The sun had risen above the horizon over an hour ago, and
Arynn was standing before the bed she had spent the night in. She had changed
back into the hard leather and mail armour after a hearty breakfast, and was
currently picking her weapons up from the bed.
The silver etched sword slid easily into its scabbard, a
dagger into a sheath across her lower back, a single edged axe slid into a
metal loop on her belt, and the composite bow that was so popular in the south
fit easily into a sheath that would let her keep it strung for the ride to
Lairdon.
A soft knock came at the door as Arynn adjusted the
straps that held her scabbard and bow sheath firmly across her back.
“Come in,” she said looking over her shoulder, hand
instinctively straying towards the dagger.
When the door opened and Gillian walked in, Arynn had to
consciously let her hand drop from the hilt. If the novice noticed it at all
she said nothing on the matter, instead simply sliding into the room, glancing
at the sword angled across her aunt’s back.
“You’ve only just arrived,” she said, Arynn turned to
face the young girl.
“There is nothing I can do here,” Arynn was careful as
she spoke the words, gently laying her hands upon Gillian’s shoulders.
“You can fight. Mother always said you could. That you
were a hero of Ilimm.”
Arynn struggled not to laugh, to snort in derision. The
few letters that travelled all the miles between here and wherever Arynn found
herself had never been talk of heroism. Evelyn had made her thoughts rather
clear when Arynn left home. Perhaps though her sister never wanted Gillian to
think the same of her blood. For that, Arynn was thankful, and did manage to
keep her face neutral.
“Be that as it may, I am but one woman. If I can get aid
from Lairdon, we should be able to push back the sluagh and druden both,” she
said instead, pulling her cloak from the wooden peg hammered into the wall
beside the door, the fur of the garment flowing over her shoulders.
“So then, you’ll leave me, as you did mother. For what
you think is best.”
Arynn turned, seeing her niece standing but a foot from
her, fists clenched at her sides until her knuckles were white. There were
tears in her eyes as she tried to defy her aunt. Arynn felt a twinge of guilt,
a familiar scene once more playing out before her.
“What I know is best. Prepare yourself Gillian, the dark
is deeper than you expect.”
With those final words, Arynn slipped out of the room,
quickly making her way out into the courtyard. She found Amelia standing there
with a horse that was not the one she had ridden in on. His dark brown coat was
well groomed, and the saddle strapped across his back well made. Arynn raised
an eyebrow, as she took in the creature, noting its muscles, the firm gaze it
held with its soon to be rider.
“A knight once came through here. Bloody and wounded from
a fight, we nursed him back to health over a month. For some time we didn’t
think he would make it, but make it he did. The day he left, he said good bye
to his destrier, not wishing to lead such a beautiful creature to the bloody
end he knew he would eventually find for himself. So, we kept Khali. It’s been
over a year now, but he is a restless soul. Battle is in his veins, as peace is
in ours. He will not find peace here... but with you, I think he may help us
bring it here,” the high priestess said as Arynn walked forward, running her
hands through Khali’s mane.
She leaned her head forward, until their faces touched,
his hard skull pressing gently against her. He let out a snort, but didn’t pull
away.
“Thank you Amelia.”
“Don’t. Just as you cannot stay, we know now that neither
can he. The knight might very well be dead, finding his end. I set him free not
for you, but for him. Go Arynn, and return swiftly.”
The demon hunter nodded, trying to think of a response,
but instead swinging up into the saddle, feet hanging at the horse’s flanks.
She looked ahead as the gate began to open for her, and pressed in her thighs.
Khali shot forward, urgent for impending freedom, hooves
cracking against the stones and dirt of the roadway as horse and rider shot out
into the early morning. Neither looked back at the convent, relishing the feel
of wind in their hair, blowing across their ears.
Eventually though, Arynn brought Khali to a slower trot,
not wanting to wear him out so soon after setting out. Just before mid day, the
sun at its zenith, the cool mist of the morning gone, Arynn had to pack her
cloak away in her saddle bags, filled with fruits, nuts, and dried meat for the
journey.
The pair paused by a stream, piled rocks the closest that
came to a bridge, the water trickling between them. While Khali leaned his head
low to drink, Arynn filled her canteen, before tossing an apple to the
destrier, and taking one herself.
For a few hours after she walked side by side with Khali,
gently holding his reins lest he get any ideas about leaving her, with all her
gear. She was starting to rather like the beast; well trained, strong. She
patted the side of his neck before mounting him again, continuing on her path.
She had never actually been to Lairdon, the capital of
her home country. Only heard stories of it, but it couldn’t be any larger than
Porma, nestled on the glittering coast of the Marizan Sea. Nor rival its
beauty. Still, for Aenkleth, it was a place to see.
As night began to fall she set up a small camp, tying
Khali to a tree with a loose knot. She didn’t dare start a fire, but fed a few
apples to Khali and bit into some dried meat herself, chasing it with a few
swigs of water and nuts. She already missed the candied nuts so common in the
south.
