You must login to vote
The stomping of his feet across the cold ground doesn’t register. The visit with the warlock lasted longer than he had anticipated. Half the day was gone and there was no way he could stay any longer. Stealing a horse was also out of the question. It was too much of a chance to be seen and then pursued. So here he was again running. He had abandoned the cloak a while ago. It was making him too warm and slowing him down. At the pace he was running he would be at Collan Run by nightfall. Finding his way through the field to the spot he wanted would be another matter, but he would find it. He had waited a long time for this and was very close to finishing his journey.
By the time 1242 reached the edge of Collan Rue, the knight’s detatachement had just pulled into Ashton. It would take some time for the knights to make their way through all the major points of interest; the bank, the inns and auction house.
Once they split up, it is easy for the knight to slip away and make his way out of town. Riding all day with only one stop for water and food has made the journey an arduous one and fatigue sets in once the knight is off the main road and headed towards Collan Rue.
Wading through the tall grasses was a lot harder than it had sounded. Running was impossible and trying to bound over the grasses just too tiring. That and the morbidity of this place make each step more work than the last. There are far too many ghosts here, he thinks. Moving across the silent plain the mind plays tricks. Flickers of fire here, sounds there. At one point he even stopped because he thought he heard a horse and then a rider call out.
“Na. No one would be foolish enough to come out here in the middle of the night, except for you.” He tells himself.
No, it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. The stress and fatigue are finally taking their toll.
Wandering around in circles is maddening. Nothing but tall grass wherever he can see which isn’t far. Night is starting to wane when he finally catches a break, a trail not unlike his own making its way across the field. Following it may be a mistake since he can’t be sure that he didn’t double back onto his own trail. Without a choice he can only follow it for so long. Daylight will be coming soon and he’ll have to make his way back to the detachment. Moving quickly he follows the path up and down some small hills as the field makes it borders known. A sharp crunch beneath his boot makes him stop and wonder what he stepped upon, but there is still too much dark left to see what it was. Convinced though that he is on the correct path he picks up his pace.
“Almost there.” He thinks, panting heavily.
“Guess it’s time for this.” He holds the small glass vial close to his face to see if he can see the color. In the warlock’s chamber it had been a deep purple, but odorless. Pulling the stopper off the vial he sniffs at it quickly. Nothing. Taking a deep breath he downs the vial in one quick movement. The taste is bitter and nearly makes him gag. So much so that he drops the vial onto the ground. He quickly fumbles about for it, but stops realizing that it is no longer of any use.
Standing back up he forces his spent muscles to make their way up over the last rise before the field fades into thickening forest and that into the mountains. It’s at the top where he sees his prize. Quickly he makes his way down to the bottom. Once there draws his sword from its scabbard, its golden glow lighting up the surrounding area ever so softly. Admiring it for its beauty the knight drops to his knees and begins to recite a prayer that he hasn’t said aloud in years.