Chapter 342: Road to Harrowhold

The horse raced away from Vrethka, carrying Darion and Marrick along the dirt road toward Harrowhold. Darion kept the animal moving at a steady but fast pace, pushing it just enough to make good time without exhausting it. Vrethka gradually disappeared behind them, swallowed by the thick canopy of the forest, replaced by open fields and long stretches of ancient, towering trees.

For a while, neither of them said much. The only sounds were the horse’s hooves striking the hard-packed earth, the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind, and the heavy breathing of the animal beneath them.

Marrick remained seated behind Darion, still incredibly uncomfortable with the arrangement. He kept trying to maintain his balance without holding Darion too tightly. Every time the horse hit an uneven section of the road, Marrick shifted awkwardly, his hands hovering in the air like he was trying to balance on a tightrope. He was terrified of accidentally grabbing the terrifying Necromancer.

Darion eventually glanced back slightly. "You still alive?"

Marrick immediately straightened his spine, his voice cracking slightly. "Yes, my lord."

Darion faced forward again, a faint smirk on his lips. They continued riding.

After riding for quite some time, Darion began noticing something. The road had split several times. Some paths led deeper into the dark forest while others continued through open land. Darion had been choosing the most obvious-looking road each time, assuming it would eventually lead them toward Harrowhold.

Then he realized something rather important.

He had absolutely no idea where Harrowhold was.

Darion slowed the horse slightly. He looked left. Then right. Then ahead. Nothing looked familiar. He silently cursed himself. ’Wait... I actually don’t know the way.’ He had been so focused on conquering Vrethka that he hadn’t even bothered to look at a map for Harrowhold’s exact location.

Darion glanced over his shoulder at Marrick. "Marrick."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Which way to Harrowhold?"

Marrick paused. He looked around the road, squinting at the tree line, then immediately pointed toward one of the paths on the left. "That road. We need to continue north through the forest. There should be another road after this one."

Darion nodded.

’Good. That makes things easier.’

Marrick seemed almost happy to be useful, a stark contrast to the terrified prisoner he had been yesterday. "I can guide you all the way there, my lord."

Darion turned the horse toward the correct path. "Then you’re officially the navigator."

Marrick didn’t completely understand the word, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, my lord."

With the direction problem solved, the journey became quieter again. The tension in Marrick’s shoulders slowly began to ease as the horse settled into a steady trot.

Darion eventually decided to start a conversation. "You don’t seem particularly sad about your father’s death."

Marrick became quiet for a moment. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. He didn’t appear offended by the question; he just seemed to be searching for the right words.

"I suppose I am not," Marrick said.

Darion waited.

Marrick explained that his father lost his own father when he was only seven years old. His grandfather had died when his father was still a child, yet his father eventually grew up, became a ruler, and lived for many years afterward.

"That is how things are here," Marrick spoke matter-of-factly. "People die. Children lose their parents. Parents lose their children. We simply continue living."

Darion listened. The answer made sense in a world where wars, monsters, disease, and harsh living conditions were normal parts of life. It was brutal, but it was practical.

Marrick then added, "My father even lived longer than his own father did."

Darion gave a small nod. "I guess that’s one way to look at it."

He thought about Dross and the way Marrick’s father had died. It had been sudden and violent: a broken neck during a desperate escape,but Marrick didn’t seem to be drowning in grief. He seemed almost detached, like he had processed the loss years ago.

Darion then remembered something else. "Actually... what happened to your grandfather’s body?"

Marrick thought for a moment. "I remember my father mentioning it once."

Darion waited.

"He said his body was never buried."

Darion raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Marrick’s expression became slightly uncomfortable. "Forest animals found the body."

Darion waited for him to continue.

"They ate it."

Darion’s expression changed. "...Damn."

Marrick nodded. "Even the bones were chewed."

Darion stared ahead for a moment. ’Okay. That’s... brutal.’ He thought about the dead warriors in Vrethka and how carefully they had handled the bodies, the massive pyres, the respect shown to the fallen. Compared to some people in this world, even a funeral pyre seemed like an absolute luxury.

The conversation naturally turned toward Marrick’s family. Darion asked about his mother.

Marrick became quiet again. "My mother died when I was born."

Darion looked back slightly. "Childbirth?"

Marrick nodded. "Yes."

Darion didn’t immediately respond. There wasn’t much he could say to that.

Marrick had never known his mother. His father had raised him alone after losing his wife. Yet despite that, his relationship with his father had eventually become strained enough for Marrick to believe that his father had willingly sent him to die.

Darion looked forward again. "You’ve had a rough life."

Marrick gave a small shrug. "So have many people."

Darion didn’t argue.

The journey turned surprisingly peaceful. The road they were following was an old forest road, wide enough for horses and wagons. Tall trees lined both sides, their branches forming patches of shade over the road. Sunlight occasionally broke through the leaves and painted bright spots across the dirt. Birds occasionally scattered from the branches as the horse passed, and small animals disappeared into the undergrowth.

The horse settled into a comfortable rhythm. Darion drank from his water flask while riding, and Marrick occasionally pointed out landmarks and confirmed which direction they should take.

For the first time since leaving Vrethka, Darion felt like the situation was relatively under control. No armies. No warriors chasing them. No undead battle. No one trying to kill him either.

Y’know, he was just riding a horse through a forest. He almost began to enjoy it.

Almost.

After riding for a considerable distance, Darion finally slowed the horse. Marrick looked confused.

Darion looked back at him. "You should drive."

Marrick blinked. "Me?"

"You know these roads better than I do."

Darion climbed down from the horse. Marrick followed, stepping onto the dirt road. Darion walked around the horse and gestured toward the front. "You’ll get us there faster if you’re the one choosing the roads."

Marrick hesitated before climbing into the saddle. Darion moved around to the back. Marrick took the reins, and he looked slightly more confident now that he was on familiar territory.

Darion climbed behind him. "Alright. Lead the way."

Marrick nodded. "Of course, my lord."

He prepared to start moving.

Then Darion froze.

Something reached his ears. A sound. Faint at first.

Thump.

Darion’s eyes narrowed. Another sound.

Thump.

Then another.

THUMP.

Marrick heard it too. Darion slowly looked toward the trees beside the road. The horse became restless, stamping its hooves and snorting nervously. Somewhere deeper within the forest came a low, guttural sound.

"Grrrrr..."

Then another growl answered from somewhere else, a deeper, more menacing sound that made the hair on the back of Darion’s neck stand up.

Darion’s hand slowly moved toward his sword. The rhythmic beating of chests continued from the darkness, a heavy, primal drumbeat that seemed to vibrate through the dirt.

THUMP. THUMP.

Marrick gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles turning white. Neither of them spoke.

Whatever was waiting in those woods knew they were here.