Chapter 3: The Mountain's Shadow

The aches came before she’d fully emerged from the cave, adrenaline wearing off as the rumbling beneath her heels tapered off. The mountain was settling, the maddening laughter of the walking maw was silenced, and Elma was able to feel the weariness of her escape settling in.

Her footwork grew sloppy, and she leaned against the mouth of the cave and slid down to one knee so she could catch her breath.

But only for a small moment, there was no time for rest.

Only when her heart was no longer pounding in her chest did she raise her gaze, initially scanning the bottom of the crevice for any sign of the thief that had taken Bullminth's Blade. But instead, she spotted a familiar muscular form crouched in the middle of the crevice floor.

The heads of his hatchets dragged against the sand floor as he leaned forward.

Catching her breath, she approached with heavy feet.

Noting her approach, Yorm lifted his head and glanced back at her.

“I thought you’d be halfway back to Fulgan by now.” Elma narrowed her gaze “But no matter, I'll ignore your abandoning of me as long as you caught sight of the thief."

Yorm didn’t speak, looking back at her with an even gaze as she approached. His silence led her to stop a few yards away. She eyed him for a moment, waiting for him to say anything, until she finally took a step back.

“You weren’t taken, were you?” she asked, hand reflexively inching towards the hilt of her blade.

Yorm shook his head, but she still scanned him for new wounds or blood. It was only when she found the fur of his vest and kilt free of red that she lowered her hand.

When she did, Yorm gestured down to the ground in front of him.

Elma raised an eyebrow at him, only to note that the items he'd been looking over were remains that hadn't been there when they'd entered. Old remains by the look of it. Pieces of armor, clothing and bones scattered amongst the crevice floor. But she froze upon recognizing some of them, having just seen them guarding the Nurl as they excavated the ruin.

Dreamers.

Her eyes darted from piece to piece.

None of them were disappearing.

They weren’t being consumed by the usual foggy haze that all Dreamers returned to when they were cut down. Yet the lack of mad cackling or euphoric cheers assured her that they were dead.

“Its…they're...” her breath grew heavier “They're severed from the Dream.”

“Was well and ready to leave you.” Yorm raised a finger and waved it about, “No true child of Morgo rushes to their last hunt.”

He stepped ahead of her, kicking the decayed skull of one Dreamer aside before putting his hands on his hips.

“But I came up here and saw that sword in action.” He looked to the sky “The thief… while the other Nurl fled, the Dreamers had her surrounded. When she turned it on them, wasn’t sure if my eye was goin’ bad on me.”

He didn't speak for a moment, prompting Elma to look up. He was eyeing the pieces with uncertainty, folding his arms before regaining his even look.

“It was like she was playing with ‘em. Swinging that sword all cockney but with speed and power I’ve only seen from masters.”

Though Yorm was still trying to word it properly, Elma’s focus was solely on the wonder before her: Dreamers actually staying dead.

She reached out and took hold of a broken skull, hands almost trembling. It could lash out and bite at any second, like any decapitated Dreamer would.

But it didn’t.

“Bullminth's Blade works…” she smiled back at Yorm, cutting through his explanation with jubilance “This proves it, not even the Archon’s tricks could keep him from being sealed. Do you have any idea what this means?!?”

“Means we need to get Fulgan.” The answer was immediate and succeeded in wiping Elma’s smile off her face as Yorm made for the nearest scaffolding. She gave chase, carefully setting the skull aside and running up to him just as he reached for a small Nurl ladder.

“What do you mean?” she demanded “That thief couldn’t have gotten far! We need to track her down before-!”

“We're doing both.” Yorm stated as he looked back to her “She’s headin’ for the trade fair.”

Reaching up towards his face, Yorm massaged the sides of his nose before lifting his head up and smelling the air.

“Didn’t have a Horse or a beetle with her, so she ain’t trying to flee the plains.” He closed his eyes and sniffed again “Can promise you there ain’t anywhere else for her to go.”

“Then we stick to following her.” Elma pointed to him “I don’t know if all your colleagues are like Fulgan, but the Alliance tries to keep swindlers like him at arm’s length.”

“Well we don’t get to be picky this far in enemy lands,” he turned and grabbed hold of the ladder before starting to pull himself up “He’s the only support we got, and it’d be a damn bit easier to catch her with him backing us.”

“He won’t!” Elma stated “the second he hears that the Archon’s aware of Alliance forces here he’ll turn tail and run. I’ve seen his type before, Yorm!”

