Post by david on Feb 25, 2005 22:30:56 GMT -5
Intercessor - Chapter 1 / Part 1
The treeline exploded as the stallion surged out of the forest, its thundering hooves carrying both horse and rider into the open grasslands. Nostrils flaring and its mouth wild with froth, the animal stretched low across the earth, its call shrill with anger and fear. Arkan Sael struggled to stay atop his mount, the remnants of the horse’s reins in one hand and a handful of ebony mane in the other. Racing across the open fields his robes billowed out behind him, snapping and cracking in the wind like the sails of a great ship.
A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that his attackers had given up the chase, deterred by the prospects of being lured into the open and away from the dark confines of the forest. Sensing that the danger had passed, the big horse responded to the painful tugs at his mouth and mane. They came to rest atop a grassy ridge, the stallion still snorting his disgust of the things in the forest and pawing at the earth. Moments later Arkan ran a soothing hand along the animal’s neck.
“Well done, Racer. Perhaps your days of having to save this old man’s hide are almost at an end.”
Arkan straightened in the saddle, taking a deep, steadying breath. He had been foolish, he knew, traveling through Tanglewood with nightfall approaching. It was dangerous country for the best of men on the brightest of days. In the end, only Racer’s brute strength and sheer determination had saved them. A booming cough of thunder, echoes of the passing storm, shook the land and a dazzling splash of lightning momentarily chased away the enveloping twilight to reveal their attackers cowering in the undergrowth bordering the forest.
Slunks.
There were four, small and brutish with coarse tufts of hair splotching gnarled gray bodies. At a greater distance they might have passed for human. But anything more than a glance in their direction dispelled such notions; hands twisted into arthritic claws matted with dirt and filth, their faces grotesque parodies of children’s with sloping foreheads and mouths that hung slack to reveal rotting stumps for teeth.
Images from the attack played fresh in his mind, the open field and distance between them offering no protection from the memory. The slunks had erupted from the undergrowth in the center of the strange woodland, surrounding their prey in a shower of leaves and dirt. They attacked as one, their howls shattering the gloom as they sought to bring the big horse down. A well-placed hoof caught one of the creatures across the head, crushing its thick skull in a shower of blood and brain. Oblivious to the loss, the creatures continued their savage assault, tearing at Racer’s flesh with filthy claws. Clenching the reins in one hand, Arkan tried to bring the magic to bear. For a moment he thought he saw the once-familiar glow begin to take shape in his hand. Then hot, ripping pain flooded through him as one of the beasts leapt and raked its claws deep across the arm, nearly dragging him from atop the horse. Racer turned at the sound of the man’s scream, causing their attackers to leap to one side in an effort to avoid the deadly hooves. Seizing the opportunity, the horse bolted through the gap.
A thick canopy of leaves shut out what little light the day still offered, leaving Racer to plunge blindly through the trees. Limber branches slapped both horse and man as barreled through the darkness. The slunks gave chase through the trees, their screams shattering the air. Twice the beasts nearly unseated Arkan, once grabbing a fistful of the old man’s hair, while another leapt atop Racer’s flanks for one terrifying moment before the horse veered sharply left, throwing the creature into a tangle of wicked bramblebriars. Gaining the edge of the woods, Racer had launched himself into the grasslands beyond just moments later. Heedless of the slunk that sought to bar their escape, the mighty horse trampled the unfortunate creature, leaving the remaining pursuers behind.
Shuddering at the memory, Arkan adjusted himself in the saddle then gingerly pulled the shredded sleeves of his robe back from his injured arm. Dismay flooded his mind at the sight of the wound. The slunk’s claws had left nasty gashes on the underside just inches above the wrist. Already the filth and decay from the creature’s ragged nails had begun to seep into his system causing the wounds to throb with a dull, sick heat. Racer, too, had sustained such injuries about the chest and flanks, and suddenly Arkan found himself thinking that the most difficult portion of their journey lay ahead. He had seen the devastating results of slunk attacks before. Possessed of bone-crushing teeth and dreadful claws capable of rending a man from wattle to waist, slunks were regarded lightly only by the foolish. There was another reason to shun the dirty beasts – slunk fever. First came raging fever and unquenchable thirst, followed by delirium and a hideous frothing about the mouth. The lucky ones choked and died on their own spittle. Those who lived longer were wracked by horrific pain as their bodies and minds were twisted and ravaged by the sickness.
