Chapter 150: [150] The Gates of the Flame
The gates of Hearthome were like twin monoliths carved from volcanic stone, their surfaces gleaming with embedded crystals that caught and reflected the eternal flame burning somewhere within the city. Steam drifted from vents along the massive walls, creating curtains of vapor that made the guards seem like phantoms until Xavier and his companions drew close enough to see their faces clearly.
Xavier felt like death warmed over. Three days of hard riding had left him hollow-eyed and gaunt, his black hair matted with sweat and snow. The clothes Olga had sold them in Vykengard were torn and stained with blood—some his own, most from the creatures they’d killed along the way. Beside him, Naomi swayed slightly in her saddle, exhaustion written in the tight lines around her golden eyes. Ashley sat straighter despite her injuries, but the faint golden fractures along her jawline caught the firelight from the city walls, marking her as someone who’d pushed her abilities too far.
They looked exactly like what they were: survivors who’d crawled out of the northern wastes carrying their dead.
"Halt!" The command came from a guard whose armor bore the flame-and-mountain sigil of Hearthome. He was young, maybe twenty, with nervous brown eyes that kept darting between Xavier’s face and the dried blood on his clothes. "State your business in the city."
Xavier dismounted slowly, his legs protesting after hours in the saddle. "We’re travelers from Vykengard. Seeking shelter and healing."
"Vykengard?"Another guard stepped forward, older. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, but it was his eyes that held authority—blue and still, they held the patience of a man who’d seen a thousand winters at this gate and wasn’t impressed by this one. "That’s a hard journey in winter. You come alone?"
"We were part of Dalen’s caravan." Xavier’s voice came out rougher than he intended. "We’re all that’s left."
The guards exchanged glances. The older one—a sergeant by his insignia—studied Xavier’s face more carefully. "Dalen’s caravan was expected days ago. What happened?"
Naomi answered before Xavier could. "Thornbeasts. Vorthaks. Worse things." Her tone was flat, factual. "Most didn’t make it."
"Thornbeasts?" The young guard’s voice cracked slightly. "How many?"
"Enough." Xavier touched his dagger’s hilt reflexively. "We dealt with them."
The sergeant’s eyes tracked the movement, then fixed on Xavier’s face with new interest. "You wouldn’t happen to be the one they’re calling Thornslayer, would you?"