The End of the Road

“Fawks…?” Elias called softly. The silence was so deep that the name carried clear.

Without speaking, they spread through the gloom, searching. Bard held his lute tight in his hands, letting no string sound. Cecile advanced with her palette in her left hand, brush in her right propped up against the palette as if ready to draw up color to the air itself.

“Fawks?” they called as they moved. Their eyes began slowly to adjust.

Elias caught sight of the stair leading up to a narrow interior balcony. He bounded up two steps at a time and found himself in the corridor above. Straight ahead, one door stood open. He moved toward it.

“Don’t come closer!” a voice rang out from the darkness, raising the hairs on his neck. It carried something in it that reminded him far too much of Anang.

“Oh…” Elias muttered through his teeth.

The others hurried up behind.

“What is it?” Bard asked gravely.

“I think it’s a pale man…” Elias muttered.

“Fawk’s in there with him?” Cecile pressed, her face tense.

“Stand back!” came the cry again.

They pushed into the room. The pale man held Fawks tight, his hand clamped hard across the boy’s mouth to silence him. He made a strangled sound against the man’s palm — da– — cut short as the grip tightened.
Fresh tears still streaked his cheeks.

“Let the boy go!” Elias shouted.

The man’s eyes were as pale as his skin. Elias braced himself. He remembered all too well what had happened the last time he reached out to help someone so ghostly white.

“Easy,” Bard motioned to him, then addressed the stranger. “What’s your name, friend?”

“Fenric…” the man replied. His voice softened, as if he might add more.
“Fenric Thale is the name, Innkeeper is the game!
And I’m not your friend! Why did you barge into my establishment?”

His grip slackened; Fawks sagged, barely catching himself on one knee before stumbling free.

“Fawks!” Cecile rushed forward and gathered him into her arms.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Fawks mumbled, almost guilty. “I just… got scared.”

“This… is your establishment?” Elias asked, still uncertain how to treat Fenric, though greatly relieved now that Fawks was safe. He glanced around at the dust and ruin. “You live here?”

“Where else would I go?” The man’s voice now sounded aged, human.

“When was the last time music played in the hall below?” Bard asked, looking about him, his gaze drawn toward the shadowed stair.

“The music stopped when the people stopped coming!” Fenric cried with sudden desperation. “A long, long time ago…” His voice broke off.

The force of it made the four of them stiffen, standing in silence, watching him.

“Once the towns and settlements were abandoned, the roads were abandoned. Trade was abandoned. This inn –most inns– abandoned with them!”

“Why?” Elias asked, bewildered.

“Why?” Fenric’s eyes flared, ready with the answer. “Because the Outskirts became uninhabitable! But it wasn’t always so…”

Bard interjected, speaking to Elias. “The Outskirts always had their troubles, their dangers, their instability. But these past years it has grown far worse. Once, the sight of a single shade was unheard of. Now they roam freely– ”

“That’s why the towns were forsaken!” Fenric jabbed a finger sharply. “That’s why the roads are empty!”

“I see,” Fawks whispered mostly to himself, listening intently.

For a while, all stood quiet, pensive. Fenric’s last words were still etched fiercely on his face – not as accusation, but as hard truth.

“It’s getting dark,” Cecile murmured, glancing at the window.

“Mm, yes.” Bard followed her gaze. “We won’t reach Teranbrath tonight.” He turned to Fenric. “Forgive us the intrusion – we’ll see to it the door works before we leave tomorrow.” Then, to the others: “Let’s make a fire here outside and pass the night. If we rise early, we’ll be in Teranbrath by morning.”

♦♦♦

Red with Kaelen and Brennel hadn’t ridden far before they caught the tail of the long procession bound for Dravenholt. There the two gave up their horses to a man collapsed in the dust and pressed on by foot, taking the weary rearguard. Step after slow step, they trudged all day without pause.

