It was a dark night. There is nothing noteworthy in that. Yet, no star sparkled in the night sky. The light of the moon had been completely extinguished. The owls did not hunt, nor the wolves howl at the sky. It was a night for trouble. A night for dark deeds. The elders said that this was a reckoning from the old gods. "We take for granted those which we should fear!" they said. "Our hubris will be our downfall" they wailed.
Foolish old men. What do they know of gods? They harp on in an all too familiar manner, citing the plans of the gods as if they knew the nature of such beings. What then brought this darkness you ask? The sins of man? The whim of the gods? Speculation was simply speculation. It yielded no results beyond the wild fantasies of possibility. It was all fruitless anyway. Had they known the answer, it would have changed nothing. No man could change the fates which had already been wrought at this moment.
The rider forded the river. His steed panting rapidly as he forced it onwards as fast as it could bare him. It's muscles ached from the strain of the journey. How long had it been since he set off? The rider considered the time his journey had taken and looked to his horse. The poor beast was probably not going to survive the journey. Already it began to lag as its powerful legs churned the earth beneath it. He would need to acquire a new horse soon. That was, if he could even find the nearest town.
The landscape around him was a mixture of blackness and flickering shadows born of the torch he yielded in his left hand. He plunged further into the darkness. He knew the path well but could barely recognise it today. Had the tree's always been this close? Were their branches always so gnarled? Above his head they forked across the path, intertwining between each other like great brittle fingers on a weary hand. A shiver ran down the man's spine. He knew not how far he had ventured. He could spot no familiar landmarks in the persistent eclipse around him.
'God's damn it!' he cried out to the sky. 'The King will have my head if I'm late.' His anger quickly stilled and he slowed the horse down to a trot. He was going to be late regardless, and he knew it. There was nothing to do about it but try to get his bearings. Charging heedlessly in one direction was not going to get him anywhere fast. His horse could use the break and he knew there was little chance of happening on one of the nearest towns. Caestenwalla lay at least a days ride away. He'd made note of his pace before the sun set but now he was not even sure if that was still true.
'Cþþu, Ierþham, Þorpheard….' he checked off a finger each time as he listed the names of towns he knew were along the way to Caestenwalla.
'Of course,'' he continued, 'Ganham, Merscwic and Fiscoþtan would be too far out of the way unless I truly am off the path. God's above but if that's true then you really do need your arse kicking, Cren.'
He looked around in to the glimmers of light created by his torch. It seemed to him that the shadows of evil creatures danced in the trees surrounding him. That was foolish though. Children believed in Grelachs and imps. He was a grown man. A house warrior for the Royal House of Ørkady. He did not fear such the ridiculous tales mothers told their children when they misbehaved.
Chuckling to himself, he picked up his water skin and drank heavily from it. The water he once stored in it had long been topped up with ale. A mighty drink for a mighty thirst he would tell his friends, laughing heartily at his own wit.
A tree rustled. Was that the wind? His heart beat as he drew his sword and spun around; blade forward. No, there was little wind that night. He narrowed his bushy brows, wrinkled with age and haggered by experience. An animal? Surely. What else could it be? It was well known that all roads from the Marcher Princedom's were safe. Still, his sword was raised. He was wise enough and experienced enough to know better than to second guess instinct. It was, after all, better to feel foolish and be safe than to die letting your guard down. The silence was deafening. He could hear his own heart beating in his chest; feel his pulse throbbing in his neck. Another rustle. This time he deduced from whence it came. Suddenly the silence was broken.
An arrow flirted from the overgrowth. His subconscious expected danger, but not a direct assault. The arrow pierced beneath a rib, bursting through his boiled leather, through the chainmail ringlets hidden beneath, and in through the flesh. Instinctively, he threw himself aside. The pain of the arrow dulled his senses as he struggled to his feet.
A throaty scream and the sound of rustling branches alerted him to the presence of another charging at him sword raised. A warrior in full battle attire, sporting a large grizzled beard peeking out beneath his helm. Cren swung his sword to meet his assailant as he gained his footing once again. The clang of steel rang out into the night. He prepared to parry again, only this time it was a feint and his sword was met with nothing but the cold dark air. He quickly spun out of the way of the follow up attack. His leg caught on a branch and he tumbled to his knee; rolling as he did so to avoid a follow up attack, and likely his death. God's but he was getting too old for fighting.
Another arrow flew past him, missing his head by a mere inch, and impaled itself in a tree. Thank the gods, he thought. Another one of them would end him. Cren snapped the shaft of the arrow in twain and then hurled himself forward at his opponent. The grizzled warrior braced himself for the impact as Cren's weight was thrown against his wooden shield. Losing his footing he fell onto his back and Cren swiftly advanced on his fallen foe.
'You damned milksop!.' he shouted as he stood astride the fallen warrior 'Should have stayed on your mothers teat' he snarled. Blood was gushing from the arrow wound. He began to fear he would bleed out before he'd dealt with the archer in the woods. As he brought down his sword and pierced it through the body, he was shocked to find that the body has begun to smoke and disintegrate. The body, now replaced by a cloud of black smoke, took on a menacing form as it twisted in the air.
'By Gahnë's tits what…' his shock turned to panic as the black smoke surrounded him. It began to swirl around his body until it reached his throat. It tightened around his neck and began to suffocate him. Choking him as though a vast black smokey hand were throttling him. As the world grew even darker around him he saw two red piercing eyes in the trees. Evil eyes with ill intent. Darkness took him and he saw no more.