Blade of Erogrund

Chapter 29- Departure

"Would you desist?" Matthias grumbled. 

Godric stopped in his tracks, which were now well worn in the patches of grass beneath the small grove where they remained encamped. It had been quite some time since he had stopped counting his steps - somewhere in the thousands. 

Hilthwen scarcely fared better. She sat with unnatural stillness atop one of the dull grey boulders that shown in the breaking morning light, her eyes scanning the base of the cliffs unceasingly. 

"Give him a break, Matthias," she murmured dishearteningly. 

The boy stood from where he had sat beside the dozing frame of Ephraun whose only slightly flushed face revealed his lessening fever. 

"I'll give him a break, alright," Matthias responded, flashing a sly, somewhat humorous grin to Godric. "By putting his legs over my knee if they take another pace." 

Turning back to the grey, unwavering scene of the cliffs, Hilthwen offered a small smile at the idle threat. "They should have come by now; it's the second morning. Something's wrong." 

"They still have some time," Godric answered without conviction. "Give it a little longer" 

The sun willingly climbed the dark sky as the day progressed, generously measuring the time that betrayed the hope of the companions. Its rays succeeded in warming the otherwise frigid morning but staunchly refused to display they so hopefully watched for - to see riders coming from the cliff-gates of Biren-Larath. Even as the sun rose the wind died, which, after its continual howling, left an agonizing air to the hillside as though the very landscape was holding its breath. Left bent by the gales that had swept the hill, the dull brown trees, thorny bushes, and even stalks of faded green grass all leaned toward the still cliff in expectation of the emergence of a messenger that neglected to appear. 

When the sun had reached even as high as its noonday throne in the sky, the companions relented their watch only so long as to get rations from the now weary horses and enjoy them as best they could in the small grove of stone and trees. 

Matthias distributed the rations carefully and passed around the canteen, shaking his head. 

"There isn't much left here. We were supposed to relieved by the rest of the patrol or at the very least beckoned back." 

Ephraun struggled to lift himself up to a sitting position against one of the slate-grey boulders. "You only packed enough for a day?" 

"Two," Hilthwen corrected with an edge of resentment, "but we weren't expecting to have to try and fight a fever, make an herb mixture, or share it with an injured fourth man." 

"My apologies," the soldier admitted after lifting the jug to his lips. 

"Keep them," Godric muttered. "We need a plan." 

Matthias raised an eyebrow. "You took the words right out of my mouth." The boy crossed his arms and leaned back from where he sat, letting the shadow of a nearby tree veil his brow. "But we don't have many options. Either we stay, we go, or we attempt to enter the city." 

"Which could be suicide," Hilthwen countered. "We still don't know if Caeros or Ennor rules the floor inside those gates. Niron," she said, tossing her hands, "for all we know they are both done away with and someone else sits on the throne." 

"It could be that the fighting isn't over yet either," Godric added, his fingers absently rubbing the hilt of the sword that adorned his hip. "If Caeros had enough men with him he very well might have taken part of the city and is holding out."

Ephraun wiped his brow. "Dragonfire... Caeros was one sharp thorn, but I never took him as a traitor." 

"Regardless," Matthias continued, "it sounds like our best options are either staying or leaving."