Chapter One: Thar

An early spring mist hovered close to the ground, soaking the scrub with millions of fine silvery droplets. In the pale emerald glow of early dawn, the dense forest canopy shimmered with wetness, refracting and reflecting the bright hues of the new morning sky. The air was still and quiet as if the forest held its breath. It was this silence that Thar found unnerving even from within the shelter of the large juniper shrub. He was perfectly camouflaged. Had anyone chanced to wander by they would have taken no notice of him. His grey-green cloak and hood, dirty and water stained, hung around him in loose damp folds and blended into the dark of the underbrush.

Across his knees lay a two-handed long sword. He used the massive sword's weight to balance his awkward, crouching stance in the prickly shelter. He was as silent and motionless as the forest itself, and it seemed that he drew no breath except for the thin wisps of vapour that he exhaled from his nostrils.

Thar peered intently into the murk that shrouded the surrounding woods. Nothing stirred but drops falling from dew-laden branches, or the occasional flutter of a waking bird.

The humid air clung to his skin and clothing.  His moustache, laden with collected droplets, released tiny rivulets over his lips and down his chin.  The water was cool, earthy-tasting and refreshing but it found its way beneath his clothing and the dampness only made him itch. At regular intervals he drew a hand over his face to wipe away the accumulated moisture before it could soak him any more but this proved futile.

He had been crouching in the juniper since long before sunrise and now his joints ached with the damp cold. He was too old for this nonsense, he'd told himself.
Thar had no one to blame but himself for his predicament. He had simply chosen the wrong night to light a camp fire. The need to warm his aging body, and his carelessness, had landed him in trouble. In the wilderness, especially in a forest like Roaming Wood, carelessness was a fatal mistake and the campfire a beacon that always attracted the attention of something unsavoury.

This time Thar had captured the curiosity of a Shithrahzae hunting party. The nomadic Shithrahzae tribe who inhabited Roaming Wood were known as fierce fighters, and rumoured to be cannibals. Though they were small in stature and their weapons crude, the swiftness of their surprise attack and sheer numbers had forced Thar to flee his campsite with only his sword and his life. He had lost all his supplies and provisions, not to mention his horse. Now he was not certain if he would escape at all.

He knew little of the Shithrahzae, except that they were stealthy hunters in the forest. The party that had set upon Thar had been tracking him for hours or maybe even days before their attack. These short, wiry humanoids moved swiftly and silently and could conceal themselves in the scrub and become invisible to all but the keenest eyes.

Normally, Thar would have been more wary. He was an experienced woodsman but since embarking on this journey he had forsaken caution and good sense for speed. He regretted his foolhardy carelessness, for he was not only delayed by the Shithrahzae, he was now lost in the forest, far from the road, with neither his belongings nor his bearings. In the Roaming Wood being lost could prove a fatal error even for the most experienced.

Thar felt his hip cramp and before he could shift to relieve the pain, his leg gave out and he fell with a splintering crunch into the dry branches surrounding him.  The crackling made by the dry underbrush that broke his fall tore through the stillness. Cursing silently, he quickly righted himself.

Now certain he'd betrayed himself to his approaching enemies, he fell silent once again hoping that some faint sound would warn him of the proximity of those hunting him. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears seeming to block out all other sounds.
As a younger man Thar never would have given into his fear; he would have controlled his panic and met the Shithrahzae who’d attacked his camp with a fierce counter attack.  And while Thar most certainly would have fought and won, he had always been unafraid of meeting his death. Until last night... and now.

Weak old fool, he cursed himself for the blunder, but when a whispered sound touched his ear, he smiled: One of his foes had also made a careless mistake. Gripping his weapon tightly in both hands now, he slowly surveyed his surroundings.

The forest was brighter now with the onset of morning, and though a misty shroud still obscured clear surveillance of the area, from the corner of his eye he caught a shadow of movement in the tangled brush. A small human figure moved swiftly towards him, ducking beneath the vegetation at intervals and re-emerging seconds later and several yards closer. The little figure was closing in on him.

Thar knew that there would be several more hunters nearby attempting to surround him and close their trap.  His timing would be critical.

