The Tale of Noraan part 10

That flash of despair, that glimmer of midnight in Or'do's luminous eyes, had seemingly vanished, for Or'do surged on with his usual awe inspiring grace and power, neither posture nor features betraying even the thinnest sliver of the sorrow that lurked beneath.

Noraan followed in his comrade's awke, his heart cold stone, his blood a river of shattered ice. What happened in Or'do's past, what vestige of days long dead haunted him, tormented him?

How did I fail to see this? He wondered, the answer coming to him almost immediately: because he did not want me to. Or'do lives with the pain of his past heavy upon his shoulders; yet he wishes not the burden upon others. This burden was his to bear, and he would let no other shoulder it.

"I still covet your power," he murmured. "But if such keen sorrow is the toll it demands, I see now why you withheld it from me."

Ahead loomed the cathedral of stone grim and silent, keeping eternal vigil over the frozen lands, a dangerously worn bridge of lashed planks stretching some forty paces from the edge of its rugged slope to the cliff upon which they now stood. Grim and melancholy, its single spire reached heavenward like a drowning man's plaintive, desperate hand; its archway tapering into a point like the glistening tail of a tear in bitter sorrow shed. Beneath, the curving path was lined at unequal intervals by beasts of bird and man, their flesh mottled feather and dark hide, whose prostrated themselves before it, as if the gaze of its dark tower had stripped the strength from their legs. To either side the cathedral's wall stretched, small peaks rising like cruel thorns, the snow laden air clinging to their edges like blood of pale white upon blade of dark slate. Noraan absently reached to the journal hanging at his side, a rune blazing across its page as he transferred the edifice's memory to its pages.

This place regarded them with primeval hate as they approached, bridge creaking in protest, braided ropes crackling as frost shattered along their lengths. Or'do strode confidently toward it, yet Noraan felt the invisible hand of trepidation hold him back. In that place, there was a a strange fear, a promise of doom that lurked in the land without fire. A sworn oath whispered in tongues unknown, a dark hymn that resonated with hopelessness; an aura of despair clung to this place.

Noraan knew not what to make of this, only that it disturbed him deeply.