They'd only crested one more hill when the elf stopped. The warlock, still making his way up on his hands and knees, noticed her change of manner and paused. "What is it?"
"Best you get up here and see for yourself," she said.
Muttering darkly, he pushed his body up beside her. Lay on his back, looking up to the sky. "That's it," he panting hard. "I'm fucked."
"Could be right about that."
He twisted his head and took in the view.
A wide expanse of hard grey clay shimmered like a dry lake. The flat ground was pocked with craters which cupped massive boulders, some the size of small houses. Many had been split open and splayed by impact which burst their stone interiors to leave them surrounded by rubble.
She'd seen similar further east. Talek had told her that during the Godwars, siege engines manned by giants lobbed the massive boulders across the battlefield.
The elf felt a shiver of sympathy for the armies forced to fight with such titanic chunks of solid rock raining down around them. It must have felt as if the very gates of the Shadowed Halls had opened above them.
Chunks of ancient white bone nestled in many of the cracks and corners of the boulders like shards of death.
Thankfully, she thought, the clay looked more stable than the loose shale they'd been tramping on all day. It promised an easier journey.
Which meant faster, and that pleased her.
A few shallow trenches lined her intended passage, appearing to be shallow ditches formed by rain rather than the necessities of war. Dead black trees flanked the flatland with two unbroken walls whose bramble was as impenetrable as iron and herded anyone who wished to pass towards the cliffs like a spearpoint to the throat.
A thick line of grey cloud dragged its belly over the cliffs. It was rolling fast, and a creeping gust brought with it a dusty smell to her nostrils. She had hoped she'd seen the last of it since moving south of Spikewrist.
It seemed the cold Winter was determined to ravage her heels.
But by far the most imposing thing about the somber landscape was the broken black shape huddled against the far cliff like a forgotten beast.
A ruined fortress by the look of it, and draped in mist.
It looked abandoned from this distance, and promised shelter from what looked to be an approaching storm. Given its position, she also hoped it contained a passage through the ominous cliff wall. A tunnel, perhaps. The occupants would have needed a speedy way to make the top.
Otherwise, they were in for a torturous climb up the vertical face of ice and stone.
The warlock tried to hide a yawn. "What's that? A town?"
"Looks like an old fort."
"Looks deserted."
"Could be."
"And therefore probably isn't," he sighed.
"Relax, Chukshene," she said. "It's just another old ruined shithole. Plenty around the Deadlands."
"I'm not worried," he lied blandly. "But face it, Nysta. You're a magnet for trouble. Should I expect trolls again? Or worse?"
"Fucked if I know. But we can't stay here. And we can't go back."
"And can't get over those cliffs."
"Won't know until we get a closer look. We move fast, we might get that look before sunset."
"What's the hurry?"
"See those clouds, 'lock? They ain't coming to give us shade."
"Ah," he lifted his nose and took a lungful of cold air. "Fuck. I was hoping I was wrong about that. But you had to point it out, didn't you? Now that means it's gonna happen. I hate snow. Fucking hate it. I tell you that? This one time, I got caught in a blizzard up near Icereach. Holed up in a cave. Ended up having to dig my way out when it was over, and for a while I didn't think I'd make it out. Ever had to dig yourself out of a blizzard, Long-ear? It's cold and more than a little fucking scary. Now I think about it, I'll bet that's also what dying feels like."
"Could be right," she allowed, tucking her thumbs behind two jutting handles.
The shale which covered the ground for the past day didn't stretch far onto the plain. This allowed the hard clay ground to reveal itself. The flat terrain had another added advantage in that the elf was able to keep a clear view of the fortress.
Her view obscured only by the large boulders, she'd seen enough from the hill to figure they didn't hide anything more than a couple of stray ghosts. She reasoned this by the lack of smoke. In this weather, any normal person would want fire to keep warm.
But the air above the fortress was clean.
The forest also looked mostly dead wood and thorny bramble. Nonetheless, her attention hovered for a moment over a few restless shadows flickering within the trees.
Her palm began to itch.
"Who was he?" the warlock asked suddenly. "The red-haired elf form back in Spikewrist? It's not just by reputation you know him. That hate in you. It's old hate."
Her eyes narrowed, but she kept her face turned away. "You're right, 'lock. Was a long time ago. Before he was Musa'Jadean," she said, seeing no reason not to tell him. "Last time I saw him, I had a knife to his throat. Chose not to bleed him out. My mistake. Know better next time."
"So, why's he still alive?"
"That's between him and me," she said. "Ain't none of your business."
He looked ready to argue, but instead chose a different line. "Fine. What about you? Any headaches?"
She frowned. "Headaches?"
"Yeah. Shoulders hurt? Chest pains? Funny taste in your mouth? I notice you're walking fine now. What happened to your bruises?"
Surprised, she realised he was right. She felt nimble and any aches she'd felt seemed to have faded. And she knew, should she peel her sleeves back, the wounds which had marred her flesh would be gone. Only dried blood flecks would remain.
A trickle of fear dribbled down her spine and began to drip across the tight ball of rage she'd been nursing in her belly.
It wasn't normal.
"Why all the questions?" she growled, trying to push that train of thought away. She wasn't ready for it.
Not yet.
She had to focus on catching Raste first.
"Just curious," he said quietly. "You had a hard time. Fuck, I had a hard time. I haven't slept, you know. Kept watch over you. Just in case. Probably a good thing. A few wolves looked for more to eat. And then there were all the other nasties hanging around. I killed a couple of trolls, you know? Then there was that thing with the chains. Took a bit to hide from that. Had to drag you halfway to fucking Icereach by the feel of it. My arms ache. Did you know, I think you weigh more than a fucking ork. Then there were more wolves. Had to fry a few before the rest got the message. Fucking animals. I don't get why Grim liked them so much. You're welcome, by the way."
Nysta grimaced. She hadn't even considered if he'd slept or not. Just assumed he had.
No wonder he was tired. He'd stayed up all night protecting her. At great cost, because he'd already exhausted himself before she'd lost consciousness. And then he'd managed, somehow, to keep up with her all day as she marched him over a shifting ocean of shale.
Grudgingly, she admitted he might be tougher than she thought.
Also admitted she might owe him.
And she hated debts.
"Obliged," she grunted, unsure what else to say.
"I'm overwhelmed."
The conflict of suspicion and obligation wrestled her emotions for dominance and the elf couldn't tell which would win. She'd never been comfortable around other people, and everything about Chukshene seemed to underscore the very reasons why she chose to avoid making any ties.
For his part, the warlock appeared unconcerned. Continued to stumble along behind her like a lost puppy. "Hey, all that shit in your hair. How many are there?"
"Few more than some. Why bring it up again?"
"I'm interested."
"It ain't your business."
"So? Call me nosey."
"Prefer to cut your nose off, 'lock. Stick it up your ass, and call you an asshole."
***
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