The Lone Rider

Chapter 1

A snow-covered landscape shone sadly under the low winter sun. The lone rider kept his eyes low, watching the head of his mare glide back and forth as her strong legs took them forward through the mud ridden road towards Brakenburrow. Cold air breached his thick wool cloak and made his skin crawl. The mud sloshed under her hooves. Other than the low distant wind, it was as quiet a day as there had ever been. He narrowed his eyes and drew his attention to the tall Metimos Mountains on the northern horizon, just over the hills of Brakenburrow. The road would take him through the shabby town, a place he'd rather not be, and then he'd journey through the miles of hills and mud where he'd eventually reach those mountains. After that, he'd ascend the Broken Pass and hopefully find the old man waiting for him.

The old man who called him there.

The wind at his back brought with it the sound of hooves stomping through the mud. He pulled his thick black hood over his head and lowered his eyes once again. Two armored men blew past each side, kickin up mud onto his leather jerkin. His mare huffed and kicked around as they did; he put a hand on the side of her head and soothed her with a calming word. One of them, donning a half helm on his head and shield on his back with an emblazoned red star painted on the front, glanced back at the lone rider. The red star was the mark of a Risen One, soldiers of the Lost Prince, mostly thugs as far as this land was concerned. The lone rider could see the suspicion in the man's eyes, so he kept his own hidden under his hood and his wonders of what business the Risen Ones had here to himself. The man turned away and both made haste for Brakenburrow just ahead.

The lone rider sighed and took his hand from the hilt of the sword hidden in the bedroll behind him. No one had reasons to be looking for him in this place, but things like that are best not left to chance. The sun began to set overhead as he neared the town. The riders disappeared somewhere inside, and he hoped not to run into them, though his hopes were usually disappointing. A long broken wooden fence spanned out from the front of the town and one guard in dented mail armor holding a long spear stood at the entrance. Behind the fence, shallow hovels of mud and wood speckled the hills and eventually gave way to the center of town where the mayor's large stone brick manor stood higher than everything else. The guard stuck a hand out as he approached and bid him to halt.

"Whatcha doing 'er?" the guard asked with a voice hoarse from the cold. He had a mean, hardened face and eyes filled with suspicion.

The lone rider pushed his hood back and grimaced a polite smirk, "Just passing through, ser." The words let out a gush of mist from his mouth.

"Where ya off too, ain't nothing up here worth the journey lest you enjoy the damned snow." The guard slopped through the mud and paced along the mare, inspecting the rider and his supplies.

"The Metimos Mountains," he nodded to the north where their white peaks breached the sky. "Meeting an old friend."

The guard huffed, circling the horse and making back to his post where he spat in the snow. "Won't make it very far in this shite"

"That's my worry, rest assured. Is there a place to bed for the night?"

"Pecken's got some beds, I 'spose. Shite for food and drink, but decent beds. Just don't go causing any trouble."

"Of course, thank you." The rider gave a nod and tapped his mare forward. The guard gave him one last nasty look as he passed and grumbled something he thought the rider wouldn't hear, something about "the damned snow and cooks." The rider shook his head and pressed on into town.

As soon as he entered the town, he regretted it. But he was on a task. Two tasks actually. So he pressed on.

Most of the townsfolk seemed to be trying to keep warm in their homes, though he passed a few along the road who stared with ugly faces. One woman, brushing snow off the thatched roof of her tiny hovel, stopped and put a hand on her hip when she saw him. He gave her a courteous nod, but she shook her head and spat off the roof and went back to work. Spit and snow appeared to be this town's bread and butter. He'd been in worse places, but he loathed to spend more time than he needed here.