We Solemn Few

Chapter Twelve : What Burning Leaves Behind

The steads strode through the gates of nin'Tar in rapid gallops, the heavy clops of the horse's feet against the road below the only sound that filled the air between the two. Concrete - Zenrin could still hardly below stone could be so seamless - melded into tight-set gravel that hardly shifted, large buildings with stone foundations and tiled roof turning to purely wooden homes with thatched roof, though tiles still set covered the roofs of some and the wood seemed sturdier than any he had ever seen. Except for stonebark, perhaps.

This outer-town bore a name, he was sure of it, though he did not ask the man with amber eyes; the glare he shot him whenever he cause Zenrin staring was enough to send chills down his spine and he did not want to know what would happen if they decided to open their mouth. At least the streets were less crowded here. Maneuvering through the weave of people had been hard enough on foot, but on horse? He was half-sure the people would run his horse down and hardly think to apologize, though the still-fire eyes stared them down as intently as they he and people moved out of the way.

But something felt wrong, though he couldn't tell what. Even outside the walls of nin'Tar, the people here looked well fed and prosperous, the hubbub as lively as inside, just simply less numerous. Wagons carried new harvests or sold goods that looked much more genuine than those he had seen within, and people hardly bumped shoulders without an apology. He wished he had known of this barrier city before he had gone shopping for clothing; he could still feel the eyes of those women upon him, and blushed at the thought. Mythos, pull yourself together! You'll never have to deal with them again, anyways. He supposed that could be true, though it could just as well be not. What if the whole world thought it was proper to undress and dress him as if he were still a babe to be swaddled in a blanket? He did not like that thought one bit. With a sigh, he forced that thought to the back of his mind. Whatever this feeling was, it did not have to do with that.

As they rode, the tight gravel grew more disheveled and loose, once packed road softening to shifting lanes that seemed to contain as much dust as they did gravel, if not more. And the feeling only grew, a once distant prod at the back of his mind now like a needle digging deeper and deeper, an itch begging to be scratched. For a moment he did not care what the man would say, nor did he care if he glared. He opened his mouth.

Bounding around from the corner of a building with sudden speed were three ghorahk, blades like jagged teeth held in their hands, eyes of blood red narrowed to match snarls of devilish intent. He reared his mare as quickly as they appeared, striking out with one such blade, and barely avoided its jagged edge. Another charged, and suddenly the air seemed warm, much too warm. Inches away from impaling the blade deep into his chest, the air seemed to become a burst of flames, and suddenly the creatures were not more than blazing heads upon the gravel ground.

"You took too long," was all the man said, his voice like furiously burning coals as he looked over his shoulder, his gaze that of pure dread. Zenrin gulped down a breath and turned to gaze over his shoulder, fear coursing through him as he noticed the sudden chaos pouring through the streets. Creatures with skin of melding black and orange ravaged the streets with their jagged blades, some holding torches that were tossed into buildings without much of a thought, screams of terror echoing admist their snarls of war. He watched in horror as a jagged blade tore through a young woman, and forced himself to look away as another woman was pulled away by her hair, still alive. And suddenly, ashen cloak flickering, the man's gray mare had sprung forth. The screams behind him forced his knee into his own horse's side.

Weaving along roads and through alleys, bursts of flames occasionally jutted from the hand's of amber-eyes, streams of fire leaving burning corpses of beast behind that smelled of sulfur and oil. One sharp turn had seen his side nicked by a blade, the heat of his blood running down his skin, but had he turned any later he was sure he would have been gutted. Another blade snearly skinned his horse, but he had miraculously kicked the creature down, though he had hardly noticed. It took all he had to focus on the horse before him and keep pace, and he was not sure he was even doing that well. But he kept pace.