From behind a twig snapped under a negligent footfall. The sound was too close for Thar to hesitate. In a swift, fluid motion he rose, spun around, arcing his sword towards the sound with the force of both arms to power the swing. The Shithrahzae's javelin shattered into splinters and with the back swing Thar sent the small humanoid to the ground headless. Savage cries rose from the forest around him and three more warriors leapt from the shadows. Though they were small, their near-naked, olive-skinned bodies were tough and muscular. They wore only animal skins loosely draped over lean, corded bodies, and their strange-featured faces were painted with white and blue chalk in emulation of one of their fearsome deities.  The males shaved their heads clean except for a single clump of hair on the backs of their head that they wore in braided pony-tail. Their eyes were dark, unwavering and fearsome, and their blood-curdling howls echoed for miles in the dense woods.

The next shrieking Shithrahzae hunter to reach Thar met the same fate as his comrade. The remaining two, now wary of Thar's size and lethal steel blade,  approached with more caution. One stalked cautiously ahead to engage Thar while the other circled behind him. Regaining his confidence, Thar leapt forward out of the confines of the juniper bush, howling his own war-cry. Surprise, and his advantage of size and strength quickly left his assailant disembowelled in a few short strokes. Thar spun in time to deflect a blow from the last Shithrahzae hunter who had just enough time to flank him. The tiny humanoid stepped back, howled, then lashed out at Thar's abdomen with his spear. He lurched backwards to avoid the stroke but the softness of the forest floor eluded his sure footing. As Thar’s knee buckled under him, his balance failed and the Shithrahzae's spear tore into his side. For a lightning instant, pain flamed throughout this torso.  Fortunately for Thar the wound was only shallow with most of the damage inflicted on his leather jerkin, and he recovered his wits quickly. He brought his sword, glinting green in the forest light, down upon his assailant. The Shithrahzae cowered beneath his javelin as the bloodied steel blade hurtled towards him. As if in slow motion, Thar watched the wooden spear splinter into tiny fragments and felt the crunch of steel on bone as the blade found its mark. The small warrior, protected only by animal skins, slumped in a lifeless heap on the turf, cloven from shoulder to mid-chest by the heavy blade.

Thar scanned the forest around him. All was still and silent. He planted a foot on the gory corpse, dislodged his weapon and wiped it clean with a handful of leaf fodder. Any other Shithrahzae who witnessed the skirmish would be frightened away for a time but Thar knew their persistence would bring back greater numbers to claim their prey and avenge their fallen comrades. If he was going to ward off further pursuit, he would need the assurance of fear and superstition. Working quickly he dragged the corpses of his vanquished enemies to a tiny clearing. He whittled sharp points onto several saplings and staked the heads of the Shithrahzae hunters as a gruesome warning to those who might pursue him. Thar knew little of the Shithrahzaes but he had used this trick before and found it to be very successful in scaring the savages away.

He drew himself up and stretched to relieve his aching muscles. A sharp, burning pain shot through his abdomen and he winced. Sheathing his great sword across his back, he pulled his leather jerkin away to inspect the wound. It was only a shallow flesh wound but Thar knew that the Shithrahzae's weapon was likely poisoned with the paralysing sap of some little-known forest plant. He had seen many men and animals succumb to the deadly Shithrahzea poison in the past, and he knew he would have to find Marshwort, a plant with great healing properties, if he was going to counteract the poison and draw out any infection. He set out in search of the healing plant, hoping to regain his bearings along the way.

Hours of walking brought Thar to a thin stream fed by an underground spring. An inspection of the water's edge turned up no Marshwort.  It occurred to him suddenly that there might not be any of the healing water plants to be found this far north. It was still early in the spring, and if his calculations were correct the vernal equinox had only gone by three or four days ago; it would be very early indeed for almost any plant. He continued his search plagued by the grim thought  that he might soon be overcome by the poison.

