Whaselock, Dominion of the Black Horse Dominus

The lonely song of the coyote cut into Jeremiah's inner consciousness like an icy knife. He sat up in his bed in a cold sweat. Somewhere outside a cricket chirruped. He got out of bed and walked to the window. He opened the wooden shutters, leaned on the sill, and gazed past the Hournulite River and out over the vast plains that were bathed in the eerie blue moonlight. He could see Mount Death and Mount King looming like two great sentinels in the distance.

            Subconsciously, he wondered if the legends of the great beast that lived on Mount Death were true. He remembered stories about it attacking desert villages and utterly destroying them. Something about wings and fire, he thought.

            He closed the shutters again and walked into the main room. The main room of his humble cottage consisted of a small kitchen, a fireplace, and the door to his best friend's room. Jeremiah walked to the front door, pulled his cloak off the coat rack, and put it on. He reached to the other side of the door and snatched up his bow and quiver. Opening the door, he strode outside. He flipped his deep hunter hood over his head as the door opened again behind him.

            "I'm just going to the river for some water, Giovanni," he spoke gently so as not to wake any other villagers. The door closed again behind him. Jeremiah set off to the northeast. The Hournulite River was about a mile or so from his village. Jeremiah and Giovanni’s cottage was located on the northeastern edge of Whaselock village. They were orphans and grew up like brothers. Neither of them had any recollection of their parents or how they got to their current home. Jeremiah walked to the side of the house to the stable and saddled his beautiful black stallion Bravo.

            “Hey boy,” he said gently, patting him on the nose. He swung into the saddle and urged Bravo to a canter and rode out of town. When he decided that Bravo’s hoof beats were no longer of consequence to the villagers’ sleeping, he nudged Bravo with his heels and the horse leapt to a gallop. Jeremiah absolutely loved the feeling of the chilly air whipping by his face and through his hair and lifting his cape-like cloak into the air.

            “YAHOO!” he rejoiced. He bent low over Bravo’s neck so as to be more aero dynamic. It took them about three minutes to reach the river. Jeremiah brought Bravo to a stop at the bank of the river. He dismounted and trudged through the gravelly sand to the edge of the rushing water. He was able to hear very little other than the mighty roar of the river, which was about 50 yards across.

             Movement in a small grove of trees to his right caught his eye, and his head flicked to the area. A good sized mule deer buck was grazing calmly about 30 yards away, paying no attention to Jeremiah or Bravo. Jeremiah slowly dropped to a knee, and shrugged his bow off his shoulder and gripped it in his right hand. Swiftly, he drew an arrow with his left and set it to the string. Nocking it, he pulled back the string and peered down the shaft, aiming the arrow right behind the deer’s front leg.

            Then he recalled Miles’ instruction and moved his aim slightly left, to where it was aimed at the deer’s front leg, for he knew that the deer would probably spook and have time to move forward a couple of inches before the arrow arrived. All this went through his head in the space of a second, and satisfied that his aim was true, he took a deep breath and released the arrow. He watched as it leapt from the bowstring and sailed through the air, almost silently, then the buck took a step forward and the shaft made contact. Propelled by the power of Jeremiah’s massive longbow, the arrow pierced through to the deer’s heart, killing it nearly instantaneously. It jumped with surprise and was lifeless when it hit the ground.

            He strode to the dead deer, and grabbed hold of the buck’s back legs with his right arm, and the buck’s front legs with his left hand. He hefted the heavy deer, and threw it over his shoulders.

            Jeremiah struggled back to Bravo on the uneven ground with the deer which he estimated was about 150 to two hundred pounds. Good sized but not large, he thought to himself as he put it on the ground next to Bravo.

            “Make sure this deer doesn’t get up and run away okay Brav?” he chuckled to himself, patted the horse on the neck, and walked down to the water. He cupped his hands and dipped them into the river. He drew them up and sipped the wonderfully refreshing water. He stood and looked to the southern horizon. The sun was beginning to rise, and a faint, seemingly fragile grey light began to pour into the sky.

            Once again, the mournful song of a coyote shattered the silence. His head spun to the north where the sound came from. He knelt again and scooped some water out of the river, splashing it onto his face.

