Engraved - The Hunted Warrior

Chapter 1.2 Raiding Party

Audiobook Version

Everything about the six men spoke of death. Five of them wore vicious looking armour decorated with spikes. They were painted with what could only be blood. Their blades dripped brown liquid. In the middle of them stood a man with a shaved head and loose fitting maroon robes. He held a large book in his hand and was reading aloud. Alam could not understand the words.

Around the valley people picked themselves up and turned to the newcomers.

The bald man lowered the book and addressed the holy man on the cart. "My Liege has sent me for the box. Hand it to me now."

"No," came the reply.

"These people need not die today," said the bald man as he dropped the book.

"Better to die than hand it to you."

"As you wish."

The bald man thrust his open hands towards the holy man and shouted. The holy man arched his back and cried out in pain. Smiling, the bald man advanced. Slowly, as if fighting some great resistance, the holy man raised his wooden staff. He thrust it towards the sorcerer. The sorcerer was pushed back by an unseen force. His smile became a frown.

Suddenly Urlock was at Alam's shoulder. "Up! Run! This is not our fight!" He dragged Alam to his feet. "Pull back!" he shouted to the rest of his warriors.

Alam ran. In front of him Tajar and Shaleh threw themselves behind the rocks that had concealed them moments ago. Alam slid next to them, and looked back at the battle. Four of the blood-covered knights fought caravan guards, who were clearly no match for them. The fifth lay dead before the veteran's feet. The veteran pulled his sword out of the dead man. Without a moment's hesitation he charged toward the sorcerer. He shouted a battle cry as he ran.

Alam had seen this kind of charge before. On a hunting trip he, Tajar, and Tajar's father, had disturbed a bear. Tajar's father ran at it to save the two boys. It was the charge of someone who knows he is about to die, but has accepted his fate.

The sorcerer bellowed strange words. His hands rolled around each other. The veteran's sword arm snapped like a twig though nothing touched it. His arm swung limp. Still he charged. Another sickening crack sounded and his leg gave way beneath him. He tumbled to the dirt.

"For the love of all that is good help us!" screamed the holy man to Urlock.

Maybe it was the fury, maybe it was sympathy, maybe it was just stupidity – whatever the reason, Alam jumped to his feet and rushed towards the bald sorcerer.

"Alam! Get back!" shouted Urlock.

Alam did not respond. He gripped his axe firmly in both hands and screamed. In front of him the sorcerer stepped closer to the veteran. With a bellow of exertion he clutched his hands into fists and yanked them apart as if ripping something. The veteran's torso twisted. The armoured man cried out as he crumpled to the ground. The sorcerer swung his head to look at the archers above. He grabbed the air with both hands. Shouting again he pulled his hands back. Two archers fell, their arms flailed around uselessly as they dropped.

Alam was only ten paces away. He raised his axe to strike.

The sorcerer spun towards Alam and moved his hands into fists while muttering. Alam's muscles seized up. His legs stopped working mid-stride. He fell hard to the ground. Pebbles scraped his face. He braced himself for the pain that would end his life.