XIX. Dead Winter days

The wind was mocking them, sharp as knives and unrelenting, each step was a lesson in futility. Nuns stumbled and collapsed into rock hard snow banks, only to be yanked back onto their feet by gruff and irritated soldiers of the now fallen kingdom of Sorn. They had no horses, Arkona’s revolt saw to that, and were forced to carry their supplies on their backs or pull them along on makeshift sleds. The land was flat and white as far as the eye could see in all directions, as if they were adrift on some frozen sea at the bottom of the world. Fiora reluctantly pulled off her glove and unfurled the map for the umpteenth time, though she knew nothing had changed. They were in the plains of central Sorn, uninhabited and vast.

During the spring these fields would be covered in flowers, and during the summer, it would be an ocean of dark green grass. Woe be unto the fool that try to make the journey during winter however. For much like the sea, there were no landmarks or defining terrain features, caravans forced to cross the expanse used the stars to navigate, just like a ship’s captain. The only defining points were three cities in the center, two built in craters where presumably cities were before the collapse, and the third in an ancient quarry.

Rowena smirked through chattering teeth. “Not much further now, right?”

Fiora rolled up the map and quickly donned her glove. “If that’ll help you make the next step, sure.”

Rowena frowned and nearly stumbled as she rubbed her hands together for warmth. Her winter gear was more svelte than the thick parkas everyone else wore, and looked to be made of moss and tree bark. Fiora was amazed the woman hadn’t frozen by now.

“You aren’t exactly inspiring confidence, Major.”

Fiora glanced over her shoulder at the gaggle of soldiers and clerics that snaked behind her. Progress was nonexistent. The path of the sun was obscured by cloud cover, and each step seemed to barely carry them one foot from the last. From memory, she knew that the journey from Auld Ferrons to the River Silver Tears took a little over a month, and they were well within the borders when this journey began. So they were left with what exactly? A week? Two? She was unsure they could last that long even, even if the weather were to stay relatively good.

Rowena stopped mid step and began sniffing the air. Fiora cast a perplexed gaze her way, but kept trudging on.

“Need a handkerchief?”

Rowena held up her finger and sniffed again. “I smell blood. And shit.”

Fiora reluctantly stopped and fumbled in her pocket for a kerchief. “This cold dry air can give you nosebleeds.”

Rowena shook her head. “No, that’s not it…”

Fiora held out the cloth and weakly beckoned Rowena to come take it. “We need to keep moving, not much further yet.”

Fiora’s cracked lips began to bleed and she slumped over, the weight of her fatigue finally setting in as she stood motionless. Had she the energy, she would have pounced upon Rowena for making her speak and lose her rhythm. Much to her annoyance and horror, Rowena suddenly took off to the south, sprinting across the frozen drifts like some sort of crazed antelope.

“Crazy fucking elf cunt…” Fiora swore before half heartedly jogging after her.

Her fatigue and annoyance soon gave way to shock and confusion as they stumbled upon a massive mud hole and still smoldering crater in the middle of the plains. The shredded and mutilated corpses of horse and men lay scattered about, frost covered and half buried in the dirt. Great scars crisscrossed the field, as if the nails of gods had once raked across the soil. It was not so much a battle that had occurred but rather a force of nature.

“What the hell happened here?” Fiora rasped in awe.

Rowena knelt down and dusted the frost and caked dirt from a corpses uniform. He was duvachellian, there was no doubt about that. Before Fiora could speak, Rowen had scampered over to another corpse, this one clad in tattered blue and gold.

“A Rhodarcian?” Fiora breathed, now more confused than ever. “What are they doing out here? Did we get turned around?”

Rowena shook her head. “No, we’ve been travelling east.”

Fiora glanced around warily, the hairs on her neck were standing on end, and she couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched. She pulled her blade halfway from its scabbard and scanned the field. Nothing but corpses as far as the eye could see, small hillocks of dead men and horses. She took a breath and dropped the sword back into its sheath.

Rowena stood and dusted off her knees. The mud had frozen into hard packed dirt, leaving the half sunken corpses frozen in disjointed poses as if in the midst of being swallowed. Steam still rose from the crater however, and Rowena quickly jogged over to it. Fiora swore and glanced back at the men. A few had followed her over and stood scratching their heads in disbelief, the rest had collapsed in the snow or hadn’t noticed her departure. Fiora pointed to one of her soldiers, his mouth agape and his face a blistery red.