By dusk, the vanguard, led by Lameth, crested the brow of a tall hill – and there, across the valley, shone the torches of Dravenholt: a city of stone, masterfully fortified, its walls glinting in the fading light. It crowned a hill of its own, backed by jagged mountains. Between them and that refuge stretched a small plain, and upon it a great cavalry rode toward them their lances catching fire from the torches. The sound of countless hooves was like thunder rolling low across the earth.

“Dravenholt!” Lameth called, loud enough for those still climbing behind to hear. Cheers broke out at once, ragged but fierce, and the people pressed onward, hearts lifted.

“We’ve made it!” Red cried, spurring her horse ahead. When she too reached the crest and saw the sight, tears she hadn’t thought she had left spilled down her cheeks, and a broad smile broke across her face, the first in too long. For a moment, she was the Red everyone remembered, the Red they loved.

“Red! Lameth!” Tharic came striding up, handing his horse to a Tarlmerefolk as he dismounted. Right behind him rode the Marshal of Dravenholt, violet-eyed and stern.

“Tharic!” they both exclaimed, joy flashing in tired eyes.
“You made it,” Red breathed.

The Marshal lifted his hand in a stiff gesture of hail. Red and Lameth bowed their heads lightly for an instance.
“Tharic tells me of a shade army razing Tarlmere,” the Marshal said evenly, “and that we are to receive the survivors.” His voice was flat, his face unreadable.

“That is correct,” Red answered.

“I have mustered my army,” he declared. “Where are the enemies?”
“They are right behind us,” Red said again.

He craned his neck to peer past them, past the straggling people. “I neither see nor hear anything,” he observed coldly. “In all my years, I have never seen more than two shades gathered. The sight of an army of them…” He let it hang, but doubt edged his words.

“Trust me– ” Red began.

Then a deafening crack split the heavens, as if the sky itself had shattered. Far on the horizon, a strange rainbow-like shimmer rippled into view. With every pulse it grew, peeling back the veil until a vast, translucent dome was revealed—an ancient barrier, hidden in plain sight all this time.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, it unraveled and dissolved. The sky lay bare again, unchanged – yet nothing was the same.

“They’ve passed through the Stenvar Arch!”

Now Gareth, the Marshal, had something tangible. Until that moment, he had half-believed he’d wasted his strength summoning his guard and leading the cavalry from the city. Not Tharic’s word, but his own officers’ insistence had driven him to act.

“Then not all was in vain,” he said at last, satisfaction flickering across his face.
“In vain?” Red echoed sharply, out loud.

He ignored it, eyes alight at the thought. At last, if this was true, he would face not another scattered hunt but a true foe – a host to match his pride. At last, a battle fit for his name.

Immediately he raised his hand. The cavalry wheeled into formation along the hilltop, shields aligned, the ground quaking under their ranks.
“On my command,” Gareth intoned.

Below, the Tarlmerefolk still trudged through them, stumbling, nearly spent, every step a miracle.

Kaelen and Brennel drew near, saluting quickly. Red’s fury burned.
“What are you doing?” she spat, meeting Gareth eye to eye. “You cannot attack that thing. If anything, your riders should dismount – give their horses to the people before they collapse. It’s a wonder they’ve come this far!”

“Why are you on horseback then?” he sneered.
“Besides, they are mere shades. We’ve slain thousands.”

“Yes, one at a time,” she shot back, “but now they are millions!”

He looked at her again, disbelief flat in his gaze, then lowered his visor.
“Take what’s left of your guard into the city,” he said, voice muffled. “We’ll speak after.”

He spurred his horse forward, signaling to ride forward ready to charge. The earth thundered as the cavalry surged past, shields and spears clattering like a storm of iron.

“That’s the last time we see this fool,” Brennel muttered dryly.

“Brennel!” Red snapped.

But Tharic only added grimly, “Good riddance.”

Together they stood, watching the riders thunder down toward the Stenvar pass. Then they turned, following the last of the people descending into the valley toward Dravenholt’s gates.