The Arkanist

Iurn

         Lorres was a tall man. Aera thought him to be a giant the first time she’d seen him, but his body was not built like one. He was not bulging with muscle, nor was his face hard as stone. He was more dexterous than brute. He wore a certain grace about him, mixed into his ranger’s appearance, as if there was a blend of color in his dreary black cloaks. Aera found him mysterious, for he didn’t talk much, to anybody. He only gave commands.

Lorres wore the greatest bow Aera had ever seen on his back. It was larger than he was tall, with magnificent pliant wood Aera did not even know, for it seemed to glow gold, and had an odd sheen about it. The handle was inlaid with words of the Ald, which was close to her own language, but she had never studied it, so it looked foreign. His quiver was just as impressive, skinned from a fine pale doe, with milky white skin and intricately tanned with the stitching of the ranger’s sigil in black thread. The fletching on the arrows were swan feathers, striped with inky black. They chattered like singing mail as he jogged ahead, toward the rock peak.

         The peak loomed in the heavy shadows, shouldering the city. Iurn lay in silence, flickering torches patrolling the night, their light faint. Inside the low walls, Ilmari walked the ramparts, and manned the towers. Most of the guards held bows in their hands as they ambled about, looking into the darkness. The rest of the city was hidden under the mantle of black magic, of Vvhen. That word sent a chill down Aera’s spine as they made for the rock, their black cloaks blending with the surroundings.

         Great shelves cut into the rock like stairs built for giants, with jagged cliffs and craggy chines that sliced through the dark rock. Aera climbed behind Lorres, slow and steady, not daring to make a sudden move, or else she would risk death by falling. She had to force herself not to look down, but the angst overcame her and when she tilted her head, her vision was lost in the serpentine coils of mist gathered about the base of the rock. Patches of the rock were bearded with moss, overrun with ash, and when she would place her foot there, it would slip out. The smell was that of wet stone just after it had rained, and soot, meddled with a stale musty odor. She thought that might just be her cloak. She had worn it for some time now it seemed. Aera thought back to her long days in the Ashwood, Aeron’s face white as bone, and gaunt….she had to stop…. She rammed her knee into the rock to keep from dwelling on her brother.

         As she grappled for a grip, a rock trickled down to kiss her forehead, and an icy dash of pain welled, and then dissipated as soon as it had come. She could feel the cool blood dribble down her skin, and crack at her brow as it settled, turning black. The west face of the rock was difficult to climb, for shadow consumed them as they went, veiled by the surface of the massive stone peak. Aera had watched two rangers loose their grip and slip away into the darkness to be eaten by the mists below. A sickly crunch sounded when they hit the stiff floor.

         At the top of the rock, Aera could see the entire city spread wide and far, vanishing from view. Most of its towers were ruins, their tops smoldered by flame so that they drooped, laden with ash as the jagged rock talons scratched at the sky. Keeps were black as the night sky, and burnt, so that only fragments of rubble remained like shattered glass. The torchlight danced across the ruins malevolently, flickering with a savage and wicked glare. The falling ash contorted everything.

         Lorres ordered the rangers to kneel, and Aera knelt, straightening her back so that the arrows didn’t fall out of her quiver. There they stayed, scattered across the peak of the rock, overlooking the city like hawks do their prey. They waited, and waited, consumed by darkness, the frigid winds tearing through their cloaks as if they weren’t wearing any clothes at all. Aera shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering, fingers burning in her fur gloves. She pulled her hood farther over her face, but the winds ripped it off her all the same. They waited for what seemed like an hour before it came.