Toward the Common Ground

“When will we reach the Common Ground?” Fawks asked Bard, who was clearing the way ahead as they climbed toward a broader road.

“Tomorrow we’ll be there,” Bard said with a smile.

“So soon?” Fawks marveled. It was really more of a rhetorical question.

“Where does that road lead?” Elias asked, glancing toward a direction that seemed to pull away from their destination.

“Mistrise,” Cecile replied. “The long-lost port town. Now there you’d indeed find ruined towers just waiting to come tumbling down.”

“I’d love to explore that!” Fawks blurted out, before quickly adding, “…someday,” when he caught the flicker of unease on Elias’s face.

“Our road lies in the opposite direction,” Bard said bluntly, as though trying to help Fawks dismiss the idea – for now.

They paused for a moment to catch their breath and drink from their flasks before walking again. The road cut through the jungle and then between two mountains. On the right was a single steep peak. On the left, a much higher summit rose, and behind it stretched an entire mountain range, of which the tallest point was right before them.
The range stretched leftward as far as the eye could see, and also kept running parallel to their own road for a long while, even after they had left the lone mountain to the right behind.

The dense, suffocating vegetation gave way to something closer to barrenness. The air grew less humid, and a cool breeze spilled down from the heights, brushing their faces. Sunlight, sharp and clear at this hour, cut through the thinning canopy, casting crisp shadows that danced across the rocky ground

They walked for hours along the road, which curved along the base of the mountains before starting to climb, as if determined to cross the range and descend beyond. Though steep and all dirt, the path was smoother than expected, almost as if used often.

“Are there many who pass this way?” Elias asked.

“Quite few, I’d say,” Bard answered.
“It could even be that the last to walk this road were Cecile and myself…” He paused, then reconsidered. “Though I doubt it.”

“The road looks well-traveled to me,” Elias thought aloud.

“It certainly used to be,” Cecile said.
“There was great trade once, between Mistrise and the five cities of the Common Ground.”

“What happened to that port town?” Fawks asked.

“It was abandoned, little by little…” Cecile explained” until no one remained at all.” She hesitated. “The same fate befell many other towns on the Outskirts.”

“Why?” Elias wondered.

“When the Common Ground was first established, it was small,” Bard explained. “Later it grew – and now it’s vast. When the Outskirts were first built, they weren’t much different from the rest of the Common Ground. Instead of cramming into one big city – first there was only one, then the others followed, one after another – people spread out, settling here and there, raising new towns.”

“And what changed?” Fawks pressed.

Bard hesitated… for quite a long time. “I’m afraid that’s something I can only explain once after you meet the Warden,” he said at last.

Fawks shot a look at Elias, who was staring at Bard with a look of great suspicion. Cecile kept walking, eyes down.

No one spoke for a while. The matter was left behind.

By the time evening drew near, they reached a place where the road ended abruptly in a sheer cliff.

“Argh – no bridge again,” Bard burst out.

Across the gap, perhaps a hundred and fifty meters away, another cliff rose – towering nearly a hundred meters higher than their current perch.

“Well, what did you expect?” Cecile teased.

“Anyway – it’s still early… but we’re on a mountain, and still in the Outskirts. I say we make camp here and cross tomorrow.”

“Will we still reach the Common Ground tomorrow?” Fawks asked.

“This is the Common Ground,” Bard clarified, pointing upward. “From that point on, we’ll no longer be in the Outskirts.”

♦♦♦

The sound of hoofbeats carried steadily forward – a familiar rhythm! And with it, a familiar scent.

The wind blew with a bite like winter – sharp, brisk, but not cold enough to sting.

All around, birds twittered, branches rattled as the air rushed through with force.

Footsteps –human footsteps– kept pace with the horse’s gait.

Her body felt strange, heavy in ways it shouldn’t. A dull pounding throbbed at her temples, each beat of her heart sending a pulse of pain through her skull. Her ribs ached with every shallow breath, as though the weight pressing on her chest grew tighter and tighter.

She forced her eyes open, slowly, painfully.

She was slumped forward, her chest resting against the horse’s withers, her head tilted over its mane. The world swayed with the horse’s steps, but her mind lagged behind, drifting in and out of focus. At her left walked a guard, holding the reins.

“He’s kept as calm a pace as he could all day,” the guard said softly of the horse. Then he added, “And now the evening’s nearly upon us.”

“Where… where are we?” she tried to utter. Her voice was rough, her throat raw. She was unwell.

She attempted to look around, but had no strength to sit upright. She remained sprawled over the horse’s back. From that limited view, it could well have been the winding path around Mount Stenvar.

“Well, we should be nearing the Tarlmerfolk trail,” the guard said with a faint smile. “I thought I heard them a short while ago. We’re moving slow… but I reckon they’re moving even slower.”

She glanced at herself, at her surroundings, trying to understand what had happened. Finally she croaked, “Why are we not dead?”

“Well, first and foremost, you’ve got this horse’s stubborn loyalty to thank…” The guard stroked the mane gently.

Red realized then – it was Kestrel she was lying on.
“Oh, Kestrel…” she sighed, reaching to caress his cheek and whispering, “thank you.”

Kestrel answered with a familiar whinny.

“Yes… at first, he appeared out of nowhere,” the guard said, his hand tightening on the reins. “Just ten paces from the fury of the battle, rearing up, screaming like a beast possessed. But–” he drew a breath, as though the memory stung “–who would notice him amidst all that madness?”

The horse’s steady gait jolted her sore ribs. Red’s head swayed against the coarse mane.

“When the tower fell, it crushed scores of Shades beneath it. Even the dragon – dragged down into the rubble. For a moment, the enemy broke. Those closest to us scattered. Most of them fled in panic… those who survived, anyway. The rest we cut them down before they escaped.”
But it didn’t last,” he went on, softer now. “The army was vast – too vast. Those still marching, those who hadn’t reached the city yet – they kept coming, undisturbed. And the ones who fled… regrouped quick, turned back upon us.”

He paused again, shifting his grip on the reins and stroked the horse’s neck with his free hand, as though steadying himself. “Still – it gave us a moment. Just enough momentum to smuggle you out. Roric… ordered me to ride as far as the beast could carry us both. To bring you to the Common Ground–” he glanced at her pale face “–if you survived.”

“Roric stayed behind..?” Red’s voice cracked – half question, half lament.

“The last I saw of him,” the guard said quietly, “before the trees swallowed us, he and Oswald were standing firm – holding their ground against a tide of Shade warriors charging down on them.”

Red would have wept, but lacked the strength.

She slumped once more over Kestrel, her face against his mane. Sleep crept over her in waves. The rhythm of his hoofbeats, the warmth of his body, and his familiar scent were comfort enough to draw her into darkness.