Page 53 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

twenty-six

Enya

T he ring, look at the bloody ring.

“You fear your own kind, Oncith?” Kolvar asked scornfully.

“We all should fear whatever has them wielding like Simdeni and Mosphaera.”

Enya jerked at the chains the barrel shaped man tried to fasten around the stake. His second slap nearly unhinged her jaw. The cold metal of Oryn’s ring split her lip. Look at the bloody ring!

Kolvar stroked a hand down his beard. “On the off chance she did have company, we should move. Get her on a horse, Mik.”

Enya tracked a third demi-elf, a golden haired man with a bow as he darted for his horse. The woman with striking violet eyes stared at her, and though it was hard to tell with the hideous gag, Enya thought she might be smiling. Smiling, tied to a stake. She has got to be mad.

One of the fool men tried to claim Arawelo, but the mare snapped at him so fiercely, they decided to throw Enya over her back like a sack of grain. A man took her reins from a distance. Enya kicked in outrage when someone gave her a sharp slap across her backside, but Kolvar’s men only laughed.

She hung limp, unable to right herself with the shackles on her wrists and ankles.

She watched little drops of blood fall into the grass as they set out southward, the motion making her woozy.

For someone worth ten thousand gold marks, they didn’t seem to pay much heed to the fact that she could hardly breathe.

She let the tears fall with the blood. It was all gone. It was over.

If she survived this ride, which remained to be seen, she would meet Peytar Ralenet. She supposed she ought to feel something about that, but she could do nothing but spiral into her grief.

“What have you got there?”

“Just some ring she was wearing around her neck. Think it fits me nicely, don’t you?”

“Let me see that, Mik.”

Enya squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath.

“It’s my bloody ring, Ascal.”

“Let me see it, burn you!”

“What is it, Ascal?”

“Gods above. Stop!” The bellowed command held a note of panic.

Enya let something between a choked laugh and a sob into the gag.

“What do you think you’re doing, half-man?” Kolvar barked. “This is my outfit, not yours.”

“Ascal?”

“It’s Brydove’s ring.”

“Nimala save us.”

A man suddenly leapt off his horse to stand at her shoulder, fumbling to pull the gag free. She could see only his boots and the burn scars twisting up his bare forearms when he reached for her.

“What are you doing with Elred’s Eagle?” He asked.

Enya choked and it wasn’t from the dust coating the inside of her mouth. Not a hawk, an eagle you light blinded fool. The realization struck her speechless. Oryn’s bloody signet ring was Elred’s Eagle. That makes him…

A strangely muffled cackle came from somewhere behind her. Enya tried to work enough moisture into her mouth to speak. “He gave it to me,” she said roughly.

“Why? Who are you to him?”

“You can ask him yourself when he gets here.”

“Mosphaera, have mercy.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Kolvar bellowed, his horse stomping toward them .

“Give me the keys, Kolvar. Now!” Ascal snapped.

The dark haired demi-elf called Ruven hauled her down by her waist. He pushed a waterskin into her hands, eyes wide. Ascal, the golden haired demi, still stood on Arawelo’s other side, glowering at Kolvar.

“I don’t care if it’s Pallas Davolier’s bloody ring. Ten thousand gold marks is ten thousand gold marks. We’re taking the girl in for the bounty,” Kolvar growled.

“The Prince of Eastwood-”

Enya made a sound that made Ruven look at her with concern. Oh, light.

“I don’t give a dragon’s ass about your bloody Prince of Ashes.” Kolvar’s blade left its sheath, and all around them, the other mortals drew their own weapons. Enya eyed them warily as Ruven shifted her to stand behind him.

“You don’t want to be holding her when-”

A roaring circle of flame sprung up around the bounty hunters and Enya had to bury her fists in Ruven’s shirt to say upright as her knees buckled in relief.

Oryn

He let his wielding fall away but didn’t fully release his gifts as they galloped out of Midbury. When the fury didn’t ebb, he realized it was not wholly his own. Dread washed over him as his gifts pulsed and an unnatural wind roared in his ears. Mosphaera screamed .

Oh, light. Enya. In his outrage over Aiden’s collaring, he hadn’t realized the gods had been trying to warn him. He knew as the copse came into view she would not be there, but some part of him still hoped she would emerge on that blasted red mare.

His companions trailed as he hurdled off the road and into the trees.

He leapt down from his saddle, scanning the ground.

Bade joined him, muttering curses as he toed at drag marks in the dirt.

The scents of men and horses lingered, and something metallic, something like blood.

Oryn bent, running his fingers along a fern and they came up smeared with red.

Mosphaera wailed, ripping through the trees in a fury that set leaves swirling.

Bade bent and picked something out of the dirt. Oryn’s heart sank as he held out the little horse head carving. The wretched girl had finally listened to him for once and he’d sent her straight into trouble. He tucked the carving into his pocket and mounted. Kiawa, sensing his temper, surged.

