The Torwyr

Author's note: This follows Fyra and Sword

Lor'kan continued to just stand over him blade still pointing close. Naythan looked up defiantly, if he was to die a failure, he would not be a coward too. "Do it." He said through gritted teeth, "Just end it. What are you waiting for?" He knelt up and pressed his chest against the point, a small bead of blood oozing out, slowly staining his cotten jerking beneath the mail. "What is one more murder to add to the countless atrocities you and the whole damned Order have committed in this land?"

Lor'kan said nothing for a moment. He wasn't even breathing hard from the fight, and his face was calm and slightly pensive as he stared down at Naythan kneeling before him.

"You have rudimentary skill. You will need to improve greatly if you are to survive."

Naythan blinked, his emotions still racing, whirled with what he was seeing. "What...? What are you talking about?"

"Your skills with a sword sergeant." Lor'kan withdrew his sword from Naythan's chest and shoved it back into its scabbard and offered his hand to Naythan.

Naythan was taken aback at this sudden reversal, relief, confusion and fatigue warred for supremacy in his mind. Hadn't he just been in a fight for his life? Hadn't he lost that fight? What was going on here?"

Still dumbfounded, Naythan instinctively accepted the hand offered and Lor'kan pulled him to his feet.

"The first thing you lack is the ability to maintain balance in a fight, you panic too easily." He turned and made his way over to Fyra's still unconscious form and bent over to lift her up easily enough slinging one arm over his shoulder as he did. He turned back to Naythan still stood trying to comprehend the sudden change in circumstances. "Look boy are you going to help me out with this one or would you prefer to stay here gawping?"

Naythan's focus snapped into place at the Brother's words himself and he moved over to Lor'kan and put Fyra's other arm over his should and assist Lor'kan carrying her back towards the camp.

After a moment he twisted his head to look at the man who, mere moments before, had had his sword at Naythan's throat. "Brother Lor'kan, what is going on here? Weren't we... wasn't I just..."

"Yes, yes I know what just happened. I needed to see if I could trust you."

"Trust me with What Brother?

Lor'kan looked at him from over Fyra's drooping head between them.

"Fine." he said sighing slightly, "Now is probably a better time than we are ever likely to get to have this talk, but we need to make it quick, this one took a very nasty hit to her head, so we need to get her back to the surgeon as soon as possible."

Lor'kan jerked his chin next to a small stump, "Lets put her down there for a moment."

The two men shuffled over to the spot Lor'kan had indicated and carefully laid Fyra down propped up against the stump. Naythan quickly removed his blue cloak and set it behind her head gently. There was no blood back there, which was a good sign, but Lor'kan had been right about getting her to a healer as soon as they could.

After setting her down, Lor'kan brushed aside the snow and sat down on the cleared spot, Naythan did the same. "Now then, where to start." Lor'kan began, he looked to Naythan closely, "Have you ever heard of the Torwyr before?"

Naythan's eyes widened as shock pulsed through him, "You are Torwyr?" he gasped.

Lor'kan nodded, "Indeed I am, though what you have no doubt heard from the Order is laden with fabrications and lies mixed with little truth. For example, we do indeed work within the Order to free what Dryads and other magic users we can and get them safely away, however, this is our own operation, we are not controlled by the sorcerers or any other force."

"Do you use magic?" Naythan asked somewhat apprehensively. A kind of giddy tension jittered through him and he was unsure if he was more afraid or curious as he looked at the man sat besides him. The Torwyr did indeed have a very poor reputation amongst the Order's ranks. Traitors and weaklings, enslaved or seduced by the dark powers of the demon magicians who chose their own personal gain above that of the country, or humanity as a whole.

Lor'kan laughed, "No boy. We do not use magic. It is an abhorrent force of power. This at the very least the Order is right about."

"Then why do you protect those who use it?" Naythan asked his curiosity winning out over his caution.

Lor'kan adjusted himself to get more comfortable, "Well for one thing, most who can use it do not choose to have that ability. At least those Dryads born in human lands."

"Besides," Lor'kan said looking pointedly at Naythan, "didn't you just risk everything to protect this one," he said tilting his head at Fyra as he spoke, "I think you know exactly why we protect these creatures, otherwise I would have killed you."

Naythan looked down at that. It was true that in that moment when he held her life in his hands, striking her seemed profoundly wrong. And there was also... A flash of memory of the boy crossed him mind again and Naythan closed his eyes forcing it back.

"I think you have a tale of your own to tell sergeant. You have the power and you are not a Brother of the Order?"

Naythan lifted his head and opened his eyes, "We have to get the sorceress back to camp." He stood up without looking directly at Lor'kan, though he could feel the man's eyes on him intensely the whole time he did so.

"Very well." Was all Lor'kan said though as he stood up.

The two men slung the unconscious dryad's arms over their shoulder's once again and resumed their laborious journey back to the camp in silence.

This had, Naythan mused as he hauled the dryad back with Lor'kan, been one of the most ludicrous and eventful nights of Naythan's entire life.

To be continued in Master and Apprentice