The road beyond that first wall of vegetation was not too much better. Ermolt had to walk nearly doubled over, grumbling every step. Elise took the lead, donning her gauntlets to protect her hands so she could shove the thorny brush out of their way and break apart branches that would have impeded Ermolt behind her.
“We should wear our full armor tomorrow,” Elise suggested when they finally stopped for the night. It was earlier than she would have liked to stop, but the dense canopy of brambles was cutting the daylight short.
“Why?” Ermolt asked. He had been digging around in the undergrowth for enough stones to build a proper fire pit, not wanting the flames to get out of control, since they were surrounded by such dry brush. “Do you think there will be bandits here?” He laughed. “Who would they be here to attack?”
“I wouldn’t laugh too hard—bandits aren’t out of the question. The farmers to the south of Khule have dealt with raiders and robberies before. It’s not impossible that they’d be based out of Marska.”
“If we see them, we’ll do Khule a favor, then. I wouldn’t mind a warm up before we face whatever guardians the Temple might hold.” Ermolt rolled his shoulder, stretching his neck left and right.
“That’s not why I’m suggesting we armor up, however.” Elise reached up and grabbed the shoulder of her tunic, stretching it down her arm. Her deep olive skin showed through a dozen tears and cuts in the fabric. There was no blood, yet, but after another day there was no guarantee. “The thorns are tearing apart our clothing. We’ll be naked by the time we get to Marska.”
Ermolt inspected his own clothing, and nodded. “A good idea. I hadn’t noticed.”
“That’s because you don’t get cold,” Elise said with a smile, although she rubbed at her arms. “How is the fire coming along, anyway?”
It took Ermolt a bit longer to dig a firepit to his satisfaction. Despite his complaints earlier in the day, the adze head of his mattock helped shape a stone-lined hole he used to ensure that their fire wouldn’t turn the landscape into an inferno.
Elise huddled close to the fire while they ate. The autumn season was growing late, and Ermolt expressed worry that she might take ill if they were still this far north when winter came without adequate camping gear to insulate her from the cold.
But he swore he could smell on the air that the snow was still weeks away. It would be plenty of time for them to return to civilization. Or, if it seemed that they couldn’t, time enough for him to hunt some thick-furred game and tan her a coat.
The next day, just as Elise suggested, they ventured forth in full armor.
She thought she must look odd in her splint mail without her tabard over it, but Ermolt didn’t mention it. And she didn’t dare bring it up. She was self-conscious enough as it was, and kept reaching for her missing tabard.
Ermolt wore his thick hide armor instead of the stone scales that he acquired to fight dragons. The hide was better suited to repel the thorns, and he swore it felt blasphemous to approach mundane brambles with armors that had withstood a dragon’s legendary fire.
Protected as they were, their pace improved considerably. While they felt silly after midday when they finally broke through the worst of the briars into the open air, they knew it would have taken a full day to reach that point had they not armored themselves. Beyond the bramble woods, the path led uphill, and the old stones that marked the road had held up a fair bit better against the tall brown grasses that grew here then it had against the thick brush.
“Marska is on a peninsula,” Elise explained as they began up the hill. “In the winter through the spring, the winds over this region come up from the south, off the ocean.” She pointed south. “It limits what grows here. Most above ground crops, like corn and wheat, react poorly to the salty southern winds.”
“Why is that important?”
“It’s what we were taught in Khule. It’s why Marska fell into ruin. They had to import so much of their goods from other cities, and only had fish to trade.” Elise paused, looking out over the sea. She gritted her teeth. “It was the lie we were told.”
Ermolt turned away to look at the sea himself. After a moment of silence, they both continued on, approaching the top of the hill. Elise’s breath grew labored as the grade grew steep. She tried not to think of the scent of salt on the air, or of the way tears threatened her—and not from the biting wind blowing across her face.
“Halt!” a voice shouted from the top of the hill. A man emerged from the tall grass and stood in the road ahead.