Wincing as he tugged at the tattered reins, Arkan hunched in on himself in an effort to ward off the coming chill. Clouds overhead formed a patchwork of dingy cotton sewn about an indigo sky as the ragged duo resumed their trek southward across the flat expanse of the Aubin Plains. The moon was well into its western descent when they came upon the first of several settlements that marked the outlying fringes of Riverbluff. Now free from the concealing clouds, it shone coldly, its white-silver light washing the color from the land below. The pair kept their distance, floating wraith-like along the horizon in an effort to conceal their presence. Banders, he thought. A ramshackle collection of decaying sunken huts, each a sullen mass slouching in the darkness like insolent children before a whipping. In the distance guard dogs wailed, bristling at their chains in an effort to rouse masters who were too drunk or too sleepy to care.
It had been a week since they had left Whitestone, traveling east on the heels of one of the fiercest storms in memory. Despite the continual erosion of his magic, Arkan had sensed a presence in the storm; a viciousness in the winds and rain as if the elements had taken it in mind to pound the land into submission. Weather divination and other small works were the only powers still at his disposal, and he knew he had little time before the storm would pass and the rainbow would be visible, suspended above the mists that shrouded Candlestick. What he had witnessed had sickened him. Once vivid, as if splashed across the sky with a painter’s brush, the colors had already begun to fade. Between them all, roiling black streaks had formed, stretching across the horizon and devouring the other colors like a cancer.
Created during the Awakening, the rainbow was given to the world of Men as a talisman, a sign by which to measure the balance of magics in the land. There were some who still believed; a handful scattered about the lands who practiced the old ways. But their time grew short, and the sickness was spreading. Now, ages later, the rainbow had lost its true meaning to all but a few, relegated to nothing more than an object of enchantment for artisans and lovers.
Lovers …
A single tear etched its way down the old man’s cheek as he remembered things that had both sweetened and soured with age. Shaking his head to clear the hurtful thought, Arkan dug his heels into his mount urging him on. Lost in the haze of yesteryear, the old man had failed to realize the extent of the big horse’s wounds. Already Racer was succumbing to the slunk attack, his gait less sure and slower despite his master’s commands.
Then the big horse stumbled. The fall pitched Arkan hard to the ground in a pinwheeling flurry of gray robes. His shoulder crunched against the cold earth just as his head struck rock with a sickening crack. The world exploded in a shower of bright light and searing pain just before everything went black.
Arkan lay motionless for several moments. Gingerly opening his eyes he was assaulted by jagged shards of light slamming through to his brain. The stars above became a swirling kaleidoscope of light, and his body convulsed as the world spun beneath him. With caution he lifted a hand to his forehead, and was rewarded with a hot smear of his own blood. The groan that came from his lips was more animal than human, and a voice inside his head warned him that to drift back into unconsciousness meant almost certain death. Another pounding flare of pain exploded inside him as his head lolled to one side. Guardedly, he opened his eyes.
Racer lay little more than arm’s length away. The big horse was on its side, its eyes glassy and unfocused. Foam was curdling around its mouth and nostrils. In the harsh moonlight he could make out the injuries more clearly. Deep slashes ran along its flanks and chest, angry red grooves left by slunk claws on both sides of the horse’s neck. Tears began to flow anew from the old man’s eyes as he spoke the animal’s name.
Desperation welled up inside him, masking the pain of his own injuries. Arkan struggled toward the horse, each movement bringing hammer blasts of agony. Drawing closer he saw the animal’s twisted front leg, a jagged shard of bone jutting through the skin and streaked red, glinting dully in the moonlight. A cry of despair escaped his lips as he lunged for the horse, draping an arm across the animal’s neck. Racer’s skin was wet and hot, steam rising from his body made the air about them shimmer.
Arkan Sael did not hear the animal’s dying breath or the last beat of its great heart. He was not aware of the shadowy forms that gathered around him moments later.