He followed the tiny rivulet through the forest, uncertain of his direction but desperate in his search. After another hour or two the brook led him into a wide clearing where it joined with a much wider, swift-flowing stream. Here the sun had given early advantage to an abundance of new vegetation that could not yet grow in the cool dark beneath Roaming Wood's thick canopy. At the marshy edges of the stream he found a thriving patch of young Marshwort. Thirsty after the long night and day of flight, he knelt at the water's edge and plunged his cupped hands into the water for a drink. The icy water shocked him out of his fogged state of mind, and Thar realized that the poison was beginning to work its way into his system. Knowing that he had no time to waste he worked quickly. Two flat rocks served as a crude mortar and pestle and using a little water he ground the fleshy Marshwort leaves into a mealy paste. Sheafs of filmy, white birch bark peeled from a nearby sapling made the dressing for the Marshwort poultice he applied to the wound. He secured the dressing with a scrap of cloth torn from his cloak and waited to see if he’d applied the antidote in time.

Only a few minutes after applying the medicine, he slumped to the ground as violent, searing pain shot through his limbs and wracked his body. He vomited uncontrollably but after a few moments of disorientation he sat up, shook his head and took a little water from the stream. The poison was working faster than he had anticipated. Thar knelt by the stream and lowered his face into the icy cold water and took several long draughts. It had enough of a reviving effect that he was able to stand, though his legs wobbled uncertainly. If the Shithrahzae caught up with him now he would surely be finished, sword or not. Exhausted from running and fighting all night, and from walking miles in search of the Marshwort, he sought out a low growing spruce and tucked himself out of sight beneath its lowest branches. Though the forest was still wet from the heavy mist of the previous night, the bed of red-brown needles underneath the dense bows of the broad spruce was soft and dry, and it was not long before Thar passed into a deep sleep.

His slumber was filled with horrific visions and dreams. He chased without catching, and was himself endlessly pursued by some dangerous but unseen foe. In every dream that plagued his sleep, Thar found himself clinging on the brink of a high cliff wall.  Each time he scrambled towards safety, he found himself still closer to the edge. As he was about to slide into the yawning abyss below, a sapling yew tree appeared on the cliff.  As if alive, it bent its boughs within inches of Thar’s grasp.  He took hold of the tree but the slick bark slipped through his fingers, and he slid over the edge.  Before he hit the bottom of the chasm he awoke with a start.  This dream woke him often during his rest but each time he fell back to sleep, too weak yet from the poison and exhaustion to move.

Through the mist of sleep a distant, barely recognizable sound disturbed him. He slowly opened his eyes and world rushed his groggy senses. The day had all but passed away. It was near dusk and the approach of night brought oppressive silence to the forest once again. All around was cast in thick shadows. He turned slowly onto his side and propped himself onto an elbow. He felt his strength somewhat restored and he inspected his wound. It tingled and he knew that the Marshwort's healing properties were now at work. He breathed a sigh of relief and lay on his back on the soft needily bed, relieved.

A chill drove through him and he sat up with a start as the distant sound of a horn echoed again through the trees. It was this sound that had drawn him from sleep only moments ago, and it was a sound that revived haunted memories of long ago, when he was a much younger man. He squirmed cautiously from beneath the evergreen but remained crouched, concealed in its long shadow. Thar slowly drew out his sword and waited in silence. Another horn answered from even nearer to him and he froze, not daring to make a sound or movement. If his fears were realized Thar knew he would not be able to fight and that he would have to flee at the first available opportunity.  Fear of his Shithrahzae pursuers was now replaced by a more malevolent threat.

The long hours in the forest had rekindled his primal instincts, and Thar felt the hair on his neck prickle. Immediately he became aware of another presence nearby. Slowly the sound of the plodding thud of horse's hooves striking the spongy forest floor, and the crackling of dry brush and needles came to him. He scanned his surroundings and spotted the horse and its rider about ten yards away. The shadowy figures of the mount and its rider were no more than silhouettes against the deepening green dusk-shroud of the forest. The horseman lifted his horn and blew two short blasts. Moments later came the nearby reply.

The rider dismounted and stooped to the ground by the stream where Thar had healed himself only hours before. As he watched, Thar tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword; lumps of fear caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. Suddenly the rider stood up sharpy,  his flowing black robes barely concealing  a tall, thick body clad in steel armour that glinted even in the encroaching darkness beneath the forest eaves. At his side the warrior carried a long sword in an ornate scabbard. The rider’s horse waited deathly still and unnaturally silent for its master who, satisfied that Thar was gone from this place,  mounted once again. He scanned the surrounding forest as if searching the dimness for some clue, some thing. For a moment the rider's stare fell directly on Thar who froze, not daring to flinch or even to draw a breath. He could almost feel the penetrating gaze of the horseman’s cold, white-glowing eyes. Then without warning the rider spurred his mount and crashed into the darkness.

