The Realms of Animar

by Owen Black

  And then suddenly a hand covered his mouth. Someone was behind him. Before panic could ensue, an arm clutched him from his right and a shooting pain erupted from his chest. The light fell to dark before he even hit the ground. He would never know what had killed him.

  ***

  Mordigal stood over the fallen man, clutching a blood-stained dagger as he watched the body shift into a large black bear, validating his thought of its nature. His eyes examined the thick matted fur and powerful, claw-tipped feet of the beast, its broad, gaping jaw and small blackened eyes.

  In that moment, alone with his latest victim, when he might normally consider satisfying a thirst for flesh, Mordigal was stricken with a most remarkable feeling. As if a stranger had taken over his mind, pushed aside the hundreds of victims who had fallen at his hands and forgotten the powerful rush that came with each kill, in that flicker of a moment, for no reason he could apply, he felt guilt. Confused by the unfamiliar feeling, he kneeled down and placed a hand on the warm fur of the bear. Sadness overcame him. His eyes began to water. What was wrong with him?

  A whispered voice from behind rescued him from his weakness.

  “Not an ideal time for a snack,” said Caballus.

  Startled, Mordigal quickly brushed the moisture from his eyes. He stood up and turned to his companion. “Just making sure he was dead. You ready?”

  A sinister smile formed on the large man’s lips.

  “Friend, I have been waiting for this for years,” Caballus said. He gripped his thick staff and pounded one end to the ground then added, “Remember the one we talked about. It is very important.”

  Mordigal nodded then shifted his focus to the guard quarters. “I won’t forget. Ok, go ahead. I will move in when I can.”

  Without another word the men hastily separated.

  Mordigal watched as Caballus moved to the stables then he sprinted to the building and stood along the wall, blending into the darkness next to one of the shuttered windows. He heard voices inside. He suspected three but he could not be sure just yet.

  The windows were covered tightly but light managed to escape through cracks in the wood and provided a restricted view of the interior. Mordigal quickly peeked in and spotted three men as he had detected. The first was a muscular man with blonde hair that was lying on a small bed. Mordigal knew him well, his name was Darius and he was the Stable Master. The second was likely a guard and was rather small in stature and appeared quite young. He was pacing the room holding what looked to be a branding iron. The third, a thicker man with dark features, was seated on a bench eating some unknown slop from a bowl.

  Content with the situation, Mordigal moved into position. Time crawled by as he patiently awaited his next move. It might be hours but patience was one of his many tools.

  ***

  Darius had just fallen asleep when he was jerked awake by the unnerving sound of restless horses. He groaned and got up from the bed. The stupid things, they knew better than to wake him. For their sakes, they had better have just been spooked by a random predator. If they were trying to break down the fence again, one of them was going to pay dearly. They had been warned numerous times and he was hungry. Perhaps a feast was in order.

  He glanced at his worthless companions. They were both asleep, one slumped over in a chair, the other on a bed.

  With eyes filled with fury, Darius yelled, “Wake up you idiots! How can you sleep through that cackling?”

  He angrily kicked the bed nearest him, stirring its occupant. Startled to wake, the two brainless guards that Fatalis had provided him jumped to attention without a word. The men were recent replacements for the normal sentries who their ever-so-wise leader had decided were more suited for his army than to guard his precious livestock. Darius had voiced his displeasure at this, but of course his complaints were nothing more than wasted effort, even when they came from a cousin.

  Being a relative of their leader came with numerous benefits however, including greater freedom to act upon his cravings for both women and flesh. Brainless as they were the guards knew better than to anger Darius. His temper was as legendary as that of his most infamous relative.

  Darius grabbed his sword from atop a table. “Let’s shut these ignorant beasts up.” He then opened the door, anxious to send a message to his rowdy prisoners.

  As the three men stepped from the building and into the moonlit night, the unnerving cacophony of horses fell to silence. The air grew still and not a sound could be heard. The foul beasts knew that they would be punished. Darius laughed at their fear.

  “Quiet now are you?” he yelled as he led his men to the gate that led into the pen. “Too late for that! I warned you about this.”

  When he arrived, he withdrew a key from his trousers and fumbled briefly with the lock. The gate opened with a creak and they entered, armed and enraged, ready to confront the insolent horses.

  After closing the gate behind them, the men were surprised when they looked at the herd. Instead of darting to the opposite ends of the pen like they normally did when the guards dealt with them, the entire lot stood defiantly in place. They ranged in color and size and were scattered throughout their confines in an almost maze-like order. Without exception their large black eyes now stared at their captors, calm and motionless, as if magically frozen in place.

  It was an eerie sight to be certain and even Darius was a bit startled by the scene. Judging by their posture, he could tell that they had not been frightened by scavengers out looking for a snack. They were up to something. He knew it.

  “Golor!” Darius yelled into the night as he wondered where the field watchman was. “Golor, get over here!”

  Darius waited for a reply, but only silence lingered. Glancing back, he expected the fool to come sprinting around the building at any moment to join them but nobody came. He grunted and decided that he would deal with the slumbering goon later.

