From the deepest crevice into the tallest peak, Artorius led his people as best could be expected of a man so young. The dawning sun began to rise over the peaks. Yet this brought no comfort to him or the others, for the storm returned with a fury. It blocked the light and greyed the sky. Foul winds whipped to and fro; rain drenched the land and caused the gravelly dust and stone to turn into mud.
The pathway up the summit became treacherous, and always watching at their backs were the crows. Upon a steep incline Artorius stumbled. He fell several paces though by some fortune the spot where he had stood was struck by lightning. T'was a narrow miss.
The young scion gazed up to see splinters of rock fall from above and hollered to the caravan below:
"Brace!"
A hail of rocks struck and the Drakkennide covered what areas he could with his arms. Though, a mottled set of bruises soon decorated his arms from the impact of the stones. Others had minor injuries too. None so far were fatal, yet he worried.
Glancing at his still pale and purplish hands, and rubbing at his aching neck, he recalled the battle against the wraiths in the temple. Wounds were accumulating; t'was not long before the caravan would be spent.
He shouted to Aia, "how far until the peak!"
"'Tis not far now! Another ridge to cross and straight up!"
Behind him, Artorius noticed the servants without horses were lagging. They could not hold any longer under the stress.
"Manéd! Work with Evanin and Ioric to get the stable boys at the back. Carry them on your backs if you must!"
At the peak of the next ridge, a surge of runoff poured through the mountainside. By chance, countless decades had formed a large depression that split the last ridge from the path to the peak. The runoff was swiftly redirected; Artorius was relieved to see t'was carried aside by the natural channel. Yet a detour had to be made in order to cross the roaring stream.
A careful crossing was made from a thin line of stone. Artorius assembled a few of the knights to move it.
"Iorhaneb, gather the men and help me move this stone! We'll move fast; get the rocks into the channel and build a rough crossing here."
Another fierce whip of wind unbalanced one of the horses and caused the maids to shriek. With one hand holding an exhausted stableboy over his back, Evanin reached out and grasped the reins of the horse. He pulled with all his strength to get the horse back on firm footing. He turned to the priestess:
"Aiahi, please come here and take care of the horse."
The priestess moved with difficulty. At the top of the ridge, many of the caravan's members were exposed to the wild air. She stumbled twice but safely reached the horse, helping it back to its feet as Evanin moved forward towards where the crossing was being finished.
Another crackle of thunder and a new heave in the rainfall brought on a rise to the current. More water flooded the channel and made the makeshift crossing damp and shallow. Even so, they pressed on. Carefully, the people crossed. Aia moved behind Evanin with the horses, holding the reins and guiding them with caution. The servants resting on the animals' backs were shivering and two of the horses had to be persuaded to continue. But all seemed to be proceeding well until another fierce windlash swept over them, and Evanin felt the rocks beneath his feet slip out.
In a moment of strength, he tossed the servant boy on his back across the gap, but then the rocks wholly gave out and he slipped into the channel.
"Sir Evanin!"
Artorius looked back hearing Aia's shout. His face grew grim as he saw Evanin in the channel.
The Drake Knight's fingers clung to the smooth stone until it turned red. Yet he could find no purchase on its walls. In the pause before he drifted down the vortex of pouring waters, Evanin looked back at the faces of the others. The crows descended; the knight had no chance to save himself. They pecked and clawed at the fingers which grasped the sides of the channel. Yet he ignored this pain.
He witnessed the many expressions–of shock, of fear; some with no particular face at all. He glanced at the stable boy in the mud on the other side, who lay in the appearance of defeat. But the boy was alive and thus, he was victorious on this particular day. That would have to suffice.
Aia witnessed a white moth pass his piercing gaze then, fluttering unbothered in the storm. His own eyes traced it for a moment. Amid the rain and thunder, Evanin's words came cleanly:
"If these words are my last, let it say that I…held true the code–at risk of myself, I spared the weak."
Without summary, the tide consumed him before his words–final words perhaps–could form.
Aia–who witnessed this–thought for the first time that perhaps she should not have called on Artorius to bring her home. In her heart, a doubt settled itself and fancied as if to stay. She was made numb by it.
But while the others were paralyzed, Iorhaneb broke the spell of grief with a shout, "Move!"
His voice came guttural and dry, like gravel. All his will imbued in that shout, "we must cross now! Move!"
The oldest Drake Knight ushered the frightened group across the gap.
The knights had the hardest time crossing, while the horses jumped the pass with some ease though careful balancing. Then, Aia made the gap. She jumped shy of the landing and was caught by the old Drake Knight before she could fall.
"Come now, my lady. We're not long now for the summit."
When at last the caravan had crossed they made straight for the peak, climbing in fog amid the coldest and thinnest air. Many of the servants had to be put unconscious to prevent themselves from suffocating. A layer of rime began to grow on the skin, though some force staved off the chill of Az.
When they breached the cloudveil at last and arrived at the top of the mountain, every leg gave way beneath them. This was as far as they could travel– gratefully–t'was near enough. The sun soon broke the clouds after, bathing the crowd in warmth and light. Yet Aia's heart remained cold; her spirit lay paralyzed on that crossing still. There–for the first time in her life–she had watched a man die.