Thar lay immobilized under the cover of the spruce boughs for a long time. When his fear  subsided, he crawled out from the evergreen and crouched cautiously, surveying the shadowy arches between the trees. He huddled close to the shelter of the tree for a time and then, satisfied that the rider had moved on, Thar skulked into the clearing. His weariness was now gone but had been replaced by urgent hunger while he’d slept. Thar knelt at the water's edge and drank deeply, as if trying to wash away the dryness in his mouth that fear always brought on. With his thirst quenched, he investigated the tracks left by the horse and rider. At the sight of the deep impressions left by the strange horse and rider Thar’s heart leapt to his throat, his worst fears now confirmed.

"Shadow Knights!" Thar gasped. With this discovery he knew that the success of his mission would depend on stealth and speed. He was in great peril, and being lost in Roaming Wood or pursued by Shithrahzae were now the least of his worries. The stories he had heard were true, substantiated by the appearance of a Shadow Knight: The Black Guild were freed, released by some treachery or idiocy. They were at-large in the world and working their evil sorcery. Thar had to reach Remyk soon but he knew that his road ahead was long and arduous, and with the Shadow Knights on his trail the going would now be more perilous. He and his fellow Guardians would be in danger as the minions of the Black Guild would attempt to hunt them down and destroy them one by one before they could join ranks. The legions of Shadow Knights would surely be growing daily, as they no doubt had been since the beginning of his journey, and during each and every second he had wasted along the way.

Thar's only course of action was to head directly north with all the speed he could muster. There were still many days of difficult travel ahead but the appearance of the Shadow Knights made his mission more critical. He only hoped that it was not too late. Sheathing his sword, Thar took several more mouthfuls of water and then searched the clearing for some clue of direction. His experience as a woodsman and hunter had taught him that the leaves of certain plants grew in a north-south alignment, and moss and lichen that grew from the bark of trees tended to gather on the south side of its host. After inspecting the nearby vegetation and trees, he took his bearings and leapt into the darkness of the forest, running as silently as his speed and weight would allow. 

By dawn he had covered many leagues. He was still deep in the forest and feared that it would be days before he emerged on Roaming Wood's northern most border. Once free of the forest he could make better progress on the open grasslands of the Khelendar Plain. He slowed to a walk and foraged himself a meagre meal of bitter, unripened berries and water before setting off again.

Day stretched on to night-time; night made way for dawn again, and thus passed five days since his chance encounter with the Shadow Knight. Even after five days and nights of near constant travel the tangled forest persisted. Thar took heart when he noticed a gentle slope to the land, and he knew that within a day or two he would be on the open plain and free from the cursed woods. On the plain he would be able to move faster but his enemies were on horseback and the open grasslands would give them an even greater advantage. Thar resolved to move at night and take shelter during the daylight.  It would be the only way to elude curious, searching eyes.

On the sixth morning the skies dawned clear and bright but by dusk a rising wind drew in a thick cloud cover that threatened rain. A storm was inevitable but Thar pressed on undaunted. Come nightfall the heavens had grown black as pitch and the winds that carried the clouds howled with hurricane force. The air in the forest felt heavy and foreboding, so Thar sought shelter to wait out the coming storm.

He found sanctuary beneath the root clump of a derelict evergreen felled by some terrible gale in seasons past. The enormous conifer hovered on a sharp angle above the forest floor, supported and suspended in death by the intertwined branches of its closely crowded neighbours. Its broad, interwoven root base had been violently up-rooted, leaving a sheltered hole in its stead. Thar tested the tree’s sturdiness to ensure that it would not come crashing down on him, and satisfied that he would be safe, he wedged himself into the damp, musty crevice.

