The Sins of the God King

Chapter 21: Sartos

Under the moonlit sky, Sartos urged his borrowed steed onward, a sense of urgency propelling him forward. The words spoken by Wolder, still echoing in his mind, weighed heavily upon him. The mention of Necro ink carried a significance that sent shivers down his spine. It was a substance outlawed by the king two decades ago, a decree forged in allegiance to the crown. This law had been enacted to ensure that the true power of the conjurers would never be turned against the kingdom again.

Whispers and tales of the past danced within Sartos' thoughts as he rode. The stories spoke of a single conjurer capable of decimating an entire army, their skill over the Necro ink granting them unimaginable might. Legends of his ancestors, too, resonated within his mind. They had stood against conjurers wielding the Necro ink, confronting flying wyverns, rampaging giants, and the bone-chilling screams of harpies. How the Iron Hold had managed to survive such trials was a testament to their tenacity. The tales spoke of a strategic focus on eliminating the conjurers themselves, but the task itself was a formidable one.

Sartos had fought alongside with Helias in the past, witnessing firsthand the conjurer's adeptness in swiftly deflecting most attacks with skillful defensive conjuring. Such skill was commonplace among conjurers, their abilities honed through years of practice. Despite the challenges, Sartos knew that confronting the conjurers directly would be an arduous task, fraught with peril and uncertainty.

As Sartos rode onward, questions gnawed at his mind. How had Helias and Lyferia managed to obtain the forbidden Necro ink? The last known ink maker capable of crafting such a potent substance had perished eight-year prior, forbidden from passing on the knowledge to a new generation. The shelf life of the ink was limited to a mere three months, meaning it couldn't be an old stock. The mystery deepened, leaving Sartos to wonder if another ink maker had somehow acquired the secrets. If anyone held the answers to his inquiries, it would likely be the Xeldorian elders now imprisoned within the Iron Hold, despite the imminent march of the Navo'ri army towards the castle.

The moon's light, once guiding his path, was now obscured by gathering clouds, casting an ominous shadow over his journey. Sartos relied on his memory to navigate the roads, but as darkness settled, even the familiar landmarks and his navigational skills proved futile. He weighed his options, contemplating the idea of spending the night in this grass land. However, he knew that every passing moment meant the potential loss of valuable time. Wildaron lay perilously close to the North Fort, and he wouldn't be surprised if the Navo'ri army had already set foot there. If he delayed, gaining entry to the Iron Hold would become an even more formidable task.

A shiver ran down Sartos' spine as he sensed a presence stalking him through the eerie silence. With caution, he brought his horse to a halt, straining his ears to catch any telltale sounds amidst the rustling tall grass. A faint growl reached his ears, originating from the left. It could only be a jungle pale cat, a fearsome predator native to these lands. With its razor-sharp teeth and imposing physique, these creatures were notorious for attacking and devouring unsuspecting victims. Gripping his giant sword tightly, Sartos readied himself for a confrontation. The growling ceased as he resumed his journey, but an unsettling feeling lingered.

As he rode on, his horse suddenly became restless, its behavior growing increasingly erratic. Controlling the beast became an arduous task, as its movements grew wild and unmanageable. Sartos attempted to soothe the agitated creature, but his efforts proved futile. In a sudden twist of events, the horse veered off in a different direction, defying Sartos' control and sending him tumbling to the ground. The impact jarred his back, causing sharp pain to shoot through his body. Thankfully, his armor absorbed much of the blow, preventing further injury. The horse stood motionless, its eyes now aglow with a menacing red hue. Sartos, his resolve unwavering, rose to his feet despite the discomfort throbbing in his back.