            “Whoo that’s cold,” he winced as the near freezing water made contact with his face. Refreshed, he stood and strode to Bravo. He tied the deer down behind his saddle and mounted his horse.

 

The sun was rising above the southern horizon when Jeremiah got back to the village because he did not urge Bravo past a canter with the heavy deer on his rump. Giovanni heard Bravo’s familiar gait approaching and went out to meet Jeremiah. He stopped in his tracks with an excited, stunned look on his face when he saw the buck.

            “Fresh meat!” he exclaimed. “Hallelujah! Man I’m tired of eating that dried salted beef from last month. Where’d you get him?”

            “He was in the small grove by the river.”

            “Nice, so are we going t–”

            “Hey you two! Have you guys heard?” Old Man Miles hurried up to them, “A rumor is going ‘round that a guard thought he may have spied a couple of Phantam Slayers! Traveling south along the tributary to the Hournulite!”

            “Bah! That’s nonsense! What would they be doing in this area?” Jeremiah asked skeptically as he dismounted from Bravo.

            “Word ‘round town says that the Dragon Slayers declared war on the Pongins. Don’t ask me why, they live too far from each other for it to make any sense, but the mayor sent a scout to go to the capitol and let the King know just in case.”

            “Weird. Well, even if they were at war, why would they just send two of their Phantams?” Giovanni asked.

            “That is a good question…”

            “Some stupid person probably just said that they were at war because of the Phantam sighting. In fact I’ll bet you anything that it was Thoran.” Jeremiah suggested as he pulled the dead deer off of Bravo.

            “That’s definitely possible.” Giovanni agreed, and he took hold of the buck’s back legs and helped Jeremiah take it inside. When they got back outside, Miles said “Yeah I guess, but considering there was a war, we’re right between them, so do you think that the King would have us join?”

            “We don’t even know if the sentry actually saw a Phantam! Look, it’s probably all just a bunch of bahooky,” Jeremiah said, “Plus, It doesn’t involve us, so who cares?”

            “Oh come on! Hypothetically. The Dragon Slayers and the Pongins go to war. Do the Black Horse Dominus go as well?” Miles asked.

            “Miles, you’re incorrigible.” Jeremiah chuckled, “No.”

            “That was a nice buck by the way,” Miles said, pointing inside the cottage.

            “Oh yeah, thanks. You can have some of him if you’d like, Gio and I can’t possibly eat it all while it’s still fresh.”

            “Um, as long as it’s no problem for you, some fresh meat would be very welcome thank you.”

            “Yeah no problem at all! Here, let’s go gut him and we’ll cut some of him for ya,” Jeremiah said, happy that he could help the old man.

+                        +                        +

Øvre Gordum, Capitol of the Pongins

Lord Githon sat on his immense throne and watched the door with his steely blue eyes as a small man clad all in black, including a deep cowl that covered all his features, was escorted to the middle of the throne room by two stocky Pongin royal guards with their massive battle hammers in their hands. The small man wore a sword with a slight curve along its slender length buckled to his belt in a black sheath. Githon rubbed his dark, full beard then absent mindedly twisted his long braided mustache.

            The small man clad in black looked at the huge man sitting on the throne who wore a gleaming silver breastplate and a royal purple sash which crossed his body from his left shoulder to his right hip. At the top of the sash a golden buckle engraved with a ram’s head pinned it to the shoulder piece of the breastplate. He wore an open faced iron helmet reinforced with dark steel bands which circled the helm and came to a point at the top of the nose, where another golden ram’s head kept it all together.

            “Gospodin Githon, to je čast da vam u susret osoba. Moj vladar, kralj Tenashok, željeli ponuditi prijedlog. On bi volio slomili Crna prijetnju Konja Dominus koji se nalazi u izmeÄ‘u naših dviju značajnih carstava i njegovo veličanstvo se pitate ako želite da nam se pridruže u ovom osvajanja. On kaže da će biti počašÄ‡en da se bori zajedno s velikim Pongins.” The small man spoke in the native language of the Dragon Slayers.

