Deathless

Deathless Chapter Thirty: Pursuit

Chapter Thirty: Pursuit

The moon shone bright on that cold winter’s evening in along the shores of the Frustum River, the cold winds blowing from the South, the air biting into the group’s skin like knives.

Vanya wrapped her scarf tighter around herself, but the winds continued to nip at her skin. She never had any love for cold temperatures, but she supposed she ought to put up for it, at least for tonight, the night when they finally put Southport and Rowan’s manse behind them.

It had been three days they’d spent with Rowan, twiddling their thumbs in silence and agitated inaction. And now, at the very least, they were back on the road, seven solitary travelling merchants with a pack mule heading for Austerus City, past the treacherous mountains of Southreach.

Heavily armed merchants such as what Lindale appeared to be were not uncommon in the treacherous South, where every man and woman who sought to brave the harsh Southern Arlenia terrain with bandits at every turn would need to know how to swing a sword.

It would indeed be a long journey to the Arcaneus Peaks, and then to Morsar. They could already see the snow-capped peaks from Southport, but the raging rapids of the Frustum would bar their passage for ten leagues or more, some one or two days’ journey past Ictus City. 

The journey to the Peaks would take three weeks or more, and the hike across them would take close to two. With war brewing at Arlenn’s Point in a mere seven weeks, all haste would be required of them in putting an end to the crisis of death.

The foursome was accompanied by three members of Rowan’s personal guard, former mercenaries like Vanya’s group, but they had been based in the immediate area around Godspoint. As such, they were given the task of leading Vanya and her companions through the treacherous southern Arlenian terrain to the base of the Arcaneus Peaks.

Alexander was a small, shrewd man, with a childish face, and the leader of the group. Yet behind that childlike face, Vanya knew, as she most often did, that unprecedented cruelty lay behind them, ready to be whipped out when needed.

He was a jovial fellow, often boasting of his many achievements ‘back in the day,’ such as killing three heavily armed swordsmen with one hand while taking a piss with the other. Alexander wielded a one-handed shortsword, but kept another blade handy in case the situation grew dire.

In the days leading up to their departure from Rowan’s manse, Alexander had taken his supper with the foursome, at Rowan’s bidding. Rowan had asked Alexander to plan strategy with them, but Vanya had already grown sick of him and his constant boasts.

Vanya had yet to see the man in a fight, but the scars on his face and arms spoke of vast experience in combat. Scars are the marks of the survivors. Alexander, despite his jovial, laid-back appearance, was not a man to be trifled with. 

The other two on the other hand, were more unassuming fellows, one male and the other female.

Ridelf was tall and lithe, with long, well-muscled legs made for running long distances. He wielded a long bow made of yew, and had a quiver stocked full of arrows slung across his back. Vanya had seen Ridelf practicing his marksmanship in the yard of Rowan’s home. 

While his aim wasn’t perfect, his arm was steady and Vanya had decided  that he’d be able to kill any rebel from a fair distance. They would need an archer for the journey that was to come.

Nathea, on the other hand, was of an unassuming, middling height, with quaint, commonplace features, beautiful in a rugged sort of way, with scars adorning her eyebrow and bottom lip and shoulder length brown hair.