Lord of the Mountain Roads

Chapter VIII: Epilogue

„We have problems worse than a just one small demon army." The City Lord – one of the Three, the youngest, least powerful, the only one who listened to her – shook his head, the single black braid beginning high on his otherwise shaven, tattooed head moving like a snake upon his shoulder. „You are probably aware of the fact that the Witchking himself is missing."

The Dark Rider nodded silently. What was the Highborn alluding to? It was a well-known fact that the noble houses remaining in Naggoroth were torn asunder by rivalries while Malekith was gone to wage war in Ulthuan.

„You are probably much less aware of the fact that he is not in Ulthuan." The noble's black eyes narrowed, but not in aggression. He almost looked lost in thought. „You commoners are lucky, you can just believe the propaganda and sleep in peace, unfazed by anything but the simple concern that you brothers or sisters might kill you in your sleep to rise in your family's hierarchy..." Suddenly, his eyes opened. The guards – a hard-faced female with silvery-blond hair and a sturdy young male in new, perfectly fitting armor – moved just slightly, hardly noticeable to an untrained eye, but Setharai knew they were alarmed by the change of mood the City Lord displayed.

„Well, since a commoner like you had the courage – or should I say the impertinence? - to come here and demand my personal attention, I might as well pay you for a job."

His words gave her an uneasy feeling, as if he was mocking her, but there was no amusement to be seen on his face at all. „It would be an honour, Dread Lord."

„You say that now." He sneered. „I hope you will still say that when you learn what I want from you." The City Lord stood up. „I will give you a new steed and a letter. Bring it to Ghrond – if you can. I will be on my way to Ulthuan by then; I would prefer to drown in a sea battle than being stabbed in my back by my inferiors here."

She was already on her way out, led by the young guard who, as the City Lord said, would provide her with a horse and the letter in question, when she heard him muttering quietly: „They have to know where the King is. At least, the Sorceresses have to know... If he knows that his shipyards are going to be under siege soon, he might return. Don't you think so?" The silver-haired woman, the only one left with the City Lord in the chamber, decorated with trophies from the entire world, didn't answer.

…

She was not going to fulfill the duty that the City Lord seemed to think she was still bound to. Why should she? Just a few more couple of hours in Clar Karond gave her an insight in what the times ahead would bring. She went to one of the shrines dedicated to Anath Raema to ask for guidance, but what she heard from other worshippers of the Huntress she met there were not just rumors. The demonic host they met, the monster in the catacombs – those were just signs for Chaos gaining strength everywhere in the world.

There was a much larger army in Naggoroth than the one she and Ruathac had seen hidden in the mountains, laying siege to some of the Druchii cities already. Karond Kar had fallen, so they said. The citizens of Har Ganeth were fighting in an ecstatic rage, while even its walls itself crumbled, so they said. Of course, most of the Druchii were still thinking they would suceed against their enemies. They were still continuing with their backstabbing and politics, as if nothing had changed.

For Setharai, this was reason enough to turn her back on the cities altogether. They were conceited; they deserved their fall. There was a better place where she could fight Chaos, and a better ally to fight with.

Or maybe...

The new steed was not Umdar. It was nothing but a usual horse, it seemed; fast and healthy, used to the cold, but a normal animal nevertheless. Setharai would not able to use her in a fight. She had nothing but a sword and her own strong will. So maybe, there was no rationality behind her deeds right now.

This mission would be my end anyway, she thought, while she listened to the hooves beating a setady rhythm on the road leading up to the pass. And before she met her end, she wanted to see the shade, just once. There was no noble reason to that. It was just a wish born of mortal emotion.

Setharai brought the horse to a halt at the exact same place where she parted from Ruathac - just a moment before a huge, red-scaled thing landed in front of her, but not to attack her. Instead, it tore into something resembling a slimy spider with an elven face. The Dark Rider, bewildered, gave her mount the spurs again, just in time before a group of dirty, blood-covered humans reached her.

...

There was fighting everywhere, at once. The disgusting spider demon, together with hundreds of smaller ones that were still very similar to it, was being overrun by the chaotic forces of a different origin.

And at once, the Dark Rider saw clearly, among all the hideous creatures, a small, elven figure moving quickly and efficiently from one enemy to another, leaving corpses in its wake. It was as if the noise of the battle had subsided for a moment.

Ruathac was still alive! It seemed that the demonic army – she wasn't even sure if it was the same one they had seen earlier or the one from the north of which the rumors in the city spoke – and the spider demon's brood were keeping each other in charge.

Had Setharai had any time to think about abstract matters... The thought that the possibility of a second demonic force appearing here just in the moment in which Ruathac was attacked by the monster from the cursed mine was highly unlikely might have crossed her mind. She might even have thought that it was a gift from Anath Raema.

But the small elven figure suddenly stumbled, as if it was cut down by the enemy in front of it, and Setharai had no time for abstract matters anymore.

...

She let the letter fall into the flames. It was not really necessary. With all the blood on it, and the parts of the horse's cadaver lying among the dead barbarians and monsters, anyone who would find the message she was asked to deliver would think Setharai dead.

In a certain way, she did die. Her old self, the one who had lived in the city, the one who had hidden from the Witch Elves on that day long ago under Anath Raema's protection, would now die and disappear into nothing, and noone would capture that soul, not Ereth Kial, and not the Dark Prince.

"Where do we go now?" She asked, looking to the side, where Ruathac was sitting, leaning on a rock. He had been wounded, badly, but luckily not in a deadly way - a wound in his left leg, blood seeping through the bandages he put on it himself -, and he had assured her that he knew enough herbs to keep a possible infection at bay. But walking further today didn't seem an option. They had already had to flee far enough.

The Shade breathed out a cloud of smoke, looked at his pipe, then at Setharai. "I don't know." His voice didn't sound desperate. He didn't feel desperate. Just puzzled. "Why did you come back?"

"There was nowhere to go for me otherwise." She answered. "The world is ending. Didn't you know that? I heard rumors..." She fell silent. Here, in the silence of the Blackspines, everything seemed far away.

"Then we can stay here." He inhaled more of the aromatic smoke."Here, we can at least kill some of them, one by one."

"After you have healed." She suggested.

Ruathac nodded. "Yes." He said.

Setharai looked up into the dark skies. It was beginning to snow.

...

...

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Dear readers, I have taken my time with this story. Some of the reasons for the latest interruption in the process were End Times and the Age of Sigmar. And my WHFRP (2 Ed.) Campaign featuring the Rhana Dandra (yes, End Times... they are not happy, believe me) for my RPG group. And Real Life. Still, there is no excuse. I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless.

To be honest, the End Times storyline was pretty much impossible to combine with my former "Storm of Chaos"-based storytelling. So at the end I just gave up on the plans I had with it (the Cytharai/Slaaneshi Cult/ enemy theme) and at least gave this story a short ending that can more or less be read as fitting into the End Times (and Valkia's attack on Naggaroth).