The Lone Rider

Chapter 10

"He can't still be alive!" the man screamed. His voice flew over the gulch and scared the nearby men, who all stood in a timid line amidst a ruin of flaky marble and limestone.

"He is and he's nearby," the hag responded, uncaring to the man's aggressive demeanor. "If you're men had done their jobs then they'd be back now." The vile creature under the guise of a haggard, elderly woman, stomped her bare feet across the carved stone courtyard, apparently waiting for something.

The man, who appeared to be the commander of the troops, followed closely at her heels, speaking over her hunched shoulder. "It's still possible they killed him. They could be lost or wounded. I need to send men after them, get them back safely." He was donned head to toe in beautiful, ornate plate painted red and gold. The rising sun portrayed on his back; half covered by a hefty greatsword.

The hag stopped suddenly and tilted her head sideways. "Are you suggesting that I am wrong? That I don't know?"

The commander took a step back and turned away. "Of course not... Matron. I would never. It's just—"

"Good!" The hag interrupted, turning cheerful. She began pacing once more. "Boomkins knows all and Boomkins tells me, and only me, the word of our Lord. So stop stressing about it and follow your orders. The plan was doomed anyhow, it served little purpose than to maybe slow the beast down!"

"Yes... Of course," the commander said, his head down.

"Now, go, get the perimeter secured. We don't have much time before sunrise, and we can't have him interfering before sunrise. That's very important, you hear me. Very important. He's nearby, like I said, probably listening to us right now, so go, get some patrols, do whatever it is that makes you soldiers feel needed and important and stay out of my way!"

The hag waved a thin hand and the commander stopped in his tracks, turned around and bit his lip, then walked away. The hag continued forward and eventually came to a stop at a tall pillar of white marble, almost glowing under the moonlight, where she crouched low and put hands on the young girl tied securely underneath.

Kell grimaced but watched on as the hag said something, he couldn't hear from his perch above on a high cliff. He had arrived a few minutes earlier, apparently just in time, and lay hidden under a thick bramble of thorny mountain brush. He watched Adaline and with his eyes, he could make out detail on her face—the anguish and solemn contempt she held—as well as the scraggly, white hair of the hag that flowed to her feet in thin, ugly strips that reminded him of a dish he had long ago only instead of appetizing and delicious, it looked horrid and uncanny.

He still felt bitter about earlier. There was a feeling of brief consummation when he rolled the nasty officer, Binney, off the mountain. For Waylon, though, whose dead, almost satisfied face was imprinted in Kell's memory, he could only prop him up against a boulder and lay his own tattered cloak over his body. It wasn't how it should have been done, the young man deserved a burial or even a funeral pyre, but time was rushing and Kell needed to move. He would go back for him. He would. As dumb as the kid was, he maybe saved Kell's life and kept him on his quest. Which, if looked at another way, might have been the worst thing for Kell.

The commander began barking out orders and Kell watched as his men ran about frantically, taking positions along the only two visible ways to enter the canyon and climbing the walls for higher vantage points. He had no idea what the hag was planning or how to stop her from doing whatever it was. Only Faundell's cryptic explanation in the cabin a few days before gave him any knowledge of the situation. But he hadn't the faintest clue what the ritual was or what Adaline had to do with it.

Something about the Forgotten Prince... he thought. Bringing him back? Reviving him? Unleashing... something? I should have paid more attention.