At high-sun of the seventh day, the coldest they’d seen thus far since setting out from Huan, they came to a small rise that signaled the steady decline of the mountain peaks. As the day grew into evening and the sun was close to setting, the walls fell away at last, shocking each of the travelers with their sudden absence. Their eyes had a difficult time adjusting to the sudden appearance of an actual horizon and not just the dark shadow of rock.
Soon the sun, in the last of its moments in the sky, cast a light that reached out below the cloud line and illuminated the vast and impossible sight of the great shores and massive expanse of the Blood Sea.
No one cheered. No one said a word. The arrival at this place was either thought of as a dream or the inevitable end to what was an excruciating and nightmarish journey. Huan and the Thunder Run seemed like another lifetime.
It was here, at the top of a hill that descended to the shores of the sea that Chief Rider Samson Wyndam succumbed to his injuries at last. He let out one last breath as the group watched the sun go down, though no one would know it until they checked on him while unloading the Turtle moments later. Here the ground gave rise to trees and grasses and his body was sent off to what lay beyond in the manor most fitting a man of his kind, with all that were left from the group standing in a circle as he burned, the last reminder of the death that was found for many of those foolish enough to travel the Paieleh River Valley. Samson Wyndam was a good man, and died in the manner he’d have chosen for himself on any given day. He was sent off to the who-knew-where of the afterlife with a minimum of tears shed, only memories of his greatness in the minds of his men. He never wanted anything more.
A camp was set up on the roadside and the fires burned brightly once more. The two had a moment to pause and reflect on what was to come next. They had agreed with Stroan that when his evening duties concluded he was to join them, and as a group they would discuss what the next course of action was for the Inja Army Riders and war they were soon to fight. The last few weeks had done nothing to them but strengthen the need to extract as much machine-destroying satisfaction as they possibly could, come hell or high water (a fantastically apt expression after their time in the valley).
It was a long time coming for them before Stroan finally did arrive.
Esgona said nothing and Johan looked off to the other fires searching for Seraphina, finding her at last in the distance, minding her younger brother. Thankfully her father seemed to be on the mend, but she’d still said little to him in the last week of travel. He missed her most now, in the chill night, as any man would.
“The city is another day away, south, down a heavily traveled road that follows the shore of the Blood Sea,” Stroan said, launching into the story. “We’ve sent a Rider ahead to survey the area and try to get an understanding of what’s going on. We can’t see any fighting nearby, but we can’t say for certain the army isn’t here.”
The Great Range came to an end south of here, following the line that stretched right across to the east, where Johan assumed Aryu still was at this time. Their homelands went along the base of them, funneled into a great valley by another, less impressive mountain range that rose from the Westland, a place known to conceal many fighting troops during the wars that raged there. This large valley, many days across by foot, was the home of the wide and impressive Vein River, the outflow of the Blood Sea that eventually led to the southern ocean.
The valley was a pinch point, making it a terrible place to travel in times of war and dispute (which was always, it seemed), and many fled into the mountains instead of the sure death of the flat and open Vein Valley. By this point in time, it was essentially a foregone conclusion that if you wanted to get to whatever lay north of the Vein Valley, you were either in the military or in a casket.
There was no sign of war anywhere. No proof that the Army of the Old had marched this far. Knowing what they did of the army and its staggering capabilities, they should have been here weeks ago, dropping bombs and conquering lands with impunity, yet they were not.
“There’s a city to the south of here. It’s a big place, from what I’ve heard. Not like what you may be accustomed to. Buildings are tall and there are hundreds of thousands of people. People who’ve fully accepted technology like those on the far side of the sea. I’m guessing it will be a shock for you, or any of us for that matter. Most of the other Riders in this group are from south of here, me included. Towns and villages on the ocean or near it. This is new territory for us all. Still, it beats the alternative.” That was something they didn’t all entirely agree on. The possibility of getting to a place where hundreds of thousands called home was unsettling to the two. No great good had ever come from such a large collection of people.