            Lord Githon looked to his translator who looked from the guest to his monarch and said, “Min Herre, ager Phantam att det är hans ära att träffa dig personligen. Han ager också att hans konung skulle vilja utplåna angrepp som är Black Horse Dominus. Han skulle bli hedrad för att bekämpa tillsammans med krigare som mäktiga som Pongins.” (My Lord, the Phantam says that it is his honor to meet you in person. He also says that his King Tenashok would like to wipe out the infestation that is the Black Horse Dominus. He would be honored to fight alongside warriors as mighty as the Pongins.)

            Lord Githon nodded, thought for a moment, then said, “Och han vill att Pongins att hjälpa honom i hans ansträngningar?” His translator turned to the Phantam.

            “I on želi da ga se Pongins pomoći u njegovim naporima?” (And he wants the Pongins to aid him in his efforts?)

            “On bi.” (He would.) The translator turned back to the Pongin monarch.

            “Han skulle.” (He would.) Lord Githon pondered the proposal. He had always thought of the Black Horse Dominus as a minor threat and a slight annoyance. On the other hand, he liked to have his people quietly tucked away in the safety of the Hournulite Range. Then again, the Dragon Slayers were not a weak empire, and he knew that he could make them do the majority of the real fighting and also make it not obvious. Finally, he turned to the Phantam Slayer and said in a thick Pongish accent yet in the common tongue, “Very well.” The translator’s head flicked to Lord Githon, surprised that the monarch had decided to speak directly to the messenger of the Dragon Slayers in the common tongue. The small man clad in black bowed low, turned, and exited the building, straddled by the two large royal guards.

+                        +                        +

Cansic Forest

Far to the south, Aaron Caustershire led his horse Hornet silently through the Cansic Forest, and cursed silently at himself when he stepped on a twig. The woods were so quiet that when a small yet sharp noise like that occurred, it seemed like a deafening sound.

            He chuckled to himself; Even the horse is quieter than I. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and ran his hand through his messily cropped blonde hair. He wore a dark forest green tunic and a quiver slung on his back, along with a round buckler shield also strapped to his back. He wore a thin long sword belted to his waist. He held a powerful longbow in his left hand.

            He was making his way north, and he was determined to go further north than any Cansuur ever had before. As of yet, he hadn’t gone far, but he had only just begun his journey. He made his way through the trees, and they were ever fading as the forest turned into the plains. When he judged that the foliage was sparse enough, he mounted Hornet, and urged him to a canter.

            The morning of the third day of his journey, he heard the howl of a Black Wolf in the distance.

            “Alright Hornet, let’s make like a bee and buzz off,” he grinned at his own dry humor and kicked dirt over the coals of the previous night’s fire. He buckled on his equipment and mounted Hornet. They rode hard that day, eager to leave the trees behind, and enter the much awaited plains that Aaron had heard so much about. He had never been beyond the forest in his memorable lifetime. Aaron had shot a rabbit, so he cooked it quickly for lunch, and they were on their way again.

            Finally, Aaron could see the end of the trees, and urged Hornet on to a full gallop. Then they launched out onto the plains.

            “Yahoo!” the young man let out a holler of joy. He was further from his home than he had ever been. It was exhilarating and exciting to feel the open expanse of land pounding away under Hornet’s feet.

+                        +                        +

Whaselock, Dominion of the Black Horse Dominus

Giovanni looked at Jeremiah incredulously. “Are you crazy?! For one thing, you’ll never catch a Black Horse Dominus scout – remember?? Dominus means master in the old language! And for another thin–”

            “Hey, don’t forget that the blood of the Horse Master runs through our veins as well! We are coming of age! We are now twenty! We’ll b–”

            “We’ll be drafted soon anyway? Is that what you’re going to say? Do you know the training that the Scouts go through?? They’re as good as it gets,” Giovanni explained, “They are the fastest, most efficient horse riders in the world. There’s no way that you can follow that scout to the capitol.”

            “I’m going to follow the scout that Lord Mallock sent to the capitol, my curiosity is more powerful that any reservations I might have. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

            Giovanni looked at Jeremiah, and pondered the question. “I guess nothing could really go that wrong–”

            “That settles it then. If I’m not back in a day or two, just wait longer!” Giovanni smiled, and followed his best friend to the door. Jeremiah stepped into the stirrup, and swung onto Bravo’s back. He looked at Giovanni, grinned, and winked at him. He brought Bravo to a trot, and rode to the southern end of town. Giovanni watched as Jeremiah’s light brown hair was concealed by a hood as the young man flipped it over his head and rode out of sight. Giovanni smiled, ran his hand through his own dark hair and turned to walk back inside.

