Avoiding the high price demanded by the fragile terrain soon proved tougher than the elf had expected and the slow pace began to grate on her nerves. By mid-afternoon, the warlock had paid his share of blood as the ground fell away beneath his feet.
Sucked into a deep trench, he was up to his armpits in an avalanche of shale and rubble before the elf had time to move. Working him free took the best part of an hour. An hour of sweat, patience, and a lot of cursing to gods both dead and alive.
As soon as he was out of the hole and panting in relief, the elf spun away. Picked her way southward without a word.
Chukshene lay on his side for a moment and watched each careful step she took. Then rolled his eyes and climbed awkwardly to his feet. Groaned as he noticed the fresh blood glistening wet on his robes.
Some of it hers.
Like an undead creature, he followed. Dragging his feet and stumbling under the weight of an invisible burden. Eyes barely open.
The elf called Nysta seemed outwardly oblivious to the warlock. That she didn't even know where he was. But at any moment she could have spun and thrown a dagger into his head with her eyes closed.
When digging him free, she'd wondered many times why she didn't just leave him.
He was slowing her down. Despite what he'd said, she could move faster without him. Knew she had to move quickly or risk losing Raste.
The elf's face was impassive as she struggled with the boiling need for revenge on a man who already seemed too far away, and the fragile thread of loyalty she felt she owed a stranger. A stranger she knew had secrets of his own.
She remembered the moment she'd first seen the spellslinger. A clumsy-looking apprentice, she'd thought. Slumped in the snow in fear of his life, yet unwilling to go on the offensive. How weak he'd seemed. Like a lost puppy.
Then there were those first words, chosen so flippantly. A wife. A child. Appeals to the last grain of empathy left in her heart. How incisively they'd cut while lost in the torrent of emotions following the loss of Talek.
But they were bullshit. Bullshit which proved she couldn't trust anything he said.
So, back to her first question.
Why not leave him? Why not cut his scrawny throat? Dump him in a trench and let the Draug have his body.
Because he hadn't tried to hurt her. She'd accepted his word that the fireball had been an accident. Accepted it because she knew if he'd meant to kill her, she'd have been dead. He could have exploded the land around her when they'd met. Same as he'd done to Gaket's Lichspawn.
Sure, it'd have taken time for him to cast. Time enough for her to perhaps drag a blade over his throat, but he hadn't tried those things.
He'd tried to talk to her. To apologise for a mistake.
Her teeth pressed hard against each other as she turned that thought over in her head. In the time since their meeting he may even have saved her life more than once. Or at least made it easier for her to save her own.
She ran her fingers through her thick locks of hair. Rubbed irritably at the scar on her cheek. And resisted the urge to plant a knife in his guts.
For now.
Behind, the warlock staggered a few steps before steadying himself with a shake of his head. Muttered rapidly under his breath. Hefted his pack further onto his shoulders and used one hand to lift his robe slightly while the other clutched the grimoire.
For her part, the elf rested her hand on the hilt of A Flaw in the Glass. Listened to the bitter wind creeping over the mounds of loose stone. Looked up at the blue sky which had disintegrated most of the clouds.
And wondered how long until he tried to kill her.
Caught in her thoughts, the elf didn't notice the glint of steel until she was close enough to almost step on it. Then her eyes widened in surprise before a brutal grin spread slowly across her face.
Kneeling on the loose stones, the elf lifted the object lightly in her hand. Balanced it across her fingers and let her eyes casually scan the closest hill.
The warlock dropped gratefully beside her, showing only partial interest in what she held. "What is it?"
"Knife," she told him. "One of mine."
"Yours? How'd you lose it out here?"
"Didn't," she touched her hand to the stones nearby and lifted her finger to show him a few spots of red. "Left it in a feller's ribs back in Spikewrist. Nice of him to return it. It's one of my favourites. Reckon I should thank him. Come on, Chukshene. One more hill to go."
"One more?" he groaned. "Seriously, Nysta, I don't know if I can."
"Sure you can, Chukshene. Just put one foot in front of the other."
"Easy for you to say."
"And do."
The elf approached the hill with caution, though the slivers of shale under her boots didn't lend much to a silent approach. She still held Bamboo Bones loose in one hand and slowly drew A Flaw in the Glass with the other. Felt comforted by the hesitant flare of green as the enchanted blade hummed in her hand.
"Be careful," the warlock said anxiously. "I've got nothing to help you with."
"Won't need it, 'lock," she said, nodding to the dark spots forming a red trail over the hill. It zigzagged erratically. "Reckon he's beyond fighting. Reckon I already beat him back in Spikewrist."
"What about the others? They could be hiding. Waiting for you. Waiting for us. This is a bad idea."
"If they were, we'd be dead already. I know the Musa. They'd have put arrows in our eyes a long time ago. Besides, I ain't seeing any horse tracks. Do you? Means he walked this way. Or was carried. Most likely walked. Tough walk for a wounded feller."
The blood trail thickened suddenly at the top of the hill and a long wide streak led down the other side. A black shape lay huddled at the base and the elf's eyes narrowed to glittering violet slits while the warlock struggled loudly with the last few steps up the hill behind her.
He looked down and saw the unmoving form swathed in a thick black cloak and shook his head. "Poor bastard," he said. "Must've been desperate to get this far."
"He's Musa, Chukshene," she grunted. "Less desperate and more desperado is what they are."
"Are you sure? He's not looking too good." The warlock frowned. "If he's not dead now, he will be soon."
"On that, we agree," she said. "So, I reckon it's best we get him before the eagles do."
***
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