Leaning against a tree, Arynn folded her arms behind her
head and let her eyes slip closed, fingertips drifting across the hilt of her
sword even as she fell into sleep.
Darkness swirled through her mind, interrupted by violent
and vivid images. A flash of blood and severed limbs with a loud piercing scream,
gray and cold. A gasp in her ear and the smell of sweat as a naked woman rose
before her, visage hazy as a clawed hand ran up over her breast, golden, black
and warm. A priestess upon her knees, amidst dazzling light.
It was the cry of a raven that pulled her from her sleep,
and the nightmares that haunted them. She shot to her feet, sword sliding
slickly from its scabbard in the moonlight. Above her the bird rustled its
feathers but did not move. Arynn frowned at the creature as it twisted its
head, eye staring directly back at her.
A shiver crawled down her spine; ravens, the messengers
and spies of the demon Goddess Lyxa. Staring upwards at the bird, she slowly
moved towards Khali. She had stored her bow carefully across his rump, her
quiver on the side of her saddle for ease of transport. Had the Raven brought
nightmare’s upon her, delivered at the whims of a succubus? Or was it the
spreading darkness of Aalzgoth twisting even her dreams?
Just as fingertips grazed the bone and sinew of her bow,
she heard the scream from down the path locals called a road. Loud, a mixture
of pain and utter terror. The raven’s wings burst into a flurry of movement,
carrying the creature into the night sky and from view.
Even before it was gone, Arynn had pushed the strange
event from her mind. It was something to ponder another time. Already she had
untied Khali’s reins, and was in his saddle. The sword across her back scraped
against leather as it slid out into the open air, silver glinting in the
moonlight.
With thighs pressing firmly against fur covered flesh,
Arynn was soon guiding Khali down the road, his hooves beating against the
ground in a faster clip with each step. Trees whipped past her as Khali sped
along the road, before taking a turn at a fork that plunged directly into the
forest.
With only a slight curve ahead of her now, Arynn could
see the flickering light of torches, burning wagons, and shadowy figures moving
in the glow they cast. Steel glinted in the firelight, and the sounds of
fighting and dying carried through the forest despite the pounding of Khali’s
hooves.
As she came closer, Arynn could see the tall thin forms
of the druden, sliding like shadows through the low lighting amongst what
appeared to be a caravan of merchant wagons. Guards sporting chainmail and
metal caps fought desperately against the demonic foe as merchants, wives and
children hid or ran.
Khali did not shy from the druden, and Arynn inwardly
thanked the good training the destrier had received. A lord snort burst from
his nostrils as he charged forward, head low to protect his neck, hard skull
aimed towards the first of the unnatural creatures.
The demon turned, a woman, gray and tattered rags hanging
from its emaciated form, a black steel sword in its deceptively small hand. Its
large mouth hung open, blackened blood pouring over its chin and across its chest,
a loud shriek pouring out into the night before Khali’s head cracked against
the creature, sending her spinning to the side.
Screeches of the damned things came from all around her,
and Arynn slipped from Khali’s back. The destrier’s ferocity could not make up
for her lack of knightly training.
With her boots on the ground, a drude rushed to her, an
axe in its hand. The demon’s wide black eyes were leaking the same blood as its
mouth, and it shrieked loudly. A familiar sensation of cold dread grasped at
Arynn’s spine, but she ignored it, instead taking a single step forward and
swinging her blade at an angle before her. She felt the sharp edge of steel and
silver bite through cloth and flesh, cold blood spraying outwards as her sword
cut the drude from hip to shoulder. As it collapsed to the ground, smoke poured
out from its wound, an almost skull like visage snarling in anger before it
dissipated with the drude’s death.
The demon hunter could not pause. Pivoting she brought
her sword downwards into the shoulder of another demon. The silver in her blade
snapped through the bone of the monster and it let out a familiar screech as a
black cloud burst out from the wound. Kicking the dead thing off her blade in
another spray of black blood she was moving again.
Her sword swung upwards from along the hard packed dirt.
More blood, and a head flying free from the neck that had once supported it.
The decapitated corpse slumped off a guardsman it had pinned beneath it, the
man’s face white with fear but still alive. Words to Ilimm poured out from his
mouth, hands shaking as he gripped his wavering shield, but Arynn had no time
to snap him out of it.
Beside her Khali was moving on his own. Bred for war he
did not shy from the combat, rising upwards and lashing out with his hooves at
the druden that came before him, even crushing the skull of one of the demons
into shards of bone and sloppy gore that spilled to the ground.
“Push the demons back, and we can live to see the dawn,”
a man in fine mail overtop of fine breeches and a silk tunic said from atop one
of the larger wagons. A loaded crossbow was clutched in his hands that he now
raised and fired. The bolt lashed out into the darkness, earning a scream.
His brave words earned a few calls from the surviving
guards as they moved to rally around the large wagon while the man atop bent to
reload his crossbow. A figure crawled upward behind him, and Arynn shouted at
him to turn around before a drude slithered out from beneath a burning wagon.