The treeline exploded as the stallion surged out of the forest, its thundering hooves carrying both horse and rider into the open grasslands. Nostrils flaring and its mouth wild with froth, the animal stretched low across the earth, its call shrill with anger and fear. Arkan Sael struggled to stay atop his mount, the remnants of the horse’s reins in one hand and a handful of ebony mane in the other. Racing across the open fields his robes billowed out behind him, snapping and cracking in the wind like the sails of a great ship.
A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that his attackers had given up the chase, deterred by the prospects of being lured into the open and away from the dark confines of the forest. Sensing that the danger had passed, the big horse responded to the painful tugs at his mouth and mane. They came to rest atop a grassy ridge, the stallion still snorting his disgust of the things in the forest and pawing at the earth. Moments later Arkan ran a soothing hand along the animal’s neck.
“Well done, Racer. Perhaps your days of having to save this old man’s hide are almost at an end.”
Arkan straightened in the saddle, taking a deep, steadying breath. He had been foolish, he knew, traveling through Tanglewood with nightfall approaching. It was dangerous country for the best of men on the brightest of days. In the end, only Racer’s brute strength and sheer determination had saved them. A booming cough of thunder, echoes of the passing storm, shook the land and a dazzling splash of lightning momentarily chased away the enveloping twilight to reveal their attackers cowering in the undergrowth bordering the forest.
Slunks.
There were four, small and brutish with coarse tufts of hair splotching gnarled gray bodies. At a greater distance they might have passed for human. But anything more than a glance in their direction dispelled such notions; hands twisted into arthritic claws matted with dirt and filth, their faces grotesque parodies of children’s with sloping foreheads and mouths that hung slack to reveal rotting stumps for teeth.
Images from the attack played fresh in his mind, the open field and distance between them offering no protection from the memory. The slunks had erupted from the undergrowth in the center of the strange woodland, surrounding their prey in a shower of leaves and dirt. They attacked as one, their howls shattering the gloom as they sought to bring the big horse down. A well-placed hoof caught one of the creatures across the head, crushing its thick skull in a shower of blood and brain. Oblivious to the loss, the creatures continued their savage assault, tearing at Racer’s flesh with filthy claws. Clenching the reins in one hand, Arkan tried to bring the magic to bear. For a moment he thought he saw the once-familiar glow begin to take shape in his hand. Then hot, ripping pain flooded through him as one of the beasts leapt and raked its claws deep across the arm, nearly dragging him from atop the horse. Racer turned at the sound of the man’s scream, causing their attackers to leap to one side in an effort to avoid the deadly hooves. Seizing the opportunity, the horse bolted through the gap.
A thick canopy of leaves shut out what little light the day still offered, leaving Racer to plunge blindly through the trees. Limber branches slapped both horse and man as barreled through the darkness. The slunks gave chase through the trees, their screams shattering the air. Twice the beasts nearly unseated Arkan, once grabbing a fistful of the old man’s hair, while another leapt atop Racer’s flanks for one terrifying moment before the horse veered sharply left, throwing the creature into a tangle of wicked bramblebriars. Gaining the edge of the woods, Racer had launched himself into the grasslands beyond just moments later. Heedless of the slunk that sought to bar their escape, the mighty horse trampled the unfortunate creature, leaving the remaining pursuers behind.
Shuddering at the memory, Arkan adjusted himself in the saddle then gingerly pulled the shredded sleeves of his robe back from his injured arm. Dismay flooded his mind at the sight of the wound. The slunk’s claws had left nasty gashes on the underside just inches above the wrist. Already the filth and decay from the creature’s ragged nails had begun to seep into his system causing the wounds to throb with a dull, sick heat. Racer, too, had sustained such injuries about the chest and flanks, and suddenly Arkan found himself thinking that the most difficult portion of their journey lay ahead. He had seen the devastating results of slunk attacks before. Possessed of bone-crushing teeth and dreadful claws capable of rending a man from wattle to waist, slunks were regarded lightly only by the foolish. There was another reason to shun the dirty beasts – slunk fever. First came raging fever and unquenchable thirst, followed by delirium and a hideous frothing about the mouth. The lucky ones choked and died on their own spittle. Those who lived longer were wracked by horrific pain as their bodies and minds were twisted and ravaged by the sickness.
