Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 35

Aurianne saw her chance and flung the heavy blade with all her power at the man's head. Its heavy pommel struck him hard in the temple as intended, and he fell with a grunt to the hard trodden path. The sword skittered across the packed earth to rest beside him. She did not wait to witness the ramifications of her decision, turning and vaulting on to the back of her strong horse, galloping away into the dark cold wastes.

Sven's heart skipped a beat when he found Aran laying face down on the path way, next to him a great broadsword of exceptional workmanship, with no real clue whom had lain the warrior low. He scouted the area and saw prints of what was either a youth or maybe a woman who had departed on a very large horse.

He stumbled over the dead black dog in the low lying brush which only added more mystery to the puzzle. Aran when he woke would have much explaining to do, and so would he if Bennett had realized that Sven had been absent from the majority of the battle.

Sven brought Aran back to the center of the compound along with the valuable blade. He had lain his brother down near the fire covering him with his rabbit fur cape, and presented the beautiful weapon to Bennett.

The large man sat on a sawn off log with the formidable sixteen pound, four foot weapon perched across his knees. All the men crowded about him to get a glimpse of what must truly be one of the greatest treasures they had ever come by.

Bennett rose and took the blade in his strong hands, it was a demanding task even for one as strong as himself to hold it aloft. He could swing a machete with artful style, but he had no such poise with this large heavy blade.

The men passed the weapon about amongst themselves all eager to test their prowess, not one warrior there could do the sword justice, some could barely swing the blade even in two hands. It was a beautiful prize, but as it had little use it was soon forgotten and cast aside in favor of other more everyday items.

Aran came to an hour or so later spitting blood, he squinted at the large bonfire grateful for its warmth, but not grateful for the hurt the light brought to his head. He lay back down when he realized he was safe in the company of the men and fell into a deep sleep.

*****

Aurianne rode through the dark and the cold, holding her ailing mother steady in the saddle. She knew exactly where she was headed, the shelter of the oasis was her best bet.

Even in this dark featureless landscape she knew her way, though the absence of stars made it more difficult to navigate. She had traveled this very same route for years, and knew its every subtle landmark.

Perhaps she should have just run the man through she pondered, and really should she have left such a fine weapon behind? No, she did the right thing she reasoned, her actions had bought them their safety. No weapon, no matter how fine was worth a life, even one of her Father's.

She relived the vivid images of the last of the battle over and over during her long ride, her mother slumped before her clearly in acute pain, falling in and out of consciousness.

Poor Darius, he had been the true father to her in her life. She had never even met the man her mother spoke of as her real father. She had hoped against hope that Darius had somehow survived. She mourned for those whom she had seen fall, her beloved Worgen as well.

It was breaking dawn as she rode into the mouth of the oasis's sheltered clearing, not that one could tell with the endless impermeable cloud cover. The cold had destroyed and disfigured here too, the tops of the ancient palms dead, the stumps standing tall like posts. However the waters from deep inside the earth had helped maintain a small micro climate, and the surroundings of the sheltered nook had fared better than the windswept areas above.

She urged her sturdy mare onward to the rear of the quiet pool, past the bubbling fissure, and on to the cozy cave perched above the still waters.

She was exhausted, but there was still much to do. She lowered her mother from the saddle, unrolling the bedding she had brought and proceeded to make her mother both warm and comfortable. The wound was still steadily seeping blood, Aurianne did not know what to do except to let her mother rest a while.

That done she unsaddled her faithful mare and freed her to graze and drink her fill. Aurianne had frequented this cave often enough on her many hunting expeditions, and she had already made the cave here, her home away from home. What better place to bring her mother to than this, they would be safe here, and she could think what to do.

*****

It was decided that the men would stay the next day, to rest and recuperate. The raid though a success, had not come without considerable cost, four of their number dead.

After the somber lighting of the funeral pyres that served to remind all the living of their mortality, there was much plunder to be sorted through, the task would take the better part of a day. The weather was holding, and they would be just as warm here as elsewhere, there was no hurry to leave.

Darius sat bound in iron chains, chains he had crafted himself. Head lowered. In the midst of the activity. Clothes torn and bloodied, his skin scoured and weeping. Shaggy brown hair caressed by the cold wind blew across his face. His eyes were closed, he found he could not look upon the charred remains of his world. All that was good, all his community had worked for, grown from hardship and nothingness over the years, gone.....decimated, and now he was a slave.

Had Aurianne escaped he wondered, or did she die a brave death, as he knew she would? He seemed to be one of only three captives, why had they chosen to take him alive, what use would he serve? He failed to understand.

He liked to believe Aurianne, the daughter of his heart, had indeed escaped. That idea would give him the strength to continue, no matter how awful his future. However bleak thoughts assailed him, he had borne witness to these men wasting most of the women here, all but two of the young women.

His body slumped beneath the burden of pain and sadness. One of the savages struck him unkindly as he passed on by, and sniggered at his plight. He winced, but did not retaliate, for Darius was a placid man. Well placid mostly, but even he had his limits.

Sven was standing at the edge of the houses alone. He could hear the men commenting on the treasures they came across even from here. He turned his head suddenly to see Bennett close behind him, the demeanor of his leader told him his absence last night had been duly noted. The air hung heavy with traces of blue wood smoke from the still smoldering fires, the patches of white snow were tainted gray with it.

Sven cast his gray eyes to the ground, his shoulders slumped forward, hands hitched in his weapons belt. "So where were you most of last night?" Bennett goaded. Sven was silent, he would not rise to the bait, he knew better than to provoke his old friend, if indeed he still was an ally.

"Lost your nerve, have you?" Bennett chuckled. Sven had nothing to say in his defense, he swallowed and continued to gaze at the ground. It was an uneasy silence that ensued, Bennett at his back, Sven uncertain just what the often violent man might do.

