Deathless

Deathless Chapter Thirty-One: Chase

Chapter Thirty-One: Chase

The smoking ruin of Morsar lay as a backdrop as Emperor Arseph’s mighty host gathered at the gates of the City of Mages. The Mage Lord Alvarin’s golden crown was at his feet and the lord’s staff, tipped with a gleaming ruby, pocketed with countless cracks and fractures, split in two at his Arseph’s feet.

“Mageslayer!” the men called to him, raising their weapons above their heads as he emerged from the gates, triumphant. The glorious emperor had emerged from the depths of the Mages’ evils, victorious over the enemies that had plagued Arlenia for so long. His generals assembled behind him.

Arseph gave them a small smile. “My friends, today, our struggle has ended! Today, we have vanquished a great evil from the lands of Arlenia!

“Long live Emperor Arseph!” the men cheered. “Long live the Mageslayer! Long live the Savior of Arlenia!”

All this transpired as the once great city of Morsar burned behind him, the last of the great evils in Arlenia finally extinguished. Never again would a Mage Lord sit upon the throne of Morsar to spread the tyranny of his dark arts. Never again would the Mages threaten the good people of Arlenia.

After a gruesome forty years of war against the tyrannical Mages, Emperor Arseph the Mageslayer had finally emerged victorious, proving once again the audacity of the Arlenians against whatever evils seek to bring them down.

-Excerpt from The Battle of Morsar, by Haren, scribe of Arseph the Mageslayer

Their frantic feet clattered against the stone-cold ground. Sweat dripped freely from their foreheads. The sound of hooves grew louder and louder as they sought salvation. Although they knew that it was all for naught.

Lindale could feel the tension rise in his chest, his shoulders growing weak from the weight of his axe as they sprinted. He felt the cool morning wind whip past his face as he ran, his chest grow heavy with breath.

Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths. One step at a time. You can do this.

He listened. Clatter clatter clatter. The sound of hooves on stone. Their pursuers were gaining on them. Now there was no doubt that they were what the horsemen were after. He quickened his pace.

Vanya and Sirya led the group, urging them on to move faster, while growing weary themselves. Alexander, Nathea, and Risselyn plodded on after, with Lindale and Ridelf taking up the rear.

They had been running for close on an hour now, but even so, Lindale knew that it would all count for naught if the rebel horsemen caught up to them. And they were gaining on them. Swiftly. Impossibly so.

He could see the Arcaneus Peaks on the horizon. They grew larger and larger now, dominating the landscape like an indifferent sentinel. He could see their spiked peaks rise up in the distance, like the claws of some terrifying beast breaking through the earth, ready to tear the land asunder.

They had only been a day or so from reaching their base. Once they reached the Peaks, Lindale knew that they would be safe. Or as safe as they could get in Southern Arlenia. 

The winding passages of the Peaks would grant them some respite from the rebel pursuers, and eventually they would give up or succumb to the treacheries of the Peaks.

A day more and they would have been beyond the rebels’ reach. So close. And yet so far. They still had five leagues or so before they would reach the Peaks. 

Not close enough, Lindale reflected. Not nearly close enough.

They weren’t going to make it.

“We have to split up!” he called. “It’s the only way!”