At the End of My Rope

Day 6

One last day. One last climb through one last forest. This one had huge trees, creating a continual shade under their branches. The forest should have been peaceful but it was unquiet, restless shades flowing through the underbrush, shadows just seen out of the corner of an eye but gone when faced directly. Behind them the sun set, but its lateral rays could not pierce the gloom.

Horses and riders were nervous as they climbed. The horses pranced on their hooves, ready to shy at any provocation. The Men and Dwarf rode with their weapons at the ready.

Ahead, the sky darkened where it could be seen through the trees. But as the sun sank behind the hills behind them, the a glow became apparent at the horizon—the full moon, not quite risen.

As the sky darkened the shapes around them grew clearer. Shapes not quite like men—elongated, or squat—some with horns, some mere skulls, a flash of bone in the dying light. And there were hounds of a sort—hounds with fangs or tusks, with spikes accenting their spines, creeping or leaping in a manner not at all reminiscent of dogs. All with eyes that glowed a dull red when they looked at the travelers. The shapes crowded in close behind and milled about to either side, so the travelers did not know if they chose their path or were driven.

At last they came to a clearing, or out of the forest entirely, a bare scree of rock ahead and a large, flat rock at its top. They scrambled up, hurried, harried, by the shapes that came behind and beside them.

The one that waited for them sat tall on a tall, bony steed. It was hard to see in the tricky light—backlighted by the glow of the hidden moon behind, highlights from the last of the sunset before. They could not tell if its flesh did in fact cover the bone.

But the figure on its back commanded their attention and cut short any examination of the steed. Its horns branched huge over its head like a stag. Like its steed, it seemed to be balanced in a light between the dying sun and rising moon. Its regard was cold but not malicious, attentive but waiting. Judgement too seemed balanced between day and night.

It spoke. "You come. You have each paid a price and achieved the passage for all. What will you with me?"

Sassenac stepped forward. "We have been charged with a task—the retrieval of the crown of the Dukes of Actirion. It is in your possession and we must return with it."

The King's steed moved restlessly, stamping a hoof.

"Must. You must. The thing is rocks and metal. You put value in this?"

"The Duke does, so we do. If it has no value, of what value is it to you?"

"None. Perhaps. Yet you wish it. You press your suit now, when more important matters call our attention. We Hunt tonight. We cannot hear your concerns."

"What do you hunt?" This was Cedric and he stepped forward, a light in his eyes.

"What do we hunt? What do we hunt, little human?" The King's voice was not unkind. "We hunt the souls of those who dream. We hunt the saint and the sinner. We hunt those whose conscience keeps them awake until the small hours of the morning. That is who we hunt."

Cedric took another step forward. "And who are your hunters?"

"Those who choose to join me on this night, the night of the full moon. Then I call my hunters and I whistle up my dogs and we take to the skies. One year, my hunters must give me. One year, for the hunt."

"I will hunt with you." Cedric's words caused some commotion among the travelers but most of all with Storm, who reared, bucked, and broke Sassenac's grip on his halter. He trotted forward and stood at Cedric's side.

"Good. We have a hunter, and we have a mount