Rage of the Ancients: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Twelve by Crane Robert J

Author:Crane, Robert J.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ostiagard Press
Published: 2023-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 47

VASTE

The days were long and punishing, and Vaste bore the horror of each of them upon his very body.

“You're being dramatic,” Aisling told him at the dawn of the second day. He lay flat on his back, the airship hovering nearby, but far enough not to disturb them with the sound of its incessant rotors.

The back he lay upon? It hurt. So did his feet, worn to nubs by the hiking of the first day. Bloody blisters covered the thick green pads, and he'd been wearing his boots, even, not the sandals he habitually wore around. He'd been as prepared for this hike as he could be, yet still his feet cried and mourned and moaned at their ill treatment. Crusted, dark green blood was dried in patches where his skin had given way. Yet on he'd walked.

“I am in pain,” Vaste said, staring up at the sky, which had begun to blue. A terrible root was stabbing him in his arse, clearly aiming to touch beauty for itself. “I am hungry. I am weary. I am, I think, dead. No – not dead. Death would be the end of pain, and still I suffer–”

“And so do we all,” Merrish said under his breath. He stood ready, as did Aemma and Asa-tee. Those two, at least, showed hints of pity; no such thing from Aisling nor Merrish.

“How many more days of this?” Vaste asked.

“Three,” Asa-tee said.

“Three?” Vaste sat upright. “How can it be three? It's already been one!”

“We didn't make much progress yesterday,” Asa-tee said, hesitant. “I thought we'd get farther...”

Vaste groaned, offering his pain to the heavens.

The heavens answered back with part of a wheel of cheese. Or perhaps Aisling did. He did not care to look a gift horse in the mouth, and took up the cheese in one good bite. “You think you can appease me with oblations?” He moved slowly to his feet. “Well, I suppose you can. Keep it coming, though.”

Aisling just shook her head. “Trolls. So easy.” She threw him another hunk of cheese.

“Don't get any ideas about how easy this troll is, missy,” he said, shaking the chunk at her. “I'm not Cyrus. My virtue is harder to come by, and has all the more worth for it.”

“His vice, on the other hand, is rather easy to get,” Merrish said with great good humor, “but you shan't want it.”

“I'll put you in a bloody vice,” Vaste said, mouth filled with cheese. “And treat you like a goat.”

“Come, gisomari,” Asa-tee said, beckoning him.

“You keep calling me that,” Vaste said, impelling himself into motion. “What is it? Please tell me it's not an insult.”

“Just means easterner,” Asa-tee said. “Our name for you savages over here.” And he grinned, disappearing into a thicket.

“I'm following you into the bloody swamp, but somehow I'm the savage?” Vaste shook his head. But he went on. Not without complaint, of course, but he did follow.

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