            Jeremiah exited the village to the south and in a few minutes, the tributary to the Hournulite River was visible. He rode south along its eastern bank. It didn’t take long before the tributary ended and he was out on the grasslands. He could see the small barren Hournulite Plain out to his right, and further to the west, he could see the Hournulite Range.

            He pushed Bravo hard for the first few hours, then dismounted and jogged for about a half hour to give the horse a break. He continued in that fashion, riding hard, then jogging or walking for a while, and just before noon, they had reached the fort just north of the next tributary.

            On the south side of the fort, he crossed the small tributary on Bravo’s back, for the creek was not too large and its current was not overly fast. They continued to make their way south, and since he hadn’t eaten all day except some turkey pie back in Whaselock, Jeremiah began to become hungry. He threw aside his hunger though and they continued their trek to the capital.

            The sun was about to begin disappearing beneath the northern horizon when the Hournulite swerved to the west and into their vision and path once more. Jeremiah had not brought a lot of money with him, but he knew he could not spend time hunting if he wanted to make it to the capitol in time to find anything out. There was a small town called Chromia settled on the northern bank of the river, and Jeremiah planned to buy a small supper there then continue traveling.

 

When he set off again, he used the final coppers in his pocket to buy passage across the river on the ferry. He continued riding and behind him the sun set on the northern horizon. It was dark when he reached Lake Hournula and saw the capital on the near island. He tied Bravo’s lead rein to a nearby sapling, and found the ferry that led to the island on which the capital sat. He found the ferryman asleep, and took hold of the line that ran across the water. He heaved on it, and slowly, the ferry began to slide along the dark water. As the rope creaked, the ferryman opened his eyes, and jumped in surprise. He drew breath to yell for help, but Jeremiah raised his arms above his head to show that he meant no harm and backed to the far edge of the ferry.

            “Hello good ferryman, I am sorry, I am broke, but important proceedings are about to take place in the capital, and I have ridden all day and night to reach it in time,” Jeremiah explained. The ferryman looked at Jeremiah accusingly.

            “I can jump out and swim if you want me to,” Jeremiah continued, “but one way or another, I will make it to the castle, and I just thought this would be easier.”

            “That won’t be necessary, I understand your plight, continue on. I’ve had similar experiences in my day.”

            “Thank you sir, you are a noble man,” Jeremiah bowed to the ferryman, turned to the taught guide rope, and began to heave on it once again.

 

When the ferry at last arrived at the island’s shore, Jeremiah thanked the ferryman again and ran toward the castle. He drew near to the gate, and the guards stopped him.

            “Halt! Who goes there?”

            “I am Jeremiah of Whaselock, I have come to listen to proceedings in the throne room between the scout from Whaselock and the King.”

            “Peasants are not to be allowed into the throne room without more proper reason,” the sentry shouted from the ramparts. “I’m sorry, but you may not enter.” Jeremiah figured that such a ruling would be reached, so he pretended to leave, but only got out of sight. He then ran around the side of the wall, and found a tree which grew very near to it. He easily climbed the big tree; choosing handholds on the side of the thick trunk opposite the wall to avoid being seen. He reached a sturdy branch, and settled himself on top of it. There was a hard thud that came from the ramparts of the castle. He froze. Another thud. After hearing it again, he realized that it wasn’t that loud, and that it sounded like a stalk of wood or a staff pounding on the rock wall. He stood, and peeked around the tree. There was a guard approaching from his right wielding a spear, so the young man picked out a strong branch slightly higher up to his left, and lunged to it. He hauled himself on top of it, and chose another branch that extended out over the wall. As the guard crossed underneath the tree, he looked up suspiciously, he appeared nervous when he was under the ominous, dark tree. Jeremiah laid flat on the large branch so that the man could not see him. He waited thirty seconds, then craned his neck and peered under the branch. The sentry had continued, and cast one last glance over his shoulder but did not see Jeremiah’s head peeking out from the tree in the darkness.

