Blade of Champions

Chapter Eight: The Price of a Life

        CHAPTER EIGHT

        THE PRICE OF A LIFE

 'Get up.'

The sound of steel sliding from its scabbard drove Hughell to his feet. His heart pounded. 

The Silent Warrior's eyes, so compassionate before, were hard as ice.

'Walk,' he ordered and Hughell obeyed.

Without horses, the journey back to the river was agonisingly slow. Hughell's ribs pained him at each breath, at times his head throbbed so badly he thought he was going to be sick.

When at last he stumbled from the tree line and onto the sandy belt that lined the riverbank, the afternoon was fading. A few weak rays of sun crowned the tops of the trees.

This shore was deserted now. Across the river he could see the small crowd of refugees, clustered anxiously around a makeshift litter. A few of the figures hung about the edges of the crowd, scabbards hanging from their belts.

Only a brief ride lay between Hughell and the real consequences of what he had done.

As he stepped from the ferry, every eye in that crowd of men, women and children turned and looked at him. No one said anything, but still Hughell did not feel, until a woman rose from beside the litter and strode towards them. She was short and womanly, but strong-looking, with a mass of bushy blonde hair chopped just above her shoulders. Her freckled face twisted with emotion.

'Captain Shemie, my brother is deteriorating,' she said, her voice high and clear above the rush of the river. 'You are a Silent Warrior. There must be something you can do.'

Shemie left Hughell where he stood - he was too exhausted to even think about escape – and went to kneel by the litter. Hughell saw him motion to the other Silent Warrior, who handed him a small, carefully wrapped package.

Within moments, a sweet smell filled the air and the throbbing in Hughell’s temple seemed to lessen.

The captain stood, towering over every head. 

'His wounds are deep. Sir Coryth must be taken where hands more skilled than I can help him. It will take the strongest medicine – and the swiftest horses – if we are to save him.'

His eyes scanned the anguished faces of the crowd, as one by one they began to nod. The slaves knew they would have to go on - without their escort.

Suddenly the emptiness welled up inside Hughell's heart, overwhelming him with the realisation of what he had done. All he had wanted was to fight for something, anything really, but in his wanderings he had achieved what the barbaric Shadow Warriors had failed to do: deprived this ragged band of refugees of their champion.

Shemie placed a massive hand on the lady's shoulder. 

'Lady Nadoli,' he said. 'The Haven in Cytra has been made ready for the task of restoring these people. You must lead them to the coast. Eyaza and I will go ahead with your brother.'

The other Silent Warrior, Eyaza, came striding up from the ferry, leading both of the horses.

Shemie mounted and the other Silent Warrior bent, lifting Sir Coryth in his arms. He passed the wounded man to his captain, then with a final, sombre salute, mounted. The two warriors set off at a canter, their massive forms framed against the dying sun.

Lady Nadoli watched them until they were out of sight.

Only then did she round on Hughell, her lips quivering with suppressed anger. She would not look at his face, only pointed and said in a voice far lower than before: 'Bind him.'