Blade of Erogrund

Chapter 23- The Hills

Dreams are things in and of themselves. The peculiarly ethereal matter that dreams are woven of cannot be placed by the fingertips of Men, though it is said that the Elestil may manipulate its ways. Completely singular are dreams' ability to both captivate the mind and free it of the burdens that it is cursed to carry.

But no such solace was given to Godric. Scarcely more than a moment seemed to pass before Aeis's screams melded into the howling of the winds outside Biren-Larath.

His eyes fluttered open to look up at the slate-grey sky above. Rolling clouds blew calmly over him on the forefront of mighty winds. His conscience told him that something had woken him, though what it was, or even where he was, stayed as murky as the misty clouds.

That is, until a familiar face looked down at him.

"You're going to want to brace yourself."

"Huh?"

Pain lanced through him as he felt a blade being yanked from his stomach. The frosty wind filled the wound, only adding to the searing agony before slowly numbing it.

The breeze carried a sickening scent of burnt flesh and blood for a moment before that too was whisked into the air.

Godric nearly screamed in surprise and pain. Sitting up, he saw Hilthwen kneeling next to him on the grassy ground holding a vaguely smoking short-dagger.

From the looks of it, he lie in a collection of boulders on a hilltop somewhere. Not far away a scrawny bunch of trees lashed against the bellowing breeze behind a tall figure in a billowing cape.

Godric was still panting in shock when the figure came close enough for him to recognize it as Matthias.

"So the bastard's awake, huh? About time," he growled through fiery eyes.

"Knock it off, Matthias." Hilthwen fired back. "We don't have time for this."

"Like dragonfire we don't. Just so we're clear," the young knight barked, grabbing Godric's collar, "if you want to kill yourself, fine, but at least deal the rest of us the courtesy of waiting until we don't need you. Hell, pull another bloody stupid stunt like that and I'll take your head off myself."

"I said knock it off," Hilthwen hissed. Matthias looked like he was about to strike her but spat into the dirt and turned around.

The girl shook her head and stood to examine the dagger. "I don't believe it," she said. "I'm no cleric, but as near as I can tell, you're fine."

Godric coughed. "Aw, Nine-Halls, it doesn't feel like it."

Hilthwen gave him a strange look. "Do you know what the 'Nine-Halls' means?"

"No. Just - ahh! -just heard it from Thain."

Matthias scoffed. "You might learn what some of those phrases are before you use 'em, or you'll end up sounding as stupid as you look."

The words came out colder than the icy wind, yet they succeeded in setting a fire in the wounded boy.

Despite his injury, he pulled himself up. "You must be as filthy stupid as Caeros if you think I'm just going to sit here and take this."

Matthias turned around, sneering. "Then stand if you like. I couldn't care less."

"Shut up."Godric growled.

"Who's going to make me?" Matthias scoffed. "You?"

Hilthwen's hand cracked against the back of his head as the words left his mouth. The pleasant smile she had worn at the ball had turned into an angry grimace. "Both of you shut up. There are enough people trying to kill us without adding each other to the list."