Page 120 of Guiding Desire

He ran. The way the earth had shifted made it an easier climb up that side of the hole than the one closer to the shelter, and Orrey cleared it with a single jump. He landed, pulled out his gun in one smooth movement, aimed it forward, practice making everything easy.

The wind came on suddenly, its force making Orrey close his eyes and cover his face with his arms, thereby ruining his stance. Then it stopped and he looked, seeing Loquin, the Ferrean team leader, to his right, shock in his eyes. “Run,” the man said.

Orrey didn’t understand. Then he saw the blade sticking out of Loquin below his ribs.

Orrey froze. Loquin dropped to his knees, and Orrey’s feet moved again, ran toward Loquin to keep him upright.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he said.

Loquin grinned, a thin smear of blood on his lips. “No…run.”

I’m a Conduit. I’m meant to protect Guardians,Orrey thought, and it was so clear all of a sudden, what his role was, his place, hispurpose.He holstered his gun, draped Loquin’s arm over his shoulder, and helped the fallen Guardian up, taking as much of the man’s weight as he could.

He was just about to turn when the scream in a familiar voice—Senlas’s voice—from behind him mingled with screams from ahead of him.

The Hounds peeled away from the thick vegetation like something from Orrey’s nightmares, their eyes full of intent, their weapons raised.

Orrey didn’t know what to do, he just knew he couldn’t leave Loquin to a Wild Hunt.

“Stubborn Hound-fucker,” Loquin mumbled, and then the Guardian lifted his hand.

A storm broke loose, a twisting spiral of wind that caught debris, grass, shattered earth. It stopped the Hounds, drove them back.

“When it stops, you really need to run,” Loquin said, voice low even though he was speaking close to Orrey’s ear.

“No.”

“Yes; yes. Now.”

The storm stopped. The Hounds looked wary, one casting his eyes to his left where another group was fighting, though Orrey wasn’t fool enough to take his eyes off the threat right ahead of him.

The earth shook once more. Moments later, the green wall of the forest moved, vines, roots. Everything living came to life and reached out, grabbing Hound ankles and arms and weapons. Then the greenery twisted, jerked, formed a wall of growth and Hounds caught in it. From further to their left, Orrey caught more movement he recognized as a person when he looked closer.

The man wore a thick coat, too thick for the summer, and too wide to be practical, though he somehow managed speed, jumping over roots and bushes alike. His face was tan with rich red undertones, and his hair wavy and messy, dark at the roots and fading to near white blond at the ends.

“You want him to live, ma?” he asked, pointing at Loquin. “You come along. Come. We help you.”

“You…”

Orrey could understand him, but the accent was strange, like nothing he had ever seen on any drama.Does he…live outside the walls?

All of that stopped mattering when Loquin sagged in Orrey’s arms again, nearly taking them both to the ground. The shaggy-looking man said something that sounded a whole lot like curses. He ran toward Orrey and Loquin, as much as the once more shaking ground allowed him, hooked Loquin’s other arm over his shoulders, and moved.

Back toward the trees and whatever lived there, hid there, hunted there.

There was nothing Orrey could do but follow now or abandon Loquin, and that was out of the question.

“Left, left,” the man said, so Orrey went left, feeling the vibrations coming closer.

An arrow passed just over their heads, coming from where they were running, and then the shaking stopped. On the other hand, screaming Hounds were now tearing through the vegetation that was blocking and holding them.

“Shit-eaters,” the man said and turned.

Orrey heard branches move, lianas twist. He put it together then.

“Are you a Guardian?”

“I look like a Guardian to you, ma? Fucking Guardians. They’re shit-eaters too. Hurry. Move.”