Chapter 21 - Part 8

By the end of the twenty-seventh of Sypheros they had used the remainder of their scrolls. From what scrying Thomas could do and what Feather saw on his flights, the fiends were still massing, still grabbing every resource they could find to capture those who had invaded their unholy city. Most of them were blocking the way to the Icehorn Mountains, Festering Holt, or the Labyrinth, while others seemed to be crawling out of every crevice in the volcano to the north of Ashtakala. They were forced to head northwest, then due west, trying to avoid the demonic patrols. As it was, some flying fiends had to be dispatched to keep them from telling the rakshasa of the intruders’ whereabouts. That used up most of their arrows.

On the twenty-eighth they used up the last of their alchemical devices, and they lost their tents and one bedroll to a flyby attack from a thing that seemed to be a dark corruption of an eagle, only ten times as big as a normal one. In the afternoon they entered a wide defile that moved down the slope of what must have been a great riverbed eons ago. From what Feather told them, it was the only way to go that did not lead them into masses of hunting fiends. Delegado surmised from the shape of the slope that they were heading to the Bitter Sea, but he could not be sure.

They stopped earlier than planned on the twenty-eighth when Ois’ horse dissipated unexpectedly early. They did not know why, but Orphan guessed the fiends were somehow interfering with conjuration spells that were drawn from good powers. Since Delegado had been riding with Ois while his father’s body was tied to Thomas’ horse, this forced them to stop. They could not run like Orphan could.

That night they were attacked from the high ground on either side of the defile. Their enemies were routed, but by Delegado using his remaining arrows. With half a night’s sleep they started traveling by foot. When the sun rose on the twenty-ninth, Ois was able to summon her horse again, and they took off just ahead of a horde of dretches driven by skeletal things with whips of eldritch energy. They fled the entire day, not stopping to eat, pushing themselves and their mounts as much as they could. They kept moving after sunset as well, not stopping until the defile opened past a break in what was a high cliff stretching to their right and left. A broad plain of cold, snow-covered barren and cracked earth stretched open before them. A wink of seawater teased them from the horizon, and Delegado thought he could smell the salt in the water.

They slept about four hours, and ate briefly. When they had some light from a moon, they moved cautiously across the snow after Thomas had used the staff to choke the defile with another blizzard.

When dawn came, they were standing on the shore, watching as they saw movement at the northeastern and southwestern horizons along the beach that formed an edge along the cliffside. Movement that would show itself to be fiendish dire animals in large numbers, directed by forces unseen. Behind Orphan and his companions was an army struggling through the snow-choked defile. Ahead lay only a cold, dead sea, with storm clouds as dark as death gathering in the sky.