“You, make sure everyone keeps marching.”

Movement in the corner of her eyes caused Fiora to reflexively spin around and draw her blade. The soldiers followed suit and took up defensive positions at her flank. Each ragged breath shredded her dry throat as she frantically scanned the horizon, finding nothing but several mutilated horse carcasses.

“Is it Dusk borne major?” The young soldier squeaked, his voice cracked from youth, terror or some combination of the two.

Fiora shook her head and turned to the next man, a grizzled veteran who was remarkably unfazed by the cold. “Keep watch from here, I’ll retrieve the captain.”

The vet rendered a stiff salute as Fiora took off towards the crater. All around here were dismembered and disemboweled beasts and man, frozen in time and place. She stopped in her tracks and gasped, retching briefly as she stepped on a pile of organs. While she couldn’t be certain and didn’t dare examine it further, it looked as if a man had been turned inside out. Fiora averted her eyes with a gasp and hurried on, stumbling over limbs and torsos in her haste.

Rowena stood motionless on the rim of the crater, staring down at something as if mesmerized. Fires crackled and sparks shot up intermittently as wisps of black smoke lazily wafted up to the heavens. Fiora grabbed her shoulder to guide her back but froze upon catching sight of what lay in the crater. An irregularly shaped mess of metal, glass and various other unfamiliar material lay smoldering before them. It looked almost like a tin can that had been crushed by a heavy stone, spilling its contents across the field in a glittery spray of debris.

“What in Dawns’ name is that?” Fiora exhaled.

Rowena slowly shook her head, unable to answer. Whatever it was, it had crashed there, and was man made. From where or by whom was unknown. What Fiora was fairly certain of however was that Osric was involved in some capacity.

“We should go…”

Rowena nodded and slowly backed away, not tearing her gaze away from the wreckage. Whatever it was, it had either been thrown by a giant or fell from the sky, and Fiora was unwilling to linger and find out which.

Fiora spun around and stopped, slipping on the frozen mud underfoot. Before her, its back arched and fangs bared, was a creature of dusk. Her sentry, now dead and half devoured, was the subject of a quarrel between two more creatures some several meters away. The creature had the body of a hound, with a great hump at its shoulders and a gaudy mottled pelt. Its head and fangs were akin to a big cat, canines over developed to the point of being absurd.

Rowena knocked an arrow and fired in an instant, striking the creature dead in its eye. The beast recoiled slightly from the impact, but was otherwise unfazed. It snarled and lowered itself into a pouncing position. Fiora shoved Rowena out of the way as the creature leapt, opening its jaw to reveal row upon row of serrated fangs, much like sharks.

The creature clamped its jaw about her shoulder, shredding her parka and cleaving the links of her mail. Fiora and the creature tumbled into the crater, the demon thrashing its head back and forth all the while, digging deeper into her flesh. The impact knocked the air from her lungs as the creature briefly released its grip only to tear into her again. Fiora fumbled for her sword, but was unable to draw it as the creature tore at her torso with its claws. Over the cacophony of snarling and panting she heard her name being called and the distinctive sound of arrows impacted flesh.

Fiora beat on the creature and attempted to gouge out its eyes, but found her arm lacked strength, and the other was completely unresponsive. The beast was warm, as was the blood that now covered her. Briefly, she felt at peace, as if none of what was happening were real. It was a dream, and not even her own. She imagined herself watching the scene play out beneath her, as if she were merely an observer passing through.

The warmth was short-lived. The cold returned, covering her entire body in its numbing embrace. She felt as if she were drowning, her throat and lungs filled with fluid. She began to kick and thrash anew, as if attempting to break the surface. She heard an ear piercing scream, the scream of a drowning woman. Fiora fumbled at her belt, seeking to shed weight, wishing the woman would shut the fuck up so she could concentrate.

Her hands wrapped around a familiar handle, and she drew the dagger her father had bestowed to her when she first joined the service. She repeatedly plunged the weapon into the furry mass that held her pinned, still kicking to break the surface of an unseen lake. In an instant, the weight was lifted, and Fiora fell into a dark abyss.

* * *

The power of Dawn began to burn his hands as Rassvette sent its healing energies into Maleah’s frostbitten limbs. After several moments he was forced to withdraw his hand with a sharp intake of breath. He mopped the sweat from his brow on his cassock and took several deep, ragged breaths.

