A Pilgrimage of Swords by Ryan Anthony & Ryan Anthony

Author:Ryan, Anthony & Ryan, Anthony [Ryan, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

The Crucible Bridge

I n the morning, with the dritch-wights vanished from the dry bed of the Azure sea, Priest unfurled the rope ladder and they clambered back down. He left the ladder where it was, causing Maisha to ask, “Is that wise? The wights may use it to get inside.”

“It matters not,” was the cleric’s only response, striding down the ramp without delay.

“But, other pilgrims…” she began, but fell silent when Pilgrim moved to her side, speaking quietly.

“There will be no other pilgrimages,” he said. “We’re the last. Or, at least the last who will be guided by the Church of the Absolved. I suspect others will come as long as the Mad God lingers.”

Once again, Priest set a rapid pace and they drew clear of the spires by noon. The cracked earth continued for several miles, broken by what at first appeared to be outcrops of jagged rock that resolved into the wrecks of ancient vessels as they drew nearer. Most were small, fishing smacks and barges, but one was immense. It formed a hundred-foot-long elongated oval upon the earth, the planks of its hull bleached to a pale grey and the iron of its nails and fittings rusted red. The only intact feature was the figurehead at the prow, an elegant carving of a young man with flowing hair and outstretched arms. Priest came to a halt in its shadow, sinking to his knees with hands clasped.

“Is that…him?” Seeker wondered, peering up at the wooden statue as Priest murmured his prayers. The figure’s features were cracked and partially misshapen by the elements, but the beauty of the youth’s face remained somehow intact. His finely muscled chest featured a symbol rendered in Ultrean lettering, though the word was unfamiliar to Pilgrim, but not apparently to Book.

“It’s Thandril,” he said, his tone dull. He stood at a good remove from Pilgrim and had kept to the rear of the company throughout the day, face set in a permanently wary scowl. It seemed he expected his true mission to be revealed at any moment and rightly feared his companions’ reaction. From the new bulge in his pack, he had apparently selected but one skull from the pile of inscribed bones in the library. Pilgrim spent scant energy pondering which had been chosen amongst so many, as it seemed unlikely the man would ever bear it beyond the Execration.

“Who?” Seeker asked.

“The human consort of the Absolved,” Book explained. “Said to be the most perfect man ever to grace the earth. The Absolved was smitten at the first glance they shared, as too was Thandril. It’s said their love endured for more than a century, the youth kept youthful by the Absolved’s devotion. But all love fades, as does all beauty.”

“Was he cursed like everything else here?” Seeker reached up to run an appreciative hand over the statue’s wooden thigh. “It would seem a terrible waste.”

“The legends say he grew tired of life,” Book said. “He remained young whilst his family and friends withered and died, an old man trapped in a prison of youth.

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