The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

“What?” There was another grunt behind him, and it was then that Aidan realized why no one had managed to grab him from behind: Slaíne, however she was doing what she was doing, was dropping as a deadweight onto their attackers, only to soar straight up again before they could touch her.

It was a good tactic, but she sounded tired. He was tired too. Sword or not, these mere mortals would soon deal a death blow. And it was a wonder: Why had all of them been drawn to Aidan and Slaíne? Aidan felt few Pulls beyond the vast circle enclosing them. And where was the rest of the town, the ones who had called him a coward when he had not fought alongside them the previous night?

He dispatched his twenty-first man and that is when he realized that he wasn’t only fighting bandits: they were fighting the town as well. “Slaíne,” he called over the screams. But why? “I’m going to clear a path for myself. Follow overhead.”

“How are you gonna do that, sir?” Another grunt followed by a curse and the tearing of cloth.

She had a fair question, to which he didn’t yet have the answer. He was, however, a gentleman – as much as he could be called one – and did not want to frighten or distract her. “Just trust me.”

“Blimey,” said the girl. “These aren’t no wraiths. These be town folk. For shame.” There was a sickening crunch as Aidan assumed her boot connected with someone’s nose. Before he could come up with a plan, shouts took up in the distance, breaking up the riot around him.

“The inn’s a-fire! The inn’s a-fire!” cried several women, their words being taken up by the town folk, who made up the vast majority of the mob. The wraiths had begun to flee, and the villagers left them for the inn with apparent reluctance. He Dismissed the sword and shouted at Slaíne, “To the woods!”

Slaíne didn’t need telling twice. She hit the ground running, and Aidan sprinted beside her. They ran into the night, Aidan feeling for Pulls that might lie ahead or behind. All was still; no one followed nor laid traps before them.

They ran ’til she could no more, and they took to walking, saving their breath until they were a good two miles away from the town. Then, Slaíne ventured to speak first. “High as I were, the inn were nay on fire.” Her voice was thin and breathless, and Aidan did not answer at first. He was more concerned as to why the villagers had turned on him, the only obvious answer being that they were afraid of Slaíne and himself. “Think it were the inn-keeper’s way of thankin’ ye?”

Aidan nodded, though he knew she could not make out the movement in the moonlight. He was more out of breath than Slaíne, and a cramp had formed in his side. He grabbed her arm to halt her, and leaned against a tree.

With a sigh, Slaíne collapsed to the wood’s floor.

Aidan Summoned a water skin for them both to partake of. Though his throat was raw and his mouth parched, Aidan passed the vessel to her first, and she drank deeply before passing it back to him with a muttered thanks.

After he’d gorged himself on water, emptying the skin, he took a moment to again catch his breath. “You noticed the town has turned against us.”

Slaíne sniffed. “Folks’re always skeered of what they don’t understand.”

Aidan could only nod and sigh. “Word of this will reach Dewhurst. We need to be clear of here before daybreak.” He flopped onto his back and felt for approaching Pulls. A handful had come nearer their current location, but no one had ventured within a mile. It was a good thing; Aidan was less than certain if he could fight another man, let alone run to the next town. And that was another thing: now that he was infamous, his description – and probably Slaíne’s – would be circulated far and wide; there would be no more staying in towns. As usual, Aidan would be skirting civilization…and perhaps reduced to poaching and worse.

“Blast. What if our friend did nay make it out of there all righ’?”

Aidan groaned. “Let her fend for herself.”

Slaíne tsked, and tapped his forearm with her boot. “She knows where we’re goin’. Could be tortured an’—”

“I know,” he said without heat. “We’ll have to plan our next moves carefully, though we move forward blindly.” He Dismissed the spent bladder and sat upright. “But we’ll discuss strategy when we’re safely away from here – and rested.” Two Pulls had crossed nearer, and Aidan rose. “We should leave now.”

“All right.” Slaíne accepted his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

She was heavier than he had remembered, and it made Aidan wonder if she’d been using her strange ability to aid her before. He released her hand, more as an afterthought than anything. The pace he kept was slow yet steady, and Slaíne matched his steps evenly.

The wind hissed through the trees. Unseen beasts scurried in the treetops, making nary a sound, though Aidan was well aware of their presence. The Pulls behind them had paused, and Aidan took that as a signal that he and his companion should pick up their pace by a good measure. If anyone were examining the area where they had lain but twenty minutes before, the pursuers would make out their trail and be on them shortly.

Worry and a fast pace led to nothing. They stopped twice, once to drink more water, the second time to eat a handful of day-old bread each. It stuck to his throat and scraped on the way down, but Aidan only allowed himself and the girl one mouthful of the second bladder each. It wouldn’t do to run out of water at night. Not here. Not with danger so near.

Aidan laughed, a strange sound as Slaíne plopped down beneath a tree.