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Iros had joined the Order as a young man of only fourteen. Unusual for the customs of the Templar, this had been very much due to the influence of his family, which had owned the largest silk farms in the West.
When he had taken his oath, Iros remained in the service of the Templar as a glorified stable boy. His tasks of caring for the horses overlapped greatly with many other less-than-desirable things that were not befitting an heir of his status, but he had done them eagerly and with care.
Although his father had often offered to go to the Order and change their mind, Iros had insisted that the oath he had sworn had stripped him of the title - and all in the church would be humbled in front of the All-Father first.
By thirty, he had reached a rank befitting and exceeding that of nobility. His divine missions took him across all four kingdoms, sitting in the presence of the four kings and their generals.
His men loved him as he was respectful, and the discipline of those who had earned it was always fair and befitting of the crime.
When Typhonos took the throne, Iros had already held the title of High Templar for several years. A relationship of dependability and trust had already been long established, and it had been only natural for Iros to become the very right hand of the King.
That is, until the arrival of the Ember Sword.
There had not been any animosity in the introduction of the unknown man. Dimos himself had given the command –a boy of only fifteen at the time.
This would have hurt Iros’ pride, but the will of the god-child was the will of the All-Father, and superseded the will of the King or Iros himself. The Ember Sword had been so absent from the court that the titles had ended up meaning very little - and after some time, it was clear that nothing had truly changed for the High Templar.
Besides, at that point, he had grown to be close friends with the man.
The two of them came to the South together. The growing conflict and the amount of resources King Typhonos had been pouring into the war were only ever-increasing.
The Iron Wall stood tall, but access to the southern ports would have negated its use - and so - the armies began to get deployed in troves. They arrived on the great ships with supplies and weapons of every kind. Typhonos sent generals, alchemists, physicians, and engineers. This greatly changed the balance of the battles at the borders after the first of the White Cities fell.
Iros wanted them to go alone to negotiate with Korschey, but the will of the King was the will of the King. And so, he found himself standing atop a rounded hill, a platoon of men waiting at his back. The Ember Sword had disappeared in the night directly against Iros’ orders - which had not been surprising in the least.
He’d go to the Midtrade City alone if he knew the man. Without a black banner, he was likely to be shot on sight - but, in these times, that may have been equally likely even with the colors of a parley.
Two riders appeared on the road in plain sight. They had not been pushing their horses or attempting to reach the party faster.
It could have very well been a trap.
But, they had already meant to go directly to the city - and were they to be shot down, it would have happened either way.
“All-Father, protect us,” Iros muttered. Never had he wished more for the Ember Sword to have been at their side.
The riders continued approaching, and he heard nervous tones among the men. He sat tall in his saddle, although he felt his heart beat faster - his steadfast demeanor faltering internally.
He heard the whistle of arrows before he ever saw them.
“FALL BACK!”
But it had been too late. The swoosh and thud had mixed with the cries of men, and they fell around him. His stallion reared, but the deadly cloud of metal and speed had already fallen upon them, leaving only Iros among the dying soldiers.
This would have never happened had the Ember Sword been with them.
And the thought had swelled a rage inside the High Templar. Their blood had now been on his hands.
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Everything had been damp with cold morning dew. The barely glowing coals of the fire remained, although the flame had disappeared - providing no warmth.
Where their skin had not touched had been very cold, even with the thickness of the bedroll and the blanket wrapped over them.
Val’s eyes opened first, and only slightly. In her half-asleep state she pulled closer to the source of heat, wrapping her leg around and disappearing within the smell of skin and sweat. Her hand traveled across his chest, brushing his skin, trying to memorize every muscle curve and slight contour of his ribs. The tips of her fingers brushed across his stomach, and she felt his body twitch awake.
On instinct, he moved his injured arm to pull the blanket closer but instead drew in a sharp breath with pain. His body turned toward her, his eyes opening, eye contact invigorated by the night prior.
She could not help the slightest of smiles, one that he returned tenfold. His good arm caressed across her back. Not seeking permission, he pulled her even closer, so much so that they could feel each other's heartbeat. She leaned forward, only slightly brushing her lips against his - which had seemed to ignite something in him that had the promise of burning as bright as it had only hours ago.
