Nearly a full day of riding had passed before the Harbinger finally broke her silence. Her expression earlier, as they'd departed the courtyard, had said more than words ever could. Her jaw was set with a grim determination, and the haunted look in her eyes had silenced any questions before they even formed.
Grey and Vonn had taken the hint, trailing behind her at a respectful distance, letting her wrestle with the weight of whatever thoughts consumed her.
When she finally spoke, her voice carried the gravity of the burdens she bore.
"The Gates will judge him," said Liandris, her pale, large eyes looking off into the distance.
"Yes, Liandris. The Gates will judge him. We have done our part for the ones lost to the fires," Vonn said softly, his tone steady but not without sympathy.
Liandris slowed her horse, her posture rigid but weary. "We should have arrived sooner," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The fault is mine. I will gladly bear the weight of their souls."
Her words lingered in the cold air before silence reclaimed their small group. The crunch of hooves on frost-laden ground was the only sound between them for the next stretch of their journey.
The trek to Tensada—the southernmost settlement of the Northlands, just before the frozen straits that led into Voltaine—had taken nearly three days. None of the trio was surprised by the delay. Harbingers rarely traveled in straight lines.
Liandris was bound to answer death's call wherever it found her, a truth her companions had long since accepted.
Their detours on this journey spoke to that calling.
First, there had been the hunter whose leg was caught in his own trap. The wound had turned septic, and the man had succumbed before he could reach a healer. His grieving wife and children had offered what they could—some pelts and a squirrel the boy had caught—to thank the Harbinger for her songs of passage.
Then came the old man who passed peacefully in his sleep. Vonn had remarked on the serenity of the man's face, calling it an enviable end. Few could hope for such fortune.
Grey, however, had found it dull. A life ending quietly in bed seemed a waste to him, and he couldn't imagine a world where he would meet such a fate. For him, the edge of a blade was far more fitting, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
The most harrowing stop had been the little girl. Fever had claimed her just hours before the Healer's arrival. Liandris's quiet mourning as she prepared the rites had been enough to bring a lump to even Grey's throat. Those were the hardest ones.
By the time they reached Tensada, exhaustion weighed heavily on them all. The Snow Bear Tavern, with its straw-filled mattresses, musty rooms, and roaring fires, was a welcome refuge. Grey, always more susceptible to the bitter cold than his companions, wasted no time in claiming the spot nearest the hearth.
"This place smells like wet fur," Grey muttered as he shrugged off his heavy cloak, tossing it over the back of a chair. He rubbed his hands together, the sting of frostbite lingering in his fingertips. "But it's warm. I'll take it."
Vonn raised an eyebrow as he sat across from him, completely unbothered by the chill. "You act like you've never seen snow before. You'd think a little cold would toughen you up."
"It's not the snow; it's the damp," Grey shot back, pulling off his boots and holding his feet out toward the fire. "Gets into your bones."
Liandris remained silent as she entered, her cloak dusted with snow and her pale face even paler. She secured her gear before settling into a chair near the window. Her gaze turned outward, toward the icy landscape, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
"You can rest, you know," Vonn said gently.
"I will," she replied, though her tone made it clear that rest was far from her mind. After a pause, she added, "Not all burdens can be laid down, Vonn. You know that."
The warrior nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Aye, but even burdens feel lighter after a warm meal and a drink."
Grey, ever eager to lighten the mood, grinned. "Speaking of which, if someone doesn't bring me ale soon, I might die of thirst. And then, Harbinger, you'll have another soul to sing for."
Liandris glanced at him, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips despite the weariness etched into her features. "I'll make sure your dirge is short, Grey. No one wants to listen to your laments for too long."
The table broke into quiet chuckles, the tension of the journey easing, if only for a moment.
The trio lingered only a single night in the small, snow-draped town before setting off south once more. The air grew warmer, if only a bare little, as they pressed on.
That first night, they made camp a short distance from the road, the only warmth coming from the fire they managed to coax from damp kindling scavenged beneath the snow-covered evergreens.
"When we stopped at the tavern the other night," Vonn began as he knelt by the fire, feeding it with careful precision, "a rather large and rather hairy birdy told me that the Battleborn has halted his march on the Old Kingdoms. Turned his armies back to An'Shar, they said."
The smell of the squirrel roasting over the low flames was nearly enough to make Grey ignore Vonn entirely. He crouched to turn the spit, watching the thin juices drip into a tiny dish beneath. A few drops of precious fat, meager as they were, collected in the dish—a valuable commodity in the frigid north, worth its weight in silver when bartered with the hardy people who called this frozen expanse home.