The storm raged on through the night and several puddles formed in Thar's makeshift shelter but he slept so soundly that neither the rain nor the thunder disturbed him. The worst of the storm had passed but a light rain continued to fall. He woke before dawn, refreshed but wet and very hungry. His stomach growled for attention and he knew that he would not be able to continue much further unless he ate a meal more substantial than the water and scavenged berries. A quick  search of the immediate area turned up a rabbit-run that led him to a tiny hillock in which he discovered a number of holes. He ignored the likelihood that any rabbits inside would be able to escape through other exits and plunged his arm into one of the holes all the way up to his shoulder. He grabbed at the first touch of soft fur and, with luck, dragged a small squealing rabbit from its den.

Soon after Thar was roasting the coney on a stake perched over a small fire. When the Shithrahzae had forced him to abandon his camp and all of his possessions, Thar had the foresight to grab his flint which, though broken in pieces, still served its purpose admirably. He found an abundance of dry fuel beneath the fallen tree and within an hour the rabbit was cooked and Thar had eaten. As he was dousing his fire, a trumpet blast echoed through the woods from far off. He stood up quickly, knocking his head on the root ceiling. Two more distant horns answered. Thar tidied his shelter, trying to conceal evidence of his presence. He took his bearings again and set off running quickly. The previous night’s rain had dampened the forest floor and even the thick carpet of dry leaves and twigs made no sound as Thar slipped hurriedly away. The continuing patter of rain on foliage would also help mask the sound of his passing.  Thar’s best guess placed him still another day's journey from the border of Roaming Wood, as long as nothing delayed him along the way.

The remains of the day passed by uneventfully. When the sun sank behind the horizon and night came on, Thar stopped for a brief rest in small grassy meadow fenced in by silver birch trees on all sides.  The dense evergreens were gradually giving way to more and more deciduous which told Thar that the forest edge was very close.  His body no longer felt the fatigue brought on by the pace of his flight, adrenaline and raw nerves had dulled his desire to rest, but he would need his strength to put distance between himself and the forest once he reached the floor of the plains. The next few hours would be critical for him if he was to escape the Roaming Wood and elude his enemies before daybreak.

The sky earlier that day had been dark and cloudy but was now clear and dusted with tiny stars. Thar guessed that the moon would show itself late making it a good night to travel once he got a bit of rest. He fell onto the cool, spongy grass with his sword laid out beside him. He pulled the remains of the rabbit carcass from inside his cloak and ate the stringy meat hungrily. When he finished eating a nearby spring, overflowing from the rain, quenched his thirst. His aching body, weak from exhaustion, craved sleep now. He knew he could not afford to sleep the entire night if he was going to reach the plains by morning. Thar stretched out on the soft grass to rest and stare into the heavens but within seconds he was fast asleep.

He started from his sleep suddenly, sat up quickly and wiped the sleep and dew from his eyes. He had slept longer than he should have. From scant the shelter of the tall grasses and ferns that surrounded him he cautiously surveyed the clearing and the edges of the trees. It was full night, and the three-quarter moon now high in the sky cast an eerie bluish-white glow making grotesque shadows of the nearby trees. The silvery bark of the birches seemed to fluoresce in the lunar light giving them an ethereal, other-worldly appearance. Thar leaned back on his elbows, his frayed nerves eased by the apparent safety of the concealing vegetation. He stared up at the night sky and located Libris, the Blue Star, and took his bearings again.

From far away the sound of a hunter's horn touched his ears, echoing amongst the trees of Roaming Wood. Cold terror ran through his veins. Instinctively he scrambled through the grass to the edge of the trees and into the darkness they harboured. The forest floor was bathed in a thick mist illuminated only in patches where the moonlight seeped through the dense tree tops. The ground mist had a reflective effect on the shards of pale moonlight that broke through the thick forest canopy, making the forest appear dangerously bright.  He would be seen easily by searching eyes.

A second horn blast came from near by --Thar guessed the other side of the clearing-- perhaps only ten or twenty yards away. He was discovered! 

Quietly he drew his sword. He could feel cold perspiration on his forehead and neck, and every nerve tingled.  Into the clearing rode a black horse bearing an immense, darkly cloaked figure. The rider stopped and inspected the surroundings. Thar held his breath. He could see the Shadow Knight's piercing white eyes burning brightly beneath the dark folds of its hood. In a sudden sweep of its gauntleted hand it threw back the hood revealing a horrible, gaunt, skeleton face that shimmered with a sorcerous glow. Its death-white bony head was crowned with a chainmail-fringed helm of iron that glinted dully in the moonlight. Thar let out a gasp at the terrifying sight. Though the sound had been barely audible, the Shadow Knight swung its head around and its gaze fell on Thar. A hiss issued from it in the form of evil laughter before it raised the trumpet to signal its companions. The hunt was on again.

