With a great heave, he coerced the sprawling, twisted mass farther into the woods. Pine needles scratched his face and for a few alarming moments the low hanging branches obscured his vision. All he could hear was the creature’s ominous chorus of clicks and hisses.
His opponent thrashed violently. Stellan sensed its rage and frustration. The rope began slipping through his hands. He desperately held the last few lengths, but it was precious little leverage. As he grasped for new ideas he witnessed an unexpected sight–the woman stood at the edge of the woods. She was tugging her dress onto her shoulders and peering among the trees. What in the name of the heavens was she doing? Why wasn’t she running away?
“Hello? Who’s there?” She cupped her mouth. “Who’s in there?” she said loudly.
Annoyance burned a frown upon his face as he sidestepped one of the creature’s darting pincers. She was calling out a greeting? Madness!
“Run away, you fool,” he shouted back. “Run and don’t stop!”
Still, she hesitated. This was growing tedious. Stellan couldn’t contain a venomous beast and indulge a curious sprite at the same time. He uttered an incantation–a basic one, but all he could spare at the moment. A small yellow flare appeared. Narrowing his eyes, he sent it hurtling through the woods. The impact ignited a branch by her shoulder. After one look at the consuming flame, she turned and bolted. Stellan knew the expression of shock and fear etched upon her face would haunt him in nightmares forever.
Regardless, he had a task to complete. Now that the woman was no longer a liability, Stellan could prepare his final attack. He focused his mind, drawing the eldritch energy about him. The surrounding air crackled with black discharge as he unsheathed his weapon of last resort.
He raised the roughly soldered metal tube and aimed it at the creature. Propelled by magick, three nut-sized pellets shot forth. Within seconds they unleashed their power, incinerating the beast without mercy. Stellan moved upwind of the foul stench, watching in silent vigil as the obsidian fires consumed first the rotten hide and then melted its internal organs. By the end, neither pincer nor protuberance was left unburned.
As the flames withered down into a messy lattice of ashes, remorse filled him. Despite his shield of bitterness, he missed the woman already. He lamented the fact that he’d not even had the courage to introduce himself, or ask her name. A heavy heart dragged behind as he gathered his belongings and returned to his horse.
While his steed drank its fill at the river, Stellan consumed a meal of dried meat. He intended to patrol for a few more hours and would venture deeper into Aldebaran territory than usual given his recent encounter with that abomination. Once full, he emptied the trench of its contents and filled the gaping hole with dirt. His steed faced an arduous journey with the extra weight, but better a little muscle strain than discovery of a certain sorcerer’s intentions. He quickly bathed to remove the sweat and grime from his body.
Once mounted, Stellan guided his horse northeast. He did not look back. Instead, he rode on, a dour, black streak against the vivid landscape. Resolve burned in him, more than any day during his untold years of crusading. The woman symbolized everything good and pure in the lands, everything worth saving from the vile ambitions of his clan. Even though Stellan could never know the beauty’s name, be with her, or see her again, he vowed to protect her.
Stellan knew he would continue protecting her–silent, invisible, and beyond her knowledge, until the day he died.
Chapter 2
Duke Lionel of Belleressort led the charge of seven riders and their horses across the northern hunting grounds of Aldebaran. Rumbling hooves announced their presence as they streaked across the valley. Panicked rabbits sprinted for their burrows. A sea of multicolored birds took flight in all directions.
With a collective determination they advanced, leaping and lunging after their elusive prey. The intended target was a white stag, one of only seven thought to be left in the world. It was a magnificent beast built of solid muscle and a flowing mane white as winter’s first snow. The animal sprang through a sea of tall grass, all of which magically parted before its slender legs struck even a single blade. It was all Lionel and his men could do to keep up, for the stag moved so fast it left a stream of blue radiance trailing in its wake.
Nevertheless, Lionel rode on, undaunted. They had been chasing it for an hour, and with good reason. For as anyone worth his salt in basic necromancy knew, the essence culled from such an animal’s tail alone could extend one’s life many a year–perhaps even decades.
Now this is a hunt! Give us your best, oh mighty beast, for soon I shall have you stabled and tamed in the bit of my golden bridle. Lionel broke into a broad smile as he thought about this animal in his stables–oh, how it would drive the others mad with envy! They should gnash their teeth bitterly and curse his name behind his back as gardens of young ladies swooned before him. Ah, yes, this would certainly be a day long remembered.
As the thunder continued across the verdant dale, he savored the sharp, woody scent of the wind as it whistled past his ears and snapped through his regal coiffure’s honey-blond locks. Therefore he missed the telltale signs of gullies and other obstacles pockmarking the uncivilized ground. The duke’s horse swerved without warning to avoid a particularly nasty patch of brambles.
Lionel tightened his grip on the reins. Heh. True, perhaps he should be far more consumed with the path ahead than with his dashing good looks. His favorite cousin was bound to agree, seeing as how she was always ready with a witty chastisement–or two, or three–about his grandiosity and inflated ego.
But then, what was the point of worrying when a rider like him looked this marvelous? Forgive me, Clarysa, but I am too far gone! Lionel’s smile widened. What tales minstrels would weave of this day! What legends would spring from it!
He thought back to the comely young woman he had met at the ball the night before. He could barely recall her name, but he remembered the gorgeous red tresses that had spilled across her creamy white bosom so enticingly. She’d spotted him from across the room, and he her. No doubt she had been staring at him with those smoldering cobalt eyes for simply the longest time. What would she say upon catching wind of this adventure? What a sight he would make for her today, his red cape arched gracefully in the air, his broad chest a veritable shield against the elements. Yes, incomparably impressive! He would have to visit the young wench soon and tell her all about it.
The laws of reality arrested Lionel’s fantasy. His horse vaulted over a muddy hole. The movement jerked him forward as the sound of nearby hooves crashed against his ears. First left, then right. Lionel quickly glanced about him to get his bearings. The gaining horse belonged to Prince Edward, his cousin and heir to the Aldebaran throne. Edward’s dark features were clustered in a resolute expression. He clearly meant to overtake Lionel at any cost.
Not this time, you bugger. Lionel’s ego still bore scars from the last few hunts when Edward had soundly trumped him.
“You ride like my sisters!” Edward shouted. A smug look plastered his face as he whipped past Lionel.
Lionel kicked his horse into a gallop. Neck and neck, the two riders pulled ahead of the others. The edge of another forest surfaced in the horizon, but they did not slow. He found himself distracted; the competition now involved who was the better rider with the faster horse. The stag was forgotten, banished from his mind. Only besting his cousin remained in the forefront of his recently bruised ego. He spurred his steed forward in a mad dash toward the trees ahead, right at the spot the stag had dove into moments earlier.
Faster and faster his horse sped. The wind tore about his ears, as if shrieking his success. Lionel rode parallel alongside Edward and then passed ahead with ease. To this victory, he said nothing, for Lionel felt he was not one to rub the proverbial salt in another’s wounds. Instead, he simply threw back his head and laughed.
Edward tossed off some other quip,