Brendle stumbled beside him, gasping. The bandages were soaked in blood and his face was as pale as milk.
“You need rest,” Haliden said.
Brendle shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Haliden looked down. The old guard was leaving bloody footprints in his wake. He’ll never make it like this, he told himself.
“Enough!” Haliden shouted.
The three men brought the wagons to a stop.
Brendle fell to the ground, his legs trembling violently.
Haliden and Evetner untied their harnesses then did the same for the old guard.
“Think I best find me a drink now,” Brendle said as he looked down at his feet. The soles of his boots were completely gone, as was much of the flesh on his feet. “Doubt they’ll have much on tap where I’m going.”
Back in the cart, Jonathan and Brandon watched nervously beneath the warmth of a tattered blanket.
Brendle noticed them and forced a smile. “It’s okay, boys. I’m just gonna wait here for some friends.”
“But what about the fire?” Jonathan asked, his small voice quivering.
Brendle dug into his pocket and withdrew a rolled corn husk. “I’ll be fine. Just run along with the others and do as you’re told.”
Evetner carefully lifted Brendle’s blood-soaked bandages. The man’s kneecap was almost entirely exposed, the bloody gray bone ground down and covered in dirt. “Perhaps the weed will numb it more,” Evetner said.
Brendle laughed. “Can’t plug a leaking dike with a finger.” He raised the husk to his lips and laughed. “All this bloody fire nipping at our heels, yet not a spark for a smoke.” Disgusted, he tossed the husk into the snow and closed his eyes.
“Just ride in the cart,” Haliden said.
Brendle smiled. “I think I’m just gonna sit this one out, gentlemen. Besides, Willem will be waiting for me.” He reached around his neck and withdrew a chain with a small brass medallion. Haliden stared at the tarnished metal as the old guard held it out to him. “My pendant,” Brendle said. The silhouette of Prince Pryln, High Seat Ruler of the Western Realms, was etched onto its worn surface along with just two words written in Algian: Stre Mintok.
Fleet Prayers.
“You’re Marigel’s runner now, artist,” Brendle said as he handed it to him. “None but the wearer of this can deliver the venermin to the Block. It’s your charge now, heavy as it may be. Don’t fuck it up, eh?”
Haliden watched as the medallion twisted back and forth at the end of the chain. Two realms… both my charge now. His stomach turned. “I’ll do my best,” he said as he looped the chain it over his head.
For a time the trio sat, silently staring at the horizon.
“Not long now,” Brendle said.
Evetner stood and extended his hand. “We wouldn’t have made it here without you, friend.”
Brendle smiled as he shook the boy’s hand. “You got stones, kid. More than most men I’ve met. I hope you see the Block.”
Haliden rose and wiped ash from his knees. “Farewell.”
Brendle smiled and waved him off. “Just get going. Else we’ll be seeing each other a lot sooner than we’d like.”
Haliden nodded. But as he began tugging on his harness, the old man shouted: “Hey Stroke! Maybe you could paint this someday. Call it The Drunkard’s Last Stand.”
Haliden forced a smile. “I just might.”
21
It wasn’t long before the weed’s effects began to wane.
“By the gods,” Haliden gasped as white hot daggers sliced up and down his calves. “How much farther?”
“Don’t know,” Evetner replied. “Just swallow some more. It’ll numb the pain.”
Haliden opened the jar and tossed half a bud into his mouth. It tasted bitter and dry, but he no longer cared.
“We’re almost out,” he said as he gnashed the leaves between his teeth. There was enough for maybe twenty or thirty more leagues. But if they weren’t at the Block by then…
The snow fell thick and heavy, blotting out the landscape. Knee-high drifts choked the road, their crests aswirl with dancing powder.
In the rear wagon, Jonathan and Brandon huddled silently beneath a snow covered blanket, their eyes blank and distant, their teeth chattering as they frantically rubbed their hands together. But nothing could hold back the unnatural chill washing in from the north.
Madness, Haliden thought. To think an elemental could hold back the Breath even for a second was pure arrogance. For he had seen similar magic practiced in the court of Gromin on Alg. Their banana crops had contracted an unknown blight and to offset the loss, Pius Gray, ruler of Southern Alg, had contracted a Circle charger to burn ten leagues of jungle for farming. It was one of the most expensive contracts ever to be struck with the Circle. But in the end it was all for naught.
For less than two months after the spells had been cast, the blight arose again and decimated what remained of the precious crops.
A snowflake hit Haliden in the eye, snapping him back to the present. It was falling harder, carpeting the entire land in unnatural white. Someone powerful is working this one, he thought.
Evetner stumbled mid-stride, barely correcting himself as the wagons rolled on behind him. The young man’s clothes and hair were caked in snow, his face beat red. And for the first time since leaving Moss Town, he looked broken and exhausted.
“Hey,” Haliden said. “You okay?”
Evetner glanced at him. His eyes were glassy, soulless. “I can’t feel my feet.”
Haliden began to slow, grinding his heels into the ash and dirt.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re stopping,” Haliden replied.
They halted beside a stand of snow covered pines.
Evetner slumped in his harness. “I can… go on,” he gasped.
