The Cleansing (Book One: The Folara Chronicles)

060: Rion

Rion flung himself at the spot where Kara had last been. Unbelievably, they'd both disappeared. He clawed the dirt, scraping against rock, then sat back on his haunches staring up at the sky.

Suddenly, he sprang for the fence between himself and his two Quarso brothers and tackled Terryn to the ground. The smack of his hardened fist against Terryn's jaw was satisfying, even as it ached and stung. 

Jayce leaped to prevent another fight, but Terryn had fallen back, holding his jaw, a look of anger and awe mixed in his eyes. He had no doubt that in full fury, Rion could have laid him out flat and knocked him senseless. He wasn't surprised that he'd hit him, only surprised that he was still alive.

Rion's rage left him as soon as it came. He fell back against the fence, a ragged sound torn from him. "Kara..." 

Jayce saw that the retaliation was over and both parties had fallen down, heads back. 

Terryn smeared the blood from his nose and mouth across his cheek. "Shit, Rion.  Why are you out here with a searcher girl?" 

There was no answer. None they'd understand. One moment he had been enjoying the beautiful dawn, talking, discovering... her. He could feel her interest as a woman. When she spoke of Korlon there had been doubt. When their lips met, his hands had curled into her hair and he'd known. Just known. She was his, nothing could change that. Whatever had drawn them together, was holding them together and could not be denied.

Tremors of loss were building in him, even as he told himself that he had to let her go or watch her die. She meant too much to him.

"Crevan is looking for you. Quildor is marching on Valdemar." Terryn's voice sounded muffled from the leaves he was stuffing into his nose. 

Rion sprawled in the dirt without feeling or purpose. 

"This is my land..." A man came out of the nearest house and Jayce drew his sword in warning. 

"And we are its defenders." Terryn grumbled and drew his sword also. "Get back inside unless you want to be skewered."

The village man stopped walking and held the lantern higher. "I heard tell there's a war on Valdemar. Quildor is recruiting, took my two oldest boys today."

"It's true." Jayce re-sheathed his sword and gave Rion his hand. In resignation, Rion grasped it.

It wasn't far to the local tovern. Jayce pushed the door in and the tangy sweetness of ale assailed their senses. Terryn wrapped an arm around Rion's shoulder and pulled him to the bar. Other occupants made way for them, knowing Rion well. Deference and respect mirrored in all eyes. He was one of their own made good.

"Kib! Toss us ale!" Terryn shoved coin across the wooden bar at the burly bartender who looked like he'd tried to assimilate a Salimantor and failed. His face was a contorted mixture of human and alien, his right shoulder cocked at an angle, one ear too high.  Yet, they'd known him all their lives.

"Tell us the news, Rion. Why are you here and not training your army? The recruiters have already been here!" Kib pounded his huge elbows on top of the bar.

It was all Rion could do not to hit someone as he relived the moment that Kara's body had convulsed against his chest as she struggled and then failed to take a breath.

"A witch stole the scepter from Quildor and fled to Valdemar." Terryn drew attention away from their leader who was rudely not answering. "Quildor is going after them."