Several hours - or at least what had felt like several hours - had passed in a haze since the confrontation on the beach. Killian had stood over the dead orc, watching Durgan's back as his figure turned into an ever-shrinking speck on the horizon, until the Dwarf had at last disappeared. Then, the bard had wordlessly retraced his steps along the strand and into the woodline to where Thorian lay, still as unconscious as he had been left. Killian moved automatically, slinging one of his nephew's arms around his shoulder and lifting him to his feet. Partially awakening from his stupor, (whether from the movement or the pain Killian could not tell) Thorian was kept conscious enough to take a fraction of the burden from his uncle.
Killian half-steadied, half-carried Thorian further inland. If asked as to their destination, Killian would have been unable to supply an answer - his mind and body were far too exhausted to give ample reasoning for his actions. As far as he was concerned, he had burnt his only known bridge, and his last ally was not long for the land of the living. Killian felt the urge to do something, and so he began to walk. He had carefully navigated them through the sparse trees and shrubbery, until the foliage had grown dense, and the sounds and scents of the shore fell out of view.
He wondered exactly how big the island was. It couldn't have been huge, he had surmised, as few of the Shattered Isles were more than five miles in diameter. Although, five miles could be quite a lot when one's weight has been doubled and they're on the brink of dehydration. Thorian's head lolled onto Killian's shoulder as he mumbled unintelligibly, his injured leg dragged behind and caught on a root, causing them to briefly stumble. Killian ignored him.
Around them the forest grew thicker. Branches clawed at their faces as the trees that sprouted them crowded into their path. Their progress slowed significantly, and more than once did Killian have to pause to catch his breath and swallow what little saliva his mouth was producing to coat his parched throat. Killian pushed his tongue against his cheek, cringing at the sandpaper texture of his own mouth, before carrying on. Never once did he dare to set Thorian down.
Though it might have provided ample rest for the both of them, Killian feared that if he were to set his nephew down for even a moment, he would find himself void of the necessary strength to raise him again. More than once, Durgan's words came to his mind unbidden.
… Leave him, said Durgan, … Dead weight …
And Killian considered it, the temptation growing with every stone that stabbed into the soles of his feet and every bramble that raked his legs and tore at what few rags remained to him. Yet, each time there was that deeper fear that kept him bound to the dying sailor. By now the sun had begun to set, and there was a chill in the air that, under less strenuous circumstances, would have made him shiver. It was as the world grew dark around him that Killian feared being alone. His breaths grew more ragged as the ground ahead grew to an increasing slope.
Sand had turned to soil, and soil had slowly begun to turn to stone, yet the pair pressed on. Durgan's voice still rang in Killian's head, clear enough that it was almost as if the Dwarf were following them, shouting from just outside their view and shielded by shadow. Other voices jostled their way into Killian's mind as well, competing to be heard as his fatigue tore down the defences of alertness that typically kept them at bay. There was Abigail, begging to come with him, and there was Sharroc, begging for mercy. There was Aldred offering him encouragement, and Branwick offering him criticism.
There was his mother, who encouraged him to keep moving forward, who told him that he was doing the right thing.
And then there was -
They stumbled a second time, hard. Thorian cried out in pain at the sudden lurch, and Killian cursed to himself as his head slammed against the trunk of a tree. It took him more than a couple minutes leaned up against that trunk to recover.
Fool … first time aboard a ship in how long and you sink like a stone.
A chill ran up Killian's spine, but it was no longer the cold of the evening that caused him to shiver. There was no mistaking that creaky old voice. It was all Killian could do to convince himself that it was all in his head. He scooped up Thorian and willed himself onward.
Haven't even a clue where you're going, do you, boy?
It was true. Killian was forced to admit it to himself through gritted teeth. What was he looking for? A place to rest would be nice - somewhere out of the chilled noct air.
Ain't no taverns or whorehouses here, boy, best you'd get is a hole to die in.
His stomach had been aching terribly since the afternoon; it growled fiercely at the mere thought of food.
Sure, put those skills I taught you to use for all the good it would do. You couldn't catch a fish if it were raised in a bowl.
He moved faster, the world now a hue of somber blues and inky blacks. Food, however, was only his second priority. He had strained himself too far. Every breath came as a painful rasp; every swallow felt like he was swallowing razorblades. His muscles screamed in agony with every step. He could not remember the last time he had had a drink.
Sweet Goddess what he would do for a glass of water.
Truly, you are the most disappointing of my sons.
As if you were any better as a father, Killian thought bitterly. Thorian slumped forward, and Killian realized with dismay that he had fallen completely unconscious. He paused to readjust the body on his shoulders.
You ought to just leave him, echoed the creaking voice of the specter, Never stopped you before.
Killian ignored the phantom as best he could, dragging Thorian more than aiding him. Their progress had reduced to inches.
It wasn't a problem for you when it was me you left to rot. Killian could hear the scorn in the chiding voice.
My only problem was that I hadn't done it sooner, Killian retorted in his mind. His body would have been drenched in sweat, if he'd been capable of producing any.
Not even an ounce of sympathy for your own father?
Killian lost what was left of his grip strength as Thorian slipped from his grasp as they forced their way through a thicket.
Your time has come and gone. Was I supposed to waste away the rest of my days caring for a madman?
Killian hooked his hands under the armpits of the unconscious man and began to tug.
What a wretch you've become.
Thorian's legs became entangled in vines.
I learned everything from you.
Killian yanked harder on Thorian, prompting him to moan in pain.
You learned nothing from me. You only learned from your mother.
Stop.
Killian yanked again.
Learned to abandon your family.
I said stop. Talking.
Thorian was awake once more, crying out in agony.
Learned her cowardice.
"And I'd wager we both chose right, you MISERABLE BASTARD!"
Killian jerked Thorian as hard as he could, and the roots that held him in place gave with a sudden snap that the bard had not anticipated. Thorian crashed into Killian's chest, sending them both reeling backwards and down the rocky slope that had been all but invisible in the dark. His grasp released, Killian lost his footing and tumbled until his back met a sizable stone on the ground with a painful crack. He attempted to slow his descent by sticking out an arm, but only succeeded in scraping it across several sharp twigs and jagged rocks before Thorian's full weight fell down upon it. Had Killian's breath not been knocked from his lungs he would have no doubt bellowed in pain, but he could manage little more than a grunt as they spiraled further down.
Each time he made to catch a hand or foothold, it felt like it only prolonged the fall. Had Killian seen it from an outside perspective, he was sure it would have looked like a tumbler's farce. His journey came to an end when he found himself face-first in the mud. He tasted blood in his mouth, and was fairly certain that either a stone or a blow from Thorian had knocked one of his teeth loose, though he could not be sure as to which tooth, or which incident caused it. After trying to push himself upward off the ground, Killian quickly rescinded the plan after a sharp pain indicated that at least two of his fingernails had been ripped from their beds.
More likely than not he'd broken a finger - or another bone near the joints in his hand. He had to force his chin upward just so that he could breathe. Through what dim light of the moon he could see with, Thorian was beside him in a heap upon his back. His ragged and shallow breaths were Killian's only indication that his nephew still lived, though they were accompanied by another odd sound that carried on differently from the rest of their surroundings. It wasn't the hushed whisperings of the leaves above, nor the droning of crickets, nor even his own uneven rasps, or hammering heart.
Before him a figure sat, staring at him through the dark.