The Collectors of Peyka

Chapter 17

"They took their time, didn't they?" I knew I was being insensitive, but at that moment, it was all I had. More than fifty dead bodies stared at me with empty faces and I knew Clionna had been wrong. "This was a mistake."

"We made many today," Phelim said. It felt strange that he was comforting me from the ground. I wanted to snatch him up and shake him. I didn't know much about it, but I knew there was a time and place for empathy, and captivity was neither of them.

I watched as the shaman's men clashed into the first line of Nordfast's defense in a blur of brown fur and sharp stone. They weren't as well equipped as Nordfast, but they were quicker. It was hard for my eyes to adjust to their movements as they swept through the village, vanquishing those that threw up arms against them. Nordfast was strong in numbers though, and when their first men fell, another line replaced them.

"We're going to lose this battle," I said. One of our nearby allies took a blow to the ribcage with the blunt end of a battle ax and I winced.

"We've already won," Phelim said. He flicked his neck toward the eastern lake.

In retrospect, he was right. Alayna used to say the collectors would live on so long as she had one man standing. We had three caravans on their way to a secluded cave system. No one would find them once they entered the mountains. Still, I couldn't help but feel like it was a loss when my own death was hanging on the shoulders of a few hunters I'd only just laid eyes on.

The five shamans still stood by the tree line while the fighting continued. They wore their strange antlers and feathers while they overlooked the battle. When I noticed Overick staring at them, I knew he'd become concerned. I, too, was once unnerved by Clionna's appearance, but I knew the truth. They were no more harmful than the morning breeze.

"Can you get free?" Phelim pulled me from my observations as he fidgeted with his bindings. He wasn't making any progress, and when I tugged on mine, my hands barely budged.

I searched around for an abandoned weapon, but the battleground had been swept clean after Feywa's hunters fell. The best I could spot was a jagged rock that was nearly the size of my fist. If I could wedge it up against something, I thought I might be able to gain the friction I needed to cut through the rope. But before I could wiggle forward and retrieve it, a Nordfast warrior darted past and kicked it into the heart of the battle.

"Well, shit," I spat. My head was still throbbing from the blow I'd taken and the annoyance only caused it further pain. I closed my eyes until a dull ache subsided. "If the elements have any plans, now would be the time to tell me."

"The elements don't work like that," Phelim said. Though he maintained his composure, his face showed lines around his eyes that sank whenever he spoke. "I have an idea."

He flopped around like one of the fish I'd tossed out of the lake. He slowly inched his way over until his head was resting on my leg. When I attempted to pull away from him, he used his neck to shift his body around until his thighs were pressed to my side. And then I felt something tugging at my wrists. When I craned my neck to look at him, he was gnawing on the rope.

"How's it taste?" I asked. He only grunted in response.

I sought out Overick again and found him fending off an incoming attack from a sickle that was armed by a man more scrawny than himself. He raised the head of his ax and connected with the handle of the sickle. Overick swung a punch at the man's face. The man stumbled forward and Overick slammed another fist into the man's gut. With a loud groan, Overick tossed the man to the dirt and stomped on the back of his head. I wasn't certain, but I thought I could hear a crack over the uproar that filtered around us.