Part 35

Greza took the main trade route that went north.  It was the same road the Company had traveled south on.  Just two weeks ago they had traveled this way.  They’d travel fast, but she’d travel faster. 

She’d only stop for short breaks and only after dark.  She had no tent to set up and she didn’t need a fire yet.  She slept under the stars. Without the trees to block the wind she found herself shivering at night.  The wind would whip through the tall grass and sometimes kept her awake at night.

The problem was food.  She was quickly running out.  The priest had given her a good amount of money, she didn’t recognize the coins so could only guess, but there weren’t any towns nearby to purchase anything.  The few farms she saw didn’t speak her language and those had become very scarce. 

The land was flattening out into prairie and when it started to turn into moor she’d know she was getting close to home. 

Home.  That was a strange notion.  Before, her only concept of home was her tiny room where she could be left alone for a few hours as she slept.  That small room was her cave; her sanctuary against the world.  Now she had the Chimera Fortress where she had her friends waiting for her.  The Duke was waiting for her.

So far she hadn’t seen any of her fellow escapees, but she didn’t really expect to.  The world was too big a place for a chance meeting like that.  But a day didn’t go by that she didn’t think of them.  She prayed they got to safety. 

On the tenth day the sky was gray and the flat land was growing more desolate by the hour. There was more moss now than grass and it made a relatively comfortable bed, especially compared to the bare stone floor of the prison cell.   She was close to Ekonia if not already within its boarders.  An hour after noon she saw a fork where another road crossed the highway, stretching off into unknown lands.  There was a wooden sign with the directions of cities and countries. 

There were also four men standing by the sign.  They wore black and crimson robes with hoods.  They stood there in a line, not moving. 

Greza wondered if they were pilgrims or monks of some kind.  But she kept herself ready for trouble if they were something else.  Whatever they were she didn’t get a good feeling from them.

Due to the low, flat land she saw them far off and they were sure to have seen her coming for miles.   

When she finally arrived at the crossroads she only looked at them through the corner of her eyes.  Other than the constant wind that moved their cloaks about them they made no movement. Their robes beneath their cloaks appeared to be richly decorated with gold buckles and strange symbols woven subtly into patterns.

As she was about to pass by one of them spoke up.

“We were guided by our god to be here to await the arrival of a mix breed woman.  And you have arrived,” the man said.

She stopped and turned to face them.  Their faces were concealed in shadow and they still hadn’t moved, not even to face her. 

“And which god would that be?”  She asked.

“Nyrulth, the Dark Star, the Burning Mountain, the Annihilator.”

She had heard of them.  They were a cult that was illegal within the Empire due to its murderous practices.  These were not good people and if their demon god sent them here then nothing good could come of it.  Darkness had come to destroy the work of the Light.

Greza was about to turn and run when they all pulled out swords from beneath their cloaks.  One of them pulled out a pistol which made her stop.  She was fast but she couldn’t dodge a bullet.  Instantly she felt the familiar and sudden surge of alertness and strength in her body.

The man with the gun pulled his hood back to real a shaved head covered in red tattoos of the same symbols that were on his robes.

“You have a very impolite way of asking for directions,” she said.

As she spoke she unshouldered her backpack and held it with both hands by her side.  She didn’t want the pack slowing her down. The man had one shot.  If she could avoid the bullet she had a chance of surviving.

“You know why we’re here,” the man said.

“I wasn’t sure I was on the right path, but now I am.  I should thank you for that.”

“You won’t get a chance to travel down that path.”

He aimed the pistol and she knew this was the moment to act because she wouldn’t get another one.

Greza threw her pack right at the gunman and charged him.  The pack hit his arm causing his shot to go wide and into the dirt somewhere behind her. 

She reached him and punched him in the face with her armored fist.  The metal met bone and his face collapsed under her blow. 

The three other men were striking out at her with their swords and she narrowly dodged one in time to deflect a second one.  She maneuvered to keep them in a line and not able to surround her. 

She waited for one of them to strike again and when his swing went wide she moved in to his exposed side, grabbed his arm and with her free hand she struck his elbow so it bent the wrong way.  The bone collapsed as easily as a dry twig.

Then steel flashed from the corner of her eye and she tried to dodge but the sword bit deep into her bicep.  She felt the searing pain stab through her mind and felt the warm gush of blood.

