Aralim 83

Aralim had been so used to walking along a Crimson Highway that was straight as a scar, that the twisting and turning cobblestone way soon became unnecessarily irking to him. Scattered mountains and rolling foothills twisted the Highway like a piece of grey yarn, and Aralim kept thinking, If we only went straight, it would be half the distance…

But hiking the ridges would be even more exhausting, he had to admit, and would not allow wagons or horses to travel with the same ease.  He tried to imagine a horse out here, but the scattered shrubs and arid, beige grass seemed too bone-like to provide for such a creature.

“Another song, perhaps?” Devran asked.  Dullah had joined into the last song, to Aralim’s surprise, and her voice had added a mystic quality to Devran’s ballad.  It had felt like a sailing song, from Aralim’s days fishing on the Ehdburn Coast.

Before they even started another tune, Dullah interrupted.  “Look,” she said, pointing ahead.

As their road wound down a turning stony slope, another road came into view.   They could see it in the distance, probably a few dozen feet lower than their position: another grey line heading north-east, separating milestones and the spans of rough terrain.  They spent the next hour wondering about it as they walked down smooth stone steps.

Aralim was drinking water from a canteen, despite the gritty sand that had blown into his mouth on the breeze, when they finally reached the signpost at the head of the side road.  Two white wood signs were nailed in place.  Northwest laid Tal’lashar and northeast was Yarik.  Someone had hung a second sign from the latter, dangling crookedly on a frayed rope, which read, “City of Evil—do not go this way.”  Aralim lowered his canteen and started to chuckle.

“The city of evil?” Dullah asked, incredulously.

Aralim put his hand on Devran’s shoulder as they looked at the sign side-by-side.  “You’re likely the most pious of us all.  Care for a detour?”  He grinned.

Devran was frowning.  “I have heard of Yarik, but I cannot remember what.  A sailor in Varravar, perhaps?  It’s a dangerous place to go, from what I remember.”

“Dangerous? Do you know why?” Aralim took a step toward the north-west way.  “A collection of Crimson bandits I presume?”

“No, I cannot recall.  If it was because of Highwaymen, wouldn’t we have seen more along the road in these parts?”  Devran scratched his scraggly beard, as he looked at Aralim quizzically.

“A fair point. Remind me to ask about it if we encounter any friendly Highwaymen.”

Devran nodded.  “Of course,” he said, as Dullah repeated the phrase ‘friendly Highwaymen’ with a smirk.

They stopped for lunch not soon after passing the turn-off for the ‘City of Evil.’  Grendar told his soldiers they would need to polish their armour and weapons this evening—he kept his subordinates on an efficient regiment of training and maintenance.  As the sun travelled quickly into the west, the travellers continued northward toward Tal’lashar.

Partway through the afternoon, they spotted another traveller.  It was a lone man, walking in the same direction they were.  He was making slow progress and they soon began to gain on him.  Aralim noticed that he moved with a limp, once they were nearer, and he called out, “Welcome, fellow traveller!” to avoid surprising the fellow.  The man did not turn to them or reply in any way, so Aralim tried to catch up properly.

He first noticed the stench that was trailing behind the man.  The traveller had wrinkled and grey skin, covered in spots with red sores and dull spots of missing flesh.  When Aralim came abreast the man, his lantern staff clacking over the dusty road stones, he saw the man’s glazed eyes, like those of a corpse, pointed straight ahead and not moving.

Aralim quickly backed away.

Grendar, who had paced ahead with Aralim, asked, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s either diseased, or… can magic raise the dead?” Aralim asked.  “Either way, having him near is not a great idea.”

“Magic can raise the dead,” Devran said. “I have seen it once before.”

Grendar reached for his sword.  “Should we try to… kill it?”

Walking several paces away from the revenant, Aralim looked at the writer.  “You’ve seen it, Devran.  Do they have anything left to them?  Is there anyone there to even fight back?  Or does it just serve a goal?”

“It just serves a goal,” Devran replied.  “Who can fathom who would send this poor fellow walking all the way out here under the scalding sun?”

Aralim shrugged.  “Somebody from ‘the city of evil’ I would imagine.  We’ll leave him be, but let’s put some distance between us.”  Dullah stared back at the man as they hurried past, then visibly shivered and stumbled ahead of Aralim.  They would have to ask about the strange sight once they arrived in Tal’lashar.

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