The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

not the lifeblood. It’s not spurting out as he has seen happen when his own dogs bring the field deer to its end.
    He drags himself to his feet. Grabbing the pouch, he snatches up as many of the fallen emeralds as he can find. Three of them have come to rest in a hollow near a cypress tree. The dog that attacked him is lying whimpering on the other side. He can see the fire of the emerald that touched it licking its destruction over the animal’s body. The dog is vanishing. First a flank and then the whole leg disappears completely and the dog’s howl rises, rises.
    The rest of the pack are still straining for Ralph. Dark saliva drips from their bared teeth and they glance at him and then at their dying leader, over and over again. He knows if he runs, they will make their choice for him. The fact Ralph has stopped has thrown their purpose out of kilter. But, surely, soon the scent of his blood will overcome that brief hesitation. Before this, he has always been the hunter and not the hunted. Now he knows how the wild stag feels. At least he’ll face them standing.
    But as he takes a breath, the pack have already made their decision. The nearest hound draws up his haunches and leaps. Not towards Ralph but towards their dying leader. In the next heartbeat, the rest of them are upon the beast. Stone slashes into stone, and darkness and crimson flies upwards. Green sparks, too, which must be the work of the jewel. The howling and the death cries of the doomed animal fill the air.
    As Ralph starts to run, or rather hobble, something hard lands on his face. Reaching up, he finds it is the fourth emerald and, still fleeing, he drops it with the others back into the pouch. He doesn’t know how it returned to him but there is no time to ponder such questions. It won’t be long before the dogs continue their hunt. Already, the sound behind him changes in tone, and soon he knows they will look for their next prey. In his head, Ralph can hear Jemelda’s words. She said there was safety in water. There is a safety of sorts, too, in the pouch of emeralds he carries. Perhaps both will combine to protect them.
    It is then that the skin of Ralph’s palm where it touches the jewel-pouch begins to grow hot. He continues to limp onwards, gasping for air, and when he glances down he sees that the emeralds are glowing—all of them. He can see them through the bag’s velvet. It is the same way they glowed before destroying the mountain dog. Are they going to kill him, too? Just as the village is almost in sight?
    But he misunderstands their purpose. Before Ralph can respond in any fashion, the heat from the jewels transfers itself to his body and he feels a surge of strength power through his blood. He starts to run, in truth this time and as if he has never been injured at all, with the beat of his heart pounding in his ears. Risking a glance behind him, when all reason tells him it will be foolish, Ralph sees the remaining dogs are starting their pursuit. This time they are as silent as the deep stone they come from and that terrifies him even more.
    He can glimpse the outskirts of the village now. The baker’s home, or what is left of it. No roof, only three walls and the remains of his working oven lying half in and half out of the entrance. Ralph’s heart quickens its irregular rhythm as he sees that, next to the well, two women are deep in conversation. They shouldn’t be there. It is long past the hour for water talk. But these days nothing is what it should be. His decisions have swept away their traditions along with their safety.
    When Ralph tries to shout a warning, his mouth makes no noise above a harsh whisper. They have to go, they have to. Once the dogs arrive, their hot breath all but snapping at his heels once more, there is no knowing what they will do, whom they will kill. Will the emeralds and the water protect all three of them? Ralph cannot guarantee it.
    Not caring what they will think, he somehow brings together the corners of his thoughts in the way Simon showed him, a thousand lifetimes ago. He imagines crimson and black, colours to induce terror. He takes that picture and he uses what little mind-power he has to cast it in the direction of the women.
    The nearest one spins round. Even at this distance, Ralph can see her eyes widen. Her hands go to her mouth and she begins to scream.
    Run , he says in his mind, but he does not know whether either of them can hear his pleading. Run. Hide.
    It is her