Adventure of Slaan 1

Slaan breaks from the mountain’s shadow into raw wind and open stone. The Sun-Eater records press against her chest, and below, the Highlands spill toward safer ground.

Behind her, the temple bells keep tolling. Ahead, a narrow switchback cuts through scree and frost, the only clean line off the ridge.

Bram crouches near the edge, scanning the slope. Far above, pale figures begin to spread along the ridge, searching for a way down after her.

Slaan finds the descent at last, a jagged path between boulders that leads toward the lower pass. It is the only route that keeps the records, and her, out of the High Chapel’s hands.

Slaan glances up at the ridge, but the stone beneath the pursuers is not shale. It is brittle, volcanic glass that shatters under their boots, sending jagged shards cascading down the slope like a rain of obsidian blades.

Slaan channels her magic, and four bolts of violet energy streak upward, slamming into the base of the volcanic ridge with a thunderous crack. The entire cliff face shudders, the glass fracturing into a massive, sliding curtain of black stone that begins to peel away from the mountain.

Slaan bolts down the switchback, the records held tight beneath her robes as black shards skitter past her ears. The ridge behind her keeps tearing itself apart, but her leap carries her clear of the worst of it.

The Paladin crashes in beside her, shield arm up by reflex, while Bram stumbles after them through the dust. A razor of volcanic glass slices Slaan’s sleeve and leaves a hot line along her forearm.

They break out of the densest fallout and hit the edge of the wilderness, where the slope drops into scrub and broken stone. Ahead, a distant patrol line moves across the open ground, small and deadly in the haze.

The three of them freeze at the boundary of cover, one hard choice hanging over the path ahead, a fast exposed dash or a slow crawl through the brush.

Slaan drops into the scrub first, folding low and sliding her pack under the thorny cover before the patrol can get a clean line on her shape.

She pulls the Paladin in behind a jut of shale with one hand and parts the brush with the other, carving a narrow crawlspace through brittle stems and dust.

Bram follows her cut path, crouched and tense, while the patrol keeps drifting across the haze beyond the grass line.

A twig snaps under Slaan's knee. The nearest patrolman slows, head turning, but the dust wall swallows the sound before it becomes a shout.

Slaan comes out beyond the worst of the open stretch, low in a shallow fold of ground where the patrol is now behind brush and broken stone instead of on top of them.

Slaan sinks lower into the fold, and Bram follows her lead. The brush stops rustling. The patrol keeps moving beyond the broken stone, its shapes thinning behind dust and thorn.

The Paladin eases his shield down an inch, then stills it again when a helmet turns. Nobody breathes loud enough to matter.

A wind gust combs the scrub, hiding their outlines under moving shadow. The snapped twig stays lost in the stems while the nearest rider angles away.

The last patrolman disappears behind a ridge of thorn and shale. Their boots fade into the distance, leaving only the hiss of grass and the faint clink of gear beyond sight.

The fold of ground becomes their shelter instead of their hiding place. The way ahead opens, quiet for the first time in minutes.