Darkness Rising 1 - Chained

Chapter 11: The Half-Ogre

On the first night out of Bulia they struck camp amongst the rocks that loomed high above the mouth of the river Dun, ninety miles south of the city. The rocks were the site of the ruins of an ancient lighthouse, now but a shell of its former magnificence. Ivy had weaved its tendrils around the worn stonework, which still glistened with the rain that had dogged their journey south.

The remnants of the tower provided shelter from the incessant wind that whipped from the sea to the south of them. The Sea of Mists ran from its western shores on the coast of Goldoria, bordering the north coasts of Mirioth and Midlund until it crashed against the western coast of Eeria. Its name was apt: for much of the year thick sea mists would roll in without warning, precipitated by the strange currents that ran its warmer waters up into the icy Northern Ocean.

On this night the mists hung low, far below the heights at which they had camped. Amber light shone from a new lighthouse on the rocky island out in the bay. Its derelict predecessor now glowed to a different lustre: a campfire lit by the knights and their companion, the Air-mage Ekra-Hurr. The griffons rested a short distance away, weary from their laborious day in the air. They tore at the flesh of a deer seized towards the end of their journey.

The three prisoners were jammed in the rear corner of the shattered building, their backs against the damp stone. Emelia could not recall having ached so much from a day’s travel before. Her legs were constantly cramping and the limitations to the positions she could adopt, due to the thick rope that bound her wrists, did not help matters.

The nearest guard was Sir Unhert, a young knight who had carried Emelia on his griffon that day. He sat idly sharpening his sword with a blade stone, the golden firelight reflecting from his armour. His helmet was at his feet and his chainmail coif was rolled back around his neck.  Emelia had already evaluated that he was perhaps the kindest of the knights, in obvious discomfort about the manner in which the patronising Sir Minrik addressed the prisoners.

“I’d say at this pace, once we’re through the rains of this crappy island, we’ll be looking at a week or so to get to North Thetoria,” Hunor said to the other two in a subdued voice. “Might be that I can stretch that a little with my directions, I don’t think they are too familiar with my old homeland. Might give us more opportunity to jump ship, if you know what I mean?”

Jem regarded him coolly. He was dishevelled and obviously irritated. “I’m not so sure how much credence we should place with your plans at the present time, Hunor.”

“Eh? Oh… look, I’ve said I’m sorry. Seriously, Emelia, I didn’t think that she… she’d take it that far.”

“They almost beheaded me, Hunor,” Emelia said, eyes as damp as the stones. “What in the Pale’s name were you playing at?”

“I… I… look I’m really, really sorry. Really! I underestimated these knights. I promise you I’ll never put you in that situation again.”

Emelia jutted out her chin, a tear appearing at the corner of her eye. Damn it, she thought, she wanted so much to put on a braver face for her mentors.

Jem interjected, his voice low but hard.

“This isn’t a game of Kirit’s eye, Hunor. We can’t afford to gamble with these characters. The Air-mage won’t need much of an excuse to accidentally kill us all, stolen treasures aside.”

Hunor looked forlorn at Emelia and her anger diminished at his expression of pain. “It’s just... that I’m, I’m concerned. I’m concerned that I’m a liability to you.”

Emelia could feel a wave of emotion bubbling like a hot spring to the surface. Get control of this, Emelia, Emebaka hissed, they will not respect you if you show such frailty.