INKREDIA Luwan of Brida by Mahajan Sarang & Mahajan Sarang

Author:Mahajan, Sarang & Mahajan, Sarang [Mahajan, Sarang]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gloryburg
Published: 2017-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

13

The Scaburn’s Army

For a long time the Scaburn stood still above the gate. And so did the horses. It looked like an impasse, as though they had come before a mountain that could not be crossed. Kiliarn remained in the wagon, seated and motionless. He murmured words under his breath that Luwan could not make out. All that he could tell was that Kiliarn’s trembling voice slowly found its strength.

‘You have no business with me, Scaburn,’ said Kiliarn, finally finding courage to speak.

In response, two large wings unfolded at the back of the Scaburn and it dropped down the gate. The wings fluttered twice before the nonhuman landed at the far end of the ground and then began to walk toward them, its wings folding in its back. Its robe that shimmered in the bright light of an almost full moon—now that the skies had cleared—threw a faint glow on its face, which became clearer as it drew near. It was so human-like and yet not at all. Its colour was a pale, a lifeless tinge of blue. That’s the moonlight playing tricks. And its eyes... there were no eyes, just two, dark holes.

‘Halt where you are, Scaburn,’ said Kiliarn. ‘You have no business with me.’

But the Scaburn kept moving toward them, casually. Fear grew strong upon Luwan, and he did not realise that it showed through his quivering hands. The horses began to back-step, pushing the wagon behind.

‘Don’t make us look like cowards,’ hissed Kiliarn and, inspite of the fear, the horses held their ground.

The Scaburn, too, stopped, casually observing the façade of the fortress standing in the middle of the ground. Meg shivered so hard that the bench rattled in her grip.

‘Why do you hinder my way? You have no business with me,’ said Kiliarn, his voice now surprisingly devoid of the fear Luwan had sensed moments ago.

‘I have not come for you, Shorkaat ,’ said the Scaburn, its voice a harsh whisper. The sound of it did something to Luwan, as if something reached inside him and seized his heart, like a snake wrapping its jaw around its prey.

‘I have come for the boy.’

This time it was Luwan who let out a fearful moan.

‘Ah, but you have no claim over the boy,’ said Kiliarn, trying to hide his fear under a veil of civil rationality.

‘Ah, but I have,’ retorted the Scaburn, and just as civilly. ‘He has been marked by the Ghork Master for me.’

The Scaburn’s words jolted Kiliarn. He slowly turned his head at Luwan. ‘The Ghork Rider... did he prick you with a needle?’ he asked.

As soon Kiliarn said that, pain shot through Luwan’s hand. He brought forth the back of his palm where the pain radiated from and stared at it closely. A tiny puncture showed itself, glowing blue, as if to prove the Scaburn’s point. Luwan now remembered feeling a sting on his hand just before escaping the Leader in the river.

‘He did,’ answered Kiliarn himself with a sigh.

‘Hand over the boy and we will not be enemies,’ said the Scaburn.

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