Yorm went still, one foot on the ladder and the other dangling as he turned back to her with his eye wide. Elma realized what she implied, but stood firm as he lowered himself back down to the ground and approached without breaking eye contact.

“Did… the host,” his tone grew stricter with every step he took “Did you... let it see you?”

“I'd never slain one of his monstrosities before, I was certain it was dead.” Elma insisted before closing her eyes “but...”

That was enough for Yorm, who threw up his hands before turning and pulling himself up the scaffold with renewed fervor. Hauling himself up over the edge, he immediately turned and slammed a hand on the edge before pointing to her.

“Now he’s gonna be sending a whole horde of them Dreamer bastards combing through this place.” He gestured for her to hurry “Come on, regardless of what we do we gotta get moving fast.”

He lowered a hand towards her, which she grabbed as he pulled her up. Yorm didn’t give pause, immediately continuing his ascent with her right behind him.

Despite making use of the structures the Nurl left behind, their ascent was far more trying than the descent. The ladders and ropes were blatantly made for Nurl to use, yet Yorm made use of them with little hesitation. Then there was the scaffolding, the bridges and walkways. The crooked placement of the planks did not inspire any form of confidence, making Elma every time they creaked under her boots.

Credit to the Nurl, their structures never broke under her.

“Maybe,” Elma grunted as she pulled herself up another Nurl ladder “we’ll run into her on the way?”

“Maybe.” Yorm repeated, focusing more on testing the strength of another Nurl walkway before pulling himself up.

“You saw her, right?” Elma reached up to take his offered hand “Describe her, just in case.”

“One step at a time.” Yorm stated.

Clouds had rolled in by the time they got out of the Crevice. Looking up, she saw the rolling green hills of the Central plains grow darker as more clouds rolled in. Shrubbery was sparsely dotted along the grass, one bush serving as home to a nest of buzzing insects.

“Thief wasn’t the only Nurl to get outta there.” Yorm examined the plains before shaking his head “The Clans are probably gonna get here before the Dreamers.”

Elma raised an eyebrow at that.

“The Clans?” she asked, prompting a glance from him.

“There really that few Nurl in the south?” he shrugged before pointing “Look, I’ll show you when we get up there.”

She followed his gaze past the end of the crevice, to the mountain at the very end of it. Even if the clouds weren't rolling in, the sun was obscured by the mountain's peak.

Mount Drypeak wasn’t the largest mountain in the Central Plains, Elma could see a number of them rising to the north that put some of the peaks back in Olmerra to shame. Unlike those, Drypeak sat in the very heart of the central plains of Altez, making it stand out amongst the rolling grass.

Yorm led her up the base of Mount Drypeak, along its steep rocky side until finally reaching the top of a cliff face that evened out before them. It didn't seem natural, the nearby rock bearing old burrow marks. Elma ran her hand along them as they passed, but didn't let Yorm pull too far ahead before moving to catch up.

Only when Elma saw him pause at the edge of the cliff and view the rolling grass below did she allow herself a moment of breath. But it didn’t last long.

The sounds of distant voices drew her attention, and she quickly moved to Yorm’s side to see what he was looking at.

Beetles the size of donkeys were dotting the grass below, along with almost two dozen Nurl. The Beetles had large saddles strapped to their carapaces, but the riders had dismounted to speak amongst one another.

Elma couldn't make out the words, but Yorm nodded towards the Beetles.

"Looks like their grub showed up too late."

Two of the beetles had bulkier saddles than the others, but the extra weight did nothing to slow their grazing. Not even the increasingly loud arguing of their riders disturbed them.

Elma recognized a number of the Nurl from the ruins, though some of the riders also had similar ratty attire. It was the Nurl closest to the Beetles that stood out. Instead of salvaged attire, they were dressed entirely in armor crafted of beetle shells.

"Burybiters and Beetledrivers." Yorm stated, pointing between the two groups "The clans running the fair. Our thief didn't really fit the picture of either of 'em, but if she was in the mine then she had to have been close with one or the other."

"She's not down there, right?" Elma asked quickly, only for Yorm to shake his head

"Nah, she took the same route we're taking." he sniffed the air "Can still smell her, but she's prolly reached the fair by now."

A cry of anger drew Elma's eyes back down to the Nurl, one of the miners from the cave was stumbling back from another Burybiter in a hood.

