DarkFyre Ch. 10

Rael called them to a stop to allow her to rest. Silmaria sat gratefully on a smooth stone covered in a soft carpet of moss. She took her thin slippers off and rubbed at her sore, frozen feet, trying to coax some warmth into her almost numb toes. The little slippers, not made for such heavy use, were already wearing away and wouldn't last much more than a day or two of forced march.

While she rested, Lord Rael undid his makeshift pack and clambered up into a nearby tree, climbing high up into the branches. She looked up at him, curious, and after watching him for a time guessed that he must be staring up at the sky to read the stars.

Sure enough, when they resumed their march at a brisker pace this time, their direction changed. Rael led them at a hurried jog through the woods.

"Where are we going?" she asked at last, and half expected Rael to avoid answering yet again.

The Nobleman was silent for a time before finally saying, "Trelling's Landing. We've set out to the east into the Turan Wood. We're a few miles in by now. Now we're heading southward. We'll continue this way for a few miles and then cut southwest. We'll come out in about a dozen miles into the Greensward, and circle west and back north until we reach the city. This route is the least direct, and we'll spend the least amount of time in exposed ground this way."

"Are we going to the Guard?"

"No," said Rael as they trudged up a steep hill. "They'll be expecting that. They'll be watching for us to contact the Guard. Even if they aren't, it won't matter. The Guard can't help us against these men."

"Then who can?" Silmaria asked, panting again as she struggled to keep up.

"I don't know. Yet. I will by the time we get there," he replied, and that was that.

They continued to the south for what must have been close to an hour, and seemed even longer. Silmaria kept lookout behind them. Every hundred yards or so she stopped and looked carefully, scanning the wooded area all around them for any sign of pursuit. Mercifully there was no sign of anyone else in the wood, the only tracks in the snow their own, and those quickly fading under a sudden, steady snowfall that started in the middle of their march. They took a brief break, and Lord Rael scaled a tree once more to check the stars. It took him longer this time, trying to glean a decent look through the overcast of clouds and snow. Finally he descended, and they changed direction once again, moving southwest toward the open grasslands of the Greensward.

It was the early hours of the morning by the time they came upon a large, icy stream that was just large enough and fast moving enough not to freeze over completely. Silmaria eyed it dubiously; she was loath to even attempt to cross the water. It didn't look deep, and would probably only come up to her knees or lower thigh, but she was already near frozen to the bone as it was and she felt sure if she stepped foot into the freezing water she was going to end up losing a foot.

Lord Rael crouched down at the edge of the stream and stared at it for a few moments, then gave a small nod. "This is good. We've probably come far enough south for now. We can follow this to the west. It may be a tributary that feeds into White Rock River. That feeds into Lake Glasswater. If that's the case, we can follow the river all the way to Trelling's Rest."

He stood and led her west down the bank of the stream for a time, until they reached a small alcove worn into the side of the stream where the bank hung over a depression worn away by the streams moving waters long ago. Now, dry and removed from the waters, it would offer some respite from the wind and snow, and would provide some cover to hide them from searching eyes.

"This is as good a place as any to stop for some rest," said Rael.

Silmaria needed no further prompting. Exhausted, she sagged to the ground. She was shaking with exhaustion, weary beyond knowing. Every part of her ached, not the least of which was her heart.

Rael busied himself by undoing his makeshift pack and sorting through the items he'd pilfered. He'd kept the short sword he'd bloodied on their enemies, and taken a second still in its scabbard. He had two stolen daggers, plus his own, and the single remaining crossbow he'd taken. The two thick, black cloaks were heavy and warm and lined inside with the black dyed fur of some large animal of prey she only half recognized. There was a quiver of crossbow bolts, a flint-and-tinder kit, a small pouch holding a few coins, and, most important as far as she was concerned, a small pouch that Rael opened to reveal a portion of traveling rations in the form of salted and cured meat, probably venison.

When Rael pulled a strip of the meat from the rations and handed it to her, Silmaria took it gratefully. Only in that very moment did she fully realize just how hungry she was, her stomach turning over in angry knots at the very notion of food. She attacked her food, then slowed as she noticed how slowly Rael ate his own portion, chewing carefully in slow, small bites. The rations remaining were pitifully small when Rael pocketed it.

Rael put the rest of their things to the side, then grabbed up the cloaks. He pulled one on over the cloak he already wore, then handed the remaining one to Silmaria. She pulled the cloak on over her own sad, small cloak, and almost moaned aloud at the warmth of it. She was numb from the tips of her feline ears to her toes, and even the extra warmth of her pelt wasn't enough to keep her from violently shaking from the cold now. The temperature had begun to drop with the snowfall, and hadn't stopped dropping since.

"C-can we have a f-fire?" Silmaria asked through chattering teeth.

Rael shook his head, his jaw setting in a grim line. "It's too dangerous. Even in this little alcove, someone could see the light. It would give our position away for sure. No. We can survive without it, if we press in close for warmth."

His words didn't even fully register past her disappointment at not having a fire. She didn't realize what he meant until he scooted in closer, and reached out for her to take her into his arms.

Silmaria's reaction was immediate. Despite being utterly exhausted, she somehow found the strength to slap his hands away, recoiling and squirming away from him.

"Don't touch me!" She snarled, baring her teeth as her ears pressed flat to her head. One moment she was utterly drained and the next, all the stress, the shock, the heartache and anger and helpless rage of that horrible night came rushing to the surface, potent and overwhelming and unreasonable.

Rael stared at her in surprise for a moment, then shook his head, moving in close again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Silmaria, and I'm not going to do anything improper. We have to do this. We have to stay warm or we'll freeze before the dawn thaws us out."

"I don't care! Don't you fucking touch me!" She shrieked. Her voice was hysterical, the screeching of some pathetic, broken thing she didn't recognize.

"You bastard, you useless bastard! You should have protected them! You should have saved them! Saved all of us! It's your fault!"

Rael's face flickered, emotion playing through it before he pushed it down and a look of grim determination took its place. Silmaria was too far gone to notice or care any injury she did him. It had taken all her will and control to make it this far, to push all her feelings and grief aside to survive through the night. Now that their forced march was over and everything had slowed, she was overwrought with the rawness of pain and grief.

But he ignored her raving and screamed accusations. He grabbed her, his hold implacable. She struggled and flailed, pushed and shoved and heaped every foul curse upon him she could think of. She pounded on his chest and struck at him, but he wouldn't let her go. He pulled her into his arms, enfolding her into his embrace, and held her body tight to his. He said nothing, made no reply to the blame she laid at his feet. He simply held her and refused to release her.

She didn't want this. She didn't want his warmth, his closeness, the strength of him surrounding her. She didn't want the security of that embrace, the way it sheltered her from the cold and the horrible place the world had become. She wanted to hate him. She wanted it to be his fault, because her world was crumbling and someone had to be responsible for it.

"It's your fault. They were there for you! They were there for you, and you didn't protect us. It's your fault," she screamed until her voice was hoarse, until she was hiccupping, and then sobbing, sobbing and shaking and crying into his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt as he held her there, huddled in the warmth of his arms.

Silmaria thought she had cried enough to last a lifetime. She thought she'd felt enough loss and grief and pain to wring all the tears she could ever make from her. She had told herself, after those long nights reading Master Edwin's letters, and then letting him go that she was finally done with tears and heartache and grief, forever.

How very wrong she'd been.

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