The Shattered Path

Chapter 1 - The Frontier

Aryl wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. No breeze brought relief from the midday sun. He was careful to keep his bare hands away from the scalding rock, but the heat still baked through his clothing. The thick cloth of his cloak held the heat close, soaking his leather shirt and pants with sweat, forming a puddle in the toes of each boot. How long had he lain atop the jagged column of stone?

At least, if the creature found him, it would end his suffering. The heavy footsteps had stopped somewhere below. He knew it was there and feared peering over the edge of the rock. Perhaps, it hadn't seen him and would soon move on. He couldn't be that lucky, he was sure.

Sweat trickled over the edge of his lip, giving him a taste of salt. He felt he would die if he did not drink something soon. He rolled onto his back and sat up. The heat washed over him in waves and the open sky whirled. He placed his hands on the blistering rock to brace himself, quickly blowing on his fingers to cool them.

The top of the spire was uneven, peppered with small depressions which held pebbles and dust. Thin cracks ran across the surface, threatening to one day split the stone structure into four large sections. Craggy rock spires spread for miles around and snow-capped mountains stood along the west, stretching across the south. North and east, the spires continued into the hazy distance, distorted by the rising heat.

Aryl had climbed the spire to locate the break in the long ridge to the southwest, Blood Gap. For centuries, the Fortress of Light had stood there, between the two mountains, and he was eager to get back. He had no love of the place, but the town of Arnich was on the far side, in safer lands. Licking his lips, he tasted the sweet memories of his last visit and salt. If he survived this hulking creature and the insufferable heat, his scouting days were over. The Dark could take him if he broke this new oath, and he would be thankful.

He pulled his heavy cloak over his head and wadded it into a bundle in his lap. Only a fool would wear dark cloth in such heat. He should have taken it off at daybreak, but the other scouts had instructed him to always wear it. He didn't trust their advice. They enjoyed giving him bad advice and had often played tricks on him. Yet, they had worn their cloaks in the frontier, so he had trusted them on that, at least. It just seemed so uncomfortable.

He slipped his backpack from his shoulders and untied the flap. Retrieving a skin full of water, he plucked the cork stopper and feverishly downed half of the contents. The warm liquid wet his mouth and throat. The well at the fortress offered draft after draft of cold water, and he wished he could throw himself inside. He imagined the looks on the faces of the soldiers and scouts at the fortress if he jumped in the well. He gulped another disappointing drink before replacing the stopper.

Aryl was a terrible scout. This wasn't the first time he had gotten lost. He had spent the better part of the day stumbling over the loose rocks and watching his feet, rather than his direction. He had been happy that he had not broken his ankle by stepping in a hole. Now, he wished that he had fallen into one. He had spent most of his childhood lost in Uth Beuthis Hathaen's apple orchards. He wished he were lost there now instead.

Gazing at Blood Gap, and thinking of Arnich, had given him a taste for wine. He shoved the water skin back into his pack and removed a second skin; this one held wine. He remembered drinking half of it the night before, but it felt full as he held it now. He was sure drinking wine in this heat was a terrible idea. He just wanted a sip. Something to help his mind drift to a happier place. He didn't know how long he would be trapped there.

He pulled the stopper with his teeth, taking it in hand. He was careful not to make any more sound than he had to. He put the skin to his lips, but didn't catch the aroma of spiced Erinyrian wine as expected. Still, he took a mouthful and was rewarded with more warm water. He hesitated before swallowing the liquid. The heat couldn't have ruined his sense of taste. He had carried only one skin of water on the previous night, yet now he had two. It was ridiculous to believe that someone had stolen his wine and replaced it with water. He absentmindedly replaced the stopper but didn't return the skin to his pack.