Haliden huffed. “Like Brendle?”
The young man looked up. “This is my charge. I won’t sit in a wagon like some cripple.”
“Would you rather lay silent beneath a mound of snow? Because that’s where you’ll be if you keep this up.”
The boy shook his head. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My father… he fought in three battles, killed five men in single combat. He proved himself, earned his sword.” Tears rolled down his filthy cheeks. “When do I get my time? My moment for the legends?”
Haliden put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And what’s this? A mere errand?” He glanced at Brandon and Jonathan. “We may be fools on a fool’s quest. But who else is running two cities worth of history to a cliff with the fires of the hells clawing at their backs?” Haliden grabbed Evetner’s sword from its scabbard and slashed the boy’s harness.
Evetner flinched as the ropes fell to the ground. “What in the hells are you doing?”
Haliden slammed the blade into the ground. “I won’t let you kill yourself for some self-righteous cause. You want to prove something, take the sword and watch our backs.”
Evetner looked down at his father’s blade. His reflection was distorted in the rippled steel, haggard. “Do you think we even have a chance?”
“We’ve come this far.”
Jonathan stood and shrugged off his blanket. “I’ll help you,” he said.
Evetner turned to him and smiled. “By the gods, we truly are a gaggle.” He hoisted himself onto the wagon and unfastened his sword belt. Wincing, he picked up the Tritan bow and laid it across his lap. “They can keep me in arrows,” he said.
At this, both Jonathan and Brandon smiled.
Haliden tied off the loose rope from Evetner’s harness and adjusted his own. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Within two calls, Haliden’s legs began to numb. Fever chills quickly followed, and by dusk his nose began bleeding.
But still he ran on. Through three footfalls of snow, through encroaching delirium. He pulled and pushed, chewing the last of the coxil weed even as his bloody nose spattered crimson droplets across his chin a
nd chest.
“This is madness!” Evetner shouted above the rolling wagon wheels. “Take a rest!”
Haliden heard the boy’s voice, felt it cut through the air like a desperate knife. But he ignored it. Too much adrenaline was coursing through him. To rest would mean seizures as the chemicals overwhelmed his body. No, there was no choice. He had to run it off.
As the calls came and went, Haliden retreated deeper into his thoughts. It was a place he had come to know well these past few months. A place where his old life lived on, the flickering memories encased in gilt glass and protected from the passing of time. But it wasn’t enough anymore. He needed to see her again. If for no other reason than to just say he was sorry.
Milane, he thought, you’re all that keeps me going now.
He ran faster, grinding his teeth as pain washed throughout his body. Blood and pus squished inside his boots as blisters popped. But still he carried on. This was his penance, his punishment for being an arrogant and selfish bastard.
As the afternoon slowly transformed into dusk, they crested a steep, snow covered hill. Unable to go on, Haliden brought the wagons to a grinding halt.
An unbroken sea of white spread out before them. The Stretch, he thought as he wiped blood from his lips and nose. Buried beneath the snow would be nothing but black ash for as far as the eye could see. Remnants from the last Breath. In the four hundred turns since it’s passing, bustling cities and fertile farmland should have materialized and flourished here. But the rulers of Alimane had declared it sacred ground, a forbidden zone through which only a single, guarded road now passed: Runners’ Vein.
“We’re close now,” Haliden breathed as sweat dripped down his face.
Come find me, the familiar voice whispered. Find me at world’s end, Haliden.
All the hate suddenly evaporated, along with the bitterness and self-pity that had mired him for so long. Only her face remained. And those parting words.
Come find me, Haliden. Come find me. Come find me…
His legs buckled as snow rushed toward his face. When he hit the ground, he felt himself being dragged over rock and ice.
When the wagons finally stopped, he lay half conscious in the snow, staring at the gray sky.
“There he is!” a familiar yet distant voice shouted. “I got him.”
Hands curled around Haliden’s shoulder and chest and rolled him onto his back.
“You damn fool,” came the familiar voice.
Evetner and the boys loomed over him, wavering blurs backlit by the graying sky.
“Help me lift him, boys,” Evetner said.
Jonathan and Brandon grabbed Haliden’s legs, and with Evetner’s help, lifted him onto the wagon. When he was secure, the boys climbed beside him, eyes wide as Evetner pressed his ear to his chest.
Haliden wanted to sit up, to end their worrying. But a new instinct was pulling him skyward. Freedom. Freedom from his body and every mortal constraint that had ever bogged him down.
But then he thought of her and in that instance he wanted nothing more than to live, to go on to the Block. To Milane.
Evetner tore off Haliden’s soaked tunic and breeches and covered him in dry blankets. He then leaned over Haliden’s face and pressed his mouth to his lips.
What in the gods? Haliden thought as he watched from above. Was this some strange Moss Town custom that had developed over the turns?
The boy forced two breaths into Haliden’s mouth then sat up. “One… two… three…” He pressed down on his chest and then leaned back over him, starting the process all over again.
A strange ache washed over Haliden. Moments later, something dragged him back into the wagon. Back into his cold, wet, miserable shell.
Come back to me, the voice said.
