(Draft 1) A Twist of Steel

Chapter 10

They left Darwood Keep at dawn. Ruddy sunlight glinted off their black, iron helmets and steel weapons as rows upon rows of Cranaks steadily poured out of the heavy timber gate. Dasken headed the host of three and a half thousand, leading them out of the dense forest of Darwood Grove. He rode a new Fawg than before, this one was armoured and had a nasty scar running down its muzzle. It growled at all the other Fawgs and constantly snarled at any Cranak who dared approach it, Dasken enjoyed its company immensely. Behind him, Rukh and a dozen hand-picked guards followed in a heavily armed procession.

And next to Dasken rode Krugen Saak, his newly appointed captain. Krugen was old, almost nine hundred years old. He was bedecked in a criss-crossing of scars and was armoured simply in a leather tunic, he wore no helmet and had a coarse, brown eyepatch. His only weapon was an ancient Krakhr and he didn't carry anything else. His movements were deliberate, and he didn't often speak. The army of Cranak considered him a relic, one of the weakest in the army, most hadn't ever seen him fight. As soon as Dasken saw him, he made him his captain, a controversial decision but one that Dasken hadn't doubted himself on. Krugen was, in his view, the most dangerous Raiset in the procession and he wanted him on his side. Krugen's Fawg looked as old as its master, Dasken had offered him a new one but he had refused. The grey-furred, scarred creature with a missing fang was his only companion and, apparently, the only one he needed.

"How long till we leave the wood?" Dasken asked Krugen, suspecting the Raiset would be the most reliable source of information.

A wary, experience-honed eye slid towards Dasken, "We should reach the outskirts in three nights time, if we are not hindered by Fawgs, or worse." Krugen answered ominously. Dasken nodded and the old eye slid back to the bracken-coated path.

The going was long and the claustrophobia of his journey there, came back to Dasken. The dark, twisted trunks stabbed into the sky, their wind-beaten branches blotting out the sun and fresh air. Krugen was a quiet riding partner and as Dasken felt no obligation to converse with Rukh, the ride was made ever-longer by the silence. A kind of boring rhythm fell upon Dasken, the crunch of branches, the thud of his Fawgs paws and the swaying of the branches all added to the convoluted chorus. But the heat made it worse; sweat dripped from his face and fat flies plagued him constantly. Dasken became fond of night. Of the refreshing chill it brought and the darkness that melded into the trees making it easy to forget they were there.

They were making camp by a creek on the second night when they first heard the howls. Long, baleful cries that echoed along the procession causing Raisets to tense and grip their weapons. Dasken turned to Krugen, "There must be a pack nearby." He said but Krugen didn't even feign agitation.

"They are far away, they will not bother us, for tonight at least." Dasken relaxed and the order to stay vigilant spread along the army. But however far away they were, the cries continued through the night. Dasken couldn't sleep.

The shattering chorus of howls ripped through his eardrums, repressing him from his only salvation and leaving him to stare at the low, flickering flames of his fire. A crack of wood brought Dasken sharply back to reality, he watched through hooded eyes as Krugen sat opposite him. The Raiset brought out his Krakhr and started oiling and sharpening it, his eye never leaving the blade. "Where did you first come from?" Dasken asked finally,

"Here." he said, never taking his eyes off his sword.

"Here, as in this very part of the forest?" Dasken asked tiredly.

"No." Was Krugen's only reply.

"Where?" 

"It is now called Brockbridge."