground, unable to keep up with the
big stallion of their captain. Sensing the kill, the howling pack began to
close the distance. A slight pull of the reigns brought Aroet back to his men,
and as he fell into place, he drew his sword.
    Five swords
cleared their scabbards in response, but they didn't slow. Thundering around a
curve, they flew across the patchwork of shadows created by the branches
overhead. Dirt clods filled their wake as the horses hooves tore at the gravelly
soil. With the hundreds of pursuers baying for their prey, each man rode for
his life . . . but the dogs were gaining. Bounding forward like charging lions,
they closed the distance until they were close enough to strike.
    "Send
them back to whatever hell they came from!" Aroet bellowed, plunging his
weapon into a black dog leaping for his mount.
    Blades
glittered in the uneven light, sending bodies tumbling behind them. More took
their place, darting over their fallen allies and pouncing on the rearmost
soldier. His horse collapsed under the weight of the spiked dog, and both rider
and steed fell broken to the hard earth. A whinny of pain mingled with the
man's scream, until both ended under a torrent of evil creatures.
    Within moments
another of their group was slain, and then another. The fourth died when his
horse stumbled, and the two were swallowed into the dark horde. Down to two,
Aroet yelled his fury and filled the air with his longsword, striking any foe
that dared venture within range. Dogs yelped and snarled, but couldn't
withstand the onslaught. His space momentarily cleared of enemies, Aroet
reached for the last soldier.
    "Jump
behind me. Your horse can't keep up!"
    Jaron cast him
an angry look. "Are you crazy! Even Zel can't carry two."
    "You have
your orders, Jaron!"
    "And I
respectfully decline, Captain!" Jaron bellowed. Then he wheeled his horse
towards a side path. Sheathing his sword, he drew his bow and sent a quick burst
of arrows into the dogs. "Now get out of here!" he roared, peeling
away from Aroet and taking many of their pursuers with him.
    Before he
could protest, Jaron had disappeared into the trees. Growling against the
helplessness and rage, Aroet gave Zel his head. Pulling away from the pack, he
sent a prayer to Ero for Jaron, and his family, who had been among the first to
perish in Terros. The man's bravery had probably saved Aroet, but the loss of a
good man's life wasn't a price he was willing to pay for his own.
    So