Elise stopped, and Ermolt stepped up next to her. He shrugged off the heavy pack on his back, setting it on the path beside him. Elise thought it smart. If these were bandits, it would be best to not fight them with everything they owned weighing them down.
“What do you want?” Elise called up to the man.
“There’s a toll on this road, if you seek Marska.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at them with an imperious expression usually reserved for Lublis nobility when they stood behind a wall of bodyguards. “If you hand over your coin willingly, we’ll allow you to pass with your food still in hand.”
“How much?” Elise could hear the smirk in Ermolt’s voice.
“All that you have.” The man scowled down at them. “And I would advise you to pay. It’s a better deal than the alternative.”
“Oh? And what is the alternative. Just so we make an informed decision, you know.” Elise settled her hands on her hips, just above the hilts of her sword and dagger.
The man said nothing, instead lifting his hand to his mouth to whistle sharply. Five other bandits stood up in the tall grass around them, weapons in hand. Elise took stock of their armaments quickly. Two with swords, one with an axe, and the two flanking the man at the top of the hill held crossbows.
They would be the problem.
It would only take one bolt to pierce her armor.
Elise looked to Ermolt, tilting her head.
The fight was not in their favor. Ermolt’s hammer was in his pack, and he wouldn’t be able to fetch it before the first man reached them.
At least neither crossbowman had their weapon cranked and loaded.
Ermolt might have been able to cross the distance to the first one before they could be ready to fire, and if he was lucky, the second would be too shocked to get more than a single shot off before he turned to them.
As if reading her mind, Ermolt nodded.
Elise tried not to fault the barbarian for the devious grin that crossed his face as he turned back to face the bandits. A good fight—one that wasn’t easily won or lost by either side—would be akin to therapy for Ermolt.
“Fair warning: you should consider walking away,” Elise said, reaching across her body to draw her weapons. “We’re not the wandering scholars you’re likely used to robbing.”
“We’re no strangers to violence, and you and your barbarian guard have earned no hesitation.” The crossbowman to his right drew a bolt. “We shall take all you have, and gut you for our entertainment!”
Beside her, Ermolt bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Elise clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Wrong choice.”
Chapter Nine
Ermolt charged.
The act of loading the crossbow was an act of violence in his eyes, and so that man was his first target.
He was sad to find there was no more snow here than in Lublis. Or Jirda, for that matter. Ermolt had hopped that the cold winds coming off the sea would ignite his rage, but the avalanche stayed just out of reach.
It was no matter. He didn’t need to be at full strength to deal with bandits.
His enormous, bare fist connected with the first crossbowman just as he looked up in surprise. For his part, the bandit didn’t immediately crumple under the blow, even though his crossbow fell from his hands.
Ermolt stomped on the weapon, and while it was too well-made to shatter under his foot, there was a crack as the body of the weap
on was caught between Ermolt’s boot and a rock. It wouldn’t render it completely useless, but only a fool would try to cock the weapon without attempting to repair it first. The tension of the bow might tear the whole contraption apart.
Behind him, Elise let out a bellow of her own as she engaged the armed bandits that had approached her. Ermolt smiled. He would turn her into a proper fighter yet.
He turned back to the weaponless crossbowman and growled before pushing him down in the dirt. There was still one more crossbowman to deal with, and the leader had drawn a sword of his own—he didn’t have time to adequately punish this man for his pre-emptive violence.
Perhaps there would be another moment after the most dangerous threats were dealt with.
Ermolt sprinted away from the disarmed man in the dirt, making a beeline instead for the other crossbowman who was furiously trying to crank his weapon. The leader of the group stepped in front of Ermolt to block his path. His sword rose to strike.
As he ran, Ermolt quickly thought of his options. He could keep the leader between himself and the crossbow, denying the opportunity for a clear shot. But Elise was dealing with three foes of her own. A crossbow bolt aimed at her could spell her death, even if the bolt itself only provided a moment’s distraction.