“For god-th-ake I th-wear like rabbit-h.” They heard from the other side of the fire, although weak and raspy. Both sat up immediately, all thoughts of what had almost happened forgotten.
“Yaro!” Val gasped, scrambling to pull up her pants and shirt before exiting the warmth. She hurried over to the large heap covered in blankets. Frost had formed on his beard, and his expression was dazed. “Thank the gods!”
“You know,” He said with a heavy toothless lisp, “Ju-st becau-se no one is an-swering the door doe-sn’t mean they’re not home. Who s-tood watch??”
She could have cried, feeling her eyes water with a smile on her face. She wrapped her arms around Yaro, her head against his chest.
“All-Father’s will.” Ivan smiled as well.
With great effort, the man turned on his side as Val let go. A bit of red saliva dripped from his mouth and revealed the mess of broken teeth. It had not been nearly as bad as it seemed once the water he drank washed away the blood.
“Thank the god-s for cream puddin’.” He said.
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They had done all they could to make Yaro comfortable. He was weak, his body pained at any movement, and his mouth had hurt so much that any semblance of sleep would only be met with anguished groans. Val gave him all the medicines she could to ease it.
By midday, the two of them set off to find the frozen lake. It would have had to be nearby but at a level much lower than the hills themselves. Ivan had been convinced that Hamza had been hiding something there - even with the intent to kill them, he had been adamant about keeping them away.
“Soo…” He started as they walked.
They were able to move quickly across the landscape as their packs had been left behind at camp. “I don’t suppose a conversation is in order?”
Val felt her face redden again, she’d dreaded this moment - not for the embarrassment, but because she had simply not known what to say.
“We can speak.” She said, clearing her throat as she felt it tighten.
“I think you might have had a suspicion,” Ivan said, “that I enjoy your company greatly.”
She laughed, his words catching her off guard.
“Perhaps, I might have guessed.”
“And, it would be a great honor to continue traveling with you.”
“I would enjoy continuing to… travel.”
Both smiled without turning to the other.
“Decided then,” he said matter of factly as if a council chairman making his final judgment, “we will continue to travel far and take as long as it takes to get there.”
They walked silently for a while, each feeling a burning in their chests that had been the most wonderful sensation.
“So,” it was Val that began now, “tell me, have you done a lot of traveling?”
It was his turn to redden now.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Ehhhh…”
“You don’t have to answer that.” Val immediately regretted asking. She had been very conscious that her own experience was… limited. Her prior life had held a certain amount of comfort and familiarity. But, she’d known nearly nothing of his.
“I cannot say there was not the opportunity.” There was hesitance in his voice. “But a busy man often has no time to be on the road. And, sometimes, he does not wish to travel with just anyone.”
He looked at her.
“I, too, do not wish to travel with just anyone.”
She felt his gloved hand reach for hers and took it gladly.
Ahead rose thick clouds of fog. The moisture in the air had promised a body of water nearby.
But, the closer they got, the stranger the fog became.
“It’s smoke…” Val said, squinting at it.
“We should get off the trail…”
He led them under the cover of pine trees and through them toward the vaporous clouds, and as they got nearer, they began to smell it. Up on a ridge, they’d lowered themselves nearly to the ground to get a better look at its source.
A murmur of sounds rose, and the moment they passed the curve of the hill, they saw the frozen lake.
Or rather, what had remained visible, atop it packed tightly a series of tents and temporary wooden structures. As many campfires as there were stars, it stretched beyond what they could see and nearly into the horizon.
“I guess now you can go home…” Val whispered, her eyes wide, “because I think that is what you were looking for…”
Korschey’s horde.
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They hurried back as fast as the piled snow allowed. Although out of breath, neither thought to stop. They had been so near that even a moment longer could prove fatal if discovered.
As they neared the camp, Ivan stopped suddenly.
There were too many footprints in the snow.
“Stay here.” He told the Witch quietly, but he could hear behind him as he started forward –she had not listened.
There was no noise, no signs of men, but enough tracks had led to where they spent the night that it must have been at least six.
Six men that Ivan knew he could not handle alone.