“You’re going to kill yourself…” Maleah muttered, her eyes still distant and lacking their usual luster.

Rassvette vigorously rubbed his hands together and placed them against the skin of his thighs and groin. The sun was obscured by cloud cover, and he couldn’t recharge quickly enough to keep up with their healing needs. Maleah’s clothes were not only wet, but also filthy, and they had no spare garments to change into. The frigid air was quite literally sapping all the warmth from her, and they were forced to stop every few moments to stave off the inevitable.

“We are lost and we are going to die. Just leave me here.”

Rassvette forced himself to his feet and went through the tired ritual of dragging Maleah to hers. While he wanted to agree with her, the threats of her brother still rang in his ear, and after the last showing, he was keen to believe them. If they were to die, it would be together, with him going first.

“Yes, we are lost, but no, we aren’t going to die.” Rassvete grunted through clenched teeth as he hoisted Maleah to her feet. “Now please, stand up. We’ve only a little more ways to go.”

Maleah pushed off his arm and unsteadily took two steps forward. They had been walking for a day without food or water, subsisting on snow melted in a canteen pressed against his body. They had no food, no blankets, no wood for a fire, only the tattered rags on their backs. If they weren’t from their respective nations and somewhat accustomed to the harsh cold, they’d have died hours ago.

“Look!” Maleah spat as she pointed to the overcast sky. “With no sun you will die the next time you draw on the dawn, we are dead already monk.”

Rassvette gritted his teeth, while he wanted to blame it all on her, he knew that wasn’t exactly fair. Even if he could leave her, he was certain he wouldn’t. He needed her as much as she needed him at the moment. While they hadn’t run into any dusk borne yet, he knew they were out there. Rassvette sighed and wiped away a tear of frustration that spilled from her sullen eyes. They were going to die out here, but he saw no sense in dwelling on it.

“I won’t give up captain miroshnik. And if I don’t, you aren’t allowed to either.” Rasvette grabbed her by the hand and brusquely jerked her back onto their path. “This land is flat, with all of its towns and cities falling in a line down the middle. We had already made considerable distance before the attack. If we keep the wraith wood to our backs, we’ll wind up somewhere.”

Maleah snatched back her hand and stopped. “That’s your plan? Just wander aimlessly?”

Rassvette dragged his hands down his face with a groan of frustration and despair. “Not aimlessly, we head east.”

Maleah laughed incredulously, though in actuality it bordered on hysteria. “You wanna march us east until we hit Elysia or Arlien?”

Rassvette cleared his throat. “I expect something will pop up before then…”

Maleah threw up her hands and stormed off. “Of course not, we’ll just die before we get that far.”

Rassvete shoved his hands back into his robes and trudged silently after her. He couldn’t argue with her as he had reached a similar conclusion. He was little more than an archivist, not some survivalist. The fact he knew how to manage in cold climates was a given, seeing as most of his homeland was cursed with perpetual winters, but even that knowledge could go only so far. They needed a fire, and fresh clothing. Maleah barely even had a jacket anymore. Worst of all, should they fall here, there would be no one to find their remains.

Rassvette cursed his fate, and Sorn in particular. This was the second time he had gotten lost in this light forsaken country's wilderness. The entire country seemed to be barren wasteland, uninhabited except for the grass, not even beasts called this place home. It was utterly perplexing how such a place could even be called a kingdom.

“This is the best I could do Maleah, I am sorry I could not offer more.”

Maleah suddenly stopped and stared intently to the south. Rassvette stopped and crouched down in the snow, attempting to catch his breath. Without food or sun, he was completely wiped. Several times he felt the encroaching blackness of unconsciousness creep up upon him. At least he would die first he thought morbidly.

“I will do all in my power to make this comfortable, but-“

“Shut the fuck up Rassvette!” Maleah hissed. “Is that smoke?”

Rassvetted slowly stood, waiting for the nausea to pass before looking to the horizon. After several moments, his eyes focused and he saw the thin black tendrils of what could be smoke rising from the horizon.

“How far is it though?” he muttered to himself.

Maleah took his self-talk as confirmation and marched out ahead of him with new found vigor. “Fuck if I know, but if we can see it, we can reach it.”

Rassvette smiled wanly and stumbled after her. He would save his “I told you so” speech until after they had been fed and warmed by a fire.