Pale light faded, descending into darkness. Vanas awakened from his sleep, all thoughts confused. Uncertainty haunted him, as to where he was or what was happening. Even sense of self remained somewhat fragmented. There had been cool, he remembered, not unpleasant, replaced now by warmth. Had there also not been a figure among the mist like existence he had experienced? He tried to recall it all, but like grains of sand through the fingers it slipped away.

He sat up, eyes trying to adjust to the near total darkness he found himself in. His mouth was dry and his head felt as if it had been taken an squeezed tight. “I need a strong drink,” he announced, uncertain as to if any would hear.

Someone did.

“That would not be for the best,” came an answer, a woman speaking, A memory flared bright, returned, of a name; Ishkinil. With that it all come flooding back, as to what had transpired to bring them to that place. Ishkinil's voice sounded oddly exhausted. He could just make her out now in a faint light that came up through the opening in the floor. She sat across from him, resting against her sword. Her face was grey, and lined, and he could see blood upon her.

“What happened?”

“Some of the Red Priests paid a visit. They are no longer a problem, but we need to leave.”

“You defeated them all?” Vanas asked. He scrambled back to his feet, stretching his back as he did. The stone floor had been most uncomfortable to lay upon.

“Hardly. Just a single Claw. There are more, other Claws, back at the Gates. If we leave now, by other ways, they shall not find us. They think you dead already and soon their search will end.”

“If they are still at the Gates, we can not return that way.”

“That is so. We shall journey deeper into the hills. The way will be hard but we have little choice in the matter. We can not stay here.” Vanas watched as Ishkinil stood back up, a slow process, her weariness evident. Even tired as she was, she headed down the iron rungs first, to where the horses still waited, moving slower than Vanas did on his descent.

At the horses, Vanas recovered a canteen from his saddle and opened it, drinking deep from the water within. After a few mouthfuls, he passed it to Ishkinil, who took it gratefully and likewise drunk.

“The route we are taking, we can not really ride,” she explained. “We shall have to lead the horses and proceed with caution.”

“I do not much like the sound of that,” Vanas responded, “But if you say it is to be so then it must be.”

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Taking the reins of her horses, Ishkinil lead the way outside. Her shoulders were slumped and she walked with a laboured step, but on she pressed. Vanas had seen few as weary as she looked, and fervently hoped that they encountered no more troubles as she would be of little use, not in her current state.

The sun blazed bright and hot outside, forcing Vanas to squint his eyes tight after having spent so long in the dark. Already he could feel the sweat return. Riding in such conditions was hard enough, but now to walk would be harder still.

The raven waited outside, and as they arrived, it took off, spiralling up into the air, to disappear from view.

“It is not staying?”

“He comes and goes at Enkurgil's bidding, not mine.”

“His presence would have been useful.”

“Even so, he can not be compelled.”

The trail that they had followed from the Gates continued on, passing by the tower, heading deeper yet into the hills, following the ridge of it. Slow were their steps along it, and cautious too, for the trail grew narrower and much more rugged, with loose shifting rocks beneath their feet. Vanas kept casting concerned looks back over his shoulder, worried that the Red Priests might still be trailing him, might appear at any moment again. No sign of pursuit came and so gradually his fears subside as the day, an their slow pace dragged on.

The sun began its gradually descent and still they pushed on, making frequent stops along the way, to rest or to ease the horses through tricky parts of the trail. It dropped down slopes or climbed rises as the hills became more broken and fractured to the point that Vanas feared t may become impassable for the horses. Yet on they pressed.

Then, as the trail slid down the side of the hills, with jutting ledges above them, Ishkinil came to a stop. Off beneath them, towards the base of the hills, in the broken lands to the west, a region of green could be seen, of tall trees and thick bushes, and among them the glint of water, an oasis in the wastes.

“The waters of Arish Zara,” she announced. “We can ret there, for a time, and press on.”

“What if the Red Priests head three?”

“If they do, they do, but we must risk it. Even if they do, we would but be two travellers, and no more have they your scent to follow.”

It seemed a risk to Vanas, but their options were few, for out in the wastes, sources of water were few and their journey had been wearying.

Once more they started on, headed down, yet as they did, from the ledges above, came a snarling sound and a flash of fur and fang.

From the ledge above, a large cat, one of fierce snarls and dusty colours, dropped down, upon the back of Vanas' stallion. The horse screamed and reared, tearing its reins free from Vana's startle hands, stumbled and then was gone, down the slope below. The cat leapt free as the horse fell, to bound down the slope after it.

Ishkinil had turned, Dirgesinger in hand, but too late to do anything, so sudden had been the attack.

Vanas looked down in despair, trying in vain to spot the fall of his horse. Ishkinil joined him, shaking her head. “Rare it is that a mountain lion would attack so, but it judged it moment well. Come, we must press on. There is nothing we can do now.”

“But my horse, my treasure!”

Ishkinil turned a look on him, one that was not without some sympathy, yet determined still.

“You may not have your treasures, but you still have your life. Is that not yet more valuable? Is that not a prize that many would envy? For now you should be happy for that. Come, the road ahead is still long, but fear not, for I shall see you to safety yet.”