Unable to lie there any longer and not do
anything, Lucien gradually raised himself up on his elbows to peer
over the physician, to where the one fire on this side of the stream
was almost reduced to embers. The pit still put out heat, but the
flames were mostly gone. The moon had returned, giving him ample
light to see by. Two figures moved to the right. Immediately he
could tell there was a third figure between them. A figure that
looked to be struggling, albeit weakly. The hair on his head rose. Someone was being
dragged away, and his senses told him the instigators weren’t
soldiers. A copse of trees sat less than a dozen feet
away. Rising onto the balls of his feet, he scuttled sideways into
the shadows, using the bodies of those sleeping to cover his
movement. When he reached the trees, he advanced toward the silent
commotion. As he drew nearer, he could hear more whispering,
although the words were still too soft to make out. There was
another whimper, this time answered by a flat thud that sounded like
a fist hitting something solid. A moment of silence followed,
forcing Lucien to pause. A grunt. He strained to listen, calling
silently on his Mutah half to expand his senses enough to make out
what was being said. The wind answered by becoming totally silent.
That was the break he’d hoped for. “How are we going to get her up to the top of
the embankment?” “We don’t, we’ll take her downstream and drown
her there. The water will carry her away.” Lucien froze. One voice he recognized. It was a
voice burned in his memory. The same voice that had growled at him
earlier that evening. “Do you
think this is funny, pup?” At the same time, he remembered Johna’s
apprehension and fear. Her worry had increased after they’d eaten,
and he’d had to excuse himself to set up his bedroll within the
battle lord’s protective circle. She hadn’t wanted them to be
separated, but neither of them had a choice. The two figures began walking away from the
encampment. He could tell they were following the stream, and in the
moonlight a slight figure lay slung over the big Mutah’s shoulder. A
figure he immediately recognized. “Put her
down!” He dashed toward the opening, sword raised, and
aimed directly for the man carrying Johna. The two Mutah whirled
around in surprise. That couple of seconds gave him the opportunity
to get closer, until the big man took off, leaving his companion
behind to face Lucien. Holding Johna’s unconscious body secure over
his shoulder, the man raised his spear with his other hand and
pointed it at him. “Code
Yellow!” Lucien yelled, warning the others who’d been roused by
his initial shout. The code meant there was a serious problem, but
not life-threatening. At the same time, he swung his sword, hitting
the spear behind the tip. The blade sliced through the wood, making
the weapon useless. The Mutah tossed the wood and pulled Johna from
his shoulder, holding her up and out like a shield. Realizing he
couldn’t use his sword again for fear of hitting her, Lucien did the
one thing he’d been taught never to do. Pivoting around, he squatted and threw his
sword at the man. The Mutah stepped away, believing Lucien was
aiming for his legs. But he was totally unprepared for the battle
prince to let go. The razor-sharp blade winked in the moonlight
as it twirled toward the big man. At the last second the Mutah
realized he needed to jump, but Johna’s body was an added weight his
body couldn’t compensate for. The sword struck the man below the knees,
embedding itself sideways into both legs. The man screamed and
dropped the young woman onto the rocks. Lucien glanced at her, then
at the rapidly departing figure in the distance as the big man
collapsed. “Who?” Atty’s voice whispered beside him.
Simultaneously, the tip of an arrow appeared at the corner of his
eye. Lucien pointed to the runner. “Him.” She didn’t question why. The arrow softly sang
as it whizzed through the air, and the figure pitched forward, face
down, into the water.