And so it was… Llyn and M's thunderous horses charging onward, hooves pounding the earth relentlessly. Llyn was still behind M, though he was slowly gaining speed on him. M quickly veered toward the massive forest to his left. He had to lose this exceptional rider.
"Stop!" Llyn shouted once again. His white stallion showed no signs of slowing down. The chase had been going on for more than ten minutes.
M burst into Blackvein forest. As soon as K's hooves entered the forest, M felt a strange presence, something was watching him. Trees swallowed the light from all around him, but the green-cloaked figure couldn't stop to see where he had entered. Someone was still on his heels. Wind tore across Llyn's wrinkled face as he followed close behind.
"Faster… boy," M whispered to his coal-black horse.
Now the forest had surrounded them both. They both dodged tree trunks at full speed, swerving left and right. K moved like a shadow, his rider elegantly guiding him, a sight to behold. Llyn did the same, his reactions were slower. Though It was like his white stallion had a mind of its own, avoiding the tall trees effortlessly as the hooves crushed the lifeless twigs, leaves and mud.
M did not reply. He kept riding, whipping the reins on his horse, signalling it to go even faster. Both their horses could go on for another ten minutes. It had been a long time since Llyn's horse had ridden this fast, its powerful strides eating up the distance. M's eyes as always were unmoving, emotionless though, if one looked closely there was a flicker of surprise on his face. He was amazed at this guard's speed and handling of his horse, the guard wouldn't let go, chasing him like a hungry dog pouncing on food.
M's dark green cloak flung from side to side, the wind guided it as K kept going. But in the distance, a formidable obstruction appeared, its distant roar growing louder, accompanied by a swooshing sound that made M realized what it was… a massive waterfall, its mist slowly floating upwards as the water thundered down, branching to the right and left. His horse wouldn't be able to pass this treacherous waterfall, it wouldn't be able to jump over the water which was to the left and right. M pulled sharply on his horse's reins and it skidded to a halt. He had no choice but to face this excellent rider.
Llyn came seconds after, he had never seen this waterfall, though he did live next to Blackvein forest. He had only ventured into its depths once before, a few years back, during a perilous mission; ten guards had accompanied him… he was the sole survivor. Llyn slowly got off, his eyes not leaving M. He took a deep breath trying to prepare for what was about to unfold.
"You did good, boy." M got off his horse, then patted it. He then directed his attention towards Llyn. As Llyn saw the faint red glow in M's eyes, he knew this was the man responsible for the slaughter at the tavern, confirming his suspicions.
"You killed three men." Llyn's face grew serious; he had a job to do.
"Are you Xander Griffith?" that was the first question M asked.
"No. Now answer my question." Llyn's serious face turned a bit worried; he wondered how this man knew of Xander.
M shook his head, his expression unmoving, "They weren't men. They were monsters."
"Instead of killing them, you should have brought them to us. We would have put them on trial for their crimes. Though now I have orders to kill you."
"They were brigands. They threatened to burn down a tavern. They were pestering a lady, and would have done something far worse. They wore stolen clothes and swords." M tried giving every reason.
Llyn nodded slowly. "A trial should have been held. Then we could've hanged them if they were found guilty." Llyn exclaimed, as if to try making M understand.
M's face slowly turned to disappointment. He had expected the brilliant rider to possess some sense, to understand his actions, but instead of gratitude for ridding the world of three scum who had looted, pillaged, and caused unspeakable chaos, he faced death. That was what M would get in return for saving the tavern.
"You're all the same," M muttered, though he could not blame the man too much, after all that was his job as a guard.
Llyn looked closely into the hood, trying to get a glimpse of the man, he stepped forward a bit. Then he saw a glimpse of M's face, he had guessed his age just by looking at the killer's face, M was young. Llyn looked down, his mouth closed. "How old are you?" Llyn asked in a gentle voice. Llyn was even more shocked now; how could someone so young have been responsible for the deaths of those three men?
M wasn't in the mood to answer any of Llyn's questions. "Don't make me hurt you." M said reluctantly.
Llyn let out a faint smile, "You won't." M had underestimated Llyn's stature, unaware of the sword master he faced. Though M would quickly find out.
Words had failed them, leaving only the stark reality of their opposing paths; a fight of duty versus perceived justice was about to unfold. M took out his sword from his black and white scabbard from under his dark green cloak. His scabbard wasn't going back or else it would be clashing with his cloak, instead it was somewhat upright. The sword itself was menacing. The handle was black and the steel shining bright. It wasn't forged by a common blacksmith but a legendary one. On the steel itself there were some peculiar engravings, though they were so faint Llyn couldn't see what they were.
Llyn was very impressed by the sword his opponent held. He knew the cloaked figure's sword must've been forged in Azoria, known for its blacksmiths, a mountainous region on the edge of the map to the southeast, quite far from Flemdale, about seven days on horseback. Llyn also knew that M was dangerous; he could not underestimate the bandit killer.
