| |
RELIAN LED THEM DOWN a steep ravine, one side dwarfed by a small cliff face. After hopping from his mount, he lifted her down from hers. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the looming stone. Laying his free hand on a thick tree trunk that rested in front of the rock face, he murmured in Elvish again. Then he repeated the same procedure on the gray stone. Neither spell seemed to do anything. What was he doing? Their pursuers were sure to find them, even with the cover the branches provided.
As if to back up her thoughts, cursing voices carried on the wind. Relian stiffened but didn’t move. Just as Cal was about to pull on his arm, the tree suddenly bent to the side. A faint orange-colored outline of a door glowed against the gray stone.
Cal blinked to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Relian placed his hand against the makeshift door and pressed. With a groaning sound, the rock moved, revealing a shadowy corridor lit by floating blue lights.
“Come,” Relian said, pushing her toward the door.
Cal hesitated, her feet digging into the ground.
He sighed impatiently and pointed to the entrance. “Safe.” Then he gestured toward the canopy of trees where the angry voices floated ever closer. “Not safe. Now go.”
Closing her eyes, Cal plunged into the opening. No lightning struck her down. She opened her eyes. No bogeyman charged toward her, either. Relian said something to the horses, and they neighed, shaking their heads. Then he stepped in beside her and shut the door with a handle she now only noticed. “The horses?” she asked. Though fear stilled clawed at her, she didn’t want the horses to be hurt.
“They go back to palace. Will be fine.”
She nodded, easily following his short, simple sentences after a few seconds of thought. Relian reached for her, and a flash of something red on his arm caught her attention. Squinting, she saw there was a gash in his sleeve, with a matching slice to his skin that still had blood welling from it.
She gasped and lightly touched the area below the wound. The damp fabric was tacky from the blood. Not used to touching such things, she had to stifle a shudder. “You’re hurt.”
He shrugged, not seeming fazed at all. “A mere flesh wound from arrow. Nothing at all. Will take care of later.”
That was a mere flesh wound? She’d be rigid with pain if she sported that slice. But he was a warrior for a reason and had probably dealt with much worse. Which was a thought she didn’t want to dwell on because when she did, an invisible fist squeezed her heart.