Chapter 10:
The Fiend in the Moat
Faindan Stillsword survived the night.
He awoke at dawn, terribly sore, the stench of the dead Wolf strong in his nostrils. For a long time he lay there, dreading what he would find when he looked upon his precious horse--dreading his own injuries that perhaps ran deeper than he could yet know. The last thing he wanted was to see his horse lying dead from its bloody wound--for not only would his best friend be gone, but his chances of surviving the journey to Ollanhar would be greatly reduced.
But avoiding the truth would not help him. Sooner or later he would have to face his fears and learn just how dire his situation was. Eyes closed, he listened for the sound of an animal breathing, but heard only birds chirping.
Groaning in pain, he struggled up from the ground. He was delighted to see that his horse was standing nearby. Its neck bore a grim wound, but it didn't seem to bother the Greywind too much. Faindan moved about, testing his strength. He winced in pain with each step, but he sensed his injuries would heal in time, and he was able to walk about in the meanwhile.
"And so we live on," he said to his horse, grinning. "The Deep Shadow hasn't finished us yet." The horse bowed its head, inviting him to ride. It scraped at the ground with its hoof, eager to move on.
Faindan gazed at his dead foe--the huge, muscular beast sprawled out on the ground, its tongue hanging from its muzzle. "I guess you thought I would be an easy kill," he said, "with only one hand for fighting."
In the light of dawn, the size and power of the Wolf was clearly revealed, and Faindan was amazed that he was still alive. The beast could have easily torn him to pieces, yet somehow he had overcome it. Faindan gagged, the evil stench reminding him of stale crypts where only the dead could be found--yet there was also an underlying smell of some odd spice like traces of incense, an unnatural scent for an unnatural creature that was born of dark sorcery. Faindan was gripped by both awe and disgust, chills creeping over him. Was there no limit to how powerful and evil Goblins could become?
As a young farmer boy living in a remote area, Faindan had been terrified of Goblins. His mother used to tell him grim stories to frighten him into behaving, and he had spent countless nights awake in his room and huddled beneath his quilt, cringing at every noise. When he reached his teens, that terror had turned to fascination with the creatures of Tharnin--a fascination that had ultimately led him to Dremlock Kingdom and its libraries. After earning Knighthood, Faindan's love of Goblins had turned to disgust and a desire to see them all killed.
"Good riddance," he whispered, as he gazed at the monster.
The horse motioned with its head, doing everything it could to persuade Faindan to ride on. Faindan too was anxious to get away from the stone ruins and the dead Wolf, but he needed a moment to steady himself before attempting to climb into the saddle. He glanced at the Wolf again, and a shock surged through him. Had the beast moved slightly? The Wolf's yellow eyes shone with malice and evil, still very lifelike, the Deep Shadow's presence still infesting the corpse.
Faindan gazed at the Wolf for several moments, and when he detected no further movement, he decided it must have been his imagination or simply the beast's fur rippling in the breeze--or both. Or maybe an insect or two had already found the body and was seeking to feed. Faindan shuddered, his nerves raw.
Too weak and sore to worry about his tent or other items, Faindan had all he could do just to give his horse food and water and then climb into the saddle. Once he managed that task, he found his horse able to bear his weight without difficulty. He gazed back at the abandoned campsite, the tent door gaping open like a shadowy mouth, and he shivered. Something about this whole area was dreadfully wrong. The Deep Shadow had a strong presence here.
"Thank you, my friend," said Faindan, "for carrying me onward." He stroked the horse's fur. "I'm sorry if I'm causing you any pain. We both need rest and healing." It was a tradition of the Knights of Dremlock to not name their horses. It was considered rude to impose a name on a creature that couldn't speak for itself. However, each horse responded to the word horse as if a unique name had been called, even when there were several Greywinds together. Each horse somehow always knew it was being summoned. These were the blessed creatures bred by the Divine Essence and unique to Dremlock, and it was common for a Knight to form a deep friendship with his steed to the point of defending the animal to the death.
The horse started off at a brisk pace, as Faindan ate some jerky and sipped at a water flask. Then Faindan dozed in the saddle for periods of time, as the Greywind followed the road back toward Ollanhar. Occasionally Faindan would awaken to jolts of pain through his body. The Greywind's strength and stamina was far beyond that of his own, its wound healing swiftly as the hours passed by. It was a hot day beneath a cloudy sky, and sweat dripped from Faindan's brow.
"Soon we will be home," Faindan said to his horse. "Your wound will be tended to properly, and you will be given much rest..." He drifted away again, his mind slipping into dreams where he still had two hands.
Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar Page 33
