Thresholds

As Kestrel approached the crowd, many of the Tarlmerefolk hurried to surround them. Their ragged company had been stumbling forward for days, silent and hollow-eyed, too weary for song or chatter. When they saw Red slumped in the saddle, powerless and pale, a tremor of alarm rippled through them.

“Stand back!” cried a woman.

“Give them room!” another echoed, pushing others aside.

A man’s voice rang out, desperate: “Anyone have a dral?”

Two guards, who had fallen back as rearguard ever since they realized no other defenders would leave Tarlmere, pushed through toward them.

“Red! Lameth! You survived!” they exclaimed.

“Tharic. Brennel,” Lameth greeted them. With all the commotion he was fully awake again, though his legs no longer carried him well enough to walk beside them – even if he wished to: who was he, to ride while his comrades marched on foot? But he had fought at Tarlmere, and if not for Kestrel and Roric’s order, he would have died with all the others…

“Who’s leading?” Red asked, her voice rasping.

“Kaelen is,” Tharic replied.

“They should already be reaching the top of the pass by now,” Brennel added. “Which means they’re crossing into the Common Ground.”

“Could we reach Dravenholt before nightfall?” Red asked again, her words so faint that each seemed to cost her pain.

At that moment, a Tarlmerefolk hurried up and pressed a dral into her hand, first wiping it with a clean cloth. With great effort, Red raised it to her lips and slowly cracked it with her teeth. Though drael (depending on color and size) could restore the strength of one drained by too much use of the imagination, Red’s state required far more than that. Her exhaustion, her wounds, her pain—all needed time and rest to heal. Still, it was something.
“Thank you,” she whispered, a fraction less faintly, once she swallowed.

“I don’t know,” Tharic answered her earlier question. “Everyone is weary, ready to collapse. We’ve been dragging our feet since the siege – two short halts, one yesterday morning and one last night, mostly just to let the weakest catch up– ”

“We didn’t have enough horses,” Brennel cut in.

“And after an hour or two, we were marching again,” Tharic finished, “afraid the enemy might catch us.”

“I understand…” Red’s eyes lifted to the slope ahead, rising toward a narrow passage where the road ran between two broad stone walls – the ruined base of some old arch. Beyond it, the road sloped downward again.

She turned to Brennel.
“Run forward and tell Kaelen that Lameth and I are here – though he must have heard already. Tell him to halt the march just after the Stenvar Arch, and gather the folk to rest in the small dell to the right, there, where the descent begins.”

“Right away!” Brennel sprinted forward in full armor through the crowd, as if he hadn’t walked the same grueling miles as everyone else.

Red then turned to Tharic.
“Please,” she said – a word she had never used before when giving orders. “Take a horse, whichever rider can spare it, and ride to Dravenholt. Tell them what happened, that we are coming – and, hopefully, that we’ll arrive by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes!” Tharic began to turn–

“Wait!” Red called him back.
“Speak to Gareth– ”

“The Marshal?” Tharic asked, uncertain if that was the name of the city’s commander.

Red nodded.
“Tell him to put the army on alert, see to the defenses, and– ” she paused, struggling for breath. “If he can… send a force to escort us.”

Tharic nodded firmly, then ran off. Red’s eyes followed him as he seized a horse and urged it into a gallop, weaving swiftly through the weary crowd.

♦♦♦

Elias’s company had been descending for hours, following a road that wound left and right like a serpent, avoiding the roughest and rockiest ground, until at last it opened to a wide clearing. Spread out before them, far below, lay a valley vast as the eye could see – a green sea of trees, endless and alive with shadow and light.

From there, the road plunged far more steeply, a twisting course cutting across the same hillside at different heights, always downward.

“On the far side of that forest lies Teranbrath – the city we head to first,” Bard said, then fell silent without offering more. “To its left, a little further back toward the mountains, stands Terenhal.” He gestured ahead as though he could see it, though in truth perhaps only from Teranbrath itself could one glimpse anything. What Bard pointed at was not the city itself but a subtle break in the hues of distance – something different from the mountains behind it, faint and small, but real.

