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The Tune of a Thousand Blades
2. At Winter's End pt.2

2. At Winter's End pt.2

2.

At Winter's End pt. 2

“Hurry!” Nevynthi called back as they charged quickly through the meadow. Wind blew her hair which, after a few days spent in the wilderness, she was sure matched the straw-like, tall grass they darted through.

Cathan and the others were three whole horse lengths behind her, their steeds struggling to match her pace. The beasts snorted great strings of liquid that dripped from their chins like candlewax.

It seemed as though they were far enough away already, with their pursuers out of sight since before the sun had begun disappearing beyond the horizon. Even so, it was not sufficient reason to slow their movement, not yet.

Other than the distant sounds of water and the crashing wind that smacked them from one side, Nevynthi could tell nothing of their surroundings. She was sure it was the same path they had travelled during the day – when it had been light – but it was hard to tell now. Now, they crashed heavily through thick and unknown terrain, unable to see much more than the ground beneath their feet.

“We are trying!” Cathan finally replied, having caught up just enough for her to hear him. “You know our horses are not as fast as yours!”

It was true, hers might as well have been a different breed entirely. But that didn’t matter, they just needed to escape.

Despite their inferior steeds, their pursuers from the realm of men had dealt significant damage before falling behind. A portion of her company had been lost in the escape, more than she had lost during any job in the last century.

Where had things gone wrong? It seemed a task like any other, one that the Epeltu Beiri were more than capable of taking on. All they needed to do was eliminate their target…

Seeing her pull ahead, the others picked up their pace; such was the competitive nature of the Fayne. They pushed their horses to the limit, charging like a brigade of war beasts.

Nevynthi craned her neck, looking over her shoulder. She granted her people a smirking grin, before encouraging her horse with a soft slap at its side. The pair broke away from the group with ease.

Nevynthi ducked her head so that it rested on the matted hair of her steed’s mane. It was her method for going faster – one of the things she had learned in Lluendar as a youth. Something about becoming streamlined, she remembered her mother saying. Its hair was musky, much like that rough stench that emanated from the men’s barracks, only a little less tangy.

In that stretch of the Eastern Islands, there was little that might deserve to be called civilisation. But for the odd collection of small shacks that emerged every so often amongst the overgrowth, the place was empty, empty of buildings, empty of light, empty of life.

Even where they had found signs of life, men were quick to hurry their scrawny children in and bolt their doors shut. It was no different than could be expected, Nevynthi had thought, for they were a people almost entirely forgotten by the world, a bogeyman of sorts.

As the last amber light of day shone brightly between a nearing outburst of trees, Nevynthi gestured for her company to slow their pace.

For better or worse, it seemed that the darkening of the sky had completed their escape. Their pursuers had given up.

Frosty gusts of wind blew through that new woodland of brown and green, sending the last clinging leaves tumbling to the floor.

Nevynthi caught a glimpse of Cathan as he tried to quickly flick away a leaf which had found itself caught between his cloak and forehead. He had that sort of flustered look as if it had caught him off guard. Caught off guard by a mere leaf, Nevynthi thought, how the Epeltu Beiri have fallen.

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“Err… what now?” Cathan asked, riding up to Nevynthi’s right. He towered over her in such a way that he blocked whatever light remained. “What happens when you fail a mission?”

The question was a good one. It was the same question that had lingered on her mind throughout their escape. She never had failed, not in her near thousand years of service – at least not that she could remember. What she did know, however, was that it wouldn’t be as simple as a slap on the wrist or a mild talking-to. No, Merywyn the Recaller was not so soft that she would let them off so easily.

“I do not know,” Nevynthi said, “but we must return to Ysberinor; of that much, I am sure.” She combed her hand through her horse’s mane. “The longer we wait, the worse our punishment, I would have thought. Merywyn will want to know how our mission went, too.”

Cathan signed, bringing a nervous palm to his face. “I’d rather not be there when you tell her.”