Llyn took out his sword from his scabbard, which was also strapped to his waist. His sword wasn't nearly as special as M's, but he took great care of his blade every month. He made sure to oil it frequently to stop it from rusting, and this practice had worked. His current sword had lasted him for three years and was still going strong. Llyn sighed, his voice tinged with reluctance. "Surrender. I don't want bloodshed." Llyn tried reassuring the killer, though in Llyn's mind he knew what Xander had commanded. They began a tense, circling dance, the roar of the waterfall a constant, colossal backdrop.
"Is this my reward for defending the defenceless?" M spat, a hint of disgust on his face.
Llyn countered, "We stop lawlessness, whoever the perpetrator may be. You must follow the laws of the land!" Each man had a point of their own. "I don't want to harm-" Before Llyn could even finish his sentence, M lunged at him like a tiger pouncing on his prey. Llyn reacted by gripping his sword and adjusting his stance.
M's first strike came like a storm, the red-eyed figure swung quickly, aiming for Llyn's chest. Llyn met the blow, metal screeched against metal. A loud CLANG was heard throughout the forest as the two swords met.
The flurry didn't stop, It was fierce; in just a few seconds, M had swung so many times that normal men would have already lost count. Though, it was proving ineffective; Llyn held his ground, blocking all the strikes with his own trusty sword. Each block demanded Llyn's full attention. Llyn was already sweating; one wrong move could end him. The repeated noises of the two swords clashing with each other were like hammers raining down to forge a sword.
The two swords struck each other with such violence that a poorly forged or neglected blade would have shattered in pieces by now. Yet both their blades endured, slamming together without mercy.
M shifted back then tried something different, feinting high, then quickly aimed his sword low at Llyn's legs, but Llyn was ready. The strike was once again deflected effortlessly by him. M quickly took a few steps. Now he had truly understood Llyn's capabilities.
"Who taught you to wield a sword with such skill?" M said, impressed.
"Ser Aaron, the Bright." Llyn replied, taking a breath and smiling slightly.
"Aaron…" the cloaked one was even more impressed now. M had only just been born when Ser Aaron died. Aaron had been named the Bright because he always smiled, even in the face of death. He was renowned for single-handedly slaughtering eleven wolves to save a terrified young boy. The wolves had eaten his horse, not to mention he lost three fingers on his left hand during the encounter, yet he still smiled and laughed through the pain while carrying the boy six miles to the nearest settlement. He was remembered long after his death, a testament to his legacy.
"One of the finest knights this continent has ever known," Llyn stated with pride.
M was confused, though he would never express it on his face.
"Why are you here?" M said, gesturing towards Flemdale. His question was valid: what was a man trained by Ser Aaron himself be doing in an unimportant small town like Flemdale?
Llyn didn't answer. Instead, he attacked. His sword aimed towards M's shoulders. M sidestepped, countering with the vicious swing.
The trees swayed in the distance, even they were enjoying this spectacular fight. M could sense someone was watching them fight, though he had to focus on Llyn.
M had enough; he needed to finish this quickly. While the two swords clashed, he swept his leg low, tripping Llyn before he could anticipate it.
Llyn hit the ground with a thud, but he wouldn't lose like this; he couldn't allow such humiliation. In an instant, Llyn rolled away and leaped up as if propelled by sheer will. As soon as he was back up, M's blade whipped past his head, he narrowly ducked.
M's strikes were relentless and now unpredictable, M paused, his blade dipped for the briefest instant. Llyn realized he needed to unleash his full power immediately.
Gripping his sword lightly, Llyn lunged forward with a thrust aimed at M's head. The strike came blindingly fast. Far faster than anything before. M's eyes widened. He couldn't raise his sword to block in time, attempting it would leave him dead. Instead he threw himself downward… the finely refined blade barely whistled past his hair, so close it sheared through a few strands of his black hair. Llyn recoiled his sword back then went for M's stomach, though his energy depleted fast, the strike was slower than the first.
M twisted his blade, redirecting Llyn's sword, weaving it to the left. M then bashed the old man's sword to the ground from above; it fell out of his hand. M quickly pressed his sword against the guard's throat. Llyn's chest rising and falling rapidly, his age was working against him.
M generally disliked guards, knights, and nobles, but he would never harm them unless they were truly despicable creatures. He did not sense that in Llyn.
"Go." M said in a flat voice.
"Never," Llyn could never abandon his mission.
M smiled. "I guess I'm a better swordsman than that knight who trained you." he said mockingly, attempting to provoke Llyn. Llyn only smiled back. M felt a cold pressure against his cloak: a dagger.
How? M thought. They were locked in a tense standoff. Then, slowly, they both retracted their deadly weapons from each other and stepped back.
While M had been talking, Llyn had discreetly taken out his dagger and pressed it against his cloak. That maneuver was impressive, doing so without sound or detection was heavenly.
