Deathless

Deathless Chapter Thirty-Seven: Descent

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Descent

Even when the village was out of sight, the now-triad could still see the dark pillars of smoke rising from the ruins of the Renerin dwelling.

The screams had long gone, having ended their incessant echoing along the canyon along which Vanya and her companions now trekked.

Vanya herself didn't know where they were going. They just walked onwards. One foot in front of the other, and then the next foot, and then the next foot. Step after step after step with no real purpose.

Sirya hadn't spoken a word since they left the village. Vanya could understand that. She knew how it felt to be completely helpless, completely at the mercy of those around her.

As Vanya began to finger the hilt of her mace absent-mindedly, the full weight of their situation began to dawn on her.

They were out in the middle of nowhere, at the forefront of a midnight snowstorm. The onslaught of snow had picked up right after they fled the village, and now the canyon was visibly blanketed with snow. Lindale had thankfully managed to retrieve their belongings as they fled the village, but apart from a couple weeks' worth of food and the weapons at their belts, they were helpless.

Vanya certainly had no inkling as to where they were, apart from that they were somewhere in the northern half of the Arcaneus Peaks. She'd gotten a glimpse of the mountains surrounding the Renerin Plateau. Southwards, she'd seen an expanse of towering mountains and peaks, and behind them stood the faint outline of Godspoint, Arlenia's highest peak. And before them she saw more peaks, snow-capped and blanketed by barren, icy terrain.

That meant that there were at worst seven more days before they could escape the Peaks' embrace. But could they survive seven days?

She shivered, feeling the chill even though she had layered herself in furs they'd acquired weeks ago from Rowan's manse. Had it only been a few weeks ago? When the seven of them: Alexander, Nathea, Ridelf, Lindale, Sirya, Risselyn, and herself had departed from Southport?

Their seven had now dwindled to three battered figures hobbling through the snow, dejected, lamenting at the torments that they had been put through.

A shame, it was, Vanya reflected as she shambled onwards with no clear goal, her two companions just as defeated. They set out from Ninquelen so eager and ready for any adversaries that might be presented to them.

But now when their numbers started to dwindle, it was then that their resolve began to weaken.

At last, Vanya began to consider the possibility of failure. What if they did fall out here in the Arcaneus wastes, far south of the north that they were so used to? What if their epic quest and their epic sacrifices: Alexander, Nathea, Ridelf, and now Risselyn, would all come to naught?

She despaired at the idea, but realised that it would probably be of little note to Iepenel. The great emperor had probably already heard of the sinking of the Flamebearer in the Archipel Islands and had sent new mercenaries to take care of the problem twice over.

Fucking nobles, she thought to herself. The high and mighty never seemed be able to regard the people they ruled over as anything more than tools to be used and disposed of at their will.

They found a place that they might stay the night after what seemed to Vanya an eternity. It was a small alcove, a dent in the otherwise solid stone wall of the canyon.

The threesome shambled inside dejectedly and collapsed onto the floor, tossing their packs off haphazardly. Sirya lay down on the cold stone and passed out instantly.