Pain washed over him as his nerves fired to back to life. He wanted to cry out, to gasp. But as sensations crept back into his body the world went black.
22
Sunrise.
A muted, orange band illuminated the snow-choked sky, revealing a small rise a thousand footfalls to the south.
Atop it, the silhouettes of two wagons slid through the snow before slamming against the stalk of a dead oak.
Evetner groaned as he rolled onto his back. “Well, that was fun.”
Two short figures emerged from the wagon.
“Evetner?”
Jonathan and Brandon skidded to a halt beside the young man, who lay in a snowdrift tangled in his harness.
Evetner waved them off. “I’m fine. Just check on the artist.”
The brothers climbed back aboard the wagon as Evetner wiped snow from his face. “Stupid,” he breathed. He had stumbled over a buried root and lost control of the wagons. Now they sat at the bottom of a small depression, half buried in a massive snowdrift.
Jonathan and Brandon ran back from the wagons.
“Well? Is he okay?” Evetner asked.
“He’s still sleeping,” Jonathan replied.
Evetner sighed. Luckily they had fixed the crates and venermin in place before departing Marigel. Otherwise the artist would have been crushed.
Evetner scolded himself as sensation crept back into his legs. Like a fool, he had pressed on for the better half of two leagues without rest. Plenty of time to drift deeper into thought, deeper into his failures instead of paying attention to the road.
I was to be a Watkarian, he thought as he wiped snow from his breaches. But that was no more. The Breath had seen to that. The pain of it stung hard. Joining the ranks of the renowned order would have been his tribute to his father, to his family name. And now it would all be erased by the fire.
Gods damn it, he thought as he rose onto warbling legs. He leaned against the tree, exhausted and wracked with fever chills. The weed’s effects were all but gone now; he’d swallowed the last bud two calls earlier and already he could feel his muscles retracting and withering as the adrenaline evaporated from his bloodstream. His vision blurred as he wavered in and out of consciousness. When he tried to walk he fell face first into the snow.
Jonathan ran to his side.
“I’m fine,” Evetner gasped. “Go to your brother. I’ll be right there.”
The boy stared at Evetner’s withered legs, his eyes wide with fright.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
Jonathan hesitantly nodded and ran back to the wagons.
As the boy’s footfalls faded into the distance, Evetner slowly sat up. The snow was falling harder, burying everything beneath a pristine carpet of white. If I find the godsdamn charger responsible for this…
A familiar, welcoming sound echoed in the distance.
Dogs.
And they were close.
Hard winds swept in from the south, pushing away the worst of the storm. As the snow cleared, a dome shaped structure appeared in the distance. It was over a hundred yards wide, with eight sides made of interlocking logs and one visible entrance through a single steel-banded doorway.
Evetner’s heart alighted when he saw a thin ribbon of smoke rising from the building’s sole chimney. For almost two weeks they had lived on nothing but salted fish and jars of pickled beets. What I wouldn’t give for a single mouthful of cooked meat, he thought.
But it may not be help we find, a voice whispered in the back of his head
He pulled his sword free of its scabbard and stabbed it into the ground. “Jonathan. Fetch a blanket. And anything long and flat in the back. We need to make a stretcher.”
The boys quickly climbed into the rear wagon, vanishing amongst the toppled crates and bric-a-brac.
Evetner slowly stood and stared at the building. There were no flags baring family sigils or crests, no signs indicating if it was an inn or hunting lodge. Just a single, metal door flanked by a set of ragged deer and wolf hides.
Perhaps we should move on, he thought.
But then he glanced back at the artist. The man was shivering violently inside the lead wagon, his skin white as milk. If they didn�
��t get him warm and dry soon, he wouldn’t survive the night.
“Boys! Stay with the artist and keep low. If there’s trouble, get him back onto the wagon.”
“What about you?” Jonathan asked.
Evetner pointed to the bow resting beside the artist. “You know how to use it, right?”
Jonathan hesitantly nodded. “Mom used to send me hunting around the outskirts of the forest.”
“Same thing then. Only this time, after you hit your mark, you run. Got it?”
The boy nodded.
Evetner approached the door. It was covered in rusted steel plates with a thin slot for a lookout.
Here goes, he thought as he knocked.
Inside, the dogs barked wildly, their claws scratching the opposite side of the door.
But there was no answer.
He glanced over his shoulder at the boys. “Ten turns. If I’m not back by then, run.”
The brothers watched wide eyed as he slowly pushed the door open and entered.
The building’s interior was warm but dim, lit by a handful of torches mounted against deerskin-covered walls. The floor was nothing but dirt and moldy hay covered in crumpled papyrus and adreena butts. But what really caught Evetner’s eye were the dozens of benches encircling a large, wood-paneled pit
What in the hells in this place? he thought as he stepped toward the center of the room.
“Hello!”
The dogs erupted from a back room, snarling and barking as they encircled him. A few nudged his ankles playfully, sniffing and licking his ash-covered boots. But two snarled, revealing their broken, yellow fangs.
“Uray!” a voice shouted.
The dogs quickly fell silent, their eyes averted to the floor.
A large, bearded man stepped from the back room, a loaded crossbow aimed at Evetner’s chest.
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