CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE HUNTED

Outside the tent, a storm had blown in, and the world around Rayner swirled with snow, clawing at his face. Ser Caster was running toward the tent already dressed in his armor and his sword drawn. “Ser Rayner!” he called. “There’re raiders just behind the tree line. They must have used the storm to conceal themselves.”

Rayner felt suddenly lost. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Tell the men to leave everything,” Rayner commanded. “Mount up and be ready to fight.”

Ser Caster turned and ran back to the men. Rayner quickly threw on his armor, drew his sword, and checked his pocket for the ring before running out into the storm.

The camp was frenzied as the raiders were moving in. Rayner found his horse and cut it loose, swinging himself up before looking for Ser Caster. Rayner wished that he had a helm with him; it would help to keep the snow from stabbing at his eyes. He squinted against the wind and called out to his men. Many of them were mounted and ready, so Rayner led them away from the camp and out into a field. They formed up in ranks with archers at the back. Rayner took his place next to Ser Caster.

The knight looked worried, and that made Rayner feel worse. They could both feel it swirling in the air with the snow. Something was wrong. The raiders screamed through the wall of snow until they were in view.

“Archers!” Rayner’s voice thundered over the howling of the wind. “Nock, draw, loose!” The arrows cut through the snow and disappeared into the storm. Rayner could just barely see the army coming through the snow ahead.

There were many of them--too many to count. He ordered the archers to fire again, but the raiders were prepared. They lifted their shields in unison to the death falling at them from above. Rayner drew his sword and said a prayer that only he could hear before looking to Ser Caster. Their screams filled the air as he led his men down the hill toward the raiders. His heart was thumping to the beat of his horse’s hooves, but his head was clear. One word kept him going, kept him focused on what he had to do. Correlyn.

The two sides wove into one another, Rayner bloodying his sword on the first raider he passed. He could see his men fighting off the raiders and forcing them back. Rayner saw the raiders up ahead begin to split their ranks. He stopped his horse, the hooves sliding over the slick ground covered with fresh snow as the raiders parted. Rayner laid eyes on a black knight sitting atop a midnight stallion. He looked around for Ser Caster, but he was lost in the sea of men.

A sudden realization struck him the way a viper strikes a mouse. His eyes scanned the crowd, and his heart dropped to his boots—the raiders weren’t fighting his men. They were only blocking their attacks, but their swords shone clean, not having tasted blood. He yelled over the storm, calling for Ser Caster, but his men were being pushed back into the storm, away from him.

Rayner sat atop his horse alone, and the black knight made no move. His helm had horns that grew down the length of his skull, and his face was completely concealed. Rayner was alone with him and had no choice but to attack. He swallowed the lump in his throat and charged. The horned knight moved just in time and kept Rayner chasing him. He slashed at the knight from behind, but his stallion was swift, and Rayner’s sword only met with the falling snow.

Suddenly, a raider broke into view, holding a small barrel. Thick black liquid poured from the back of it as the raider ran his horse around Rayner and the horned knight. Rayner’s eyes widened, and he kicked his horse, sending it in the direction of the raider.

But it was too late.

A flaming arrow came down, igniting the black liquid. Hungry flames shot up, licking at the hooves of Rayner’s horse as it reared back. Rayner was almost thrown off the back of his panicked horse. The fire rose higher than his steed, and Rayner scanned his eyes in every direction, finally landing on the horned knight trapped in the circle with him.

“Rayner!” The cry drowned out the roar of the flames, and he turned his head to see Ser Caster outside the wall, desperately fighting off raiders who were keeping him at bay.

Rayner closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He felt sick to his stomach as he realized how well planned this attack was. The fire crackled behind him, the wind cut through his armor, and the snow pierced his cheeks. Not like this, he thought. The horned knight ran out of patience and charged Rayner. He kicked his horse to meet the man, throwing up his sword as the knight’s blade came down. They flew past one another, and Rayner quickly turned his horse and charged back. The horned knight was sinister looking, his long horns making him appear to be an evil spirit from a story Rayner had heard as a child. But this was no spirit, this was a real man, and he meant to kill Rayner today.