With the barest of changes to his trajectory, Ermolt made his decision.
Ermolt swept his arm around, the thick hides of his armor protecting him from the bandit’s blade as it came down. The sword scored nothing more than a shallow rend in the armor. Ermolt swept his other arm down, the strike landing on the bandit’s shoulder and throwing Ermolt’s entire weight against the man. Like he had been hit by a boulder, the leader crumbled under the attack and Ermolt overran him in barely a moment. His foot came down hard on the bandit leader’s chest, knocking the wind from him to slow his recovery.
The delay had been barely enough time for the crossbowman to lift his loaded weapon as Ermolt closed the distance. With a shout, he closed his hand around the head of the weapon before the man could pull the trigger. He lifted the weapon up and to the left. There was a loud thrumming noise as the weapon went off, and Ermolt felt a sharp tug on the left side of his head.
The bolt had fired, but just a moment too late.
It flew through his thick hair, instead of into his face.
Ermolt let his lips split into a grin that felt manic. “Too late.”
He tore the weapon up and out of the bandit’s grip. The man made a feeble sound and groped after it. Ermolt slapped the reaching hands away with his free hand before smashing the stock of the crossbow against its owner’s head.
The bandit fell to the ground, his eyes glazed over.
Ermolt whirled, holding the crossbow like a club. He was ready for the jointed attack that should be coming. But his flank was unapproached. To his left he could see the bandit leader and the other crossbowman fleeing across the open field.
There was a moment where Ermolt considered taking the bolts of the man at his feet and attempting to slow their retreat. But a ranged weapon wasn’t Ermolt’s style, and petty violence was even less so.
Let them flee.
They could warn the others.
Ermolt turned his attention back down the hill and saw that Elise had things well in hand. One of the bandits was on the ground, clutching an arm that was now a few fingers shy of a hand. The other two were circling warily, visibly unnerved by Elise’s calm demeanor and deadly blades.
Ermolt let loose another roar and began his descent down the hill. Both bandits looked up at him, their eyes wide in terror.
Elise took the distraction to rip the axe out of one’s hand. Her dagger swept around for a killing blow, but the bandit threw himself backwards away from her. He broke into a sprint down the hill, seeking the shelter of the bramble forest.
That was the last straw for the remaining man. He broke and ran as well, heading south at a speed Ermolt found quite impressive. Knowing the lay of the immediate land, Ermolt wasn’t sure where the bandit thought he was going. He’d be met with bluffs and ocean that way. But the important thing was that he—and his blustering friends—were gone.
The last man, who had seemed distracted by his lack of fingers, struggled to his feet. He made blubbering noises about mercy, and then hobbled away. Elise let him go, though Ermolt could tell from the look in her eyes that the choice was a near thing.
With a shrug and a sigh, Ermolt snapped the crossbow in his hands across his knee, and then tossed it to the side.
A pitiful fight, really.
“Are you well?” Ermolt asked as he crossed the remaining distance to Elise.
“We shouldn’t have been caught off guard like that.” She sheathed her dagger, then fetched a handful of the tall grass to wipe the smear of blood off her sword. “We should be more careful.” Elise watched the hobbling man as she got far enough out the tall grass that it came up to his chest, making him just a bobbing head and shoulders.
Ermolt nodded, but said nothing. He fetched his hammer from his pack before shouldering it again, his weapon in hand when he stood.
“But yes. I’m fine,” the ex-Conscript said, shaking her head as she returned her attention to Ermolt. “Forgive me—are you alright?”
“Unhurt, yes.” Ermolt touched the side of his head, and his hand came away without any blood on it. “Just a sharp tug on my hair.”
Elise chuckled, inhaling as if to speak, but then letting her breath blow out without voicing her words. She had wanted to make a joke. A part of him wanted to tell her that he had been hearing sexual jokes since he was a child, and his own tastes didn’t make them offensive. But her restraint was not unwelcome, either.
