I know it's been ages, but now I can finally present you the next chapter! And while it may still take years to finish, I am determined to pull this through. *fingerscrossed*
"I can't believe we haven't found them yet," Athis muttered.
"Hm?"
"I don't understand why we have found no traces of Falka and Vilkas yet. It's been days and..." Athis shrugged. "Maybe we should cross the river after all."
In the light of their dying fire, he saw Aela shift uneasily.
"There's no place else we haven't searched already."
With a heavy sigh, the Huntress lifted her gaze from the glowing embers. Worry was written all over her face. For some moments, she scrutinized Athis closely. Athis waited patiently as her golden eyes danced first this way, then that. Finally, she gave him a brief nod. "Tomorrow, aye."
They sat in silence for a few moments. A few paces further away from the fire, Leif sighed in his sleep. Athis stretched, and tossed the last branch of dry wood into the dying flames.
"You should get-"
"Hush!" Aela silenced him with a wave of her hand.
"What?"
"There," she whispered, silently rising to her feet.
With bated breath, Athis stared into the black night. "What is it?"
"I don't know," Aela mumbled softly. "Some noise."
Gingerly, Athis lifted his sword from the ground beside him, but Aela stopped him with a wave of her hand.
The two Companions sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the crackling of the fire as it devoured the branch and Leif's heavy breathing.
"There!" Aela whispered. "Did you hear it?"
"Aye."
Following Aela's example, Athis got to his feet.
"And again!"
The noise, faint and feeble at first, had now grown in volume.
"Is that... human?"
"I believe it is." And then, a grim smile crossed Aela's face. "Not only that! Athis," she turned to face him, "it's them! Come on!"
She sprang into motion. Grabbed her bow, kicked dirt into the fire. "Wake Leif, then follow me!" she shouted over her shoulder, and disappeared into the night.
Aela raced along the cliff's edge. Another pain-laden shout curdled her blood. Aela cursed. Was there no way down this forsaken rock? Old snow crunched and broke under her boots as she sped along the ledge, her eyes darting this way and that, scanning her surroundings. No way down. No way down. No way-
Her foot sank deep into a cornice, jarring her bones as she half fell, half slid down across layers of snow and ice. It had sat there, inconspicuous, and now Aela was sliding down the steep slope. Out of sheer instinct, her inner wolf - never far beyond the surface - took over. Her muscles tensed, burnt, ached - and she had changed. Another moment, and she was again speeding towards her goal.
Falka's sword hissed faintly as she ever so gently pulled it from its scabbard. The two Hagraven, busily absorbed in their gruesome work at the stone altar on which Farkas' prone form rested, had not yet noticed the two Companions. As they watched, another old woman stepped into the circle of light. The three exchanged a few words, then the newcomer accepted a heavy bucket from one of the two others. She stepped up to the altar and began her hideous task.
Next to Falka, Vilkas growled in anger as the Hagraven started drawing heinous markings onto Farkas' pallid skin.
"We have to get him out."
Falka turned to face Vilkas. "They might be stronger than us."
"Aye. They might."
Falka placed a hand on Vilkas' chest.
"I won't turn round now."
"I know."
"Falka."
"I would never ask you to abandon him."
Vilkas opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He closed it again, searching her face with his eyes. Again, he tried to speak, but in vain. He sighed.
"Love you too," Falka mumbled, forcing a smile on her lips.
Squeezing her hand, Vilkas returned her smile.
"Ready?"
"Always," he nodded. And with one final glance at his Companion, Vilkas started towards the cavern's centre.
The slide down the treacherous slope had lasted ages. Numerous small cuts and bruises adorned her coat. But the excitement of the hunt kept the pain at bay. Finally, she arrived at the foot of the cliff. Without noticing the cold water, Aela traversed the river.
Not long after she had started her descent into the canyon, the ghastly shouts had died away. Silence now filled the night.
"Faster," she commanded herself as she sped onwards. "Faster."
Water splashed around her legs as she pushed forwards. A faint breeze brought her the scent from further up the river. Aela turned north.
Easing into the steps that had been hammered into his brain and muscles ever since he was old enough to hold a sword, Vilkas jogged down into the cavern proper. A few paces behind him, Falka tried to keep up with his pace as best as she could.
"For the Companions!" Vilkas bellowed. "For Farkaaas!"
The old hags looked up from their work. The two Companions were almost upon them.
With practised ease, Vilkas sprang forwards. And landed on his weakened leg. His unresponsive limb struggled to carry his weight. Vilkas hissed in annoyance. Already, one of the old hags was upon him. Using his unexpected momentum to his advantage, he let himself fall sideways, avoiding the worst of her initial attack.
And then, Falka, from a few steps behind him, Shouted. A wave of crackling energy soared past Vilkas' head. The next instant, fire exploded on the old woman's dry skin.
The woman screeched in pain. And still she managed to conjure a spell of her own.
Again, Vilkas lurched sideways to avoid the blast. Again, his weakened leg took just this instant longer to respond. Only his momentum kept him from going to the ground.
The cursed witch cackled madly as she sent a path of fire his way.
She had found the camp. The air stank of blood. It stank of slaughter, of massacre. Aela howled, and sped along the trail.
Bodies! Bodies everywhere!
The wood underneath her feet wet with blood.
She screamed. Though whether it was dismay, or frustration, or desperation, not even she would have been able to discern.
She followed her nose. Forced herself to push forwards, to where the reek was thickest.
Across another wooden walkway. Up a flight of stairs. Through even more bodies.
And then - a beacon in the night! A familiar smell.
Falka!
Injured!
Pieces of her armour. Her torn clothes.
Aela howls into the night.
But there! Another smell!
No bodies. Not theirs.
And a fainter trace, leading into the temple behind her.
Peat.
Mead.
Fur.
Sweat.
Spices.
Wood.
Definitely them.
With a well-practised gesture, Falka tears a fire-ball from the ether. Sends it off towards one of the other two hags. But the spell is led astray. It misses the witch by far. Falka cries out in dismay.
The old crone lifts her hands. Pure energy dances from her clawed fingers. Falka screams in pain as the spell hits her. Her sword clatters to the ground, useless, as she sinks to her knees.
From the corner of his eye, Vilkas sees her going down. Hears her scream as another burst of pure energy hits her.
Vilkas bellows in rage. Lets it take over. A wave of energy floods his weary limbs. He relishes in it as he throws himself at the old crone.
On the floor, Falka wreathes in pain. Through a curtain of tears and crackling energy and light, she watches as the Hagraven behind Vilkas sends a spell his way.
But his injury saves him, again. Vilkas' foot gives out, and he falls to his knees a fraction before the mighty spell soars through the air above his head.
Falka forces herself to pull through the haze of pain that engulfs her. Draws a deep, painful breath. And puts all her remaining energy into one last shout.
It misses the old woman, hits the cave's roof instead.
The Hagraven cackles madly. She raises her hands for another spell. Falka has already sunken back down to the ground. She turns her eyes from the growing ball of energy. Looks towards Vilkas instead.
In her mind, the hag's mad laughter already dims.
Vilkas has lost his sword. He is on all four, robbing her way. He is shouting something, but she can't hear it.
Energy again tears through her body. She screams. New tears flood her eyes. She gasps.
Behind Vilkas, a dark figure looms.
"Or Sovngarde," Falka whispers.
And then, a noise breaks through the haze. Falka is too exhausted to lift her head. But she recognises it. A familiar noise.
A dark shape soars through the air. It throws itself against the shadow towering behind Vilkas. Tears it down. Makes it scream in agony.
And then, the next bolt of energy hits Falka's body, and she knows no more.