They came together, swords clashing as the snow encircled them. The knight thrust his sword forward, Rayner slashing it away just in time. He brought up his blade and sent it crashing down into the knight’s armor, which took the blow. The knight swung, forcing Rayner to lay flat across his horse’s back. But before Rayner could sit up, he felt a stabbing pain at his side. Rayner screamed to the sky, and his horse bucked, kicking Rayner from his back before running around the circle of fire, blood leaking from its side. As he slammed to the ground, Rayner gasped for air, and when he looked down, he could see where the knight’s sword had stabbed through his armor and into his horse.

He tried to stand and stumbled as the world shifted under his feet. The knight caught Rayner’s horse by the reins and didn’t hesitate as he slit the beast’s throat, forcing a terrified scream to come gurgling up from its mouth. Rayner pinched his eyes shut and put his sword into the ground, leaning his weight into the hilt to stand. Blood was pouring from his side, hissing as it melted the snow around him. The horned knight wiped his sword clean and came charging at Rayner. He jerked his blade from the ground and held it with both hands, the weight pulling at his arms. Rayner slashed at the man as he flew past but only just brushed his armor with the tip of his sword.

The knight turned again, and Rayner felt his heart slow. The image of the man riding toward him was blurred as the life drained out of him. His pulse thumped in his ears, and sweat poured down his temples despite the frigid conditions. As he blinked the knight into view, his head snapped back as the knight’s steel covered boot swung at him, catching Rayner near his eye. He collapsed in the snow, rapidly losing blood as the knight came trotting over on his stallion.

He couldn’t move, he’d lost so much blood already, and his hands violently shook as he reached for his sword. The horned knight looked down at Rayner for a long moment, as if enjoying the sight of him. Then, growing bored of Rayner’s attempt to cling to life, the horned knight walked his horse forward, trampling over Rayner’s bleeding body. He felt a crunch in his chest, and the air forced from his lungs as his armor crushed him under the horse’s weight, squeezing out the last bit of strength that Rayner had left.

The firewall was dying down, and as quickly as they appeared, the raiders were gone. The horned knight was nowhere in sight; the raiders had disappeared into the white shield of snow. His men ran to him, seemingly unhurt as Rayner slipped in and out of consciousness. He heard his name being called, but it sounded muffled by the ringing in his head. Rayner didn’t feel anything, not the broken bones in his body, the bone-deep gash to his side, or the swelling of his face.

He focused his eyes on the sky above; dark gray clouds hid the blue sky and soaring above him, an unkindness of ravens. Their calls fell upon him with the snow as he watched them, circling his body as if he were already dead. He felt himself floating above the ground, his body lifting toward the ravens as if their hunger couldn’t be satisfied fast enough.

Rayner gave into their will and closed his eyes, feeling what little life remained, slipping out of every bleeding hole in his body. He gave into the God of Judgement who didn’t protect him, the one who didn’t hear his prayers and sent his wrath upon the young knight. Rayner didn’t understand what he’d done or failed to do to anger the god, but it didn’t matter anymore. The gods didn’t always explain, only taking what they wanted at a whim’s notice, like a hungry eagle snatching a fish from the ocean. His last thought was of Correlyn, her obsidian hair, and confident smile. The way her fingertips felt like lightning against his skin. She reached out to him, and Rayner grabbed her hand, letting a smile form in the corner of his mouth before the darkness consumed him.

Ser Caster took his hand as Rayner reached out, desperately searching for someone who wasn’t there. They ran Rayner’s body to the wagon used for carrying supplies and threw the door open. They quickly tossed aside tent canvases and barrels of ale to lay Rayner on the bench inside. When Ser Caster looked back at Rayner, his eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving.

“No!” he screamed as he shook the young knight, but Rayner wouldn’t open his eyes. Ser Caster commanded his men to mount up and ride hard for Godstone. They had no healers among them and needed to get back and find Magister Ivann.

Ser Caster rode beside the cart as their horses pounded through the snow, their breath visible in the cold, dead air. Ser Caster hadn’t bothered to check himself or any other men, but he already knew he would find nothing. No wounds would mark their skin, no blood of their own stained their armor. The raiders were there for Rayner, hunting him like a boar in the forest. They meant to kill the heir to Godstone to win it.

