Chapter 56: The Noose of Death
Wade had asked all the questions he wanted, finding answers to some mysteries while others remained unresolved. After listening to the gnome’s ancient legends and stories, he felt himself being drawn into complex and mysterious events. The legendary Silver Moon Elves…
There were many things he couldn’t discuss openly with the gnome, but he suspected the mage skeleton he found while gathering thorny branches was very likely the deceased Silver Moon priest the gnome had mentioned. What exactly was that wasteland? Had it once been a beautiful oasis long ago? Why had it become the desolate, lifeless place Wade had seen?
Wade grew increasingly perplexed. Rather than gaining clarity from his conversation with the gnome, he found himself more confused than before. Temporarily setting aside these distant mysteries, he simply followed the gnome out of the small study.
The gnome carried the kerosene lamp and closed the door behind them. Considerable time had passed – Wade and York had spent at least three to four hours in the study. The faint flames still flickered in the alchemy crucible at the center of the cavern, while most of the exhausted villagers had closed their eyes and fallen asleep huddled together.
The cave was far warmer than sleeping outdoors, with no fear of hungry beasts wandering in. For this one night, the villagers didn’t have to sleep in fearful vigilance as they had during their ten-plus days of arduous travel. They lay sprawled on hard blankets across the cold stone floor, hundreds of them succumbing to the exhaustion of their long journey.
Sleep was no bad thing. In dreams, they could forget their suffering, their pain and weariness. Yet a few remained awake, like Lucas who sat alone by the fire, poking at the burning logs in the crucible with a charred stool leg. His expression was vacant as he stared blankly at the flames.
Perhaps he was wondering where they would go after tonight. They couldn’t hide in the cave forever – food supplies were already running low. To reduce their burden before entering Creek Forest, each villager had carried only the bare minimum of provisions. On average, there was enough for four to five days per person.
This being the second day, they would run out of food in three days at most. Then what? Winter would last another two months. The barren snowfields contained nothing but snow, while outside waited the armies of Icelanders. Where could they possibly find food? Stepping outside would mean being surrounded by Icelander troops.
Their options seemed limited to three paths: do nothing and starve, surrender to the Icelanders to be enslaved or handed to necromancers, or gamble on pushing forward. Lucas’s face seemed to reflect these thoughts – as if realizing every choice led to death, he’d emptied his mind like a puppet, mechanically poking at the fire with numb repetition.
Wade didn’t know what to do either. To speak bluntly and coldly, the lives of these Tanians didn’t truly concern him. The wandering knight who had traveled with them was merely one of Wade’s personas. He could extract himself from this flight and disaster unscathed – having already accomplished the goals he’d set when departing the icy plains.
He’d learned the origins of that extraordinary longsword Radiance – now fully understanding its capabilities and value. He’d determined his current location and the present year, while uncovering clues connected to both the dice and the wasteland’s secrets. This journey had yielded ample rewards.
A sense of detachment grew within him. If he wished to end this journey early, he likely could. He could leave now with Mia, abandoning these people to return to the wasteland, waiting for the dice to recharge before assuming another identity elsewhere.
The Icelander invasion couldn’t affect him; the necromancers remained unaware of his existence. He was merely an observer, an outsider. His agreement with the Tanians extended only to escorting them to Alvado. He’d fulfilled that contract – without him, they’d never have come this far. By any measure, he’d done enough.
Truthfully, he saw no way to alter their dire circumstances. Should he simply give up? Time was running short – this being the seventh night, soon to become the eighth, then ninth and tenth days. He sensed this persona would expire at dawn on the tenth day. Even if he chose to accompany the Tanians further, he’d still depart then.
Though he wished them safe passage, rational assessment suggested these exhausted Tanians… would likely perish. The little girl who gave him flowers, Lucas watching him draw comics by the fire, even the gnome who’d just shared stories – everyone here would die. When Wade next returned to these lands, none of these faces would remain.
They might die from hunger and cold in the snowfields, be surrounded and speared by Icelander troops, or delivered to necromancers to have their flesh and souls twisted into horrors like the sewn beasts. The noose of death already tightened around their necks.
Should he leave tonight? Wait until all slept, then slip quietly from the cave entrance, conceal his sword, and await his next journey’s beginning. Wade surveyed these Tanians he’d known for mere days. He bore no responsibility for their lives, yet remembered the man removing his hat in salute by the ice bridge, the women curtsying with meaningful glances in their eyes.
After standing silently, he made his choice. Whether good or ill, he would engrave everything he witnessed in his heart. If he couldn’t witness their fate now, he would someday. Should they survive, they’d meet again; should they perish, he alone would remember and mourn them.
Wade paused his steps as the yawning gnome beside him rubbed his eyes sleepily. “York is exhausted, must sleep now.” The gnome selected a key from his ring and handed it to Wade along with the kerosene lamp. “York needs proper rest. If you wish to read, visit the study yourself. Read whatever you like – damn those Icelanders! York’s books will have to stay behind. Who knows what tomorrow brings…”
Old York sighed dejectedly, head bowed as he took his keys to another room – presumably a private bedroom. Left alone, Wade stood observing briefly. No one paid him attention – the sleepers slept, Lucas remained lost in thought – so he returned to the study, quietly perusing the gnome’s collection.
Time passed until even the little ghost retreated into her sleeping bag. Only the sound of turning pages remained, as if Wade were the last person in existence. As a reader, he didn’t participate in the worlds described – merely absorbed words written by people he’d never meet.
After an indeterminable period, a sheaf of papers slipped from between aged pages when he turned one particular leaf. Likely something the gnome had tucked away long ago and forgotten. Wade gathered the scattered papers and froze.
They contained anatomical sketches of human proportions. Beyond full-body diagrams were skeletal structures and individual organ drawings. Though crudely rendered, Wade recognized every bone in its proper place, each organ correctly positioned. Examining them closely, he realized these were very old sketches – perhaps years or even decades old.
Suddenly a question struck him: Why hadn’t the Icelander soldiers simply stabbed the gnome to death? Why bind him to that cart as a living captive alongside the ice bear carcass? Just because the gnome knew some alchemy? But how would those Icelanders even know about an alchemist gnome living in Alvado?