On Death's Honor

Chapter 22: No Room To Care

The senior soldier - whose name I learned was Enson - led me past the drawn gates and deep into the busy city, where people walked and rushed down paved roads. The scents of spice, baked bread, meat, and something foul hit my nose like a backhanded compliment. So many bodies, so many moving parts, and the sun was barely peeking up into the sky.

At some point, I'd managed to snatch a narrow piece of white cloth that had been discarded on the street, and I used this to wrap my sword's blade before tying it to my belt. Any merchant worth his salt would recognize it immediately, and the last thing I needed was for someone to wonder how I came across an incredibly valuable blade but couldn't afford a pair of shoes or coat.

I was quite surprised none of the guards said anything. Maybe they thought it was a fake, or they'd never seen the metal to know what it was.

"So how long have you been in the hunting business?" Enson asked from in front of me.

"Little more than twenty years," came my immediate response - then I mentally kicked myself. Enson turned, studying me with doubtful eyes.

"You look like shit, but you don't look that old."

I shrugged. "Started when I was a teenager."

Sensing that I wasn't going to elaborate further, Enson sighed, turning around to study open stalls and vendors surrounding us. A giant, tired yawn overtook my chest, and when we crossed the street, I looked longingly down the corner we passed. Bruu, my . . . friend . . . lived and owned a small apothecary shop barely a few houses down. My body hurt and ached from my recent shortfalls, and I knew that I was barely hanging onto sane thought the longer I went fighting the constant madness warring inside my skull.

I needed to see him to keep myself awake. I can do that after reporting Adria's Dream. Still, I couldn't help the pang of disappointment and stress when Enson continued walking. We were heading all the way downtown, towards the massive fortress and caves that surrounded the city.

"The erla you'll be seeing is probably out running errands," Enson said as we approached the ominous black stone that rose high up from the ground. There was a gap between buildings and the mountainside, where the ground went from hardened dirt to veiny purplish-black material, as if the Dark Stretch was a living, breathing thing with blood pumping through it from deep below. Being who I was, I felt an old, ancient magic tremble within the air while we approached, stirring things inside me that I could only hope to kill.

Instead of following Enson to the metal gate wedged between a small opening between the stone, I headed over to the old walls to examine the symbols etched into them like a desperate man struggling to murmur his last words.

Blood alone built this ancient structure, and it would be blood itself that would eventually destroy it. These people were living on top of one of nature's greatest weapons of destruction, and they didn't know - wouldn't know, until it was too late. I didn't believe that the fort's protection came without a price.

Taking in a deep, solid breath, I pressed my hand against the smooth surface, ignoring the prickling that scoured my skin. Somewhere far in the distance, something growled and trembled-

"Wrenva? Is that you?" a familiar female voice called from behind.

Dazed and not at all certain by the sudden flare of energy shocking my flesh, I turned around to see a woman about my height and size studying me, wearing an emerald-green cloak with a hood that nearly hid her face in its shadows. She pulled the hood back, and any doubt about who she was fled my mind.

"Craen?" I said without thinking. Holy hell, it's been a while since I last saw her. She appeared more on the gaunt side than not, her brown eyes sunken and her once-thick, voluminous dark hair reduced to thin, feeble strands that cupped her face. Even with all of this, I felt like she still looked a hundred-times better than me.