“Is that eastward from here?” Elias asked.

“Eastward? – No. There is no East or West… nor North or South. The suns rise and set from every direction, all around us.”

That struck Elias deeply. He had noticed, all too well, how the suns circled and rose from every side, yet he had never considered what that meant – that it was impossible to define an east. It felt strange, unsettling. He even thought to ask how they oriented themselves at all, but he held his tongue.
“I see…” he murmured.

“In the mountains behind, between those two cities, lies a pass that leads straight into the valley of Orrendale – the so-called Imperial city.” Bard’s voice carried a faint scorn. “Though I think only its own people call it that. In any case, the road will take us there…” He motioned them onward, and they began the steep descent.

“Didn’t you say there were five cities?” Elias asked as he followed.

“Yes…” The slope was sharp at first, so Bard did not answer right away. Only after the road eased, winding to and fro, did he continue:
“Beyond Orrendale lies another mountain pass, leading to the two further cities: the nearer one, Myrrholt, and the furthest – closest to Tarlmere, in fact, since you said you came from that way – Dravenholt, the fortress-city.”

Fawks’s eyes lit with excitement. Until then he had been dragging his feet, but now the names of these places fired his imagination. They sounded dreamlike. He could hardly wait.
“What are we waiting for?!” he shouted, charging downhill with renewed energy.

“Careful, lad!” Bard called after him, and the three of them laughed lightly.

“Where does he find that energy, I wonder,” Cecile remarked.

“Yes… his energy sometimes feels endless,” Elias agreed.

Fawks suddenly turned back, as though remembering something. “When do we get there?”

“If all goes well – tonight,” Bard answered. “Else, tomorrow morning.”

They pressed on, step after steady step. The shadow of the trees drew closer, welcome now as the suns climbed higher and the heat grew unbearable. Sweat streaked dusty faces, and the air above the stone road wavered in a shimmering haze, as though the world itself were melting.

“So – what do you hope to achieve, if you meet the Warden?” Cecile asked Elias casually.

“Well…” Elias took the question to heart. What did he truly hope for? In his mind, his family surfaced – the life he once had. And with it came the thought of their grief, their sorrow when he was lost to them, perhaps even now still grieving. The weight of that grief washed over him, sudden and overwhelming, nearly beyond his control.

Cecile glanced at him. He looked suddenly shadowed, darker. Part of it was the forest: by then they had stepped beneath its canopy. Yet it was no dark wood – the forest here was bright, full of life, light falling in patches through green leaves. The air was cooler, and the scent was resin and pine, tinged with damp moss, sharp and refreshing after the heat of the suns. Birds darted through the branches, trilling high and sweet, while the steady drone of unseen insects wove a constant undertone. All around, the forest boomed with life – so much at odds with the heaviness inside him.

“I guess… home,” Elias said at last. He was just a grown man who longed for home again. “If there’s a chance… maybe the Warden might know something more.”

Bard, who had long since abandoned any pretense of not listening, had stopped and turned toward them as they caught up.

They halted.

“I truly hope you find what you seek,” Bard told him earnestly, a smile softening his face. After a long moment, he added: “But whatever happens, know this – you’ll find company among us. If ever you feel you need it…” He looked uncertain, as though the words had not come out quite as he intended.

Even so, Elias’s face eased a little. “Thank you.”

“Sure!” Bard turned again, leading them onward beneath the branches, toward the nearest city of the Common Ground.

♦♦♦

The last of the Tarlmerefolk had now passed beneath the Stenvar Arch and spilled out into the dell on the right, collapsing from exhaustion. Most lay asleep on the grass where they fell. Lameth among them.

Kaelen busied himself keeping some order, while Brennel stood higher on the slope, watching the road behind in case their pursuers appeared.

“I hope Tharic reaches Dravenholt soon…” Red murmured to Brennel. She sat in the shade nearby, Kestrel dozing at her side.

But at that very moment, a horn blast echoed from within the forest. Brennel’s eyes widened as he peered down the long descending road, straining toward the bend at its far end – as though staring hard enough might pierce the trees and reveal what came.