"I've been watching you for some time. I think I understand, but I also think you should step down. I do not think war is in your heart anymore." A heavy hand went to his shoulder before Bennett finally walked away. In those few words Sven felt both absolved of his desertion, and in the same stroke like a lowly, beaten dog.

*****

It became painfully obvious to Aurianne later that following day that her mother's injuries were beyond her powers to treat. Even under the best of circumstances a good surgeon would have found the prognosis at best, bleak.

The abdominal wound was a slow, and sure kill, and the young woman sat by helplessly with a heavy heart. She had no recourse but make her dear mother comfortable until her time came. Aurianne put on a brave face, she would not let her mother's last hours be marred by her own tears.

*****

The remainder of that day as the men collected and packed the spoils for travel on one of the carts. Aran was for the most part ill. Sven informed him he had a mild case of concussion, and he was good for little more than sitting by the fire miserable and dizzy hunched under his cape. Even the water he drank he could not hold down, and food was out of the question.

By evening he felt a little better, and through the haze he suddenly remembered the sword. The surrounds of the campfire were noisy to his aching head, the men had kept a couple of the women alive for some sport. One of them thin as a rake, the other quite voluptuous. Aran could hear the fiendish cackle of Pig's laughter as he passed by, seeking out his elder brother who was sitting away from the others.

Sven shot Aran a reserved smile, the gesture spoke volumes to Aran seeing his older brother was plainly no longer happy here and with this life they had chosen. However he would not raise the matter, as far as the younger man was concerned there was no better alternative. He could hardly see Sven as a simple farmer as these people here had been, the idea seemed ludicrous.

"Feeling better?" Sven offered.

"Yeah much." Aran answered though the dog bite beneath the bandage was paining him, infection had set in. He rubbed at it absently as he squatted down beside his brother.

"What happened out there last night?" Sven questioned carefully. Yes, he was more cautious now, the way he handled the other men, especially his hot headed brother. He was uncertain if it was the experience of age, or his condition that caused him to be so. So for that reason he did not look at Aran directly, instead his sights were trained far out on the horizon across the eroded creek bed.

Aran was glad of it, his brother who knew him all too well, had he been paying closer attention, would have picked up on the half truth.

"Oh........Er some guy and his dog jumped me. I think he escaped." There was no way he was letting anyone know, even his own brother he had been bested by a woman, the shame was too great.

"Hum?...... Happens, brother.......you were lucky, he could have run you through with that blade he left behind." Was all Sven offered in reply.

Aran's heart quickened at the mention of the coveted object, so it was here then she had not taken it. "The sword, it's here?"

"Yep, over in the weapons pile I believe, nice thing but not much use really..." He was about to go on but his brother had already darted away.

The cache of weapons were all leaning against the ox cart, there were a great many of them. Shot guns, rifles, simply crafted swords, daggers and the like.

The men had already chosen any weapons that had appealed to them earlier in the day, those remaining would be added to the surplus ones in the storage container once they reached home.

In the bad light Aran searched, he fought down his nausea, and there in the centre of the pile it was. Graceful, gleaming, specter of death, a deliverer of souls. He touched the pommel drawing a sharp breath, slowly he withdrew it from the pile of ordinary, everyday things. He felt its weight, he felt its power, and at last it was all his.

*****

For three days Renard had attempted to exhort his companions to choose the path of freedom. He had begged, he had pleaded, he had argued reason, even tried to use fear. Incredulously none of his approaches had moved a single soul. All he had were words of persuasion and every day he used them in the vague hope someone would break, this day was no exception.

"They will return soon, we can all be long gone! He urged in frustration. My father will protect you, he is a good kind man. He has some three hundred people in his settlement. They have food, warm houses, and will welcome all of you.

Raissa, this is no place for you or your baby." He implored. Raissa looked at him but did not answer, she would not be the one to blame for his escape. She was not about to leave this warm cave, or a group of men whom she knew could protect her, in exchange the frigid wastes and promises of a place she had never sighted.

"Oh shut it." Warren intervened, annoyed at Renard's constant sermon. "If I was going to escape from here I certainly wouldn't run to some patch of farmland to be butchered by the next raiding party to happen along. I'd be holed up in one of those missile silos I told you about. Hell, I still have the key!" He tugged at the piece of square green plastic on the cord about his neck and waved it about.

"Stop!" Lucy shouted. "It's dangerous talk Warren. I will hear of it no more." Warren as though bitten by Lucy's words, tucked his no longer secret prize away into his patched shirt and went quiet.

Nathan, pale skin, and even paler hair, a stark contrast to his dark coat looked at Warren and sneered, green eyes taunting. Carlos on the other hand didn't care, it seemed foolish to run in this weather, eight days on foot one would never make it. He pulled his blanket over his head, obscuring his face in shadow and lost himself in the hypnotic dance of the flames.

Sarah and Kate had become most ill, too ill to even focus on the conversation. They had taken to their beds, the only sign they lived was a loud cough on occasion coming from beneath the furs.

Lissa was shell shocked that this man had been the Renard of her teenage musings, the lost son of their leader and she wondered why she had not seen this plainly before? She wanted in her heart to help him, but she too was sure they would perish. Eight days was just too long in the elements, if only they had some horses she may have felt different.

Maya, who was usually a kind soul, held an open dislike for Renard, and she looked at him poisonously as she sat cross legged by the fire, sewing a hide shirt for her love. She would not face another uncertain upheaval, her parents loss still remaining brightly fresh in her mind. There would be no way she was betraying her man, or leaving, and she was determined she would not let anyone else here be poisoned by Renard's words either.