            Jeremiah rolled to his right, and in doing so, rolled off of the branch. He fell toward the top of the ramparts silently, and upon contact, somersaulted across the surface, making a sound barely audible. As he rolled across the width of the wall, he regained his footing, and peered over the edge of the wall. The wall itself he estimated was about 15 feet tall and it ran in a circle around the keep. From the gate to the castle keep ran a well lit path, and straddling it were two buildings, one, on the left was the stable, and the one on the right, which was nearer to Jeremiah, was the barracks where the sentries and their replacements and a small standing army stayed in case of a raid. The sentry on the wall whose heightened senses – due to nervousness from just being under the tree – had picked up the brush of fabric on stone from Jeremiah’s cloak, was turning around.

            Spontaneously, Jeremiah leapt over the inner side of the wall, and somersaulted once again to reduce impact, and stood flat against the outside wall of the barracks. He sidled to the edge of the building, and knelt. He poked his head around the corner of the wall low to the ground where casual onlookers were less likely to notice him. Across the open area and on the path, there were two guards spread out, patrolling the lit area.

            Just then the great arched doors to the keep were swiftly opened, and they slammed on their hinges. A small man dressed all in black strode quickly out of the castle and down the main steps leading to the doors. He walked briskly out and the two guards on the path stopped their patrolling and watched him carefully. The small man wore a sword of medium length that bore a slight curve along its slender length buckled to his waist in a black sheath.

            Jeremiah guessed that the man was about five feet tall. He passed down the path on the first soldier’s right and the second sentry’s left, and he reached the gate, stopping briefly. As the portcullis began to rise for his passage, he started forward once again. He passed through the gate and out of Jeremiah’s view. Puzzled, Jeremiah unstrung his bow, and leaned it against the back of the barracks. He pulled his quiver off of his shoulder and over his head and laid it next to his bow. He then strode out into full view. The sentries were still curious about the mysterious little man who had just left the castle, and were not looking in Jeremiah’s direction. He strode into the light of the torches and onto the path with his hands held high in the air. The guard closer to the castle saw him first, as Jeremiah had walked into his view, and now stood between the guard and the wall.

            “Halt! Who goes there?!” The second guard whirled around at his companion’s sudden outcry. When he saw Jeremiah’s slight form standing in the firelight, he drew his sword and rushed toward him. Jeremiah heard the guard’s feet padding toward him and turned. He smiled at the man and waved his raised hands slightly to make sure the sentry knew that he was no threat. The first guard, who was slightly shorter and stockier, brandished his spear and came to Jeremiah as well. He held the spear out pointed at Jeremiah’s throat.

            “Who are you and what is your business here in the castle grounds of King Hournula III?” the man asked forcefully.

            “I am Jeremiah of Whaselock, and I want to know what happened between the Phantam Slayer and the King.”

            This time the second guard spoke up, and Jeremiah turned to face him, “That is none of your business peasant!”

            “As a human being living under the benevolent rule of King Hournula III, and in his dominion, and as a citizen of the Black Horse Dominus, I believe it is my right to know what the Dragon Slayers’ messenger had to say to my king,” Jeremiah countered. The guard looked to his shorter compatriot, and then back at Jeremiah, at a loss of words. Jeremiah realized that they were close to giving in and he needed one last push, so for his last argument, the swaying argument, he said, “I am now twenty, and I am old enough to become drafted into the Black Horse Dominus cavalry. I think I should know the status of my country’s relations with other nations.” The guards looked at each other and the shorter one said, “I know it seems wrong, but it is policy, and neither of us made the policy, but think about it, if we let you in, then we’d have to let every other person in. I’m sorry mate, we just can’t let you in.”

            Just then the scout from Whaselock exited the castle at a brisk pace, heading for the gate. As he neared the three men standing on the path, Jeremiah recognized him. He was three years older than Jeremiah and had been drafted a year previously. His name was Chester and previously lived across the street from Jeremiah. Chester approached the guards and Jeremiah and they saw that his face was blanched and his eyes were like two full moons. He looked at the two guards and said, “The Dragon Slayers and the Pongins have joined each other in an alliance and declared war on us!” He stopped in front of them and the four men looked round at one another.

            “Oh… my… goodness,” Jeremiah finally said.

            “What are we going to do?” the taller, younger guard asked.

