The Dorston Fall [Book I in the Dorston Legacy]

Chapter 15 - Sanctuary

Sammy dismounted the mare with a groan, his jelly legs giving out beneath him. Desperately, he clung to the horse, his heart panicking and racing franticly. He took in deep, sharp breath through the remains of his ruined, dry throat. If it hadn’t been for the horse, he would have fallen to the ground; however inviting and pleasant it looked. After much much much riding, he and Katelyn had finally found sanctuary in the middle of a wood. At this point, the point of near exhaustion, Sammy couldn’t pinpoint their location. He’d studied dozens of maps of Belran and the outer villages, but his mind wasn’t playing ball. It was mush to say the least. Feeling they had travelled far enough, Katelyn had pulled the horse to halt in a small, enclosed meadow; the grass shining with dew and the air breathing freshness and peace. There were a few hours left of daylight. Darkness drew linings on the silver clouds above and the sky turned a deeper shade of blue and violet.

Katelyn swung her leg over to dismount, tensing up with a moan; her legs feeling the heaviest they’d ever been. Even her ride through the Silverbell hadn’t cause her this much ache. She’d planned to descend gracefully but her legs, like stone in water, plummeted to the ground without ceremony. Only Sammy’s arms saved her from a long and painful fall to the ground.

“Hey,” Sammy whispered softly, securing one arm under her legs and the other at Katelyn’s back. “I’ve got you.”

True, every part of him was aching and throbbing, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to make sure she was alright. He stared down at her, startled to see her so pale. Blood had rushed into her lips and cheeks; the red was shockingly vivid and beautiful on her. Her eyes began to droop with wariness. She panted heavily, swallowing with difficultly. The wind had suffocated them both. Dazed, Katelyn wrapped her arms around Sammy’s neck and smiled up at him timidly.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

“No problem,” his voice came out unevenly. Leaning back into his arms, she stared up at him. Still smiling. She noted the smudge of black, probably soot, spread across his forehead and under his right eye. He was panting too, almost in time with her. She could feel his heart pound against her. Then, for the briefest moment, she thought she felt his hold on her tighten. But as soon as she noticed, it vanished. Katelyn gulped, gesturing to the ground.

“I think…I’m okay to stand now,” she murmured; her sore throat forbidding much more. As if waking up, Sammy nodded hastily and settled her down on her feet, still holding her by the elbows in case she fell again. She winced, her feet disliking the pressure. Holding on tight to him, Katelyn swallowed down the unease and breathed hoarsely.

“Okay?” Sammy asked, watching her. Through gritted teeth, she nodded and started to walk around the meadow, limping slightly. He observed her, while stroking the mare as she grazed hungrily. Katelyn paced with her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths through the mouth and out the nose. She did this for a several minutes, while Sammy built up and lit a fire. The darkness fell and the cold came at them from all directions.

Sighing softly, Katelyn sat down beside Sammy; placing her hands to the heat with a look of despair. He’d realised some time back that the saddlebag was missing. He hadn’t wanted to bring it up, just in case she got angry or upset at the loss. After all, everything she had had been in that bag. Maps, food, blankets then poof! All her homely comforts, gone in seconds. He hid a smile, knowing well that she still had one. Probably the most important.

He cleared his throat, reaching behind him. “Hey, I figure you’ll be wanting this back.”

He held out the King’s sword, safely in the black scabbard. He’d cleaned the blood off the best he could, using his trouser leg and the wet grass. Katelyn’s lip trembled, as she reached out and clasped it tightly; bringing it close to her. There’s still hope, she thought. She glanced down at it, enjoying the familiarity and firmness of the weapon. As long as the sword remained in her possession, there was still hope and life in her mission, in her father. While she’d been without it, she felt almost like a damsel in distress, pathetic and useless. She vowed never to part with the blade again. “I lost my bag in the riot. If I lost this-”