Without hesitation Thar leapt into the forest, running blindly, heedless of the branches that slashed at his body and swept across his face as he went. The echo of the final trumpet call was still in the air when the Shadow Knight and its horse crashed into the trees behind him in pursuit. As he ran, he struggled with the unwieldy weight and awkward shape of his weapon. In the patchy moonlight, Thar did not see the root that sent him flailing to the ground cursing. He could hear his assailant closing in quickly. Thar rolled into some thick underbrush as the Shadow Knight rode past, thrusting an iron pike into the turf next to him where he'd fallen only seconds before.

He scrambled to recover his sword that had been jarred from his grip in the fall, and then scurried into the darkness while his undead foe reigned its horse about to continue the pursuit. Thar sped through the opaque darkness, indifferent to direction, confused and terrified. It sounded to him as if the horns were answering from all around him now but he pressed on more scared of the consequences should he submit to his foes. Wheezing breathlessly, he pushed on, when suddenly a huge dark figure loomed in his path. Thar raised his weapon as the ring of his enemy's sword leaving its sheath called out in the darkness.  In the pitch black under the forest eaves, Thar's great weapon glowed with a wispy, blue flame around the blade, as if it burned from within with some immense power. 

Thar hurled himself at his enemy with all the desperate fury of a trapped animal. The first meeting of their swords lit the dingy wood with a cascade of silver sparks. The warriors hacked madly at one another; Thar, tired and breathless, dodged and parried, ducked and duped, skilfully wielding his massive blade in both hands. His arms burned with the exertion of the sword’s weight and each stroke or parry seemed to take its toll on his endurance. Exhaustion was beginning to take hold of him.

The Shadow Knight was at a disadvantage on horseback in the confines of the dense trees and undergrowth. The horse was less agile in the closeness of the trees than Thar was on foot but still the Shadow Knight fought hard, skilfully pounding away with precise and powerful blows while controlling its mount with disciplined and calculated movements. Had their quarters not been so confined, Thar's rusty skills would have been outmatched by the prowess of his enemy. Still, the Shadow Knight kept up a steady barrage with its sword until Thar was able to duck out of sight into a thick patch of brambles.  He squirmed away on his stomach, leaving the Shadow Knight behind, hissing angrily.

Moving stealthily, Thar sheathed his weapon and shimmied up a near-by pine and waited. When his enemy passed beneath him, searching the darkness for its prey, Thar leapt to the ground and rolled to a sitting position behind the Shadow Knight. He vaulted to his feet and drew out his blade again as the Shadow Knight turned. Again their swords met in a burst of electric blue. Thar felt more comfortable now, his long-dormant skills returning, and adrenaline fuelling his defence. Determined, the Shadow Knight pressed its attack again, only this time, with greater zeal and Thar was forced into a blind, backward retreat. Thar's step faltered as his foot slipped into an ankle deep hole. His balance lost, he fell backwards suddenly and hit the ground with a thud that forced the breath from his lungs and left him stunned and gasping for air, and his ankle raging with fiery pain.  The Shadow Knight, sensing victory at hand, jumped its horse over Thar's dazed and prostrate form and came to a stop a few yards away. The black cloaked figure cackled softly as it dismounted and exchanged its sword for an iron-tipped pike.

Thar lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath and fighting the urge to vomit as the pain from his ankle ravaged his body. He pulled his foot from the hole, grasped his sword, and began to drag himself away from the slowly advancing Shadow Knight. In moments the Shadow Knight stood towering over Thar, who had backed up against a tree trunk, its darkly cloaked form blocked out the moonlight that had shone on the spot. The grey steel of the sharp pike glistened as Thar's foe raised it above its hooded head. The Knight let out a hiss.