Grey's attention returned to the conversation only when Liandris stirred. Reclining against the massive trunk of an ancient evergreen, her eyes had been closed in rare repose.
After a full day spent singing for the Dead and easing the sorrow of the living, even her stalwart companions expected her to be both emotionally and physically drained. Yet, at the mention of the Battleborn, her eyes snapped open, black as pitch and gleaming with renewed focus.
"What would make him turn back?" she asked, sitting straighter beneath her grey fur cloak. "Was there unrest in the capital?"
Her companions exchanged a glance, aware of her keen interest in such matters. Liandris rarely spoke of it, but her fascination with the Daeude—the Firstborn children of the gods, eternally reborn yet cursed to forget their past lives—was undeniable. News of their movements, especially the Battleborn's, was an uncommon thread this far north.
"Not unrest," Vonn replied, feeding a small stick into the fire to stoke the embers. "Quite the opposite. Word is, the people welcomed him. By the time he and his army reached Vraycia, they opened their gates to him. Everyone but the Royal Family, that is. The Dhargh Kings weren't so lucky."
Grey finally tore his gaze from the roasting squirrel, his stomach growling in protest. "The Dhargh Kings were brutal tyrants," he said. "No wonder the people celebrated their downfall. But why would he abandon his campaign? What's in An'Shar that's so important?"
"Now that was a little less clear. There was some mention of a garden or some such. His Midlander was about as good as my Old Kingdom, but I think the ale had been flowing well before I got there, so." Vonn shrugged.
"The Dusk Rose of An'Shar," Grey interjected, settling himself near the fire. He glanced at Liandris, noting the faint crease in her brow. "That's what your 'birdy' was talking about. Or at least, that's what I'd wager."
Vonn snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes, that sounds right."
The dark-haired Arterian, licking the grease from his fingertips, settled back down on his bedroll, which, for the moment, he had placed near to the fire so that he might perform his duties as camp cook.
Liandris leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the fire. The light reflected off her black eyes, swallowed whole by their endless depths. "The Dusk Rose of An'Shar," she murmured. "I've heard the name before, but only in passing. A human, then?"
Grey nodded. "A human, yes."
"What could a mortal woman possibly hold over the Battleborn?" Liandris asked, her tone measured but tinged with curiosity.
"Ah, but not just any human. Not only is she incredibly stunning, if the stories are to be believed, she's also the last living heir of the God Kings of Toltaria, through the maternal line. Astile traces her lineage back to the sister of the final God King." Grey watched Vonn poke the roast squirrel. His stomach rumbled in response.
Liandris arched a dark brow, her gaze lingering on him. "Beauty and blood, then? Enough to make the Battleborn halt his conquest?" She spoke as much to herself as to the men. "Only a few kingdoms remain between him and the rebirth of Toltaria, yet he turns back. How... intriguing."
Silence settled over the camp, the faint crackle of the fire filling the void. When it became clear her companions had no further insights, Liandris let her curiosity drift into the recesses of her mind. Nestling into the folds of her cloak, she closed her black eyes and surrendered to sleep. The soft rhythm of her breathing soon mingled with the whisper of the wind through the trees.
"Well, that's unfortunate," Vonn murmured, his voice low to avoid disturbing her. He gestured at the roasting squirrel. "But dinner's ready. Should I wake her, or would you like to?"
Grey smirked, shaking his head. "If memory serves, the last time I woke her from a deep sleep, she vowed that if I ever did it again, she would personally escort me to the Gates of Judgment. I'd rather not test her resolve. And frankly, this squirrel smells too good to risk leaving it uneaten. Let her rest. I'll give her an extra portion of my morning rations when she wakes on her own."
"Fair enough," Vonn said, clearly relieved. "I've no desire to meet my makers tonight, either." He removed the squirrel from the spit with practiced ease, pulling a dagger from the hidden folds of his cloak. The blade glinted in the firelight as he sliced the meal in half, handing Grey his portion.
"Thanks," Grey said, settling by the fire and nibbling at the meager scraps of meat clinging to the bones.
Vonn stretched out on his bedroll, tucking his hands behind his head. "I'll leave the first watch to you, then."
Grey nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the shadowed forest beyond the firelight. "Get some rest. If we're lucky, tomorrow might actually bring fewer surprises."
Vonn snorted softly, his gaze drifting upward to the stars barely visible through the canopy of towering evergreens. "Since when are we ever that lucky?"
"Never," Grey muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips as the night settled heavily around them.