            “Fight I suppose, there doesn’t seem like a lot else we can do,” the shorter sentry suggested.

            The scout nodded, “Like he said, I don’t see many other options…”

            “There is one thing we could do,” Jeremiah began, “What about the Yacain? They are the only other nation in the northern part of Arlen.”

            “They’re across a desert!” the shorter sentry said, “and why would they want to help us!?”

            “Plus, who from our side will risk life and limb to travel across the Halodor Wasteland and talk to them?? I know I wouldn’t,” the scout said, “besides, I have to ride back to Whaselock, sounding the alarm on the way, so I’ve got to go, nice to not meet you, see ya!” With that the scout ran off down the path and out the open gate.

            “I’m going to the land of the Yacain,” Jeremiah stated.

+                        +                        +

Great Plains, North of the Thubuck Capitol

Hornet’s muscles all throughout his body contracted and released under Aaron as the strong stallion galloped over the plains. The cool air whipped through Hornet’s mane and set it dancing. The sun was beginning to set in the north and the remnants of its warmth and rays spread across his back as it faded from existence. He had travelled far, and he was on no set schedule, as he had no knowledge of the land that lay ahead, or of what people and animals dwelt there, so he began to slow Hornet down.

            When the last rays of light were gone, he brought Hornet to a stop, and looked round him. To the east, he saw a great expanse of sand and dunes, which he though must have been the fabled Yealor Desert. He had heard stories of it brought to the Cansuurs by travelers from the north. To his west, he could see nothing but the Great Plains which stretched out as far as the eye could see.

            He gathered some of the sparse bushes that grew on the plains and grassland, and cut some wood from a tree or two which were rarely dotted throughout the land. He gathered a few rocks and built a small fireplace. Carefully, he brought out his flint and steel, and struck a spark. The first couple did not catch but on his third try, the small spark caught a dry twig. The twig caught and a small flame came to life. In a short time his little fire had grown, and now it shed a cheery light on his small camp site. He unstrapped his bedroll from Hornet’s saddle, and unrolled it on the ground. He strode over to Hornet and unsaddled him. Aaron reached into his saddle bags and retrieved Hornet’s brush and proceeded to give the horse a brushing.

            Aaron sat on his bed roll, gazing into the fire. His eyes grew heavy, and he had high hopes about what he might discover in the days to follow. He laid down, still staring at the dancing tongues, and drifted off to sleep looking forward to dawn.

 

A young man with light brown hair cut short tapped Aaron on the shoulder and crouched, waiting patiently for him to wake. Aaron rolled over, and looked up. It was light outside, and the fire he had made the night previously was only embers at this point. There was another handsome young man with black hair also cut short standing further back, behind the fireplace, with a warm smile on his face. Both the newcomers were very friendly looking and the first, the lighter haired man was slightly taller. They were both lean and handsome. The dark haired man motioned for Aaron to rise from his bedroll, and Aaron did so.

            “I am Jeremiah, I come from a town called Whaselock, and this is my companion and best friend, Giovanni,” said the lighter haired young man. Aaron looked from one to the other, and then said, “And why have you come to me?”

            “We’ve come to warn you,” Giovanni spoke up, “of a danger that prowls outside of the firelight as we speak.” Just then, Hornet whinnied, and Aaron looked at his horse, and then back at the two young men who were now confronting him.

            “What? What are you talking about? The fire is dead,” Aaron was thoroughly confused. Hornet neighed and pawed the ground. He was acting very frightened. “What is it boy?” Aaron asked to Hornet, who was shifting uneasily.

            “Aaron, wake up!” Jeremiah exclaimed.

 

A fierce roar woke Aaron from his sleep, and he automatically grabbed his hunting knife out of its scabbard on his right hip, and rolled off of his bedroll and upright, with the fire to his back, looking into the darkness. Hornet whinnied again, and also edged closer to the fire. Another menacing growl split through the night. Aaron looked about frantically, and then his eyes alighted on his sword in its sheath, which he had unbuckled from his belt the night previous to aid in his comfort. It was about six feet from the fire. Holding his dagger out desperately, he lunged out and snatched up the handle to the sword, and swung it toward the beast which was hunting, and in doing so, flung the hard metal sheath wrapped in leather in the general direction of the last growl. Aaron dropped the dagger and held the sword firmly with both of his hands.

