The night grew deep for Aia and Artorius. Isthilias was also constantly hounded by the sound of the wraith's wailing horses. They were not so kind to their destriers as Artorius was to his.
The young Drakkennide's breaths came out heavy. All the hard riding had worn him down significantly. Aia examined the saber he carried. Its soft metallic-blue edge glistened in starlight and moonlight. She checked his temperature and pulse.
"You have a slight fever, but a night's rest should cure it, with fortune."
"I'm exhausted," said Artorius, "but I can't sleep."
"What can I do to help?"
"Tell me something— anything to pass the time. Tell me about your village."
"You mean Faelenshire?"
"Whatever you like."
"There's not much to speak of. Faelenshire, it is a humble place of faithful people. Laborers of an honest trade– home to eight families, five cows, and two oxen. Most of the village wealth is held by the farmers, Clayton and Wallace. The former has always been jealous of Wallace's extra cow. The meadows turn golden in the end-days of summer when the harvest is in full bloom. Golden like the days of yore– when the Aurians lived and gods walked the Terra."
Artorius' heavy breath began to ease.
He inquired, "Tell me more of the land."
"It is not only wheat that grows there. A maple forest, and a field of flowers split by Constantine's Road. The brook formed where the old aqueduct had crumbled runs off and caters a set of hyacinths that are plucked from time to time for hemostatics and simple medicines. Conrad, the village watch officer, reports to the barracks in the barony of Amar-lan and brings occasional trinkets from abroad. Asher, the village brewer has a hops farm and creates moonshine for festivals. There is much peace in my memories now. I realize this."
Aia paused, her expression shifted from nostalgia to something melancholy.
"I spent so many years dreaming of wandering the world with sir Trenewynn– seeing the exotic places mentioned in his storybooks. But now that I've seen the city, the empire, and the world at large. I understand why a man as great as he chose to live in such humble means. Perhaps I now feel that I should not have left with him that night. Perhaps now I am wishing that I had simply stayed in the countryside and minded my peace to the end of my days. Alas, such a stupid girl I am."
"I beg to differ, my lady. I would be dead if not for your keen knowledge. It was you who knew of this mountain above the clouds, and you who had the faith to seek it out where lesser men would doubt. There is nothing wrong with living out your days as a humble lady in the countryside. But I think that will not be all that is your life."
Artorius let his eyes close, relaxation finally permeating his form, "it is not your fate, methinks, to be only humble. You will be brave and faithful too I suspect."
"Then I am glad to have your faith, young lord."
When exhaustion had fully seeped into their bones, the two slept beneath a canvas of clear stars. The light of the moon refreshing in its gentle luminance, and supreme in its deflection of evil spirits.
Aia and Artorius would remain on that mountain for another six days, rationing what little food they carried with them. By the seventh, they had judged that enough strength had been recovered, though Isthilias was still quite lethargic.
Although Aia and Artorius had brought along enough food to spare the journey of two there was little they had for a horse as large and strong as Isthilias, who had already eaten the lion's share of their remaining rations.
Artorius gave Isthilias a fist-sized bread roll, "I'm sorry Isthilias, this is all we have to spare."
The horse ate it meekly and in small bites.
Seeing the steed's demeanor, the young Drakkennide turned towards Aia, "Isthilias is far too tired to carry us across the remaining distance. We'll have to proceed on foot for a while."
"But if we move on foot…"
"I know. But there is no choice."
"Are you able to face them, sir Artorius?"
"Two I can manage— three is possible but grim. Seven… those odds are beyond my skill alas."
The noble did not try to flatter his own skills. Artorius was a man of great talent– many of which were useless in this particular instance. He was a master of the saber and spear. But the latter was not present, and of the former he was most adeptly employed on horseback.
He also was an orator of some proficiency. Able to employ wit and circumstance to provoke or deceive his adversaries. Yet the wraiths were inhuman, thin cognitively and lacking the capacity for prominent feelings or tendencies.
He was the best rider in his family, yet this proved not enough to outrun the wraiths.
He was possessed of a clear and still mind like fresh and well-kept cavewater— capable of provocation, but immune to similar employ. Ingenious too, though not yet fully matured. But this too was not useful in the slaying of ghosts and spirits.
