Darkness Rising 1: Chained

by Ross Kitson

  ***

  The woods were gloomy yet the air carried the welcome scent of wet pine. The floor of the forest was damp and boggy and soon the horses were fatigued. Marthir whispered to them and then indicated to the others that the time to make camp had come. They tied the horses to a branch and Kervin gathered some logs to make a small fire with. Ygris waved his hand and fire sprang in an instant, the wet wood sizzling.

  They had set camp at the edge of a small clearing, a natural dip in the forest floor that brought to Kervin’s mind the appearance of a wood temple. He watched Marthir kneel and begin praying to her goddess in Old Artorian. The words were rich and warm, like the sweetest honey of summer and he thought wistfully of the gentle heat of his boyhood naps in the green hills near Keresh. It was a delight to hear the old tongue again: he spent most days conversing in Imperial, the common language of trade and diplomacy, characterised by the harsh vowels of its Eerian origins.

  He unbuckled his sword, rested his back against a tall pine and spread his aching legs towards the fire. Ygris was scratching his chest in annoyance; the rain had irritated the skin that bordered the glowing ruby embedded in his sternum. Kervin felt a gnawing from his belly and concluded that he’d best hunt for supper before the light faded.

  Three magpies took to the air with a cry as the foliage at the far side of the clearing burst apart. Two riders erupted into sight, hooves thundering on the forest floor. Kervin yelled a warning and leapt to his feet, his sword in his hand.

  The two attackers were armoured in black plate armour unlike any that Kervin had seen before. It seemed fitted to the contours of their powerful bodies, like the black shell of a huge insect. Their helms were devilish: gargoyle-like faces merged back into black metal skullcaps. Dark cloaks billowed from their backs as they charged with alarming speed.

  Marthir was on her feet and her body warped and changed into the bronze form of a mountain lion. The green robe split down its side, the special thickened thread unravelling in an instant. The feline reactions saved her as she lunged from the path of the charging knights, the hooves trampling the emerald cloth. Ygris raised both hands and began casting a flame bolt, but the first rider was upon him as a magical inferno erupted from his hands. The black knight swung his long sword in a deadly arc, striking Ygris in his side as the heat exploded into his horse.

  The animal’s scream echoed amongst the trees as its flesh charred and Kervin saw the knight’s leg armour glow. Ygris spun back, blood splattering from his side and he fell under the stomping hooves of the steed.

  Kervin ran forward to meet the second knight, his sword raised and steadied against the charge. The black warrior aimed a crossbow and fired and the impact threw Kervin back into the pine tree as the bolt impaled his left shoulder. Intense pain flashed into his arm and he felt the wetness of blood flowing down his side. With dismay he realised he was stuck to the trunk of the tree behind him. Fighting through the pain, he lifted his sword in defence as the knight thundered towards him.

  A bronze shape blurred in front of Kervin as Marthir leapt at the mounted knight. The impact unsaddled the warrior, sending him crashing to the floor of the clearing. Marthir bit into the knight’s neck, her razor sharp teeth ripping the gap between breastplate and helm. The powerful jaws clamped hard and tore the flesh loose. Again and again she shredded the fallen knight, as his attempts to fight her off got progressively feebler.

  Kervin tugged furiously at the bolt. He knew that Marthir was losing control, driven more bestial by the blood of her prey. Kervin could see the second knight, turning his horse, leaving the trampled and bloodied Ygris in his wake and aiming a crossbow at the lion. Marthir arched her back, evidently preparing to leap. Kervin strained with all his might; Marthir was a sitting duck, even with the agility of the lion she could not clear sixty feet to the mounted knight.

  The knight’s finger tightened on the trigger of the crossbow.

  A sword swung into the knight’s back as Kervin lunged forward. His bloodied arm hung limply by his side, the broken shaft of the bolt protruding from his shoulder. Kervin’s blade dug deep, finding the join between breastplate and waist. Blood sprayed in a fan as the sword emerged from the knight’s flank and the crossbow fired. Marthir was already moving as the bolt hissed harmlessly past and within a few heartbeats she was upon the knight and Kervin.

  The knight turned and slashed his sword at Kervin’s head but he easily parried. The wounded horse reared at the sight of an advancing mountain lion and the dark knight fell back abruptly. Kervin marvelled at how swiftly the fallen warrior was on his feet, despite the apparent weight of his armour. Kervin pushed forward, his sword deftly jabbing and slashing at the wounded knight. Dark blood ran freely down the knight’s armoured thigh as he parried Kervin’s blows, trying to keep both opponents in front of him. He stumbled on a wet log as he stepped back and Marthir was upon him. Her red tinted teeth tore at his arm, the metal yielding as she ripped into the underlying flesh. Bone crushed as she bit hard and her claws gouged at the knight’s helm.

  Kervin stepped forward and thrust his sword into the chest of the recumbent knight. The warrior twitched once, gasped and then fell limp. Smoke began billowing with a hiss from the eye slits in his helmet. Marthir continued her attack, claws scratching a hideous sound as they furrowed the dead knight’s armour.

  Kervin kicked the lion in the rump making her jump forward in shock. She rounded with a snarl and readied to leap at him. He held his sword out to the side in a gesture of supplication.

  “Marthir… Marthir! Listen to me, girl, get control now. You are a woman, a human… a druid. Come on.”

  Kervin could feel sweat trickling down his neck as the lion’s green eyes locked with his own. Its haunches tensed and then Marthir pounced, the bronze fur a blur before him. He gritted his teeth for the impact, keeping his sword to the side for he had no wish to harm his friend.

  In mid-leap the leonine form of Marthir shimmered and it was the human shape of the druid that bowled into him, sending them both sprawling. Kervin looked up into the panting face of the Artorian girl. Her green eyes were wild and her pupils dilated. She hungrily kissed his mouth. He could taste the iron tang of blood and then she rolled off him, sweat pasting her short hair to her face despite the chill of the dusk.

  The tracker groaned and avoided looking at the naked form next to him; his wounded shoulder was still wet with blood. Damn these druids, he cursed, it was so much simpler in battle before she joined them. Avoiding her more passionate urges was as dangerous as evading the ones full of blood lust.

  Kervin glanced at the part of the broken crossbow bolt that jutted from the tree and yanked out the shaft from his shoulder, pressing on the wound to stem the bleeding. He limped over to Ygris. The mage moaned as Kervin approached.

  “By the ten thousand concubines of the rutting Sheik of El-Tuhor I think my days are at an end. Take my saddle bag of gold my friend and spend it on endless nights of jiggling ecstasy with women that would make your mother sell her hovel in shame!”

  Kervin laughed as Ygris pressed on the wound in his own side that had already stained his dark robes a worrying red. If he was talking then he would live, at least long enough for Marthir’s ministrations and healing salves.

  Marthir had regained her composure and was calming one of the horses. She ran her hand along its neck and then pulled loose a black leather saddlebag. She knelt and opened the bag, bringing out a large book.

  “Why have these knights gone to all this trouble for a book about the dead city of Erturia?” Marthir asked.

  The druid’s question drifted in the forest air like an early morning mist.