Dusk and Ash (In Progress)

Chapter 2

The prison cart jostled Durmhain awake. The morning light pierced into Durmhain's disorientation and made him flinch. He was able to keep his eyes open long enough to vaguely recognize the dirty, wounded, and broken faces cramped within the confined space, illuminated by the cold light beaming through the wagon's bars. It hurt to move, but Durmhain pushed himself up just enough to count nearly two dozen prisoners in the cart with him. Further down the road, he could see three other carts pulled by dark horses, escorted by mounted guards and footsoldiers in gray Nithian uniforms with white overcoats to blend in with the surrounding snow.

That makes not even a hundred survivors, Durmhain thought blearily to himself as he lowered himself back to the frozen wooden planks of the wagon floor, his mind bleary and queasy. Out of... how many?

A bitter wind blew through the bars of the wagon, bringing with it drifts of snow that buffeted against Durmhain's face and ripped what little hazy comfort of his sleep remained. All the occupants in the cart shuddered with him. Their clothes were mere rags now that barely preserved the meager heat the prisoners' bodies generated even as they huddled for warmth. Though some of the guards pulled their coats tighter, most chuckled at the prisoners' discomfort.

"Where are we going?" Durmhain asked the guard closest to him, craning his neck to do so.

The guard looked at him in disbelief, as if unable to comprehend how Durmhain would dare to ask a question, before tapping his mount's sides to move it into a trot.

Durmhain shook his head and sighed, the vapor of his breath painted gold by the sun. The stark beauty of the mountains distracted him momentarily. The white of the snow contrasted all other colors to nearly black, save for the highlights of the rising sun, which caused the world's contours to glisten. The prisoner closest to him, a young woman with a ratty braid, pressed closer to him for warmth. He instinctively shrunk back, glaring at her unintentionally. She looked as a spurned lover, staring at Durmhain with such suffering and confusion, Durmhain felt immediately ashamed as he watched her press closer to the other prisoners.

All we have left is each other, Durmhain thought to himself, though he simply curled himself tighter rather than attempt to make amends with the woman or come into contact with the other captives. We're all that's left of what was... What was...?

At that moment, a whistle echoed through the forest and an arrow sprouted from the helmet of the guard Durmhain had tried to talk to, who tumbled onto the road and was crushed by one of the wagon's wheels as his horse bucked and sprinted ahead. The officer at the front of the column began barking orders but was likewise peppered with arrows, most of which found purchase in the soft spots between his plate armor. More arrows hissed through the air, a few of which struck the wooden cage of the wagon. One bore into the back of a prisoner next to Durmhain, who's scream was cut off as he began coughing blood.

Without thinking, Durmhain held the man, trying to keep both of them from getting shot without jostling the man's wound where the arrow had pierced through his abdomen. Immediately, Durmhain ripped off part of his sleeve and tore it in two to press on either end of the wound while keeping his head down.

However, as he heard an unearthly roar and a chorus of battle cries in response, Durmhain couldn't help but look. Soldiers in furs burst from the snow on either side of the caravan, their eyes glowing red and the bodies radiating so much heat, the snow on them melted in moments. They charged the Nithians before any formation could be made and swiftly pushed in on both sides. The wagon rocked back and forth as Nithians were slammed into the vehicle. The movement pushed Durmhain forward so that he accidentally snapped the arrow in the prisoner's abdomen, causing the man to howl in agony.