Of his formidable toolset that made him an undesirable foe, many of his greatest powers were quite powerless to defeat his enemy now.
"I cannot slay them, but if we can defeat them— even only temporarily, then we may yet have a chance to overcome our task. But the sole thing we cannot do is remain stranded here for another day."
Aia considered the noble's words. Her fingers had not stopped trembling since the riders started pursuing them again. As a matter of fact, she had not forgotten her fears of them from the very first time she saw the riders in black until on to the present. All through the days of her journey she was haunted by fear and doubt.
"In country folklore, they speak of how ghosts– like wraiths, come to be."
Though she mentioned it, Aia's tone and posture told that even she doubted her own words.
"Small villages like ours cannot afford things like paper, we do not keep it for anything except inventory keeping, calendar tracking, things of that nature. There is no parchment or paper to spare for storybooks. So instead it is passed down orally, usually from grandmothers to their grandchildren."
"And what do these stories say about ghosts?"
"That they can be killed, of course."
"How?"
"My grandmother used to tell me that not all souls move on from their life on the Terra. In many cases, they cannot abandon their connections, family, wealth, or status so easily. When the soul is claimed by the Raven God, the birds cut these earthly connections like how a tumor is cleaved from flesh. 'Every being is sick,' my grandmother used to say, 'but some are more sick than others.'"
Artorius packed the last of their things away and gave the reins of the horse to Aia. She accepted them passively as her words continued.
"These earthly attachments would sometimes squeeze together and become sentient beings– those that we call ghosts. Elewynn's Encyclopedia of the Undead, written by Archmage Enith, explained these ghosts in detail, their habits, sub-types, and methods of exorcism. It was based on the study and findings of the Immortal Cult in the far east. Only five copies exist if we include the original. But alas, I never had the chance to read it."
As they approached the cloudveil, Aia concluded, "I do not know the exact method to exorcise a wraith, but there was a tale in my village of one wraith who was exorcized when a priest of Sòl prayed to the heavens and summoned His presence through offerings of gold and wine."
Artorius sighed, finally understanding Aia's doubts. What god would send a miracle for mere gold? He pulled a golden coin from his pocket bearing the likeness of Jaeden Titanus II, called 'the Fair' during his reign for his splendid golden hair.
He flicked the coin in the air and muttered, "if it's heads, then a miracle shall appear. If tails, we'll probably die."
As the coin flew through the air the sun peaked above the cloudveil and struck it with a blinding white glow. The pale luminescence turned the coin all white for a fraction of the blink of an eye. Then it landed in Artorius' hand face-up.
He put the coin away and they prepared to descend the mountain.
Crossing through the fog immediately struck them with an unpleasant chill. Aia gripped her arms tightly and Isthilias puffed out cold air. Artorius kept his sword arm at the ready, expecting an ambush from the mist. Their steps were agonizingly slow. Each time they drew further into the dark, the feeling of oppression grew firmer.
It was in the height of this tension that a tarnished silver sword struck out from the fog. Artorius deflected it and countered with an inner closing slash. The black wraith caught the saberblade with one hand. Its force dispersed a layer of mist and cut slightly into the apparition's soft silver gauntlet. Ice infected the gap and began to expand from within– but this was no matter to a disembodied spirit.
The wraith swung again, and Artorius mustered his strength to draw his saber from the ghost's grip. He barely maneuvered in time to cover the blow, and felt his body drag a pace or two from the heavy impact.
Artorius was young– not yet a grown man even. He had not achieved the strength and experience of an older man yet like his eldest brother, Duke Jacob Drakkennide. For these reasons Artorius was dependent on wit and cunning to sustain himself against greater enemies. Such as the case with Kalados back at the Black Keep, or other mortal foes he had met before. But these things did nothing against a wraith.
In the span of three blows, Artorius was a step too slow for the backhand that knocked him off his feet and tumbling down the misty slope.
"Sir Artorius!" called out Aia.
Isthilias jumped onto its hind legs and attempted to kick the wraith in the head, yet the ghost evaded its blows and struck Isthilias' hoof with his sword. The horse cried in pain as a sharp cold penetrated deeper into its leg. Aia stumbled in surprise, falling back onto the face of the mountain. Clutching it for support. The wraith looked at her with only voids for eyes. He spoke in the voice of a frost-bitten tongue.