  Darius drew his sword, an act that was then mimicked by his men. He then loudly commanded his guards, being sure that all present could hear, “Spread out and look at their shoes. If any have been tampered with them, they get the iron. And if any of these ignorant beasts make any sudden movements, chop their legs.”

  The men then separated and walked into the latticework of entranced horses. Some were lined head to tail, others side to side. None moved or posed a threat, they simply stood, motionless.

  As Darius wove his way through the beasts his rage grew with each step. He peered into the eyes of each horse he passed, anxious to see fear reflected back, a turn of the head away from him perhaps, a flicker of dread that would give him a brief moment of enjoyment. Instead they stood stoic, unwavering as he taunted. When his anger grew he threatened them with his sword but all remained still, unafraid, somehow turned to stone.

  Darius wondered if perhaps the stubborn creatures knew their value. Fatalis treasured them greatly, especially with war approaching, but he had made examples of them before. From time to time he was permitted to do so, as long as he chose the weakest of the stock. He had had enough. He would not tolerate this insubordination. It was time to choose another.

  A sinister smile formed at his lips as Darius gripped his sword and navigated among them, seeking the most pathetic. The thrill began to fuel his body. He was anxious to deliver the fatal blow.

  Then it struck him. Like a bolt cast down from the clouds, like a revelation of his worst nightmare come true, in one startling moment he realized what was wrong - the black horse.

  He spun around and glanced where it had stood just seconds before. It was gone. His heart began to thump beneath his chest. His thoughts sped to place it while panic started to consume him. He ran toward the gate, weaving his way through the stagnant horses with his sword at the ready, eager to lash out at any sign of danger.

  Darius was relieved when he reached the front of the pen unimpeded. Perhaps he had imagined it. No, it was there. He was sure of it. He quickly turned around and yelled to the guards, “Get out! Get o
ut of the pen now!”

  He peered around the enclosure, anxious to spot his companions. All he could see were the countless horses and the only movement was from their flowing manes that danced randomly in the wind. His men had vanished.

  Darius jumped when he heard the sound of the gate behind him. They must have beaten him to the exit. Of course, that explained it. He turned around, eager to discuss what he had seen.

  He gasped when his eyes fell upon a cloaked figure, a shadowy stranger that had silently appeared.

  “You need to be more careful,” the man said, motioning toward the sword that the Stable Master was wielding.

  Darius was relieved when he recognized the voice, even before the man lowered his hood and revealed his identity. “Mordigal! You’re back! I thought…we thought…”

  “How long until the army marches?”

  Surprised by the question, Darius crinkled his brow and replied, “Last I heard a little over two weeks now, after the next full moon.” He then stumbled upon the explanation for what he had seen and added, “Ah! It was you that brought that horse back! I was beginning to worry.”

  The moonlight revealed a wry smile that had formed on Mordigal’s lips.

  “Naturally,” the assassin said. “When I asked to take him, Fatalis demanded that I return him safely. He is apparently their leader.”

  Darius began to grow uneasy. Although his nerves were always rattled in the presence of one of the Alpha Lord’s henchmen, rumors had circulated about what had happened to this one in particular. Some said he had been left for dead by Critias, killed by his brother or even an absurd notion that he had joined the herbivores.

  Although he could not be sure, Darius knew something was wrong. The horses had spooked him and sweat began to seep from his pores. He nervously took a step back and peered into the night, wondering what had happened to his men.

  “Tell me Darius, do you remember the brown horse you killed a few months back?” Mordigal asked. “Sliced its throat in front of the others?”

  Darius was confused by the question. His nerves shook like leaves in an earthquake. Why would Mordigal ask about that? Why would he care? There was only one explanation and it rattled him to the spine.

  He looked toward the open gate that beckoned him like an intoxicating siren. He considered dropping his sword and morphing. Surely he could outrun the wolf, if he made it past.

  Not waiting for a reply Mordigal continued, “That horse - of course you didn’t know this - was the sister of their leader.”

  A strong man, fond of forcing fear upon others as often as possible, Darius started to choke on panic when he realized his situation had grown dire.

  “Where…where are the guards Mordigal?” Darius asked. Surely he couldn’t have killed them so fast.

  The assassin’s eyes gleamed. “If I had my wish you would have joined them. Fatalis would be quite disappointed to learn of your death. It would have been a pleasure to be sure, but I made a promise to a certain friend of yours.”

  Darius fell silent when footsteps approached from behind. He quickly spun about, just in time to catch the blur of a staff as it descended upon his head. His last vision was that of the wielder Caballus, the champion of the horses now returned.

  ***

  After they had been freed from their confining shoes, Mordigal watched as the freed prisoners hugged and embraced, apparently having been trapped for some time in their equine forms.

  Mordigal laughed to himself and shook the confusion from his mind. Love had been the only emotion he had once been capable of. Yet in the past months, others had been found. Empathy, compassion and pity were just a few. His thoughts were now clouded with strange feelings and he wondered what was next.

  From a distance Mordigal watched as Caballus huddled with his people and explained the intent of Fatalis and his twisted plans to destroy Avryndale. Although none of them had ever visited this far-away place, home to only a few of their kind, he told them of their hope for peaceful lives, their dream of serenity and their desperate need for help.

