Tendrils of thin light wafted on the backs of the swirling snowflakes, barely penetrating the thick clouds. The landscape had a tranquil air about it as if slumbering beneath its thick winter blanket. The trio rode in peaceful silence on the backs of weary mounts.
There was no haste in their movements. Lethargy seemed to have followed the cold that seeped into their bones.
Darius thought back to the last time he had been along this route. Fondly, he remembered the meeting of the boy Cannivone during an ill-timed ambush. His heart ached at the memories of the brave paladin Renarthane who had accompanied him, now sitting at Alinard’s table.
So much had changed in the last few months . The young priest was still having trouble with the fact that he had lost so much in so short a time. His mission was a failure and he was returning in humility to the temple in Fialscathac to give himself to the mercy of the church.
Word had come months ago of the death of Amniar, the high priest. A paladin named Avegor was named the successor in the interim while a new high priest was chosen. It was Darius’ duty to return to face judgment.
He looked at his companions, stoically trudging through the deep snow. The boy Cipsis in particular seemed comfortable enough in the freezing temperatures. Manech, battle hardened soldier of numerous campaigns was advancing in age and it told on his face, but he bravely fought the desire to give in to the cold.
A Fennid was ever disciplined and took pride in their ability to withstand great discomforts with little to no complaint. Manech was the embodiment of all the caste stood for and would not complain even if frostbite took his fingers and toes.
“Terrible time of year to be traveling,” the Rifennid said, eliciting a nod from Darius.
“I have no choice,” the priest said. “I have been away from the temple far too long already.”
“I’m sure they could live without you for a few months more,” Manech replied. “At least until the weather warms.”
“What you say is true,” Darius added with a curt nod. “But it is not about what the temple can or cannot deal with, it is about responsibility and the vows I made in Alinard’s name.”
Manech nodded in reply. He well understood the powers of an oath. It was his oath to his old friend the deceased King Uilleam that led him along the path he had chosen. His life was one of constant loyalty to his friend, yet when it mattered most, Manech had failed him. The sorrow threatened to choke him.
They passed over a small rise to where the Sruth Bui lay frozen; a silver ribbon in the sunlight. Talantas was situated where the stream intersected with the larger and deeper Aibhainn Folaidh before the Folaidh disappeared into the thick forest. The Sruth Bui skirted the woods on the southern edge and ran a fairly straight course west until it jogged to the south to empty into the ocean between Bwbachod and the western coast of Anglea.
They had passed the remnants of the cart that Darius and Renarthane had used on their first journey to Talantas earlier in the day. They quickly took a moment to check its contents and found it to have not surprisingly to have been ransacked, lying in ruin under a mound of fresh snow.
It was a two day travel to Fialscathac and they were halfway through the journey. Already the cold was becoming unbearable. Darius could sense the aging Rifennid’s discomfort even though he muttered not a word.
“We shall travel a few more miles, “the priest said, “Then camp for the night.”
“Aren’t you in haste?” Manech asked through a growing frost that crackled on his beard.
“I will not have my companions freeze to death merely because I am in haste,” Darius replied. “What we need is a moment of warmth and comfort.”
The look of relief was difficult for the warrior to mask. He nodded in assent.
The horses gingerly crossed the thin ice covering the stream, hearing it crack beneath their weight. The Bui was shallow and narrow at this point lessening the chance for an accident. Hooves breaking through the thin crust could easily hobble their mounts.
They made it across easily and followed the meandering ice trail west until the sun began to slip behind the horizon. Darius called the party to a halt and they made camp. Tents were constructed and a fire was soon blazing. The trio huddled together near its warmth and soon forgot about the cold that seemed to have seeped into their bones.
After a meal of dried hare strips, they shared a small bottle of wine. Manech rubbed his hands together over the fire trying to restore some of its natural feeling. He seemed old and tired to Darius, but the young cleric held his tongue. He was thankful to have the experienced warrior along.
Soon the boy Cipsis was snoring, loudly. Manech and Darius lifted the boy and carried him to one of the tents. Once the youth was tucked away in a warm sleeping bag, they returned to the fire where they sat in silence, listening to the distant howl of wolves.
“Travel in winter,” Darius whispered with a shudder, “is fraught with peril.”
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