Heart of Flame

VI. The Wardens

If the world wanted her to crack, Sorne took grim pleasure in the fact that it would be sorely disappointed. Days on the run turned into weeks, even as fast as they were moving. Josu wasn't much of a woodsman, but it was easy enough to follow the northern stars. Their food came from scattered farmhouses, mostly stolen off windowsills if something had been left cooling. For the most part, though, it was just a hunger that gnawed away at her stomach. Josu was doing no better. He seemed to be wilting by inches each day, falling behind her more and more often. Her months of training and running were paying dividends now. More than that, Sorne had a dogged determination that kept her moving forward even when collapsing was most appealing. She had to be careful not to lose Josu, however, because passing beyond the border without the help of the wardens—now that she had angered Aldana—would be impossible if she didn't have the stablehand.

The anger was a fire that kept her moving forward. Every night, it seemed like the only thing keeping her warm in the cold air, the blankets that they had stolen off a laundry line woefully insufficient to the task of repelling the biting chills that rolled in from the coast to the west. Genev was mostly flatlands and rolling hills in the north, so there were no mountains to stop the storms. Sorne knew that from Nagar's stories, the orcish lands were even colder, with bitter winters beyond those she had known, and rough terrain throughout. It would be a far cry from Mauléon.

"We're almost there," Josu said as they stopped at the top of a hill, his voice raspy from a dry throat. "The outpost is due north, on that ridge just before the river. That's where my brother is."

Their guiding stream for most of the run had dried up almost ten miles behind their current position, but she could see the mountains that marked the beginnings of the wild lands to the north. Zorion's Wall was faintly visible as well, the great fortification along the border. In many places, the walls were crumbled from assault and left in disrepair, as Genev lacked the resources it had once had when under Ethilir's control. The neglect left the northern parts of the country in peril of orcish raids, something provoked often enough by Genev's itch to "civilize" the various tribes and factions. The wall itself had once borne a different name, but the name of the first Genevais king had long, long ago replaced it. Sorne knew little of its origin, only the stories that said once it had been a wonder of the world, a sign of the power and wealth of the Eth. It was a miracle that the Talinese and Genevais had managed to wrest control of the region away from them...only to fracture under the force of infighting a generation later.

To think, they pointed at orcish wars as evidence of savagery. Genev was no bastion of peace, and when there wasn't a fight, the lords could be sure to pick one. Sorne sighed and ran a hand over her dusty hair. She needed a bath, food, and sleep. Right now, her skin was brown from mud and her stolen clothes stiff with dirt. Josu had snagged her a sack-cloth pair of men's pants—held up by a rope belt—from a washing line, along with a linen shirt. She was thinner than she'd been in Mauléon after all the running and the weakness from starvation was really setting in. She would have asked if Josu was certain about his brother, but she had no alternative if he wasn't. Death was inevitable without help, as certainly as walking onto Aldana's sword.

"No use in stopping," Sorne said, forcing herself not to try and moisten her already chapped lips. They were almost to the point of cracking. The thought of rest and food made her want to collapse in relief. This wasn't the time, however. Even a border outpost would be a far cry from safety. A rider might have passed them on some other road, might have brought news of a fugitive from Aldana's supposed justice. "What's a few more miles?"

Josu laughed, but it sounded like a croak. "Devil woman." He loped after her down the hill, his spirits clearly buoyed up by the fact that they were fast approaching their destination. Well, his destination, anyway.