"Foolish creature," the disembodied voice mocked, "soon there will be no more of your kind left to foil the Dark Ones. Feeble little worm, you should have surrendered long ago; you would be one with us now if you had. Instead you have chosen the path of pain, and now you shall die in failure." The Shadow Knight's voice trailed off into hissing, mocking laughter. Thar gripped the hilt of his sword firmly in his right hand and prepared to mount a final defence. He knew that he had run out of options but anger and fear rallied his resolve. The huge blade was heavy for his one tired arm to wield but he knew that it was his only chance. Mustering his remaining strength Thar hurled his blade with all his remaining strength at the unsuspecting Shadow Knight.

Time seemed to stand still as Thar watched his weapon arc through the air in slow motion and sweep through his enemy’s  abdomen. With a blinding flash the weapon sliced the Shadow Knight in two.  It issued a shriek of ten thousand tortured souls, so loud and terrifying that Thar covered his ears, and then its hulking body crumbled to the ground, awash in furious blue-white flame. Thunder rolled across the sky, though the night sky was clear, and the very earth itself seemed to groan with the passing of the wicked creature. Thar watched deliriously as the fire consumed the entire form of the Shadow Knight and reduced it into a smokeless pile of white ash. In a sudden flash the Shadow Knight's horse winked out of sight, stolen from Thar's use by some strange black magic.

After only seconds, but what seemed to him hours, Thar pulled himself to his feet, sheathed his weapon, and limped awkwardly into the dark recesses of the wood. The pain in his ankle burned a reminder to him that the road ahead would be slower and harder now. In a while he came upon a glade of tall ferns where he concealed himself and inspected the damage to his ankle. It was badly bruised but did not seem to be broken. He quietly gathered some saplings from nearby, and using more cloth torn from his tunic, he quickly splinted the injured leg then limped away into the darkness. He had a few more miles to cover before resting. The walking aggravated his ankle but knowing that the other Shadow Knights would be alerted to their fallen comrade and his escape, Thar had little choice but to go on. One Shadow Knight had proved nearly too much for him and he knew that two or more of these adversaries would mean his certain death. He had precious little time to put some distance between himself before the others were on his trail, so every step taken was a step closer to survival.

Hours of hobbling through the dark woods, falling over stumps and bumping into trees, brought Thar to another broad fern glade. The light from the moon was waning now, and as it made its descent toward’s the horizon where it would rest with the onset of morning, Thar waded waist deep into the midst of the broad-leafed plants. He came upon a depression in the ground amidst the abundant plants which would serve to conceal him while he rested his tired, battered body admirably.  He lay down, exhausted, curled  into a ball and, despite the throbbing pain in his ankle, was soon fast asleep.

Raindrops falling gently on his face roused Thar from his sleep. The morning sky beyond the roof of fern fronds was again dull and grey, and a damp chill filled the air. Though his stomach ached with hunger, and his joints with the cold, he could waste no time searching for food. He was soon up and on his way, ignoring the pain and hunger, and anxious to reach the forest edge. By this day's end he was certain he would be on the Khelendhar Plains, and the thought of putting the dreary woodland behind him gave him the encouragement he needed to press on.

The hours of his slow, plodding walk passed on through to the afternoon. The cold drizzle of the morning kept pace, making Thar only more uncomfortable, and more miserable. His only wish was for a comfortable chair beside a blazing hearth, and a steaming bowl of soup. These pleasant thoughts had often tried desperately to win over Thar's mind during his journey, tempting him to turn back and to keep him from his duty. He knew that his fellow Defenders would be facing the same trials and that he must persevere; if need be he would fight and even die trying to reach Remyk before it was too late.

Dusk came on suddenly that day but Thar disregarded the approaching dark and continued on his way. The land began falling more steeply now, telling him that he was nearing  the forest's northern edge. He hurried along, disregarding the pain from his ankle, his hunger, thirst and exhaustion, and hoping that he would soon catch a glimpse through the foliage of the vast tracts of grassland stretching north, east and west. The trees of Roaming Wood were old, huge and dense deeper in the wood but as the forest encroached on the barren, rolling plains of the Khelendhar, the fortitude of the trees grew gradually less, their height and heartiness subdued by the openness and exposure to the elements that often blew in furiously across the vast open expanse.  The trees in this part of the wood were mixed poplars and birches, low growing evergreen shrubs and stumpy firs, while the forest that had surrounded hin on the previous day had been one of robust oaks and elms and defiantly tall redwoods and white pines.  Still, while the trees had thinned considerably, the wood retained its dense, close atmosphere which Thar was desperate to escape.