When no sounds could be heard, he approached the camp. It was empty.
Men had definitely been there; the snow was flattened but not bloody. Yaro, too, had disappeared along with their bags. Only a cold fire stood among the dirty snow.
“They took him!” She pushed past him, and Ivan followed, looking over the prints on the ground.
“He was picked up, not dragged.” He said dryly. “If they had killed him, they would have left the body here.”
The Witch frowned, stepping forward to the trees. In the brush, there was a hastily hidden supply pack - hers by the looks of it.
“Thank the gods…” She murmured, pulling the journal from it and holding it close to her chest.
“We have to find him.” He grabbed the pack from her hands and swung it onto his back.
She did not protest.
“It’s going to be dark soon.” The Witch looked up at the sky; clouds had overtaken the evening sun, although they did not look heavy enough to snow.
“Let’s do what we can to find somewhere safe. We can go down there in the night.”
“You want to go down there?” Her face was aghast. “You mean to tell me you want to go down into the sea of northern soldiers?”
Ivan shrugged, although his face was dark with worry.
“I will not leave a brother behind, I’ve told you.”
Guilt. He would not leave a brother behind again.
How many men perished when their scouting party was caught? Out of all of them, he had alone escaped. He had not even gone back. He did not even try, not even when they left the Deep Wood.
They were men that he had served with side by side. Men who rode with him every hour of every day for months. And, all he’d done was run—a coward.
Even then, he did not have it in him to leave her.
Not even to go back for them.
It had been a pull, as sure as if it were a taut rope wrapped around him—a sensation that had tightened its noose significantly, making him a willing captive.
The Witch stared at his face, but she could not have known his thoughts.
“Then, we will find a way.”
As darkness fell, it brought with it a cold that bit at their skin.
The two set out toward the lake, careful to step as lightly as they could manage, their eyes constantly scanning the trees and brush for sentries waiting to sound the alarms. Neither spoke; it had been far too risky. Their only communication came from the clumsy signals of their hands. The closer they got, the slower their steps became.
Ahead, the light of a torch spread a yellow-red across the snow and weighed down branches. A man stood there, barely visible amidst the heavy coat and cloak that wrapped him.
They stayed in the thick treeline.
The glow of the fires was near, although weak. Most would have already been asleep, with the remainder only awake to keep watch and ensure the fires do not burn out.
“Wait here,” Ivan told her, but even in the dark, he must have seen the expression on her face. “Please, please wait here.”
He snuck between tents, carefully keeping close to the cloth and posts where the snow had been cleared or melted from the heat radiating from the inside. He left no footprints, and no snow had crunched beneath his feet.
There was one of two places Yaro could have been taken - a medical tent or detainment. The medical tents were easy to spot from the ridge above. White and undecorated, they were three times the size of any other and located a distance away from the housing tents to prevent the possible spread of disease.
After a time, Ivan began to see that the men walking about had not been uniformed. They wore heavy coats and clothes of their own, many with more than one layer on top of another, trying to escape the cold.
Letting out a nervous breath, Ivan stepped onto a path that had been lit with torches. His hood up over his face, he walked forward as men walked past. No one had looked or stopped - as far as they were concerned, he was just another soldier poorly funded by the crown.
The medical tents were ahead. A couple of men went in and out. They carried nothing, not likely to be physicians or apothecaries. Ivan waited until after another man departed and he slipped inside.
The stench of infection and body odor was unbearable. It was heavy, warm, and damp. Not many beds were filled, and it seemed that the only men here were stricken by the elements, which resulted in their own bodies' decline. There was not much blood on the white sheets as he passed by, although the smell of piss had quickly tipped him off that they weren't freshly washed.
At the end, a large figure was on a cot, unmistakably round, with the candlelight dancing across the reds of his beard. Ivan hurried over.
“Yaro.” He whispered, crouching. The man twitched but did not respond. “Yaro!”
That seemed to wake him, and he turned his head, squinting at the blond man.
“Well, I’ll be a bear in a cannery…” He whispered back, “How in the hell-s?”
“How do I get you out?”
Yaro shook his head slowly.
“You don’t.” The big man shut it down.
“I won’t leave you here.”
