Thrain - Part 8

Chapter 3

With Cadrin and the two most powerful Runecasters gone, the castle fell quickly. Ichvatis and Haverth crossed the bridge under Thrain’s protection, along with the full Druacht. There were four casters that continued tirelessly to assault the orange barrier above the invading force, but Thrain paid them no attention. Their attacks did little when he held the Trigrynt, and he needed to take this fortress before any could ride out to tell of his true skill.

Ichvatis Traced his own Runes into the air, violet Weave spelling four glyphs of Wgoa; pure energy. After they finished, he spread his hands out and it flowed into the breastplates of each soldier, and a different Rune upon the metal glowed. Old Rune magic, and prohibitively expensive and dangerous to produce, each man in the regiment wore one, and while Ichvatis gave them Weave, lesser casters would be unable to assault them unless they could burn through all of the Runecaster’s energy.

Thrain stepped up to the gate, and renewed his Traces, until a full ten Runes lit the air in fire and lava. He placed his hand on the towering wrought-iron and wood gate, which stood thirty feet high and twenty wide.

With a sound like a forest of trees splitting and iron spears shattering, the vast barrier blew inwards in eight pieces, each one gouging the stone courtyard as they went. With a shout, the men surged in, and at Tradavar the Jardan Warcrest ensured there could be no peace now.

Thrain mounted the walls hours later. Withdrawing the Trigrynt again, he Traced Psaeshnr several times for he would need extreme focus and precision to Imbue properly. The remaining six Runes he cast equally Wgoa and Ownpyro for increased Weave and potency. Then, he breathed deeply and orange light began to fill his eyes.

Human eyes were not made for such distance, and Weave gathered around his neck and head also. Without it, the land blurred at even the slightest movements. Tracking back and forth, he scanned the road and land of inner Haelstra, looking for men, horses, tracks, or mages that could also see as he did. They would be much closer, though, for he stared at the land in power no one had used since the Wars of Grief. He wondered if those ancient men had known, when they signed the Accords, that grief had not even begun to start.

When his Runes began to fade, he relaxed and released the energy from him. Out in the land he had seen no--

A horse. Something white. At once he poured orange into the air and his eyes flared with light again. Involuntarily he sucked in a breath, for on a horse not too far in the distance sat a white-robbed figure, and he knew her. That Priestess from Wrenfeld. Her eyes shone with Weave, and then she wheeled her horse about and began to gallop in haste.

No. He would not come this far for some, some low--low, privileged--

He leapt straight off the wall, Runes flaring into the air and his legs burning as he forced far too much Weave into them at once.

“SERBUS!”

Then he slammed into the ground, his shins shattered and bone stuck out. His knees blasted into the stone and broke as well, and at least one femur did too. The Weave burned against his flesh but it held the mess of his legs together. Serbus shot like an arrow from the gate, neighing loudly.

As Serbus reached him, Thrain growled like a cornered animal as he fought through the pain, and vengefully yanked himself onto the saddle. Grabbing his leg, he slung it over to the other side, since it would not yet move on its own.

“GO!”

Thrain could hear little now, fighting purely to stay awake as the agony threatened to overwhelm him. However, Haverth and Ichvatis knew enough to understand his desire, and they shouted to get the rear gate open. Most of the men there had little idea the power that he wielded, and seeing him drop over one hundred feet and get on his horse inspired them to a more rapid speed than any other command they had ever followed. So it was that Serbus and Thrain flew out the gate as it opened, and again galloped over the open plains.

Thrain groaned as he forced Weave over his bones. He would have given anything to not have Serbus battering into his legs as he tried to heal his femur, but even the smallest pause could mean failure. With one final push, he slumped forward in the saddle and momentarily, all his Runes faded. The Trigrynt did not drop from his hands.

Rousing himself, he shook his head and breathed deeply in. His shins hurt more than many things had, but the femur had been the worst. Tracing once more, ten Runes lit the sky and he forced their Weave into his knees and shins. Sweat poured from him as bones and sinews reknit, but many minutes later, they were healed. His chest ached as if he’d run a great race.

