Sword from the Sky

Sword from the Sky - Chapter Two

THE MAN WITH NINE BLADES

DRUUK AND HIS GUARDS RODE ONWARD INTO THE DARKENED, sulky moors. They raced to the outskirts of the sloping hill-land, and there they halted and remained so Druuk could study the horizon encompassing the vast landscape before them.

“Why did we stop?” one of the guards said.

“I need to discern the area ahead of us,” Druuk said. “If they’re making their way towards us, it’s probably best to remain here.”

“Well that’s no fun at all,” one of the guards said.

“What can you sense, my prince?” another guard said.

Druuk reached out his right arm and took his glove off, holding his hand up to the wind. “Be silent,” he said. He closed his eyes, and the wind engulfed his hand; it was unseen yet heard. And standing in the silence of the calming breeze, Druuk read the miles of space in front of him. He sensed the things of the dark without using his eyes. He saw all that was foul surrounding him, hundreds of yards deep. The wind whistled, as if whispering thoughts into his mind.

“There are three of them,” Druuk said. “They’re not creatures, and I can’t tell if they’re men, but I know one thing: they’re curved creatures, bent away from what is good—and they’re coming towards us.”

“How far are they?” a guard said.

Druuk’s eyes moved inside his shut lids, and he clenched his jaw as he discovered something in his thoughts. “Wait. They’ve stopped. There’s something in their way, a man. There’s someone else with them. He’s sensed me.”

“Who is he?” the guard closest to him said.

“Vohro,” Druuk said.

“Mastro Vohro?” the guard said. “He’s with the men? Alone?”

“That is his way,” Druuk said.

“Are we to assist?” another guard said.

“He’s a Master of Daví,” Druuk said. “He needs no assistance.”

“Davinian or not, you said these men were evil,” a third guard said. “He needs our help.”

“We need to let him be and pull back,” Druuk said.

“I’m not one to disagree with a prince, but I must refuse,” one of the guards said. “He’s one man against three.”

“He’s not just one man!” Druuk said. “He’s a mastro, and he carries nine of the sharpest blades in all of Esterra. No, good sirs, he is many against three.” Druuk grabbed the reins of his horse and turned back towards the camp. “Do as I say. Get back to the camp and keep guard.”

The guards turned around and proceeded to gallop their way back to the camp. Druuk kept himself quiet for a second, contemplating the decision he had just made. He felt a strange sense of foreboding swimming throughout his veins as if things had begun to take place that were meant to be. He remembered the strange shooting star he had seen earlier, and a chill came over him as the feeling that he was just a pawn in some grand cosmic game crept through him.

As he sensed this, he felt a presence linger far from him, something to the east, and he saw it: a strange hound lurking about the barren land. It was tall and slender, yet muscular, with a deep chest, something akin to a cheetah’s body, as if it was made to run. And it had large eyes and drop ears on a long and narrow head. Its dark mane contrasted with its bright blue eyes. The hound sat under the backdrop of twilight, staring back at Druuk, causing an air of nervous electricity to consume the tired prince. After a brief pause, Druuk thought nothing more of it and turned back towards the direction of the Rohpador camp.