The Mournful King

XXI. Remnants

What had once been verdant warmth was now bitter cold, even miles from Zaeylael. The sky that had been cerulean for most of the Silent's life was dark, snow drifting down slowly. The air stung his face when the wind picked up and there was a faint smell of something foul on the wind. The trees and bushes that broke up through the snow were black and twisted things, claw-like branches raised as they begged vainly for warmth and light. It was so much worse than what he had expected. The horses were nervous as they moved, as if stressed by every crunch of frost beneath their hooves. Andraste's mount seemed the most resistant to fear, even when Mus was slinking close behind it. Then again, a western horse was used to such beasts.

The distortion to the area was subtle at first. It was days before the Silent realized that he was having trouble recalling a memory of blue skies or sunlight. Lieren had warned them away from the game, all of which seemed sickly and twisted on the rare occasions that they sighted another living thing. The water here was brackish and polluted, though it wasn't clear what had turned it dark. Lieren could purify it to a degree, but a foul aftertaste remained.

A hush blanketed the party for what felt like forever, but they were fast approaching the tunnel and the Silent was certain that the quiet was in part nerves, at least in his own head. They were exceptionally fortunate in that they didn't see much in the way of undead on the road. There were a few battles, but side roads and back paths had kept them out of the creatures' way. Granted, there weren't many travelers on the roads this close to Zaeylael who couldn't defend themselves, and almost all of them were probably demon-kith.

They wound their way down switchbacks and stony paths towards the sea, going carefully to avoid hurting their horses. The waves were a steely grey and whipped into froth by howling winds as they reached it, far colder than they had once been. White rime encrusted the branches of the few trees that hadn't completely withered away or been blown over by the storms. "Are we close?" Ekundayo called above the roar of the sea, barely audible even at the top of his lungs.

"Very!" Dain shouted back.

"Then we should leave the horses," Lieren said reluctantly. "They will not be able to follow us through the tunnel."

Ekundayo winced. "Will they be safe here?"

"Mus can stay with them," Andraste said as she dismounted. The hellhound didn't seem pleased with the idea, but he clearly understood. She knelt down and scratched behind his ears. "I'll be fine, Mus. Stay out of trouble, alright?"

The beast whined and bumped his head into her hands before turning his glowing eyes towards the Silent. The mute man shrugged at the hound. He was going to miss Mus, particularly when it came to battle, but they would need the horses if they had to leave in a hurry. Mus seemed to understand and sat down, watching as they all took their gear and tack off the horses. If the animals needed to run, they would be doing it unburdened.

"Be safe, Mus," Andraste said softly, hugging her hellhound around the neck. She held onto him tightly and then gave him a quick squeeze before letting go. "If anything happens, Silent will take good care of you."

Mus whined, his quilled tail flicking with worry. He laid down and lowered his ears, covering his muzzle with his clawed, hand-like forefeet. He looked positively miserable. The Silent understood the feeling.

Dain took the lead as they rounded the edge of the cliff. They seemed headed for a crevice in the rocks. There was a path carved into the stone, but it had been either cleverly disguised or was so old that the elements had worn off any sign of tools. Most likely, it was a combination of the two. All of them were wearing their armor, except for their unarmored elf, but with layers of other clothing and surcoats because of the incredible chill.