He looked ahead now, having thus far trusted Serbus to run true, and dread piled in his gut. Serbus had run like perhaps no other horse could, yet even he began to flag, and she rode a Tirfael, and they could run until the setting of the sun.

No.

He placed his hand on Serbus, and let the Weave come close. A tremor went through his steed, and Thrain felt his life force reject it; he wanted nothing of that power. In truth, he had no idea what he was doing, and there was some chance he would kill his horse. But he had no choice. Pressing his hand to Serbus, he Traced and then into him forced the Weave.

Serbus split the air with a wailing cry and came to a stop at once. He bucked wildly, and Thrain nearly fell off. For a moment, he withdrew his hand.

“Calm boy, calm. Easy. I will not hurt you.” Or at least that was not his intention.

But now they had stopped. If he had any hope to catch her now, it would be with Imbuing.

“Come on boy, I will not…” He choked on the promise, for he had only ever known this to be used on oneself, or to kill others. He placed his hand on the horse.

Serbus snapped his head around and wide eyes pleaded with him. Thrain groaned and pulled his hand back. But, there was no choice.

“Trust me boy,” and then he held his flank and forced the Weave into him once more.

Serbus bucked wildly again, and screamed as if arrows were piercing him. Tears fell from Thrain’s face and he shouted apologies even as he continued. As they danced around in terrible counterpoint, he cursed the Priestess and her provoking persistence.

Then at last, he felt the Weave break through, and for a moment wondered if Serbus would fall. He did not. Slowly, Thrain pushed the Weave until faint orange glowed across his flank and shoulders, until it ran about his hooves and hindquarters. He snorted and tossed his head, but his breathing steadied and his muscles quit shaking.

“Eh boy?” Thrain patted his side. His horse would not look at him. He sighed. “Sorry boy, but we are not done.” He grabbed the reins and turned him towards the Priestess, who was now only a small dot on the horizon, then spurred him to action.

Now Serbus ran like darkness from light. Now he ran and the birds could not catch him, and the wind could not follow. Now he ran and the grass cut like razors and insects hit like marbles. Still he ran, and he did not look at Thrain or neigh in delight.

Sweat ran down Thrain’s face, and he breathed as hard as Serbus as at last they ran near the Priestess and her horse. Seeing them she urged her mount to greater speed, but it was a useless gesture when Serbus the Imbued Annuin bore down upon them. Thrain drew in great lungfuls of breath and forced himself to endure, as he would need to channel more Weave before this flight was over.

Violet beams tore through the air and against orange burst into nothing with a searing sizzle. Grass spoke in harsh whispers against hooves. Trees passed. A crack and one branch broke and fell on Thrain. It blew apart against the orange light.

Then orange raced forward and struck at the white garb, crackling like dry paper as her Runes all faded, but held against his attack. She glanced back.

Green eyes silhouetted by golden hair glared at him. He waited too long, and her Runes painted the air again and violet Weave struck the earth in front, clouding the way with grass and debris. Serbus then did look back, and he ran heedless through the upheaval, but it was not trust that brought him through.

Then hot anger returned, and Thrain snarled bringing a full ten Runes to life again, unleashing a wave of Weave in reckless fashion. Grass flattened, trees broke, and she was tossed from her horse as it uttered a cry cut short. Her wits still about her, she cast herself free of the steed before it crushed her, and came to her feet with Traces already in the air.

But now he was done with thinking and wondering, he ran at her and withdrew a pouch of snouf from his belt. Violet Weave desperately flew from her hands at him, but he battered them down and then Imbuing himself, threw the bag. She hit at it erratically, but it burst open even before she struck it and grey dust scattered into the air. Her Runes died, and she sagged to the ground as Weave left her body. Then he pressed his hand to her head, and she fell unconscious.

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Thrain - Part 9 (Rough Draft)

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Thrain - Part 11