Claude de Lune

Cyllene

"The netherborne were trying to destroy the wagon. I had to head them off. They blighted me. Amadeus passed out but he's breathing." He leaned against the bison so he wouldn't fall over when another cramp hit his hand. "My hand won't stop hurting."

Undine took it and forced his fingers flat. Four pinkish spots speckled his palm where the netherborne's claws had pierced his skin. "It looks like it's healed up fine. You can soak it in hot water once we get to Viperstone."

Claude grimaced. He could hold out, he had to, with the cramps and the fatigue and the thorns in his back. "The other bison?"

She shook her head. "One is enough to pull the wagon. Come. We need to get to the city before nightfall."

***

Viperstone sounded like a neat place in Claude's head. He'd imagined it as a city built on a hilltop or at the edge of a cliff. But what he found at the edge of the forest were flowers, piles of them high as the foothills in the mountain region. The peaks and valleys of soft white petals surrounded the stone fortress in the distance like a cloud. The perfect backdrop to this nightmarish fairytale they lived in.

He and Undine stood at the edge, where the hills tapered off into the forest and petals mixed with fallen leaves. A sweet, floral scent sat in the air, its pungency doubled every time a breeze blew.

Claude pressed a hand to his neck to make sure his heart still functioned. The thump thump thump was faster than was probably healthy, but at least he lived. He swallowed to alleviate the dryness in his throat. "Were those all... netherborne?"

Undine stayed silent, face passive enough to be mistaken for stone. She picked up a rock and chucked it in the hills, and a plume of petals rose up and danced on the wind before settling down with its brethren again. "Let's see if we can find an opening." And so their trek continued, around the clouds to the east side of the stone fortress.

He stayed at the back of the wagon to keep an eye on Amadeus. Undine said he'd be fine, that he was in purgatory. Whatever that meant. Claude would never admit it out loud, but he was worried. Perhaps because in some way he felt he owed Amadeus for saving his skin back there. And he took repaying his debts seriously.

Amadeus' chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but his skin had a sickly pale colour overlaid with a sheen of sweat. The supplies didn't leave enough room to lay him comfortably in the wagon, so Claude and Undine had propped him against the side, using their bags for support. His head lulled this way and that as they bumped along the forest's edge.

At the eastern side of Viperstone, a beaten path of petals mashed into the dirt cut through the clouds, like a pass between two mountains. Undine guided the bison through the meandering valley. Petals latched on to the wheels like barnacles to a ship, and when they hit the occasional bump, Claude held Amadeus' shoulder to stop him from falling out.

As they neared the city's outer wall, people appeared atop the rampart, tossing buckets, barrels and crates of flower petals over the parapet. Bells sat in wooden frames at equal intervals, interspersed with ballistas and canons.

A real fortress, just like in the stories he read as a teenager. All it lacked was a troop of archers, arrows nocked, ready to rain fury over anyone who threatened the city. Those stories ended on a high note, with the soldiers triumphing over their enemies, but he'd learned quickly that real life was. He dreaded what lurked beyond the arched wooden gate.

"It's Undine," a woman yelled from atop the wall. Gears turned, wood creaked, and the gate rose like the morning sun. But glorious dawn didn't await them on the other side. No, the first thing to meet Claude's eye was a bleeding stump wrapped up by bandages. And he'd bet all the coins in his bag that the linens weren't red when they were applied.