She couldn’t see, at least not at first.
The young woman ran blindly, barely feeling the undergrowth catch her face and rend her forearms. The rain which had been light at first now fell in a steady downpour, but the woman hardly registered it beyond the splash of her booted feet in random puddles and the hair which stuck to her face. She ran, her lungs burning, a pain in her side far worse than the accidental cuts she received in training, but nothing to the mixture of fear and grief that tore at her heart.
Then a brilliant flash illuminated the landscape, just enough for Vassia to see rough moorland, clumps of trees and about half a mile in the distance, the pale snake of the west road, heading back to Candlekeep. Vassia paused long enough to look behind her. There was nothing. No torches flickering in the darkness, no gleam of armour or weapons. She wouldn’t have heard anything, not above the rain or thud of her heart in her ears, but her attackers didn’t seem to be in pursuit.
For a moment she wondered about going back, maybe Gorion had driven off the hostile figures and was not looking for her. Vassia still held the shortsword she’d drawn when the heavily armoured figure emerged from the darkness. She choked back a sob as a knife-sharp pang of guilt stabbed into her gut. If she’d stayed, if only she hadn’t run away. She turned and took a few steps back the way she’d came before a rumble of thunder and all kind of imagined fears lurking in the dark drove her back, and she slid down a narrow bank heading for the road.
The wind blew harder as she exited the sparse thicket of hazel and brambles, chilling her rain-damp clothing and making her shiver. The last scuds of rain blew across the sky, revealing patches of clear black, peppered with brilliant stars and the soft glow of a gibbous moon. Vassia had no eye for the beauty, but the light grey cobbles of the west road gleamed in the pale light and she walked towards them before exhaustion overtook her and she slumped by a huddle of boulders.
The young woman ran blindly, barely feeling the undergrowth catch her face and rend her forearms. The rain which had been light at first now fell in a steady downpour, but the woman hardly registered it beyond the splash of her booted feet in random puddles and the hair which stuck to her face. She ran, her lungs burning, a pain in her side far worse than the accidental cuts she received in training, but nothing to the mixture of fear and grief that tore at her heart.
Then a brilliant flash illuminated the landscape, just enough for Vassia to see rough moorland, clumps of trees and about half a mile in the distance, the pale snake of the west road, heading back to Candlekeep. Vassia paused long enough to look behind her. There was nothing. No torches flickering in the darkness, no gleam of armour or weapons. She wouldn’t have heard anything, not above the rain or thud of her heart in her ears, but her attackers didn’t seem to be in pursuit.
For a moment she wondered about going back, maybe Gorion had driven off the hostile figures and was not looking for her. Vassia still held the shortsword she’d drawn when the heavily armoured figure emerged from the darkness. She choked back a sob as a knife-sharp pang of guilt stabbed into her gut. If she’d stayed, if only she hadn’t run away. She turned and took a few steps back the way she’d came before a rumble of thunder and all kind of imagined fears lurking in the dark drove her back, and she slid down a narrow bank heading for the road.
The wind blew harder as she exited the sparse thicket of hazel and brambles, chilling her rain-damp clothing and making her shiver. The last scuds of rain blew across the sky, revealing patches of clear black, peppered with brilliant stars and the soft glow of a gibbous moon. Vassia had no eye for the beauty, but the light grey cobbles of the west road gleamed in the pale light and she walked towards them before exhaustion overtook her and she slumped by a huddle of boulders.