[Envinyatar]

Tenzin’s wound had begun to bleed again. He could feel the warm, sticky fluid seep out from beneath the dressing as he used his arm, dropping in thick gouts of dark red on the rock on which he crouched. He wiped his arm across his face, thinking to wipe the haze which shadowed his sight. The herbs he had chewed earlier had worn off, and the pain from his wound was a constant drain on what little strength he had left.

He had already loosed one arrow, but his muscles had protested at the strain of drawing back the bow, and the shaft had landed harmlessly in the dirt at Ekatran’s feet. The man had not even noticed the arrow as it hit the ground, so intent was he on his intended victim, Rhûnnaro.

A groan issued unconsciously from Tenzin’s throat as he struggled to his feet, His eyes took in the bloody tableau that lay below him. Two of the hunters were dead, one by Turos’ hand, and one by the woman, Desolyn, who now lay close to death herself, he thought, seeing her face grow pale and the blood puddle on the ground beneath her. Another of the women, Haven, had already met her death at the hands of Shivana.

Shivana he saw stagger, and fall as Rhûnnaro wrenched the dagger from her back. Then Ekatran alone stood, his attention drawn to Lanbriel who stooped near Haven, giving her comfort. It was to Ekatrans’ great misfortune that he did so.

Rhûnnaro picked up his blade from dirt where it had fallen and advanced on Ekatran. A hard blow to Ekatran’s arm knocked the sword from his grip, and it fell clattering onto the rocks and dirt at his feet. He dared not bend to pick it up, as Rhûnnaro’s eyes were on him, a cold and calculating light shining from them.

‘Surely your sense of honor will not let you kill an unarmed man.’ Ekatran’s face held an expression of contempt for the older man, and his oily voice insinuated itself into the lessening space between them.

‘My sense of honor! How thoughtful of you, my Lord, to care so much about my welfare.’ Rhûnnaro advanced to within inches of Ekatran’s torso. He could see the pulsing beat of the younger man’s heart against the tight skin of his chest.

‘No, Ekatran, I had not planned to take the life of someone whose spirit is already dead. I will leave you instead to the good graces of those you tormented for so long.’ Rhûnnaro looked impassively at the perplexed face of the young Lord and pressed the tip of his blade lightly against the man’s chest.

Turos, with Dôranna limping clumsily beside him, had come up behind Ekatran in the melee, and now stood silently behind him. Turos held a stout club he had wrenched from the saddle on Rhûnnaro’s mount, and now he brought it up in his good hand with a mighty arc.

Ekatran felt the rush of air as the club was raised, and turning slightly, a look of surprise on his face, he raised his arms in defense. They deflected the blow somewhat, but the force of it against his forearms caused him to stagger and drop his arms in pain. Dôranna reached out with a powerful swing and hit him squarely in the back of the head with the thick wooden shaft of her spear. He fell limply to the ground - his muscled body crumpling from the blow.

They were on him, then, with all the quickness they could muster. Lanbriel and Turos forced him down flat, bringing his arms up behind him. Dôranna, her knee planted squarely on the small of his back tore long strips from the hem of her shirt to bind his wrists and ankles tightly. Once done, they tackled the fallen Shivana, held down by Santiara, her knife to the Hunter’s throat. Handling her roughly as they turned her to her stomach, the women bound her securely with the rope Rhûnnaro fetched for them.

Rhûnnaro took a deep breath and sat down wearily on a rock as the others finished binding the two Hunters. His muscles ached, and his chest heaved as he sought to regain his breath. ‘We are done,’ he said, letting the breeze carry his words upward as it cooled his drenched torso.

A grief stricken cry brought his head up sharply, and he turned to see Tenzin bent over the fallen Fionel, cradling her head and shoulders in his arms. He saw the tears run down the young man’s face and fall on her pale cheeks. Tenzin’s hand cupped hers gently, as he bent close to her ear, speaking softly to her. Her eyes were shut, and the rise and fall of her breathing was barely perceptible. Rhûnnaro rose to his feet and hastened to Tenzin’s side.

‘You cannot leave me now,’ he heard the young man say to her, as he drew near. Tenzin’s finger pushed back a strand of hair from Fionel’s cheek, tucking it gently behind the shell of her ear. ‘You are free now, to choose as you wish.’ He bent close to her and kissed her on the brow tenderly. ‘Do not choose death . . .’

Rhûnnaro knelt down and gently took Fionel from Tenzin’s arms, laying her down on the ground. ‘You must pull yourself together, Tenzin.’ He turned to Turos who had come up beside them. ‘Fetch the medicine kit, Turos. You and Dôranna see to the others as best you can.’ Returning his attention to Fionel, he spoke in a blunt manner. ‘She lives still, Tenzin. Help me get her wounds cleaned and dressed, and give her some of that leaf to ease the pain . . .’