"Where has the exile gone?"
Her fingers trembled against the cold stone
"E-exile?"
"Trenewynn. The one in black and white."
Aia's brow twitched, a sense of familiarity struck her. She had heard this voice before– from the wraith who confronted Trenewynn at the bridge crossing of the river Aregashi.
The wraith reached out with his cold silver hand towards Aia's throat. The jagged ends where Artorius's saber had cut through were now coated in a thick layer of ice.
Yet before the wraith could close his grasp, the young Drakkennide returned to strike at it from behind.
Something that passed for a groan escaped the ghost as it felt the saber slash through its armor and black cloak. Markings of frost followed in the wake of the cut, punctuating the damage dealt by Artorius' weapon.
"Vile cur! Do not interfere!"
As the man and ghost clashed again Aia searched her mind and memory. Artorius fell to the ground. His sword-arm was pinned under a silver-clad sabaton and a tarnished edge pointed at him.
"I will send you to your forebearers– Drakkennide."
But the wraith flinched when Aia's next words were uttered.
"Mandrake Cullenane Drakkennide— first of his name!"
The wraith whipped its head frightfully to Aia.
She continued, "Son of Augustus Drakkennide, I know your name– you are dead. Killed a thousand years ago in treachery!"
"Be silent woman—!"
"Begone evil spirit! You are dead– I know your name!"
As the wraith was so thoroughly distracted, Artorius did not miss the chance to strike the ghost again.
Something like a whistle was heard as the wraith vanished off into the fog as a blur. Artorius sighed when the ghost had dispersed and moved to Isthilias to help the injured horse to its feet.
He turned then to Aia, "come Aia! Despite my questions, we must keep moving first. The other wraiths will be here in a matter of moments."
She flinched briefly after hearing her name, yet soon regained her senses and followed after.
They moved as quickly as humans could run down the mountain– past the cloudveil and down the slopes. But six shadows quickly converged upon them all.
As the dark ghosts gathered at their heels, Artorius questioned Aia urgently.
"Would you happen to know the names of the other six wraiths?"
"Unfortunately, I only know the one."
As they descended to the bottom of mount Ézan, the six wraiths surrounded them– swords poised to strike. When all seemed lost, Aia's thoughts turned to hope. That anything she could offer would turn the tide in their favor. A prayer in spirit, if not in its pomp and ceremony.
Then, luck favored them once more.
As the six wraiths closed in to strike the killing blow, it was then that a gap appeared in the clouds, and a ray of sunlight fell upon the crowd. Yet while it brought warmth and relief to Aia, Artorius, and Isthilias, to the wraiths it was as a thousand tons of steel weighing them down. Each of the Wraiths whistled and wailed in odd and muffled voices. They crawled— dragged their sudden weight away from the mighty sun.
When the brief passing ray closed again, the weight left the wraiths' shoulders, but they remained weak. At length, they fled into the dark.
No one moved for a while, and only when Artorius was sure that the ghosts were gone did he restore leadership to the group.
"Come on Aia, I wouldn't count on receiving such grace twice! We must make haste while they are gone."
The three ran longer through the darkened day. Unceasing they paced until their breaths were once again ragged. Only when they could run no further did they set down their legs and lie on the earth.
Artorius muttered between breaths, "if we move tomorrow through the pass and make way for the Barony of Amar-lan, we might avoid the worst of it. I don't know what quality of men are present at the baron's castle, but there is surely more strength in numbers than what we now have here."
The young Drakkennide moved towards Isthilias taking a look at the horse's wound. He spoke to Aia as he examined the injury.
"What happened with that wraith earlier? Its name... That is the name of my ancestor who was assassinated long ago in the second age."
"I had heard it before today– sir Trenewynn invoked his name during our journey to the city. I remembered it earlier when I heard the wraith's voice."
"I see… if fortune favors it, perhaps I'll have the opportunity to speak with this Trenewynn person again."
He placed down Isthilias' hoof and thought for a moment.
"This is the last stretch, miss Aia. We are close now to the end. Rest for an hour. Then, we run."
Aia nodded and turned to the clouds to ponder.
"Sòl's grace, I thank you for this blessing."