These Old Bones

10-2

"That's the last pass through the Kaster Hills. Unless we go way up south-east, up into the mountains, we're not getting through." Tiera seemed tired. They'd tried all the three main passes through the tall Kaster Hills, and tested more than a few of the lesser known paths.

Driadin Ground Shakers had put paid to the smaller pathways, bringing the sides of small mountains, the locals called 'hills', down onto the paths. The main passes were all in the midst of ongoing battles. They had no paths available to them. He saw Tiera's face and he knew what she was going to say.

"There is another way." She stated it simply. No pleading. No urging. Only a simple statement.

"No." He felt his excitement from the sight of the battle dwindle. He could tell his face reflected the darkening of his mood.

For the past few days, avoiding the increasing patrols and troop movements. Hiding as often as riding, the unspoken things between them had cast a pallor over them all. He knew he had shown his stubborn side. Tiera felt it and held her silence. Viriili had felt it and scolded him for his foolishness. Now, they appeared to be out of options.

"We have nowhere else to go, old man. Either you take me through these 'Hissing Marshes', or I go myself and consider our contract void." The girl looked down her broken nose at him and sneered. "You can keep the Talons and count them as I go alone."

"You won't be alone, little one. And I don't need gold to see you through." Tiera reached over, from the back of her horse, and clasped Viriili's hand.

"You don't know what you're asking! Neither of you do!" He punched his own leg through frustration. "Bloody fool children wanting to piss your lives away!"

He turned away, staring down the gentle slope towards where the Marshes sat, miles away to the west. Stretching from the foot of the Kaster Hills, all the way north to edge of Border Kingdoms. From the farthest reaches of the Steppes, the Kingdom of Turszdava, to the coasts of the Akaean Sea. The Hissing Marshes were a brutal, ugly, foul smelling swamp filled with the most vile creatures and deadly plant life. Not to mention the rumours of an evil sorcerer, of untold power and a thirst for blood.

"We know it's dangerous, Grey. We know." Tiera's voice softened and lowered. "We're willing to take that chance. But we'd feel much safer with you along with us. We'd be much safer. And Viriili may not have the time to find another way. Look at her."

He didn't have to look. He'd seen her begin to show signs of her 'illness' soon after her healing gifts had helped him and Tiera heal from the wounds gained from the fight with the mercenaries. Now it seemed certain that there was some kind of link between the amount of healing she did, and her 'illness'. While her healing worked, the child was fine. As soon as no-one required healing, she would swing from almost fine to deathly ill at the drop of a hat, and back again.

It also seemed certain that his training regimen helped, but not enough. Now, when she felt most ill, Viriili would pick up the fighting dagger, taken from the dead mercenaries, and begin practicing her patterns. It worked, after a fashion, but they all knew that it was only a matter of time before she either became too ill to travel, or the 'invisible hand' would appear, causing who-knows-what kind of damage. To them. To the horses. To herself.

"Old man." Viriili trotted her horse before him, leaning down to catch his eye through his errant strands of hair. "We need you. I need you."

He gripped the reins of his horse and glanced, once again, in the direction of the Hissing Marshes, sucking at his gums. He looked down and patted his horse's neck. He liked horses. They never expected anything from anyone. Only ever doing what their riders asked of them. You could command a horse to run forever, until its heart gave out, and it would. You could command a horse to jump a wide ravine and it would rarely balk. Always willing. Never complaining. Tiera and Viriili wanted him to be the horse. And, Patrons damn him, that's what he was going to be. Whether he liked it or not.