  Caballus then left the gathering and joined Mordigal at the opened gate. Standing beside an enemy to his own, he turned back to them.

  “I am returning to those who need me,” he said. “Brothers, sisters, this is not your fight. You have your lives back and I cannot ask you to risk them now. Return to where you belong and if I survive I will find you.”

  Caballus waited for a response and then a broad smile formed on his lips. He looked at Mordigal and winked then continued, “But if any of you are foolish enough to join us and are willing to die to draw carnivore blood by all means your company is welcome.”

  With the gate now open and their freedom beckoning, a surprising yet familiar stillness returned to the herd. They remained with their leader.

  Chapter 33

  The cell door opened with a loud creak that triggered the patter of tiny unseen feet from the other occupants of his beloved prison. When Fatalis entered the room his nostrils were filled with a putrid smell formed by the mixture of waste and damp, moldy filth. Inside, the old man squinted and shielded his eyes when the blackness of his cell was invaded by the crackling torch held by his captor.

  Fatalis looked upon the pathetic creature, huddled in a corner, and wondered how the oracle had survived this long. He had proven to be stronger than other Avians but despite his value Fatalis was certain that he had lost the mystic numerous times throughout his captivity. He always expected to walk in and find the old goat dead but yet once again he had endured. Maybe this would be the day that his miserable life would come to an end.

  “Please leave me be,” the oracle moaned in a weak, raspy voice as he turned away from the approaching flame.

  If he had an ounce of pity in his heart, if he ever felt sorrow for any creature, perhaps Fatalis would have allowed the oracle to die in peace. Unfortunately for his prisoner, there were no such emotions within his cold heart, no trace of compassion or sadness, mercy or kindness. He was driven by much darker emotions and they had a firm grip on his soul.

  Fatalis sneered as he moved the torch close to the old man’s face, sending him cowering even farther into his favorite corner of the cell. The oracle’s thin, pale skin was penetrated by the light, allowing a ghastly view of his fragile bones and numerous veins and arteries that carried the tempting blood that all carnivores craved.

  “Having another lovely day?” Fatalis asked, mocking his prisoner.

  The old man turned away from the torch and mumbled something incomprehensible. With his dirty fingers he clawed at the wall as if he could slowly work his way through the rock and be free of his wretched existence.

  “My horses are gone!” Fatalis roared. “What happened to them? Tell me now or I promise a fate much worse than death.”

  The oracle shook his head and kept his eyes focused on his task. In a weak voice he replied, “I…I don’t know what you…are talking about. I…I have told you everything you asked.”

  Fatalis leaned closer, his face now within inches of his captive. He could smell his blood, even through the stench of the old man’s filthy hair. His grip on the torch tightened. Inside a hunger tempted him, yearning to be released.

  “Don’t try my patience you foul hen,” Fatalis threatened. “Your value is dwindling with each day that passes.” He then stood up and demanded once more, “Tell me what happened to my horses.”

  “I…I cannot see the past.”

  “You knew they were coming all along. I’m tired of your games.”

  “They?” the prisoner asked, feigning ignorance. “Who…who do you mean?”

  Frustration consumed Fatalis and he snapped. Without thought he kicked the old man in the ribs, forgetting to lessen his blow due to the delicate nature of his captive. His neglect was regrettable because he was fairly certain that he felt a bone give way, an assumption that was supported by the high pitched wail from the prisoner as he grabbed his side.

  Fatalis ignored the cries and
merely shook his head. He then continued, “Three nights ago four of my men, including my cousin, were killed and my horses - all of my horses - were set free. I need to find them. Now!”

  The oracle mumbled to himself and then, with desperate eyes that had filled with tears, looked up and said, “I’m sorry…I…I…don’t know who did this. Predators of course…surely.”

  Fatalis began to kick his captive once more but then held up. He needed the tough old bird a bit longer.

  “Their bodies were left intact you worthless heap and they were killed by someone quite experienced,” Fatalis said. “Mordigal was behind this, I’m sure of it. Now tell me where they are. I’m tired of your games.”

  The oracle looked at his grubby palms, as if they might reveal a way out of his unfortunate dilemma. He then glanced at Fatalis and said, “Mordigal is traveling with a number of horses...this much I can see now.”

  Fatalis could not believe his ears. He yelled and slammed a fist into the closest wall, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air. He had suspected Mordigal’s involvement after hearing about the bodies of the stable guards. The assassin’s signature was quite unique. Nonetheless, hearing it confirmed drove the dagger into his back even farther. Mordigal had been his most valued minion.

  Fatalis paced the room while he searched his thoughts. The old man’s eyes followed him, frightened and curious as to what his enraged captor might do next. Then, as if stricken by great insight, it hit him.

  It wasn’t the grandest of revelations but it was proof of something that Fatalis had suspected for some time. The oracle had been playing him, feeding him enough bits and pieces to keep his aged bones alive, but not enough to endanger the precious herbivore settlement.

  “So tell me, how much longer should I wait to march on the village?” Fatalis asked. “Until the last of winter? The next full moon you said?”