“Don’t worry,” Nevynthi smiled, “it is not you all who will be punished. It is me. I am your leader, so I will be responsible.”

“That’s not it,” Ruadan, another of her party, interrupted. His voice always carried with it a tone of sincerity – as if he either only spoke truths or was stupid enough to believe his own lies. “We don’t want you punished in our place,” he continued, “I wish you’d put some more responsibility on our shoulders. Share your burden!”

Surprisingly, the others nodded in agreement. Even Cathan, who she had often found to be the most troublesome, seemed on the same page as the rest.

When had they grown to respect her? She could still remember their cries as she put them through hellish training in the peaks of the Aryd mountains. They had sworn to kill her if they survived, hadn’t they?

“Perhaps.” She allowed herself to smile, before pulling up her hood to cover it.

The group stopped beside a rough crag that cut out like a cliff edge from the hillside. The shaded ground beneath it would offer shelter from any barrage that could be thrown at them, be it sun, snow, or rain.

They took their bags from atop their horses, setting them beneath the rock. Bags made good seats when the ground was soaked through. Some of her company set about preparing the camp, gathering firewood and ensuring their surroundings were secure.

The fire was made small, just big enough to cook the few rodents they had managed to catch as they rode. Nevynthi was almost thankful, however, that there was little to eat; she had no appetite and was sure that whatever went down would soon come back up.

Still, Nevynthi was given half of one of the creatures once they had been cooked. Chewing on it, a small bone jabbed at the inside of her gum with knife-like sharpness. That rancid taste of metal polluted her mouth, and her mind was sent back to the sight and smell of her people falling during their escape. She passed her share to Ruadan, who accepted it thankfully. Nevynthi couldn’t eat.

Her people were quiet. Long gone was the confidence that had filled them as they sat similarly around their campfire that morning. Gone was the dancing, the songs, the clinging arms trying to drag her to join them. Instead, there was only silence, interrupted only by the calls of a late-sleeping bird or the racket of crickets lingering in the grass.

Once meals had been finished, the fire was smothered. Darkness fell completely before long, their surroundings lit only by the minimal light of the moon. Two remained up to keep watch, while the others set to their blankets.

Nevynthi was used to being warmer.

As Nevynthi opened her eyes, the gentle blue hue of the morning sky was blocked by a small, yet wide, figure. It towered over her as a tree stump might a fallen branch.

“Mornin’,” the figure said.

“I wish you would speak properly,” Nevynthi yawned, “were you not taught to speak?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Ruadan joked, standing at attention. “Just how I am, how’ve always been.”

“Fine, fine.” Nevynthi pulled herself from her blanket, and the pair set about climbing the steep bank.

Her long legs carried her easily up the rough slope, while Ruadan struggled a little. He was an odd type of Fayne, his legs not as straw-thin and agile as others, and his upper body a little too heavy for climbing.

At the top of the cliff, Nevynthi stretched, bringing about that satisfying feeling only made possible when stretching muscles soon after waking. Then, with great flexibility and smoothness, she crouched and crossed her legs so that she was perched comfortably atop the frontmost edge of the rock. She was like a barrelman perched in his crow’s nest ­– scouting.

Ruadan stumbled up beside her, panting. Nevynthi noted how unnaturally large his feet were. They ran from the point of her elbow to the ball of her wrist. Odd for such a small man.

“D’know how you do it,” he huffed. “How d’you all move so easily.”

Nevynthi ignored the question. She was sure that he knew the reason all too well.

“Quite a drop,” Ruadan continued, steadying himself as he overhung the decline. “Wouldn’t want to fall down there, would you?”

“If you don’t sit down and shut up,” Nevynthi replied, “I will throw you down there myself!”

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“I was joking, Ruadan. Sit.” She patted the hard stone beside her, where it was still somewhat dry, gesturing for him to join her. “I fear I am in need of company on a night like tonight. Company better than Cathan’s, that is.”