            The growl came from his right, and with the advent of day approaching, he could barely see a dim silhouette of a large beast lumbering back and forth, teeth bared in the outer reaches firelight. The young man raised his sword and yelled a brave battle cry, and sprinted at the monster. When he got near to the beast, he swung his shining blade with all his might. The creature swayed to its left, and his downward cut hit nothing but the ground. Aaron let out a whoof as the blade came down in the grass. Quickly, he somersaulted forward, conscious of the possibility of a counter attack. As he rolled, he removed his sword point from the dirt underneath the grass. He felt a large body collide with his and drive him backward. As he staggered back, he swung his sword down again. This time however, the blade caught something. It lodged into the beast’s back, but it was not a telling blow, and the cut was not deep. The creature recoiled and roared. Suddenly Aaron felt as if he’d been slugged with a spiked mace. His face whipped back as the heavy clawed paw grated past it in a mad swipe. He fell to the ground stunned. His head was practically numb and the earth was spinning about him. He desperately tried to roll to his left, but in his dizziness, he was pinned to the ground by a massive weight. He raised his sword up above his head, with one gloved hand near the point; he supported the flat of the blade, and his other hand on the handle. Then the evil animal bit at his face, but instead bit the cold iron blade. Aaron heaved with all his might, and attempted to shove the beast off of himself, and as one whose adrenaline is pumping like mad his strength swelled above his normal abilities, and finally the beast rolled off of him to his right. He rolled left, mounted his feet, and lunged forward, leading with the point of his sword, holding the handle in both hands. He landed on the animal, and forced the point of his blade home, all the way to the hilt.

            He felt warm liquid coat his buckskin gauntlets and he lifted his weight off of the dead animal. He took hold of the handle of his sword and slid it out of its resting place. He cleaned it and wiped off his gloves in the damp grass from the late night dew, and dried the blade on his tunic.

            Aaron stepped back, shaken from the sudden rush of adrenaline. His face was numb from the impact of the giant paw and where his cheek was sliced, it felt freezing cold. His neck ached and was extremely stiff from his head whipping back from the blow of the hairy mace. He lolled his tongue out and moaned as the numbness subsided and pain welled in the right side of his face. He strode back to the campfire and looked into the dying flames, and bent over, his hands on his knees.

            In his mind, he went over the occurrences of the past few minutes, including his strange dream in which he met two men whom he had never in his life seen. He wondered if the two men were real people, or if his mind had fabricated them.

            As he pondered these things, he reached up to gently touch his wounded cheek, but as his fingers made contact, his fact erupted in searing pain and he jerked his face away from his hand.

            “Ow!” He winced as the stinging pain subsided. The sun was about to come over the southern horizon, and it was becoming lighter. He rose and strode back to where the huge beast lay dead.

            In the waxing grey light, he saw that the animal had an immense mane around its head. He now realized that it was some kind of giant feline; a giant feline the likes of which they did not have any sort in the forest. It had a long tail with a puff of hair at the end of it. It was of a light tan coloring, and it lay on its side. Its dead paws were massive and sharply clawed.

            A wave of pain emanated from his face, and he gasped and took a deep breath of the brisk morning air. He looked high into the sky, and clenched his fists.

            He looked back at the feline, and saw a metallic red streak of blood that stretched from the wound at the base of its neck to the ground. He turned and strode to where dying embers lay in the ring of rocks, and glanced around the surrounding grass, looking for his sword’s sheath. He spotted it about twenty feet away and walked to it. He bent down and picked it up. As he did so, blood that ran to his head burned and stung his face. He recoiled and took a deep breath through his nose. He slid his sword into the sheath, and buckled it onto his belt. He made his way back to his camp, and looked back toward the south. The bright sun looked him right in the eyes, sitting just above the southern horizon, like a benevolent monarch. He cast around, and his eyes stopped on his bedroll. He stooped and retrieved it. Rolling it up, he strode to where Hornet stood, now calm. The saddlebags were on the ground, and he remembered the facial fire he had experienced when he bent down before, so he slowly knelt, being careful to keep his head straight up and down. When he was sure that he had avoided the pain, he took a moment to smile at his little play on words, “facial fire.”

