Page 37 of Aubade Rising

Losing the compass is a bitter blow. Without it, we have no way of finding the mines, or even our way out of the thick fog that remains after the hailstorm. I smother my rising panic, pushing it down from my throat into my stomach. Eskar’s eyes are wide, his grip on my forearms is like a vice.

“We’ll retrace our steps, you didn’t run far.

We might be lucky…” I venture hopefully, voice echoing.

Staying together, arms linked, we walk blindly into the fog.

After a couple of minutes, it’s clear the further we walk, the more adrift we’re becoming.

I pull us to a halt and grab the map Howl sourced from Pentargon library to help us.

His neat annotations litter the paper but I work out we should have seen some sign of the old mines by now – we must be nearly on top of them.

I refuse to come all this way to abandon the expedition empty-handed.

Tucking the map away, we decide to keep walking onwards with what we think ought to be sunlight on our backs.

This will keep us heading roughly east and we should find the mine eventually.

From there, and once we have the serpentine, I reason that we’ll walk into the sun as it sets and find our way home.

It’s far from perfect but having a plan helps keep our panic under control.

Eskar hears it first – a loud slurp of a boot being heaved from a bog, too loud to be an animal. He looks down at our feet, currently standing on thick moss. Heavy silence follows. More wary, we continue, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

A few hours later, it happens again, closer this time.

Eskar’s hand rests subtly on the hilt of his jagged hunting knife; there’s someone out there.

We can’t rely on our magic in the mist. If we burn out, neither of us will be able to channel again.

His weapons are our only option. We regroup, neither wanting to stray far from the other as we make our way through the moorland.

There’s little daylight left and we take care when finding shelter, trying our best to ensure it’s somewhat defensible.

The noises continue sporadically through the night. We’re being stalked. Hunted down. And now we’re sitting prey. Neither of us sleeps. Sitting with our backs to each other, we keep vigilant watch, flinching at every shadow and wisp of mist.

The cool morning dew provides a slim chance at finding out more information about our trackers.

Wet footprints are scattered round our camp, some coming within a few feet of us but for now we’re alone.

We press on, blindly looking for a marker, anything we can use to find ourselves again on the map.

There’s no sign of the old mines, just endless empty moorland. I’m beginning to doubt our bearings; we should have seen signs of excavation by yesterday at the latest.

When I mention this to Eskar, we pull out the map and lose focus of our surroundings for a moment. It’s long enough for us to be surrounded.

A group of at least ten appear through the mist. Their faces, murky at this distance, but their weapons are clear.

“Release your weapons.” The command comes from a voice younger than I expected.

Eskar looks round, calculating our meagre odds. There’s one of him and they have the advantage of knowing the terrain. Resigned, he drops his hunting knife, balancing it on the rough granite boulders at our feet. I raise my hands above my head to show I’m unarmed.

Their faces are now visible through the mist. They look like a hunting party in their heavy outdoor clothes with an assortment of bows and arrows and long, curved blades.

“Who are you?” I sound braver than I feel. These lands are meant to be unoccupied, there’s no animals to hunt and we’re too far from Tanwen to stumble on anyone else.

“We are the Kevren Gwir.”