Marche Au Supplice

[Josette]

It had been two days since Josette had left the coast, but the tundra that sprawled all around her closely resembled the sea. White drifts made by the incessant wind rolled like the gray waves, and glimmered like diamonds beneath the late-morning sun. Josette had watched the water shine the same way from the steep bluffs of northern Caershire. Perhaps the most pertinent similarities were that both were seemingly endless, remarkably beautiful, and deceptively dangerous. A traveler could fall to the northern wastes just as easily as a sailor to the swells, and both with similar likelihood of never being found.

With this truth in mind, Josette's preparations had been both meticulous and expensive. Despite the fact that both time and coin were in short supply, she understood that her venture into central Salvar might cost her something even more valuable - her life. Three days spent in Caershire's northern-most town had left her twin saddlebags bulging, and her sturdy body warmed by a new cloak. The fur-lined piece was as pricey as it was showy, and with the rich crimson color, she would stand out like a splatter of blood across a spotless white rug. In the end, she determined that no one would bother to hunt for her so far north. Even more persuasive was the fact that no other cloaks were available in the single general store. If Josette hoped to stay warm, she would have to wear the outfit that could be seen for miles, like a lighthouse's glaring beam.

For her mount, Jo had purchased a full bag of grain, and a heavy blanket for sleeping. Riding the hearty mountain horse while he wore the blanket was impractical, but she protected him by remaining at a slow, plodding walk. Her instinct was to run him, closing the distance more quickly, and leaving the sweeping snowfield behind. Besides, the plains meant she had entered northern Ressin, the neighboring province, which made her wish she could ride much faster. But a sweating horse meant sickness in such extreme conditions, and Josette refused to take the risk.

Still, her palms grew clammy inside her deerskin riding gloves. Ressin would be the most dangerous leg of her journey, considering the massive price it's Boyar had placed on her head. She remained uninformed as to the charges, though "treason" had been stamped across the wanted poster she had found. If asked to venture a guess, Josette would say that Boyar Regis Dyskin the Third feared word getting out that he had ordered the slaughter of an entire community within his jurisdiction. Furthermore, he had arranged that the deed be done by magic users, something that would spell out his end were the Church of the Eternal Sway to catch wind of it. The man, as pompous as he was portly, had not expected one of his charges to go rogue, sickened by the situation she found herself in. Josette had run to clear her own conscience, but if he suspected that she planned to divulge this information, it was no wonder that he wanted her dead. Looking south, she squinted against the sunlight that climbed its way toward the noon peak. If anyone planned to attack her, they would come from that direction, where the heart of the province lay. They would see her from miles away, but fortunately, so would she see them. In a few more hours, she would find relief from the barren arctic as coniferous trees began to return. Hours after that, and she would be free of Ressin. Clenching her leather reins tighter, Josette found herself willing time to pass more quickly. Impatience was uncharacteristic of her, but no more so than being wanted for crimes against an entire province.

Time passed at a crawl, as it had a tendency to do when one wished it would hurry. When the woman finally caught site of distant evergreens, her sigh of relief hung as warm vapor off her lips. It was by no means an extensive forest, but it was enough to provide some variety in the landscape. The trees also made life possible, and if her map was correct, a small town rest only a few miles southeast of her location. Even before her excitement of seeing the trees waned, new urgency pulsed through her chilled body. She could not stop.

It may have been that she was lost in thought, or so focused on the trees ahead that she saw nothing else. Either way, it was her horse who spooked at the sight of a green smear across an otherwise white canvas. He gave a low nicker of warning, steam billowing from paper-thin nostrils that flared against the ice crystals that clung there. "Whoa, Dras," Josette commanded, though at the same time reaching out to stroke the horse's neck. Her deep seat prevented her from being unsettled by his sudden side-step, but she still paused to calm the creature before dismounting to investigate. The snow nearly crested her knee-high boots, and she waded through it until she stood beside what could now be identified as a body.

Dead? came her first thought. He had to be, as no person could survive an extended stint in the northern wastes. Besides, she could think of no reason why a person would lie here, the swirling snow buffeting his body, the cloak not appearing to offer much protection at all. His dark eyelashes stood in sharp contrast to his pale cheeks, and she decided those were eyes that would never open again. A year and a half ago, Josette would have mounted up and rode on, leaving the corpse to become a permanent part of the landscape. Even if he was still alive, why should she risk her own safety, and that of her horse, staying here to rescue him? But the past year had changed her, and if nothing else, maybe this one act might be just one step toward saving her soul. Timidly, with one hand gripping her sword's golden hilt, the other reached to find the man's pulse.