Wincing as he tugged at the tattered reins, Arkan hunched in on himself in an effort to ward off the coming chill. Clouds overhead formed a patchwork of dingy cotton sewn about an indigo sky as the ragged duo resumed their trek southward across the flat expanse of the Aubin Plains. The moon was well into its western descent when they came upon the first of several settlements that marked the outlying fringes of Riverbluff. Now free from the concealing clouds, it shone coldly, its white-silver light washing the color from the land below. The pair kept their distance, floating wraith-like along the horizon in an effort to conceal their presence. Banders, he thought. A ramshackle collection of decaying sunken huts, each a sullen mass slouching in the darkness like insolent children before a whipping. In the distance guard dogs wailed, bristling at their chains in an effort to rouse masters who were too drunk or too sleepy to care.
It had been a week since they had left Whitestone, traveling east on the heels of one of the fiercest storms in memory. Despite the continual erosion of his magic, Arkan had sensed a presence in the storm; a viciousness in the winds and rain as if the elements had taken it in mind to pound the land into submission. Weather divination and other small works were the only powers still at his disposal, and he knew he had little time before the storm would pass and the rainbow would be visible, suspended above the mists that shrouded Candlestick. What he had witnessed had sickened him. Once vivid, as if splashed across the sky with a painter’s brush, the colors had already begun to fade. Between them all, roiling black streaks had formed, stretching across the horizon and devouring the other colors like a cancer.
Created during the Awakening, the rainbow was given to the world of Men as a talisman, a sign by which to measure the balance of magics in the land. There were some who still believed; a handful scattered about the lands who practiced the old ways. But their time grew short, and the sickness was spreading. Now, ages later, the rainbow had lost its true meaning to all but a few, relegated to nothing more than an object of enchantment for artisans and lovers.
Lovers …
A single tear etched its way down the old man’s cheek as he remembered things that had both sweetened and soured with age. Shaking his head to clear the hurtful thought, Arkan dug his heels into his mount urging him on. Lost in the haze of yesteryear, the old man had failed to realize the extent of the big horse’s wounds. Already Racer was succumbing to the slunk attack, his gait less sure and slower despite his master’s commands.
Then the big horse stumbled. The fall pitched Arkan hard to the ground in a pinwheeling flurry of gray robes. His shoulder crunched against the cold earth just as his head struck rock with a sickening crack. The world exploded in a shower of bright light and searing pain just before everything went black.
Arkan lay motionless for several moments. Gingerly opening his eyes he was assaulted by jagged shards of light slamming through to his brain. The stars above became a swirling kaleidoscope of light, and his body convulsed as the world spun beneath him. With caution he lifted a hand to his forehead, and was rewarded with a hot smear of his own blood. The groan that came from his lips was more animal than human, and a voice inside his head warned him that to drift back into unconsciousness meant almost certain death. Another pounding flare of pain exploded inside him as his head lolled to one side. Guardedly, he opened his eyes.
Racer lay little more than arm’s length away. The big horse was on its side, its eyes glassy and unfocused. Foam was curdling around its mouth and nostrils. In the harsh moonlight he could make out the injuries more clearly. Deep slashes ran along its flanks and chest, angry red grooves left by slunk claws on both sides of the horse’s neck. Tears began to flow anew from the old man’s eyes as he spoke the animal’s name.
Desperation welled up inside him, masking the pain of his own injuries. Arkan struggled toward the horse, each movement bringing hammer blasts of agony. Drawing closer he saw the animal’s twisted front leg, a jagged shard of bone jutting through the skin and streaked red, glinting dully in the moonlight. A cry of despair escaped his lips as he lunged for the horse, draping an arm across the animal’s neck. Racer’s skin was wet and hot, steam rising from his body made the air about them shimmer.
Arkan Sael did not hear the animal’s dying breath or the last beat of its great heart. He was not aware of the shadowy forms that gathered around him moments later.
David, this is awesome!!!
As you probably know, writing can be such an intimidating endeavor...That's why it means so much when someone likes what you're doing.