Its hair smouldered, small flames flickering around its face as it screeched, a
long wicked blade slicing for Arynn’s legs.
A shout of pain tore itself from her throat as the jagged
steel ripped through the thick leather of her breeches and into the flesh
beneath. Unable to look to see if her warning had been heeded by the man atop
the wagon, she twisted her arms, smashing the flat of her blade against the
sword cutting into her, snapping it from her. With a quick shuffle she moved
back as the creature continued to crawl outwards her, arms out wide, elbows
poking above its back.
A quick kick of her boot to the back of its head slammed
the creature into the dirt. The demon hunter’s hands moved quickly, reversing
her grip on her sword. It plunged downwards, sinking into demonic flesh,
breaking ribs, earning a shriek and a black cloud.
Pulling her sword free with a wet squelch she looked up
in time to see a drude shrieking as a long knife slid across the richly dressed
mans throat. Bright blood sprayed out from the gaping wound in the light of the
fires. The man’s eyes were wide in terror as the moment of death descended upon
him, his mouth flapping in a desperate search for words or breath.
It was the breaking point. Gripped in fear, the caravan
guards started to run into the woods. Those that weren’t fighting and still
remained were descended upon. Their screams stabbed into Arynn’s brain as she
tried to stay and fight. Another wagon caught fire, the flames licking upwards
towards the sky, a dark smudge of smoke obscuring the stars above.
Druden were crawling over the wagons, burning and
unharmed alike. People were pulled screaming from their hiding places,
screaming as claws dug into their flesh. Twisted cackles filled the air as the
demons gorged themselves on fear and death.
Finding Khali, Arynn climbed into the saddle as quick as
she could, ignoring the flaring pain in her leg, the hot, sticky warmth sliding
downwards. This was a lost cause, and as much as it pained her to admit, she
could not save them. There were too many of the creatures. As her thighs
pressed inwards, her hands pulling tightly on Khali’s reins forcing the destrier
away from the frenzy of battle, Arynn sped back down the road, past the scene
of slaughter, back again on the road to Lairdon.
She glanced over her shoulder, and saw them. Druden
turned to silhouettes by the raging fires consuming the goods held within the
wagons. They stared after the retreating demon hunter, one upon the largest
wagon holding a severed head. Silent as death they stood, and stared.
Slowly, like shadows, they began to vanish, slipped into
the woods, hunting down those fleeing the wreckage of the caravan. Arynn cursed
to herself, speeding off again down the woods. Behind her, screams continued,
each one a painful shard. She clutched at Khali’s reins, concentrating simply
on the road before her.
As hooves pounded into the ground, Arynn felt a wave of dizziness
come over her. Blood was seeping further down her leg, making her breeches
cling to her skin. She dared a glance downwards, to see the leather split
apart, the flesh beneath opened in a ragged weeping wound.
Taking one hand from the reins, she clamped it down over
the wound. She gritted her teeth as dirt and grime from leather clad palms
pressed deep into the gash. She did not relent though, instead pressing even
tighter.
Shrieks sounded from the woods; the druden were hunting
her now. Someone screamed, high pitched and horrified. Arynn clamped her eyes
shut, trying to ignore the sounds, to fight off the dread closing around her
heart.
Then something hit her hard in the chest. For a brief
moment that seemed to stretch outwards into eternity she was falling, her sword
spinning through the air beside her. Khali came to a thundering stop as his
rider was thrown from the saddle, her arms flailing for purchase in nothingness
as her eyes locked onto the assailant; a drude swinging out from the trees.
When her back hit the ground, her breath exploded from her lungs, leaving her
gasping for air even as her skull hit the ground, making a dent in the hard
packed earth of the road.
Blood pumped out from her leg, spreading into the ground
beneath her, as her eyes tried to focus on what was above her. A drude’s pasty
face glared down at her, cool blood dripping from its eyes onto her neck as it
toyed with a dagger.
Another pair were trying to carefully moving around Khali,
twisted spears in their hands as they dodged the destrier’s wicked hooves,
waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
A raven cried out, the druden paused, long enough for
Khali’s hooves to smash one to the ground, crushing its chest with a loud
crack. The horse spun, back legs lashing out, sending his second attacker
flying into a tree, its skull cracking open on the thick trunk.
The last of the demon’s looked up to the branches, and
glanced back at Khali once. Arynn reached out for her sword, her palm settling
on the comfortable leather wrappings around the hilt, before the drude’s foot
stomped on her wrist. The heel of its boot ground into her, making her shout
out in pain as its dagger rose above its head.
A head that suddenly exploded in a shower of bone and
gore. Globs of brain and an eyeball splattered across Arynn, as a raven called
out, flying from the shattered remnants of the demon’s head, off into the
treeline.
“The, fuck?” Arynn whispered softly, as everything grew
dizzy once more, the world fading out into a blurry haze as darkness encroached
on her vision. A cloaked figure was drawing near, but there was nothing the
demon hunter could do.
The realm of dreams claimed her as her body gave in to
agony and injury.
Next Chapter
