Free Light Of Loreandril by V K Majzlik Page A

frustrated with his brother’s ignorance, Nechan hastily rolled up the maps and said decisively, ”We’re going east.”
    Cradon paused for a moment, taken aback by his brother’s words. “But, what’s there? Why east?” Cradon cried, disconcerted by his brother’s sudden uncharacteristic impulsiveness.
    “I don’t know what’s there! All I know is that it is far away from anywhere that the Empire might send troops!” Nechan cried in frustration, flapping his hands as he led Hindfel over to Cradon. He mounted Danfur, and without waiting for his brother, began to trot off  again down the shady, wooded track.
    Grumbling and cursing, Cradon scrambled into his saddle and spurred Hindfel into a light-footed canter to catch up his brother.

Chapter 9 – Uzgen
     
    Nymril had left the camp at a fair pace, her white war-horse, Sonda, refreshed after the night’s rest. The rest of the group struggled to pack up the camp, douse the fire, and catch up with her, each of them confused at her sudden recovery and needing an explanation to the events back at the gorge.
    Eilendan was the first to catch up with Nymril. “So, you have joined the land of the living? You worried me, worried us all,” he said. His words were followed by complete silence from Nymril. She sat tall on Sonda, dressed in her armour, as if nothing had happened to her. The only sign was the facial bruise.
    “Were you aware? Do you know what happened in the gorge?”
    “No……..I just remember being engulfed in whiteness. But please, you don’t need to worry, it shouldn’t happen again.” Her voice was calm, but did not put the companions at ease.
    “How do you know it will not happen again? Can you guarantee it?” Jaidan asked as he drew level with them. He manoeuvred his horse in front of her, blocking her path, and forcing her to give him her attention.
    She stared at him, her irritation clearly visible.
    “He’s right. I want answers. Why did it happen?” Gaular was his usual rude self, made even worse by his poor night sleep due to the tree roots and stones that had littered the ground. “Can you not control your power?” he demanded, his berry-coloured eyes glaring at her.
    Gomel had faired no better and was still struggling to ride his horse comfortably with his short legs. He also was in a foul mood. “More importantly, I want to know if we are going to have to carry your half-dead body around again. You jeopardised us all!”
    This was the last straw. Nymril drew her long, thin sword from its scabbard with a resonating ring. In one fluid movement, she sprang from her horse, kicking Gomel from his unsteady seat. Standing over the gnome, she held the tip of her blade to his throat. Enraged by the attack on his friend, Gaular’s first impulse was to raise his war hammer, but he found his arm restrained by Eilendan.
    “I dare you to say that to my face, gnome!” Nimril hissed, leaning over him. Her silver hair fell forwards, the sunlight shining through it, surrounding her face like a glistening halo. Beads of sweat formed on Gomel’s forehead, running in rivulets down his balding, liver-spotted head. He had suddenly lost his tongue.
    “You should pray my blade is there to defend you next time you need it!” Nimril remarked, tilting the sword and letting the morning sunlight glint across its razor edge. Gomel shook his head nervously, his deep brown eyes staring widely, barely daring to breathe, as the blade’s tip pressed deeper into the cleft of his throat. He stared intensely at the elegant, skilfully crafted blade, and the Elven script that adorned it.
    All at once the shadow lifted from her. She eased her grip on the blade, pulling it away from his neck, and rested the tip in the dust next to his ear. Nymril took a deep breath, composing herself. Everyone, especially Gomel, let out a sigh of relief when she finally sheathed her sword. Turning towards the rest of the group who had not dared to move, she demanded severely,