Following the trail was easy enough. A dozen horses were hard to hide.

Their party had made it a scant few miles from the copse, and his temper only swelled when he took in the demi-elves with her.

By the way Ruven and the Ashstrom brothers stood around her, steel glinting in the sun, he knew they found the ring, but it never should have taken that long.

“Can you wield?” He asked Aiden. The fire wielder’s face was pale and drawn, but he gave a tight nod. “Box them in.”

Another time, Oryn would have done it himself with air, but the way his gifts raged, he wasn’t certain he could stop at that.

The flame that roared ten paces high, orange streaked wildly with blues and greens, told him Aiden’s gift was raging too.

He smothered a path in and they stepped through the wall of fire.

Enya Ryerson stood at the middle of it. Ruven, Ascal, and Oncith guarded her between them. Oryn glanced disdainfully at the men who pointed swords at his people. A mounted man in the rear drew his bow, and with a whip of his gift, Oryn ripped it from his hands and cast it into Aiden’s flame.

“She’s alright,” Ascal said without shifting his sword away from the men who inched closer.

Oryn took one look at Enya and his temper threatened to break free of its leash.

The girl most certainly wasn’t alright. She looked as if she’d been dragged through brambles and someone had dealt her a split lip, not to mention the blood running down her neck or the way she cradled her arm awkwardly.

No, alright did not seem the right word.

He didn’t bother to draw his own steel as he leapt from his saddle.

He would not need it, not when his gifts strained to lay waste to something.

“Do not lie to me.”

The demi-elves flinched.

“She did not say she…traveled with you,” Ruven defended meekly.

Enya’s head whipped toward the man, indignation flashing in her. “I was trying to tell you. You just bloody couldn’t hear me with the gag stuffed in my mouth.”

His rage tugged again on those threads, another snapping, and Oryn forced himself to breathe through his nose. “Which one?” He asked, but she blinked at him. “Which one, Enya? ”

Slowly, she pointed a shaky finger toward a man who stood with a sword breaker in hand. Oryn let his rage spiral into the wielding, and a gag of air rammed into the man’s mouth with so much force, he toppled back.

“You must understand, as soon as we saw the signet, we set her free,” Ascal said softly. He had the decency to lower his eyes. “We never would have let them touch her if we’d known.”

“You let them-”

“He speaks true,” she said quickly, cutting off his snarl, as if that might be enough to soothe his temper.

“Who?”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

Ascal desperately looked to Colm for help, but he found none there, as the normally even-tempered man glowered like Bade.

The blademaster stalked a circuit around them, sword in each hand, ensuring the mortals remained distant while the men of Eastwood sorted this between themselves.

Enya's head swiveled wildly from Oryn to Ascal to the men who pressed in toward them.

“It wasn’t them, Oryn.”

“Then who was it?” He barked. He needed to find somewhere to place the rage that was spooling out of control. She did not reply, so he turned to the demi-elves. “Who?”

They indicated the man who had gagged her. With disgust, Oryn stalked past them, past Bade, and between the blades that shrank back. He did not care that steel was at his back. He welcomed it, welcomed an excuse, if Bade did not see to it first.

He seized the man by his throat and hauled him up to kneeling, feeling his pulse beneath his fingertips.

The man’s hands came up to claw at Oryn’s wrist, and he gazed down at the eagle in flight he wore on his little finger.

With his free hand, Oryn grabbed the ring and wrenched it free with a snap that cracked bone. The man let out a whimper.

“You dare take what is mine?” He seethed. Red clung to the engraving and any semblance of self-control evaporated. He looked back at the face that was turning red to purple under his grip and unwove the gag so the man could speak.

“I…didn’t-”

“I’ve never had much use for liars.”

He watched horror fill the man’s face as his hand tightened.

He clawed more desperately at his wrist. Oryn held, watching him turn a deep purple, feeling the frantic throbbing of his pulse, and with a spiral of air, he let Mosphaera rip the rest of his breath from his lungs.

He let go, and the dead man crumpled to the dirt.

When he turned back to the others, Oryn could not face the girl whose eyes had gone wide, reflecting Aiden’s dancing flame. Something that looked like horror painted her features.

“Who’s in charge here?” He snapped. No one spoke, but all eyes swiveled to a man with dark hair and a crooked nose. “You will tell me. Who else touched the girl?”

The man wearily eyed the flame as if considering whether it might be better to leap through it, but he drew himself up and met Oryn’s gaze.

“Now my lord, we can put this right. Had we known, we would not have taken her. It is the bounty, you see, nothing personal. We will return the lady’s things.” He reached slowly into his coat and drew out a coin purse.

“Nothing personal.” But even as he said the words, Oryn couldn’t shake the feeling that it was.