She had to ignore it.  Countless times she had seen pain distract a gladiator enough to give her an opening.  She could not afford to give these men an opening. 

Greza turned on the man who had cut her and grabbed his sword arm.  She smashed her knee into his groin and when he crumpled over she kneed him in the face sending him backwards with his teeth flying through the air. 

Snatching his sword up she threw it at the remaining man.  He dodged to the side and she was on top of him.  She punched him with the strength of her arm and the momentum of her charge.  His head jerked back with an audible ‘crack’ of his neck. 

The man with the broken arm was struggling to get up.  She paused long enough to look at her wound before dealing with him.  Her arm was bleeding and already she could tell it wasn’t good.  If there was a doctor nearby there wouldn’t be a problem, but there wasn’t anything around, let alone a doctor.

She walked over to the crippled man and picked him up by his neck. 

“Where did you come from?”  She asked.

He looked up at her and laughed.  Then he said some words in a language she didn’t recognize. 

“What are you…”

The man suddenly fell dead in her hands.   

She dropped the corpse and staggered over to her pack.  Her arm was bleeding and she had to get that under control.  After digging through her pack she found the roll of bandages the old priest had left her and wrapped it tight around her wound. 

It looked deep.  She didn’t know how much further she had, but she was sure the wound would give her serious trouble before she reached home. 

When she tried to get her backpack on her wounded arm felt weak she struggled to get the pack on. 

Once the pack was on she searched the bodies of the men and found only a few coins but nothing that would tell her who they were or where they were from. 

She had enough to think about to keep her mind off her throbbing arm.

She thought about this dark god sending assassins after her.  That meant she was indeed an important part of this and that she was doing the right thing.  It hadn’t been their intention, but they had proved that Duke Verin was indeed the Lost Victor.  If he wasn’t they wouldn’t have acted as bold as they had. 

Duke Verin.  He was there, waiting for her.  Not literally, but she wanted to be near him at all costs. 

She had to keep thinking of him.  That would push her to keep going and get there before something terrible happened.

It grew night and she continued to walk.  She didn’t stop until she started to feel lightheaded and sick.  She collapsed into the soft moss of the moor and took out the last of her dried bread and pork.  She washed it down with water from her canteen and passed out for the night. 

When she woke it was light and the sun was well up into the sky.  She tried to get up but her whole body felt stiff and weak.  Too many months of starving had left her ill equipped to deal with the tortures she was demanding of her body.  Even her eyes felt weary. 

She struggled to her feet, slung her pack over her good shoulder and continued on.  It felt as if each step grew slower and slow.  She more shuffled than walked. 

At noon she stopped to rest and check her bandage. 

When she unwrapped the bandage she saw that the wound looked red and angry.  She silently cursed and put on a fresh bandage for whatever good that would do.  Once ready she hoisted herself up again and continued on. 

An hour later she across another crossroad.  This was the same crossroad that had led her there the first time she came to Ekonia.  Another day of traveling. 

She looked down each road until they reached the four horizons but saw no sign of a traveler of any kind.  She was alone out on the desolate moor. 

As soon as the sun dipped behind the land she fell down and slept. 

She could no longer think clearly and instead of thinking through her situation and mission, all she could focus on was the same visual memory of Duke Verin.  She remembered how he looked at her from atop his horse and told her she was better than those arrogant noblewomen. 

That thought fixed itself in her mind until it was all she could think of. 

That thought got her up in the morning and kept her shuffling forward.  She couldn’t quit or take a rest this time.  In the back of her mind she knew that if she sat down again she wouldn’t be getting back up. 

So she stumbled on all day, thinking of Verin and trying to keep herself from that merciful rest her body craved so much. 

Shortly before nightfall she saw the dark shape of the fortress in front of her.  It had taken her by surprise and she wondered how long she hadn’t been paying attention. The walls loomed tall and wide and she could see the guards on the walls. 

She smiled and coughed out a dry laugh.  Her stumbling quickened and she nearly crashed into the gate. 

Greza tried to call out but nothing emerged.  She pounded on the door with her metal gauntlets. 

A slat opened up in the door. 

“We don’t give charity to beggars,” the guard said.

“Private Greza, scouts.  Third platoon,” her unrecognizable voice said.

Then the gates swam in front of her and suddenly, for some reason, she was looking up at the sky. 

Funny.  The sky was turning dark.  Was it night already?