The Shadow's Spear

18.2 Mountains of Falas

Rhal awoke in the morning, shivering. He was best dressed of all of them and the only one with gloves, but it made little difference. He walked towards the hot spring.

Termon sat on a nearby rock. “Good morning, Anoran.”

“My name is Rhal.”

“Rhal? Anoran? Whatever you’d like. We’re just getting ready to go.”

“Just let me take a quick soak to wake up.”

“Don’t. You’re the last one up, as it is.”

“But it’s cold.”

“And half of Maeva’s pursuing us. Come on, let’s go.”

Rhal threw his things into his pack and trudged after them. At this point, his greatest hope and highest aspiration were for warm food and a soft bed. He wanted to find a town to stop in. Past that, that first night or two of warmth, he dared not think.

You’re beyond these fools, said a voice within him. There’s no point in traveling with them; they understand not, care not for you.

It was a strange thing to think, but it had the ring of truth.

That day was warm, as it so happened, but Rhal did not feel it.

**********

That day, Termon ate the last sliver of salted meat from his food pack.

Is this the adventure he’d hoped for? The reason he’d left the manor he grew up in? To starve in the cold mountains? Compared to his dreams and hopes and all the stories, things hadn’t panned out so well.

As they climbed on empty stomachs, the trees became thin all around, where there were any at all. The slopes grew more barren and rocky, and the road curved back and forth in switchbacks. Were they even making any progress? Where was this road taking them?

A little after noon, they came around a bend and saw a mighty valley below them: wild, living, and untamed. A forest covered half the floor of it, and the rest was taken by a lake, fed by streams flowing from every crack in the mountains. He thought for a moment to make his way down to it, but sheer rock walls surrounded it on every side. Only a faint stream left the place to the deep parts of the earth. Had any man ever set foot there? They kept walking.

His father Terlo died in the final battle against the Shumerian Black Moon Empire. His grandfather Tegal and his great uncles fought in the wars against the old Maevan empire, and all of them disappeared after the battles were won. Yes, that was the way of their family, to be the secret movers, the unsung heroes of history. It was in his blood.

But now here he was with an empty food pack. He’d found his great quest, and all they had been able to do was run.

“Remember someday, when you are on your own adventure, that not all days are bright charges to victory, and those battles are the most terrible of all. Remember perseverance, perseverance in hardship.” Words from his grandfather. They should have encouraged him, but somehow he just felt worse, knowing that he wasn’t living up to them.

He clasped his ancient pendant, cold to the touch. Here, here in these mountains, this beacon could be their salvation. How ironic that a priest of Vorlo should lead them here. Regardless, Termon hoped the legends about this place were true, more than stories his family told children before bedtime.

**********

Under the shadow of a tall rock face, they cowered, hungry and weak. Rain fell in torrents from the sky. Gusts of wind howled through valley and mountain, crashing through trees unlucky enough to be planted by nature’s hand in such a barren place. When those winds blew just right, freezing rain soaked Pelan through and through. Flashes of lightning lit up the entire expanse, followed quickly by answering thunder. Despite all they had seen, even the depths of darkness in Vorlo’s temple, a storm in the high places of the world held a unique terror.

It had been ten more days, and only on two of them did they eat. Pelan’s strength was nearly spent. They had followed the road higher and higher, into more and more forsaken lands, gasping for breath at every step, their lungs never quite used to the air. But the cold would eventually kill, perhaps that night under the rock face. It was the middle of summer, but up there the nights felt like winter.

“What awful luck,” Pelan shivered. “There are only a few storms like this every summer.”

“Are you sure this road is where we should be going?” Kohal said.

He wasn’t. He regretted leading the rest out into this, foodless and without shelter, under the wrath of the heavens. And yet...

Part of him wanted to rush out into that storm, to run through it and see if he could stand on the slick rocks in wind, to see if the rain would defeat him or the lightning strike him, to see who would overcome: he or the storm. Was the truth in the storm? Where was it?

“The wilds hold truth, and in them you find yourself,” was a proverb he’d once heard. Was it from a follower of Isil? It sounded like an Isil proverb. Here, under the storm, despite his fear, he stood tall, daring the storm to lash out at him.

In response, it blew another sheet of rain upon them, and they shivered, their cloaks wet rags. A fire was impossible, and they had no better cover than a little overhand above them.

Pelan felt inspired to try something. “Benere federe...”

“What are you doing?” Termon shouted.

“Casting a spell,” he pointed to a bush, whose leaves fell onto the ground. “It’s a simple one, but I feel like I could do anything right now, like Vorlo has no strength over me! Watch that tree!” He concentrated and felt sick to his stomach. Strange. He clapped his hands, but nothing happened. The nausea got worse, and then vanished. “Perhaps not.”

“You’re like a kid,” Termon laughed. “You’d be better off conjuring us some warmth.”

He turned to another bush tried the same spell. Nothing. He concentrated on the simplest trick he knew, a small orb of unlight. Nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Termon asked.

“I... I can’t manage another spell.”

“Perhaps you’re too weak from hunger.”

“No, it’s not...”

He searched within and realized something. Something was missing. “I... Termon, I’ve lost the last of my spells..”

“What?”

“I can’t... I can’t do anything. My abilities are gone.”

He’d never even heard of such a thing, a priest’s magic just drying up. It was impossible. He started studying that magic when he was ten. Now, to his horror, it was gone.