King Magnus had beheaded one of their leaders as a message. Godstone wasn’t for the taking, and nothing would change his mind.

But their plan had worked. Rayner lay dying or already dead in that cart, and when Magnus understood what happened today, it would send him on a path of rage and vengeance. Ser Caster knew this would kill Magnus, and a tear escaped his eye as he imagined the chaos that would follow.

He kept looking at the cart that bounced over the rough ground beside him like somehow his frequent gaze would keep the boy alive. They rode hard all day, exhausting their horses until the vision of Godstone came rising over the hill, like a palace of the gods. He kicked furiously at his horse, forcing it to run faster, and passed the cart and the men who led it. He screamed with all the air he had left. “Open the gate!” The God of Judgement stood guard at the southern gate, his eyes staring forward as if he couldn’t bear to look upon his own wrath.

Magnus had been walking the walls, talking with his sentries when he spotted Rayner’s party coming from the south. He smiled and called down to Correlyn, who raced up the steps to see Rayner’s arrival. The party was small, but Magnus was sure it was him. They were still a ways off, just coming over the snow-covered hill from the south. Magnus looked at Correlyn and saw the happiness shining bright in her eyes. Magnus was happy for his son and knew he’d be glad for some time spent with Correlyn.

As the men came closer, a confused look came over Magnus’s face as he saw the horses were in full gallop.

“Why are they running?” Correlyn looked to the king, concerned. He didn’t answer but instead moved to the towers that stood directly above the gates on either side. Correlyn followed him, keeping her eye on the riders.

“Open the gate!” The terror in that voice made Magnus’s heart sink and his stomach lurch. He took off in a sprint, leaving Correlyn behind.

Magnus shoved men aside to help open the southern gate and ran out into the field as the riders approached. They didn’t stop for Magnus, and the horses came raging in through the gate, pounding the earth beneath them. Magnus ran after them, his eyes madly searching the crowd. Correlyn had come down from the wall and was doing the same, calling for Rayner. Magnus couldn’t breathe, he felt his heart beating in his throat, and he tried to call his son, but no words would come. Ser Caster ran to his king, panic written on his face. Magnus grabbed him by the collar of his armor.

“What happened? Where is he? Where’s my son?” He shoved Ser Caster aside before the man could answer. Men ran off toward the building next to the tower, while others surrounded a wagon that they used to carry their camp supplies. No one wanted to look the king in the eye. They cleared a path to the carriage as he approached.

Magnus drew back the curtain and felt bile rising in his throat. He stepped back, not believing what his eyes were showing him. Rayner’s body lay on a wooden bench, drenched in his own blood. His face was swollen beyond recognition, and one eye was the color of charcoal. His armor had been stripped from him and lay on the floor of the wagon.

Magnus picked up the bloodied armor that had been brand new when Rayner left, though now it was so dented and beaten that Magnus was terrified to ask how it got that way. He thought he could see the outline of a horse’s hoof on his chest plate. Magister Ivann ran up behind Magnus and covered his mouth at the sight. Rayner’s side was ripped open, and a broken rib could be seen coming out of the skin.

Shaking his head, Magnus backed away as tears poured from his eyes, and a loud ringing sounded in his ears. He heard the muffled shouting as Ivann employed men to help move Rayner’s body out of the wagon; then Correlyn’s scream shot through Magnus like an arrow. He spotted her running toward the wagon, but Ser Caster snatched her up around the waist, as much as she tried desperately to kick him away.

Magnus dropped to the ground; his knees stuck to the frozen earth. His eyes went down to his hands, which were covered in his son’s blood. He tried to wipe them off on his pants, but the blood clung to him like a second skin. Shaking, he shoved his hands into the snow and viciously rubbed at his skin to get it off, but he knew it wouldn’t come clean even if he washed and scrubbed all day. Rayner’s blood would forever be on his hands.

The king broke, something inside him snapping as he snarled, pounding his fists into the frozen earth until his knuckles bled.

Ser Caster ran over and wrapped his arms around Magnus, who crumped in the knight’s grip, as he wept for his son. “I… I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” Ser Caster choked, sniffing back his own tears.

Magnus said nothing.

He sat there for a long while as the courtyard cleared, and the sun began to slip away.