The hooded Nurl approached whilst shouting, stopping only when another stepped forward and spoke. The Hooded Burybiter punched himself in the face twice before spinning on the Beetledrivers, waving them towards the Crevice whilst also snapping his fingers at the rest of the Burybiters.

"Now …” Yorm nudged her, drawing her gaze before jerking his thumb in the direction they came from “At least one Nurl besides the thief saw us there. If the Clan thinks we helped her or had something to do with their dig getting’ buried, don’t expect them to let us through their fair without trouble.”

The groups split up, with the Hooded Burybiter riding towards the trade fair on his own as the rest sped off towards the Crevice. Skittering, chitinous legs allowed the Beetles to speed along the grassy hills without pause, each bearing two or three Nurl on its back.

Elma had seen Beetle Mounts before, but that didn't make the sight of so many moving in unison any less unnerving.

But the giant bugs were the least of her concerns, for she just realized what Yorm had implied.

“Goldie saw us?” she turned to him, only to receive a confused look in return.

He didn’t respond, letting his narrowed eye do the talking for him. It was only after realizing what she’d said that Elma rolled her eyes and leaned close.

“It's what Maltop called her,” she explained before looking back to the posse of Nurl as they neared the edge of the crevice “Might’ve been courting.”

“Hmph,” Yorm shook his head before standing up and continuing along the “ya remember the Nurl that showed up while we were roughing up that tool-carrier?”

Elma had just gotten up to follow him, only to freeze the moment she realized what he was saying.

That panicking Nurl who ran past them with that large sack on her shoulders. She couldn’t think of anyone else he was referring to. But that would mean it had been right next to them: Bullminth’s Blade.

“Was right there…”

“Hm?” Yorm looked back at her.

“It was right there…” Elma ground her teeth together, her eyes began to sting.

Yorm turned back towards her fully.

“The salvation of the Alliance, bane of the Archon and end to the Seventh Scourge was right… there.” She looked to her hands before looking up “And I just, let it slip right past me!”

She stomped forward, pushing past Yorm as she picked up speed. She heard him sigh heavily behind her, but didn’t slow down as she moved along the cliff face.

“Well, not every day someone runs by with some ancient relic in a ratty sack.” He said “And those Nurl were gathering plenty of shiny stuff-”

“That’s no excuse!” Elma spun back on him before smacking a hand against her own forehead “We should’ve grabbed her, should’ve stopped her before-!”

Elma’s eyes went wide, turning on Yorm immediately, “You saw her, you saw her and just let her run!”

“Oh, I would’ve been glad to sneak her if I didn’t see how quick she could swing a broadsword larger than herself.” Yorm shrugged, “Gotta be careful with this one.”

“But she could sell it off to someone, or gift it to the Archon for his favor!” Elma reached up and grabbed his shoulders “All our people’s struggles made worthless! Compared to abandoning me, these repercussions are far more horrid.”

“I didn’t abandon anything.” Yorm brushed her hands off “You abandoned common thought when ya charged into a crumbling relic full of Dreamers without support. I might’ve risked attacking this Goldie if I had someone to help me flank her, ya know?”

“Excuses,” Elma turned away before closing her eyes “Altez deserves better defenders. We have to do better.”

She heard a heavy sigh behind her.

"You know, I was under the impression that sentries were supposed to have a lil' thing called patience." he said, waiting several seconds before waving his hand about "If this entire venture wasn't so sloppily slapped together, I might've been disappointed."

“Noted,” Elma nodded back to him, before eyeing the curve of the cliff “now come, you know this route better than I. Take the lead.”

Yorm opened his mouth, but ended up shaking his head as he turned back. Elma glanced eastward, scanning the grassy plains for a moment. The cliff gave a full view of the plains, up until the hills grew too large and obscured any view of the lands beyond.

The flapping of wings overhead drew Elma's gaze up towards a Plainhunter, sailing out through the open air as the clouds continued darkening. A storm was coming if the clouds in the east were any indication, Elma could only hope they recovered the blade before it reached them. Fleeing with such a relic with both the Archon and the Clans looking for it would be hard enough without the weather making travel difficult.

Yorm held up a hand behind him, bringing Elma to a stop as he bent down and rubbed a hand along the edge of the cliff. It grew thinner up ahead, curving along an outcropping of rock that looked precariously ready to fall.

