Darkness Rising 1 - Chained

Chapter 4 - Dark Intentions

Leafstide 1920.

Two thousand miles west of Coonor, drizzle was beginning to wane as the sky darkened towards sunset. The horizon was dominated by the jagged silhouette of the Khullian Mountains, a range that bisected the main body of the Nurolian continent. At its feet lay the South Wolds: vibrant green hills on the fringes of Artoria.

A glistening horse slowed to a canter as the rain eased off. Her legs slipped slightly on the slick rocks that lay strewn almost carelessly about the hillside. The grass was short and springy, covering the terrain like a quilted cloak. The autumnal heathers conveyed a bruised quality to the landscape. The horse, a rich dappled brown mare, righted its footing and then slowed its step. It approached a stream that cascaded down the incline and it took deep gulps of the water.

The horse glanced with curiosity up the slope. The gradient flattened out some three hundred yards above her as the heath reached the edge of forestland. The green of the pine trees appeared even more vivid with the glisten of the spent rain. The horse looked back down the hill as two riders approached, shaking their cloaks dry now the shower had ceased.

Kervin, the forerunner, was a broad man dressed in a brown leather doublet and tanned soft leather trousers. His bow was secured to his saddle, with a quiver of arrows on the opposite side, and strapped to his back was a broad sword in a black leather scabbard. His hair was a sandy brown and was tied in a ponytail. He wore a shaggy beard and had the look of the forest about him.

His Pyrian companion, Ygris, was a strange vision in red and black robes, sat atop a gelding that appeared as gloomy as he did. His face was a rich light brown and his deep chocolate eyes peered from beneath enormous bushy eyebrows. Ygris’s beard was clipped and greased to a point and beaded with glittering gems and small gold rings. His shaved head was decorated with dark red tattoos.

The pair slowed as they neared the riderless horse.

“Has the rain muddied the trail, Marthir?” Kervin asked.

The horse shook her head, water spattering from her mane. The air warped around her strong shoulders and the mare melted away, like a candle placed too close to a fire, to be replaced by a tanned woman.

She stood five and half feet tall with light brown hair that was cropped short, like that of a boy. Her freckled face was round and her eyes a warm green. Her curvaceous body was naked and covered in tattoos that ran across her chest, abdomen and arms.

“They’ve cut up the hill and into the woods,” she said.

“That’s a fair change of direction. Do you think they know we’re on their trail?” Kervin asked. He tugged loose a dark green robe from his saddlebag.

“It’s a fair bet. These two aren’t some dumb goblins scampering back to their dark hole in the hills. I suppose the question is, when are they going to turn and tackle us?” Marthir said, stretching her smooth hairless legs.

“By the smoking buttocks of Shurk!” Ygris said. “My clothes are more frigid than an Eerian lady’s britches. I would rather scoop out my tired orbs with spoons than endure another fell day skittering on the rock strewn arse skin of this soggy excuse for a country. And Marthir, my vision of inked glory, can you not put some clothes on? I fear your proud nipples will take my beady eye out if you turn too swiftly.”

Kervin smiled to himself as he saw Marthir begin to bridle at the grumbling of their companion. He threw Marthir a green robe which she reluctantly began to slip on.

“I’m afraid not all nations can be as baked and dusty as your own, Ygris,” Kervin said. “Perhaps on our next jaunt you should pack a satchel full of Pyrian sand and then spread it on your bed-roll each night to rest that heavy brain of yours. Or dazzle us with some pyrotechnics so I can dry my saddle sore rear before it becomes merged with the horse’s tack.”