“Why not? I’ve got all I need, and they’ll fi-x me up.” The whistle of air through his teeth seemed to be louder than the words.
“It is the Northern horde, Yaro.”
It seemed like Yaro shrugged, but it was hard to tell.
“I knew a lieutenant,” he said, “good man, recogni-sed me. We u-sed to hunt.”
Ivan looked at him as if trying to figure out the joke. Yaro sighed.
“I told them I wa-s alone. My partner died in the Deep Wood. I had hi-s pack s-till.” He lowered a hand with effort and gestured under the cot. When Ivan looked, it had been his.
“Where’s yours?” He asked, pulling it out carefully so it did not make a noise.
“Ah! Anu-shka i-s around. My s-tuff too. Your-s wa-s better, figured you’d need it more.”
Ivan grabbed the man’s limp hand and shook it - his grip tight with emotion.
“Are you sure?” He asked, looking for signs on the man’s face that would betray his words.
“What part of I do not wi-sh to walk that far do you not under-stand?” There was a slight chuckle that vibrated in his throat. “They’ll dump me out in Volkograd in a month, fatter than even now, probably.”
“Thank you.” Ivan felt his words stick in his throat. He had believed Yaro, but there was a sadness in losing the company of a friend. “If you get fatter, I am not carrying you through the mountains again.”
“Pi-ss off, I’ll carry you next.”
Ivan smiled and went to stand, but Yaro’s hand tapped him again.
“Wait. The pocket, in the front.”
“What?”
“Look at the pocket in the front!” It was almost too loud, and Ivan complied. He pulled the man’s piece of the Nothing-touched cloth out of the front pocket of Yaro's tunic. “Keep it.”
“You’ll use it still.” Ivan shook his head.
“I’m fuckin’ s-ick of cabbage cake-s.”
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It had taken him a long time to return, and Val had begun to get nervous.
She sat down against a tree trunk, wrapping herself tighter in her cloak. The winds had stilled since the day before, and the night was almost completely undisturbed. Even the clouds that crowded the sky had slowly dissipated, leaving only the soft glow of moonlight behind.
She felt for the bandages on her palms; they’d loosened during the course of the day. So much had happened since the storm creature. She had been so naive, so stupid. Why had she thought she could… gods, but what had she even thought?
A light between nettles among the dry leaves near the trunk caught her eye. She glanced at the drop of dew that brightly reflected the light.
It was hovering above the ground.
Val bent closer to get a better look at what it had been. She saw the glint of a thin spider web that had trapped it, suspended in the air. Something about how the light had hit and how white the strands had been: the dew drop trembled as something stepped near. Val watched in fascination as its little, black front legs felt around the drop without breaking its surface tension.
She felt a slight, uncomfortable tingle at the back of her neck.
The spider’s legs raised toward her then fell. It climbed a web above the dew drop. Val moved out of the way of the light so that she could fully see without casting a shadow.
And the spider looked back at her.
Or, so it seemed.
Where its legs protruded out of its body had been small and black. But, on its abdomen sat ridges and rises - which looked remarkably like a woman’s crying face. And, as Val studied it, the face changed to that of a smile.
“Gods…” Val scooted away, a feeling of dread spreading through her. She felt the cuts on her hands vividly as if suddenly, they began to ache more than they had all day.
The spider came forward, raising and lowering its front legs.
“What are you…” She did it without thinking; even a heartbeat had not passed as she regretted reaching out.
But, this thing was so small. She had barely felt the soft web-like thread. It was so fragile she did not dare touch it again. Instead, she reached out her bare hand.
“Come on…” She murmured, urging the spider on. The face changed again to angst, but one by one the spider legs moved it forward.
Val held her hand as still as she could.
It felt the tip of her fingers, seeking any sign of danger. Having found none, it crawled up her finger and onto her knuckles. Val slowly raised her hand to her eyes. It was so small, so fragile.
The sound of approaching footsteps startled her, and she tucked the spider into her pocket.
Ivan appeared out of the trees, the pack he did not previously have strapped to his back.
“Yaro?” She asked, and she thought she saw him smile.
“He’s going to be alright.” He told her. “But politely declined my offer to take another hike.”
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