But the halt in their movements only gave Elma time to think. While the ache of her escape from the ruin had mostly dulled, it only allowed her to recognize how long it had been since her last drink. Yet the mere thought of Bullminth’s Blade being dragged around a trade fair by some scheming Nurl was enough to drive away any thirst she could harbor.

The fact she could even consider water at such a time irked her.

“It’ll hold,” Yorm stood and pointed to the outcropping of rock “just don’t touch that. It’s too weathered. It'll hold us, but if that thing comes down we're going with it.”

Yorm folded his arms behind his back and moved carefully along the cliff. Despite his reassurance, Elma made sure to step where he stepped. The height would be more than enough to cripple her if she wasn't careful. She did keep the weathered outcropping in mind, at least until they rounded the curve and she could spot the trade fair from atop the overlook they stepped onto.

Dozens of tents, shacks and wagons, all ranging in size and material. They were nestled into the base of Mount Drypeak, with beetles and horses laden with cargo trotting in-between the tents. The numerous voices of the fair were still a distant muffled chorus, but she could smell it already: Beetle dung, dirty tents and sweat.

It looked exactly like a shanty town to Elma, filled with hecklers, cutpurses, cheapskates of all flavors trying to outbid and outsmart one another.

A central plaza where bidding took place was the only form of coordination the structures had. Everything else was just slapped together with no regard for consistency. Cooking stalls were set up right next to cattle lanes, tents were practically wedged up against one another in certain places. A pile of broken, empty crates had been growing just outside the fair since the first time she'd been there.

It was discordant madness compared to a proper marketplace.

"Come," Yorm patted her shoulder and pointed "Don't wanna waste time on this."

He pointed towards the southern edge of the fair, where a blue flag rose above Fulgan's tent. The flag and the slightly less disgusting nature of his tent were the only things that differentiated from anything else.

Elma narrowed her eyes, looking from the fair to Yorm as he began his descent. It was the way he casually stretched every time he slid or hopped down to the next outcropping of rock that stood out. As they neared the base of Mount Drypeak, he looked up to watch her climb down as well.

Once her feet were on solid ground, she looked back and searched his expression for any urgency.

She found none.

"Looks like its all business like usual." Yorm eyed up the edge of the fair, watching figures move in the distance as Elma turned on him "guess it ain't all bad."

"Are...you even registering how important this is?" Elma asked, causing him to look back at her briefly before shrugging "You saw Bullminth's Blade in action and still act as though this isn't the key to freeing Altez

"Would you rather I jump up and down cheering like a loon?" he asked whilst approaching the fair.

"I'd rather you act with more urgency!" Elma declared "You aid the Alliance to stand against him, right? Yet you can't even muster more than a casual stroll to secure his downfall? To free your people?"

"Ah, see that's where you're wrong." Yorm came to a stop, turning to her with his eye narrowed "I don't help you or your Alliance for some vengeful ideal of putting him to the sword. His laws on hunting are just a pain. I won't spite my tribe for submitting, but a true child of Morgo needs challenging prey. The Alliance's defiance provides that."

"That's your reason for fighting?!?" Elma was perplexed "Didn't he slaughter a whole mess of you tribals after the Northern Push failed?!?"

"A true child of Morgo never rushes to their last hunt," Yorm stated "But they recognize when it's finally upon them. The brethren who joined the Push weren't mourned for long, their hunt came to an end."

"But that's-!"

"It's called keeping ya head on straight." he tapped a finger against his skull for emphasis before turning back to the fair "It's invaluable to a hunter, but I'd hope any soldier would be wise to cultivate it."

Elma bit her tongue, recognizing that she was getting far too agitated far too quickly. As much as she'd have liked to call Yorm out on his callousness, the Blade was their goal. She took a breath to calm herself as she followed him to the fair.

Not too far away was the pile of old, broken crates. A Nurl was standing atop a stool and directing two men to measure the crates with notched ropes. Not one of them even turned to glance their way as they drew close to the Trade Fair.

The smell hit Elma first: the pungent odor of sweat and dirty cloth. It radiated off the first tents, and only grew more dense as they got closer. The sour smell of something else drew her attention to another man crouched beside an empty wagon. He lifted his head as they passed, but quickly returned to drinking out of a grimy, half-empty bottle of spirits.

Elma matched her pace with Yorm as he entered the Trade Fair, steeling her resolve for the search ahead.

Somewhere among all that seedy filth was Altez’s hope, the Blade of Bullminth, and she would not allow it to leave with anyone except the Alliance.