The Power of a Few

Escape ~ 10

   An arrow whizzed passed his head and sunk into a gray tree. Zalon blew the hair out of his eyes and spun around. Two—no three warlocks pursued him through Caer Dunn.

   Few were brave enough to venture through these cursed woods. But a cursed man had no fear. One—a boy not much older than Zalon—knocked an arrow and let it fly. Zalon dodged and ran for his life. He dashed under a broken branch and, fighting off the panic, forced his eyes shut.

   An aerial overview of the dead forest appeared in his mind. He tried to split his line of thought. One side to focus on the direction he was running, and the other to keep a watchful eye on the warlocks behind him. This task proved more than difficult and he almost ran into a tree. Opening his eyes, he veered to the left and ran into the path of an arrow. Luckily it only grazed his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth against the pain,  pushing onward through the maze of tree corpses and thorns.

   He glanced over his shoulder and stopped. There was no sign of his pursuers. Not wasting any time, he grabbed a tree limb and hoisted himself up. He reached a sturdy limb and crouched, like a cat waiting for its prey. Little time passed by before three magicians stumbled into the clearing below. Zalon's muscles tensed, ready to pounce. One pulled off his hood, revealing black curls that tumbled to his shoulders. He muttered a few words to the other two, then pulled out a long, black arrow. Zalon's heart pounded in his chest. This was not good. He watched as the warlock closed his eyes and whispered words that seemed to float through the air.

   Tegrat ru'oys'simt'onodwor'ra.

   The man gripped the arrow and, with no hesitation, sliced his arm. Zalon had seen this spell before; he had even tried one himself. A tracking spell. His gaze followed the movement of the warlock. The crimson liquid now covered the arrow head, dripping quietly onto the dark grass below. The magician strung the red-stained arrow and with a fluid motion aimed upward at Zalon and released.

   Zalon teleported immediately.

   How did he know I was there?

   He swore and reappeared a few yards away. With a terse movement, he grabbed a small pendant on his cloak and ripped it off. It was the emblem of his family, and, apparently, a tracking device his mother had made. He threw the silver amulet into a dried-up stream bed and closed his eyes. He saw the blood-stained arrow piercing through the air and he teleported.

   He reappeared on a cliff and stumbled away from the edge. The sound of roaring water filled his ears, and he turned. The ocean, vast and stormy, churned for miles on end. He hadn't realized how close he was to the coast. His heart filled with hope and his spirit rose. This was it. His escape. It laid out before him. The thought of crossing the ocean excited him. Adventure. He had been nowhere near the ocean before. He took a step towards the dark beach.

   Suddenly, searing pain ripped through his back. He fell to his knees as he cried out in agony. He attempted to move his right arm but a wave of crippling pain stopped him.

   The arrow probably shredded the muscle. He thought.

   He grabbed with his left arm and felt the shaft. Gritting his teeth, he ripped it from his back. He cursed as cold, salt air rushed into the wound. Pieces of ripped cloth, blood, and skin flecked the arrowhead. He threw it and struggled to his feet.

   "Stop." The command broke through the surrounding noise.

   Zalon turned, slowly, and agonizingly. He placed his left hand on the hole in his back, trying to stop the blood that oozed through his fingers. In front of him stood the warlock with the brown curls, an arrow nocked and aimed at Zalon's face.

   "By order of the Kreoul you are to be delivered to him." The words didn't seem to make any sense to Zalon.

   I'm losing too much blood. He thought. He turned his head to the ocean, hope fleeing from his heart. I'm not going to make it.

   The hope in his heart gave a last surge before it died. Like a rusty, cracked bell, giving up its music.

   He was done for. They would return him to Kever K'Shaw where they would lock him up, torture him and eventually execute the Kreoul's stepson, the biggest disappointment in the royal family's history.

   "I'm sorry Tylan," he whispered, "I've failed you."

   Images of his friend filled his mind. Lying on the stone courtyard, a hole in his chest and blood on his face.

   A small flame flickered to life.

   I can't give up hope. He thought. For Tylan.

   He turned back to the warlock and closed his eyes. His mind's eye captured the whole scene. He was standing on a precipice over dark, murky water. The curly-haired magician in front of him straightened his arrow as sweat trickled down his cheek. The two other magicians hid in the brush, waiting to pounce and save their leader if needed.

   But Zalon didn't pay attention to them. He looked towards the horizon.

   The ocean. He stretched out his vision as far as possible.

   And he disappeared.

   He opened his eyes to a wall of water as he plunged headlong into the ocean. Relief was all he remembered before everything went dark.

Author's Notes:

Hey guys! So sorry this took forever. To be honest I almost gave up on this story. But luckily I didn't! I know this chapter is super short. I'll try to get the next one out (hopefully longer) in a week or two! Thank you all for your support!

Also, if you are reading my story and following along, I would greatly appreciate it if you voted on the chapters! Thank you!