The Shattered Path

Chapter 3 - The Oath

Aryl awoke to rough shaking and rubbed his eyes with a dirty hand. The sun flared over the eastern horizon, blazing orange above the white peaks of the Dragon Mountains. A yellow glow stretched outward, threatening to fill the sky, but faded to glacier-blue before reaching the western horizon.

He had slept the entire night. Why had Jaegor allowed him to sleep so long? He sat up and pain throbbed in his neck and back. He had slept at an uncomfortable angle on the hard ground and the previous day of travel had left his legs reluctant to bend.

"Grab your things. We be moving," ordered Jaegor, standing several paces down the hill, facing the rising sun. He cleared his throat and pressed the end of his long bow to the ground, bending it to attach the string.

Aryl's mouth was as dry as the rocks he had slept on. He picked up his water skin and took a long drink. The cool liquid soothed his throat. He wished he had a dozen more water skins. He considered accidentally drinking from one of Jaegor's other skins.

"I got a lot of sleep but I don't feel rested," Aryl mumbled, removing a smoked beef strip from his backpack and biting a chewy chunk. "Did you get any sleep? You must be as tired as a brothel bartender on the morning after Greatfeast Day."

The able woodsman turned toward Aryl, brows lowering. He grunted and stomped down the hill, cloak fluttering.

Aryl swallowed hard at the sight of Jaegor's bearded face. The man's eyes were puffy from hard sleep, having obviously fallen asleep during the night. What if a hanaran had found them sleeping? Aryl sensed that Jaegor was upset by the failure and was careful not to mention it. Aryl packed his gear in silence, not asking his many questions about what lay ahead. He was thankful for the extra sleep though.

It was not long before they continued their trek north. Scattered white clouds drifted in from the northwest, granting slight relief from the sun. Jaegar guided him around most hills, rather than crossing over the top. When they did crest a hill, looking far to the north and low on the horizon, there always seemed to be black clouds which never appeared to get any closer or farther. For the first few hours, Aryl thought his eyes played tricks or he had fallen for some illusion of the terrain. He wanted to ask if those dark clouds hung over the Murdered Lands, but he knew the answer.

By midday, the sun hovered overhead and sweat soaked Aryl's clothing. His stiff legs loosened into unforgiving soreness and the hills ground him down. He was lost in an ocean of enormous mounds of earth covered with rocks, shrubs, and tough grasses.

Jaegor moved, as if he knew where he was headed, and volunteered knowledge about the terrain and wildlife. Aryl would no longer need such outdoor skills once he left the Brotherhood, but he listened, finding the information surprisingly interesting. Aryl drank the last of his water before he realized it was all he had. After that, he listened less, thinking of the cool water in the well at the fortress.

Toward the end of the day, the merciless sun began its descent, and Jaegor motioned for silence. Aryl followed him to the top of a steep hill, where they crawled on their bellies over the brown stones and dust. Aryl checked his sword, moving his cloak so he could reach the hilt. He expected to find a hanaran or beastman camp.

On the far side, a lake spread in a great oval, seeming to have swallowed several hills. The surface reflected the bright blue sky above, wispy clouds appearing to glide across the water. Green plants flourished for twenty paces around the water's edge, some with heavy, yellow flowers; and others with violet, bell-shaped flowers. A dozen trees, twice the height of a man, had grown among the other flora, though several were withered and leafless. A cool breeze swept from the lake, carrying a floral fragrance.