17
For a good few feet, the Spore Bearers clambered atop each other, scrambling to reach Brorzjav, the girl and Tiera. More than once, a clutching fungus covered hand almost grabbed one of them, ready to pull them back into the mire, but with fear-given strength, they each managed to climb out of the reach of the creatures.
After twenty feet, or so, they made it to the lip of the slope, collapsing over the edge and finding themselves at the top of a gentle grade that curved down for hundreds of yards, covered with normal, untwisted trees, rocks and not a sign of the purple and orange fungus anywhere. Even the fog stopped at the very edge of the lip of the slope, as if cursing their escape, writhing and twisting in the air.
Brorzjav clutched at his left arm. That did not feel good. He'd seen other older folk, in his time, performing the same action, only for them to die soon after, or lose their faculties, their faces loosened and almost unusable. He flexed his fingers, rubbed his arm and chest, waiting for the pins and needles sensation to die down. It would be his luck to survive a terrible death at the hands of those creatures, only to die through the exertions. But not yet. Not now.
The other two laid upon their backs, breathing great gulps of clear air into their lungs. The girl gripped hold of the thick grass beneath her fingers, as if revelling in finding herself in a more normal area. Tiera chuckled, spreading her arms wide, exulting in their escape. She was a funny one, finding fun in her own near death, but Brorzjav could understand that.
He'd seen soldiers, good soldiers, brave soldiers, laugh like maniacs once a mage-fuelled barrage of fire and stone ended, even as their comrades lay wounded and dying at their feet. Survival had different effects on different people. Some, like Brorzjav, carried on, moving ever onward without thinking too much about things. Others would fall silent, turning inward, lost in their own thoughts. Still others, like Tiera, would find excitement in their survival. None of the ways could be ever considered wrong.
"That was crazy!" Tiera laughed, out loud this time, kicking her feet against the ground.
"Aye. It was." He stood up, ignoring the scything pains in his arm, and glared down at the girl, her eyes wide as she looked up through the sun-dappled branches of a nearby tree. "You could have got yourself and Tiera killed, you damned fool child. Kill yourself, if you want to, but never, ever risk another persons life because of your stupidity!"
"Kill myself? Like you were going to do?" She didn't seem in the least bit bothered, shading her eyes with a hand as she looked up at him. "Tiera could have continued on to the slope. I wasn't willing to leave you alone."
"I could have. It was my choice to ..." Tiera turned onto her side, resting on an elbow.
"Shut it!" Brorzjav pointed a finger at Tiera, trying his best to remain calm. He returned his anger to the girl. "I made my choice to save you both. One life to save two. You want to be a swordswoman? Well, a swordswoman does as she's bloody told. A swordswoman doesn't waste her life, or, especially, someone else's. A swordswoman knows that sometimes people have to die so others can live!"
"We survived, didn't we? You're alive, I'm alive, Tiera's alive. Seems to me, no-one had to die." The girl sat up, an arrogant look on a face marked by the dried tears of terror.
"You know what?" Brorzjav threw his hands up, unable to think of a good thing to say against her words. "Bugger you! It's a good job I've stopped teaching you, because I'd be done with you now. There's nowt I can do with an ignorant, arrogant child that thinks she knows best. Well, you don't!"
"Grey!" Tiera tried to talk as he stormed past them both, heading downhill, rubbing his left arm again.
He knew they followed him. He could hear their feet passing through the leaves fallen upon the ground. He had almost forgotten the time of year. Autumn. A time when the weather changed, bringing more storms like the one from weeks earlier, before he met both these two irritating females. He laid his left hand on the pommel of Notch, at his waist, the pins and needles diminishing now.
YOU ARE READING
These Old Bones
Fantasy[Book Three of the "Patrons' World" series.] What was he without war? No longer a husband. Never a father. No family or friends to speak of. For decades, war had carried him from one side of the world to the other and back again, but never home. Now...