He let the moment pass.
“We must be close to the city,” Elise said finally. “Had you a moment to look around when you were at the top of the hill?”
Ermolt paused, thinking. “Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to me to check. I was a little preoccupied with the bolts and swords.” He grinned, clapping Elise across her armored shoulder. “Come then: let us see this fabled ruined city of the dead together.”
Chapter Ten
The top of the hill overlooked the entire peninsula, and Elise could see the whole city of Marska spread out below, bordered on three sides by sandy beaches that stretched out into the Eastern Ocean.
She was shocked by how intact it was.
From the teachings of the Temple in Khule, Elise had anticipated Marska to be a weathered husk, barely more than foundations and a few scattered walls. It had been centuries.
But the city was in surprisingly good condition. It was obviously ruined, and had been abandoned for a long time, but many of the buildings were still partially standing, with a few of the smaller, sturdier buildings almost entirely intact.
The biggest sign of Marska’s passing was the plant life. The stone tiles of the streets were cracked and breaking apart under the encroaching grasses from the surrounding hillsides. Vines and other brush—including some thorny growths that looked like the bramble wood’s offspring—embraced some of the more dilapidated buildings.
In the spaces between buildings, where saplings could be protected from the harsh ocean winds, gardens and yards had been invaded by trees that had grown through, and around, the surrounding buildings. They were tall and thick from the centuries left uncontested. Due to the season, they were bare of foliage, but the gutters and lawns of the city were choked with orange-brown leaves that had not yet fully rotted away.
The buildings themselves were mostly white stone, though they were frequently stained gray from the decaying remains of the wooden roofs washing down over them. Intact buildings were scattered throughout, and most of them no longer had doors or windows, having lost them to the elements or the flora and fauna. Maybe even scavengers.
From here, Elise could tell a lot about Marska and the place it had once been. It had not been a large city, for there weren’t the same signs of overcrowding that Khule or even Lublis had. Instead, t
he space was very open, without any obvious area of slums. There was also no evil here, in spite of the knowledge of Isadon and the potential undead guardians of His Temple.
Elise was filled with a duality—the part of her that had spent years studying under the teachings of the God of Life was taken aback by the presence of this place, and feared the deep shadows that lurked in the abandoned buildings of the city. But another, stronger presence told her a different story. This was the Elise who had seen evil, true evil, and had been altered irrevocably by its touch.
To this Elise, Marska was a place of hope and promise. A place where second chances flourished.
Where the dead could rise again.
“There,” Ermolt said, drawing Elise’s attention with a jab of his finger. He pointed to the far end of the city, just a few fen shy of the beach to the east. The building he motioned to didn’t look like any of the other Temples, but it couldn’t have been anything else. It looked just like Athala’s sketches. “The Temple of Isadon.”
Reaching from cliff to sky was a narrow tower, perhaps five or even six levels tall. It would have loomed over even the Temple of Ydia, which was three floors. But like the Temple of Ydia, Isadon’s tower was made of white stone that filled Elise with an odd pang of nostalgia when she saw the way the light reflected off it.
She would bet nearly anything it was the exact same stone.
“We might have a problem though.” Ermolt turned and pointed to the north end of the city, where there was a visible smoke rising from some of the buildings. If Elise squinted, she thought she could see people moving around. “We’re not looking at just a small pocket of bandits. That’s a whole encampment.”
“Shall we proceed carefully then?” Elise said, frowning, before looking back at the Temple. “They are to the other side of the city. We should be able to avoid them easily.”
Ermolt shook his head, but after a moment he shrugged. “You might be right for now. We should be able to get to the Temple and examine it. But they’ll be looking for us, and we might not be able to avoid confrontation.” He adjusted the pack on his shoulder with his free hand. “I would rather deal with them before the guardians, so we don’t end up pressed from both sides like in Jalova.”
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