A southeast wind rose in the passing hours, blowing warm, moist air over the land from the distant seacoast.  It whistled through the tree tops in long gusts heralding another storm. Dark, towering clouds piled onto the horizon absorbing the final rays of ochre and orange sunlight.  It was a feeling more than a noise that made Thar stop suddenly and listen. The forest had grown deathly quiet except for the wind. He could not be certain how long the silence had prevailed but he knew the likely cause. Standing stone still, Thar strained for sounds of pursuit. From a distance behind, echoing through the trees, came the sound of horses’ hooves thundering against the forest floor. Without hesitation Thar broke into a run. The low trees and bushes grabbed at him as he ran, whipping his face and lashing his body. The forest edge was near, but Thar knew that reaching the Khelendhar plain now would be a race to the death. Even when he did reach the plain, it seemed his only choice would be to turn and fight and survive if he could. As he ran he glanced behind. Through the thinning vegetation Thar could make out two shadowy, cloaked figures on horseback charging after him.

Thin spindly birches, maples, mountain ash crowded his path forcing Thar to dodge abruptly. With each turn his ankle flamed with a searing pain making him stumble and gasp for breath. His hope of escaping the forest was failing with no end of the trees in sight, when suddenly he broke free of the forest and out onto an open expanse of land scattered randomly with clumps of alder and juniper and other low shrubs. He had hoped to have eluded the Shadow Knights before reaching the plains but with this hope now dashed, Thar sped on looking for cover as he went.

Ahead of Thar the world sloped away, out of sight. Cursing, he realized that he was atop a high ridge above the Khelendhar. Several hundred yards away, the grassy plateau dropped off abruptly. He did not recall this terrain from any of the maps he’d consulted before setting out but then maps were often imprecise and unreliable at their best. Still, the ridge could prove fortuitous for his escape. He knew that the steep embankment would not allow the Shadow Knights' to ride their mounts down to the plain below. On foot, Thar had the advantage and would be able to gain some ground on his pursuers if he was able to reach the edge. He glanced behind again to find that the Shadow Knights had drawn still closer.

Thar urged himself on towards the edge. But instead of the rolling expanse of the Khelendhar, beyond the brink of the steep incline the land that stretched out below that was covered in clumps of dead grass, tall reeds, and the greying hulks of long dead trees intermixed with brown-black pools of water. The Fen! Now he understood why he’d never noticed the steep ridges on the maps. Thar cursed his luck aloud; he had strayed too far east of the Forest Road while lost inside the confines of Roaming Wood. Now another deadly foe loomed in front of him, as well as those who approached from behind. The Fen presented terrain even more dangerous than Roaming Wood. Fearing to turn and face a desperate, impossible sword fight, he raced for the edge of the embankment.  The Shadow Knights and their horses would not be able to move so easily in the dense marshland that lay ahead and Thar felt he would be able to evade capture once again, if he was lucky enough to survive the dangers of the swamp himself.

Thar was only a few strides away from edge of the promontory when from behind, the whine of a bowstring sang out. With a jolting force the arrow impacted against his back, next to his left shoulder blade. His body went numb with agony and Thar gulped for breath, as the fire of the pain engulfed his every nerve. The impact of the arrow was so powerful, he stumbled and fell forward, his body carried over the edge of the bank by the force of the arrow’s momentum.  He careened roughly down the steep incline before he finally plunged into a large icy, stagnant pool, and sank into the fetid brown water and out of sight.

On the ridge above, the Shadow Knights rode to the edge and stopped to survey the land below.  The marshland was heavily shadowed in the growing gloom of the approaching storm.  The body of their victim was nowhere in sight. They paused for a long time and searched the marsh for signs of movement but their efforts were hampered by a rising mist from the bog and the fleeting daylight. Satisfied that Thar was dead, they reigned their horses about and headed east along the spine of the ridge towards the Forest Road. Dusk had set in fully now, and behind the weeping cloud cover the sun dipped into the horizon and darkness invaded the day.