Which direction could he have taken from here? She had already covered the East. There had been naught there to find. The South, too, had been searched on her way to this point. There wasn't much more toward the North but the lesser ruins, each one always filled to the brim with the hateful dead. That left West. West, to Evendim. Had he hoped to find help amongst his own kind or simply get himself out of this land before he expired?
The latter, most likely. Tinnudir was too far for a badly injured man. Ost Forod, if he could even make it that far, would offer him little salvation. But there was the occasional Ranger sitting above the cliffs, wasn't there? Hiding from the world whilst claiming to protect it, just as they always did.
With Steel beneath her once more, Silver turned their attention in that direction. There had to be something further ahead. There had to be. He couldn't have simply disappeared. He would be somewhere, alive or dead. If living, he'd hear her songs, surely? If dead, she'd find his...
No. Stop it! Rookie mistake. Ah, shit.
Her grip had slipped. Emotions better ignored had slipped out and now they turned. Wights and spirits alike looked in her direction. Silver freed her kurki, just in case, even as she began to sing anew. Another song, further defiance of their base and primitive needs. They would not have her! She would win. She always won!
They drifted closer, screaming of blood and death, of flesh rending and the horrors to come. She faced them, firm of purpose, unrelenting in her faith. They slowed, they quieted, but it was not quite enough. They still tried to force their way against her, still tried to overcome her will with their own.
Fuck you, she thought, her smile widening into a challenging grin. You dare try to come for me?
She knew her own arrogance. She knew it had been earned and that, too, was a weapon to use against them. But their scorn was strong, their derision almost tangible.
As Steel pranced along, keeping his heart light in the best way he knew how, Silver waged an unseen war with those who would face them. Before them, behind them, to either side of them, the spirits and wights tried so hard to push forward, to get to them, to take them. Encircled, Silver and Steel forged ahead regardless. Inexorable, but too slow.
Very well.
She had tried to be nice about it. These wretched things, for all that they wanted her dead, weren't entirely to blame for what they had become. They had been stuck, denied that which should have come after, tortured endlessly by their own failures and the knowledge that, just over the horizon, life had continued on without them. Each day that passed, they could see the sun but never feel it, watch the rain but never taste it. All that they had been, all that they had loved, had been twisted and compressed, right there before them but always out of reach.
But now they were in her way, and she could play their games too.
Silver took a breath, closing her eyes. The silence gave them opportunity, but before they could get within five feet of her, she began to sing again. This time, she poured her will, her joy, every ounce of rebellion that she had at her disposal, into the song that she loved the most; an anthem to freedom.
Faced with a reminder of that which they wanted most, they stopped in their tracks. Their wailing changed from scorn to agony. Some of them, those that had the most wherewithal remaining, fled. Silver and Steel moved on, leaving them behind. They were not banished, no, but they would leave her be for a little while.
A mile or two further along, she finally allowed herself to breathe, though her relief would not last for long. There, partway up the hill and away from the road, something ragged and bloody lay exposed. She would not make the same mistake twice, so she willed herself to stillness before dismounting once more and making her careful way over.
White bone lay open to the sky, torn flesh hanging on only in scraps. The wrong shape for a man, but not for a horse. There, a saddle she herself had purchased, gnawed and, in some places shredded, but still recognisable. This was the mare that she had bought for him, the one he had ridden when he had left their house a little more than a month before.
She would feel regret and sorrow at a later date; the placid beast had not deserved such a fate. For now, she consoled herself with the odd observation that, of all the undead creatures she had come across in various places, not a single one of them had ever been equine. The mare would rest, at least.
Focus upon the task.
He had gotten this far, at least. The mare had gotten him this far before she had fallen, breaking her leg, it appeared. But if he had her at his disposal, what had compelled him to come this way? Why had he not gone toward Trestlebridge, a town much closer and easier to reach than Evendim? Why, for goodness sake, had he gone up the hill instead of following the road? Had the mare been spooked and picked her own path? Had he been too far gone to stop her?
Splinters of wood lay around the carcass. Had he been carrying a box that had broken when she fell? Had he needed to improvise, using a stick in place of a club? Had he turned a makeshift crutch into a weapon? These twigs told her nothing.
But what was that gleam in the mud?
She pulled a small scrap of cloth from her pocket as she moved closer to where she had spied the flash of light. Leaning down, she plucked it free. A gem? Small. Red. But of what significance? He was no tomb robber, no treasure hunter or desecrater of the dead. If he had this, then it was important somehow. Best to take a look later, when she was free of this place. If it was precious to the denizens, or had been some manner of tether for the thing they had fought, then waving it around now would be stupid. She wrapped it tightly and shoved it into her pocket.
She was going in the right direction, she knew that now. The dead mare confirmed it. But how far could he have possibly gotten from here? If he was so close, only a few miles from the border, would he have given up and gone to ground?
He wasn't a man who would lay down and die easily. Even in his blackest days, a part of that man had always fought for breath, had always held out.
As the light began to fade, she continued on. She remembered this area. There was a quiet space up ahead, close to a small wall that would serve her as a windbreak until she could continue the search on the morrow.
