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“Couldn’a picked a day more perfect,” Jarek said as he swilled on a clay jug of lukewarm mead. The reins of the two draft horses pulling his wagon rested listlessly in his other hand. “I wish the beginning had more days like this,” Ilana nodded. She reached for the clay jug in her husband’s hand, downing a large draft of the amber liquid before returning it. The iron-wrapped wagon wheels rumbled against the rough surface of the road. The caravan of a dozen wagons lumbered in the unseasonable warmth, north towards Telarius, the capital of Ilyria. Eran, king for more than a year now, had rebuilt the road through the Feral Marshes, traveling east to west through Mystwood and over Hedos Pass. It snaked up from the south to enable ease of travel from the southlands. It was this road the wagon train followed. Ilana lifted her head and closed her eyes against the brilliance of the sun as she leaned against the backboard. She sighed with contentment. Jarek glanced sideways at his wife, her raven hair illuminated by the golden glow, haloing her delicate gypsy features and he knew he was the luckiest man alive. “Do stop staring Jarek.” “How do you always know that?” “You’ve been my husband for thirteen years Jarek; it would be a sad state of affairs if I didn’t know when my own husband is staring at me.” Her eyes remained closed as she stared blindly up towards the heavens. Jarek chuckled but didn’t turn away, instead he drank in every feature of his beloved wife. She was an intoxicant he couldn’t turn down. “Jarek!” Ilana scowled and her face wrinkled slightly. “Sorry,” he replied sheepishly and turned his attention to the wagon directly in front of them. He caught her frown turn to a smile out of the corner of his eye, and the corners of his own mouth turned up to mirror his wife’s expression. Jarek warily eyed the dark jade forest to their left; despite the king’s reassurances, he was still nervous of Mystwood and would never fully trust it. For the most part he kept his eyes on the road, the wagon in front of him, or Ilana, much to her annoyance. “The first stop of the year,” Jarek said, referring to the Spring Festival in Telarius. It was the first chance for the gypsies and troubadours that traveled Ilyria to rebuild stores that had been depleted over the winter. “What do we still have to sell?” Ilana asked, her features serene as she bathed in the warmth. “A few trinkets and some jewelry; I think we have some old manuscripts too, a couple of books, yarn, fabric, a side of leather and some raw iron.” Ilana nodded. “Should be enough with everything we already have stocked.” “Should be, as long as we get a fair price. I think summer trade will be good this year.” “Trade’s better these days without the threat of Morgeth’s marauders, and people no longer worrying about war,” Ilana smiled, turning to her husband. Jarek nodded. “We’ll be set up in no time.” The shadow moved so swiftly from deep within the trees the wagon drivers and riders on horseback had no chance to see their doom descend upon them. The darkness muted the sun until only a deep-red disc hung where only moments before there had been a dazzling white orb. “What the…” the reins in Jarek’s hand no longer hung idly as he pulled the horses to a halt, his knuckles white with tension. The horses screamed. “Jarek?” Ilana’s voice trembled. Jarek cussed under his breath. “Get in the back, hide under the sack cloth. Don’t get out until I come find you.” Ilana nodded, scrambling over the backboard. She paused, “I love you Jarek!” Jarek smiled faintly as he gave her a gentle push so she was out of sight and grabbed his sword from beneath the wagon seat. He leapt to the ground, almost to be knocked off balance by a riderless horse galloping in blind panic. He felt a shudder creep down his spine. Faint screams reverberated against the trunks of the ghost-shrouded trees of Mystwood, but no clanging of weapons preceded them; no clash of metal against metal, or thud of sword against wooden shields. Birds twittered nervously within the boughs of the trees; the only witnesses to the massacre. Jarek summoned all his strength and courage and ducked around the rear of his wagon; it lurched back towards him and horses screamed again in agony. The wagon bucked as though it were horse saddled for the first time and he heard a faint gasp come from within, then the wagon was still. Dropping to a knee, Jarek peered between the wheels to see his two horses writhing on the ground, torn from the wagon. He turned away, for in the eyes of one of the great beasts sheer terror was all he could see. The thrashing ceased and Jarek turned his attention back to the horses; they still breathed but the life in their eyes was gone. He had no time to ponder this for a shadow descended over him, freezing him in time and place. There was no opportunity to fight, no chance to scream and he thrashed in torment before succumbing to bleak mindlessness. As rapidly as the shadow had appeared, so too it departed, leaving a mass of destruction in is wake. Wagons lay torn and battered; splintered wood and shattered wheels lay scattered in the dust, canvas canopies were shredded as though some creature had ripped through them with massive claws. Dozens of bodies lay in contorted positions of defense, but they had had no hope of defending themselves for the weapon of the assailant had not been of iron, wood or rock. Neither had magic left its mark, for there was no lingering after effects or disturbance in the energy around the area. Within each of the men and women of the convoy a faint heartbeat flickered for hours, their bodies willing them to survive before finally giving out as they understood that their souls were gone. * * * The water in the pot over the fire had been boiling for two hours, slowly cooking a leg of pork. Leta tossed in the roots and vegetables she had been chopping tirelessly for a good half hour then threw in a handful of herbs and spices, already mixed. She lifted a long wooden spoon from its place next to the hearth and stirred the meal, inhaling the warming steam and feeling her stomach growl. She returned the spoon to its hook and turned to the table, already set, in the middle of her home. “Right, best go get Holt,” she said, looking at the grey and white cat lying comfortably in the seat of the rocking chair next to the fire. He opened one eye reluctantly to peer at his mistress before returning to his nap. The house was small, the dining room merging with a small kitchen. One bedroom lay at the rear with a small closet and storage room leading from it. The front door was deep and strong, built of oak and had weathered many a harsh winter. The door was heavy but the hinges were well oiled and it had been hung well, so it took little effort to pull it inwards and step through into the fading day. Leta lifted her hand to her eyes, to shield them from the remaining glare and peered to where she knew her husband was supposed to be working. “Well curses, where is that blasted man?” She smiled, for her annoyance was easily overcome with love for the man she had been married to for thirty years. Leta stepped out from the doorway and peered into the fields that surrounded their farm, but still she could not see him. Her heart fluttered in her chest; this was not like him. She laughed with embarrassment; haloed by the blinding sun she had not seen him as he walked her way, and she waved. Holt raised his hand to return the gesture, but it was the last thing she saw him do. Leta’s heart froze in fear as a shadow, swifter than a deer and less substantial than a spirit, crossed the ground from a nearby copse of trees. It grew to a grotesque form, giant and formidable. It surrounded Holt and he froze, terror perfused his face and he crumpled to the ground. Leta screamed and ran from the house to her unconscious husband, the shadow retreating for a moment. He breathed still, but his eyes were vacant and dead, a slow beat still kept time in his chest. She had no time to wonder at this when dread returned and surrounded her. There was no time even to scream as she felt her soul, her living spirit, being pulled from her body and then she knew no more
chalkdawg added this comment 2011-12-22 16:35:22-06:00
This is great! Liked and faved.
chalkdawg added this comment 2011-12-22 16:35:22-06:00
This is great! Liked and faved.