            Aaron buckled the bags to Hornet’s saddle, and fetched his bow and quiver, once again kneeling, not bending over. He slung them over his shoulders, and walked to Hornet. He put his hand on the horse’s neck and scratched his mane. He looked back at the beast one last time and mounted Hornet.

+                        +                        +

Whaselock, Dominion of the Black Horse Dominus

Giovanni walked out the front door of his and Jeremiah’s humble cottage, and went around back of the house to the pile of firewood. He picked up some logs, and looked to the north, where the sun was about to make contact with the horizon. As he made his way back to the front, the sound of hoof beats approached. Down the path, the form of a young man mounted on a powerful stallion approached.

            “Jeremiah, you’re back,” Giovanni said as the rider approached.

            “I have bad news. The Dragon Slayers and the Pongins have declared war on us.” Giovanni drew in a sharp breath then began to speak but Jeremiah held up a hand. “I go to the Yacain to plead for their support. You can alert the village. But it would be wise to go to the mayor first.”

            “The Yacain?! They’re across the Halodor Wasteland!”

            “Well I’m going, we–”

            “Jerry? Across the Halodor Wasteland?! Pfft! Good joke!” Thoran had made his way to them in silence. Now, as per usual he pestered them with his relentless barrage of tactless remarks. Giovanni glared at him.

            “Do you even have any idea what we’re talking about?”

            “Yeah, duh. Jeremiah thinks he can cross the desert in one piece,” Jeremiah rolled his eyes. Thoran was a stout fellow and not too tall. His red hair and green eyes had always annoyed Jeremiah. He wasn’t totally sure why, but they had. Thoran always had acted so arrogant and aloof around Giovanni and Jeremiah. He seemed to think that, since he was one year older than both of them, he was somehow better than them in every way. Giovanni rolled his eyes. “Do you know why?”

            Thoran hesitated. “I – uh, he – you – because he wants to…” Thoran had no idea, and as he shrugged, Giovanni said quietly so that only Thoran and Jeremiah could hear:

            “We are at war. We are at war with both the Pongins and the Dragon Slayers. Jeremiah is going to travel across the desert to send a desperate plea to the Yacain.” Thoran was skeptical.

            “Yeah right. How gullible do you think I am?”

            “I don’t think you’re gullible at all.” Just then, a bell clanged toward the center of the village. A loud voice boomed out saying:

            “ALL VILLAGERS TO TOWN CENTRE NOW, REPEAT, ALL VILLAGERS TO TOWN CENTRE NOW!” Giovanni looked at Thoran and raised an eyebrow. Thoran  looked from Giovanni toward the center of town. Town Centre was the area in the very middle of the circular village where town meetings and Tellings took place. Town Centre itself was a circle. Half of it was a building called Headquarters which had a room in it for Lord Mallock to quarter, a room for his three guards to quarter, and a main room for conferences and dining and such. Headquarters itself was a building designed to be nearly indestructible, impenetrable, and impregnable. Its walls and ceiling were comprised of three layers. The innermost layer was stone, made like a very small castle. The second layer was wood, like a log cottage. The third and outermost layer was made of metal, like plate armor, so that the building could not be burned to the ground. There wasn’t a crack or hole in the walls or ceiling other than its heavy iron double doors. The other half of Town Centre was a perfectly cut lawn where the citizens of Whaselock would gather to listen to the news that Lord Mallock had for them during Tellings and town meetings.

            “You two should go to the town meeting, Lord Mallock is probably going to announce the Dragon Slayers’ and the Pongins’ declarations of war. Gio, I’m going to take off. If I don’t get there and back in time, I don’t know how long the Black Horse Dominus can hold them both off,” Jeremiah suggested.

            “Alright, careful Jeremiah, getting yourself killed won’t help our cause at all.”

            “Wait you guys are serious about all this???” Thoran was thoroughly lost.

            “Let’s go Thoran!” Giovanni began to run toward Town Centre but turned back to his best friend and said, “Godspeed Jeremiah.” Jeremiah nodded and mounted Bravo. He wheeled the stallion away and began to trot off when it hit him that he should probably get some food. Then he thought that with his bow, and prayer, he should be fine.