"I can't let you leave," Llyn uttered, though M ignored him, then put his sword back in his scabbard and got on his horse, looking at Llyn with the deadest of smiles.
"Eighteen." M uttered, referring to the question asked by Llyn before the battle. That was his age.
Llyn's stamina was dangerously low. If he were in his prime, he could definitely still have maintained his stamina. However, after the fight, he was breathing rapidly and sweating profusely. He tried to get on his horse; he couldn't let M leave.
His legs trembled uncontrollably. He had focused so much on defending the flurry of attacks at the start of the battle that his legs felt stiff and unresponsive. Llyn knew that if the fight had continued, he would have been bested. Suddenly, the faint sounds of approaching hoofbeats echoed from the distance. M quickly yanked on the reins and went in the direction from which he had come from.
From the opposite direction came Xander and Oliver. Brimming with energy. M hadn't depleted his stamina, he was just getting started, but he had encountered enough guards for one day. He knew he could not afford to be seen. He galloped fast until he reached a treeline on his left. He turned towards them and went through the dense trees. If he hadn't, he would have run into Xander and Oliver, who were coming from the direction Llyn and M had originally entered the forest.
He urged his horse to go faster, and it responded.
He had now been riding for a good ten minutes and could see a faint light, an exit. He felt watched in the forest, the presence stopped as soon as his horse's hooves left the forest. He quickly got off his horse and wiped the horse tracks away, ensuring he wouldn't be followed. His next stop was Fenwell. North of Flemdale, he still hadn't forgotten about Gareth; he needed to check whether he was there, and more importantly, get more coin. He had to pick up a quick job or a bounty, or else he would be sleeping with his horse on the streets.
Fenwell, as Gareth had said, wasn't too far away from Flemdale. Maybe a two-hour ride on horseback. A wooden signpost was the only guide he saw, confirming Fenwell to be in the right direction, he was on the right path.
"Come on, K," he said, his voice stone cold, then he got comfortable in his black saddle for the ride ahead.
Trot. Trot. Trot. His horse slowly moved forward now. He knew the other two guards weren't following him. It had clearly been a good hour now. All he could see around him were grass plains, a few houses scattered here and there. And some travellers, mostly on horseback passing him by, groaning and staring suspiciously at the scary sight with a black horse. The sun was bursting with light now.
Slowly, in the distance, an old lady could be seen walking with agonizing slowness towards M. She carried a gnarled grey stick, her spine deeply slouched so much so her posture seemed to beg for relief. Her face was a tapestry of wrinkles, so deep they seemed to overlap and obscure her eyes. She wore a golden outfit adorned with intricate black engravings that formed a symbol he couldn't discern, hinting at something ancient...
She approached and stood still next to M's horse then looked up till she saw the rider.
"Dearie," she croaked, her voice raspy and slow, "Spare me some coin." she muttered opening her mouth and smiling. "You're a beautiful and kind person… I can sense it."
Beauty was subjective; to some, M appeared like a hideous monster, while to others, merely a man cloaked in shadow. Though she was right about one thing, he was kind to innocents, though he would never ever admit it. M stared at her for a second, then took out his pouch, it was light now. He was running low on coin, he had only three bronze coins and two silver ones. He had given his last gold coin to Arthur.
As the old crone saw the leather brown pouch her eyes lit up and her smile beamed even more.
"Dearie… I haven't had a proper meal in… ages." She said, trying to convince him to give her more coins than he initially intended. "Dearie… If you give me some coins… I'll tell you your future." she tapped the ground with her grey stick.
M wasn't saying a word. He had already talked too much with Llyn, he couldn't be bothered to talk any more. He took two silver coins out, bent down low on his horse and handed it to her.
"Dearie… you're so kind. You gave me silver when those three bronze would have sufficed," she said looking up to him, how did she know how much coins he had? "Let me repay the kindness, let me look into your eyes and predict what's about to happen." she meant it, though he didn't care at all. "Please… dearie let me..." she said eyes tearing up as she sensed he was going to leave.
The lady was staring into his two eyes which could easily be seen thanks to the help of the shining sun. M was never ever interested in fortune tellers nor did he ever believe in them. This old lady probably in her seventies had lost her mind, he thought to himself. He shook his head and permitted his horse to trot on forward. She quickly turned around facing his horse.
"Stop." Her smile was now extremely disturbing, mouth reaching all the way up to her cheeks, so much so even her bones started to screech.
M's horse immediately stopped at her command. he tried tugging on his reins to walk it but K wasn't moving. He was listening to the old lady, the horse's ears pointed towards the old witch. M was still not interested, he tried commanding his horse to walk forward but he didn't budge.
"I see you now." She said wickedly. "Cloakbound, red and grey eyed." M shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, clearly unnerved by how she had obtained this information. She let out an even wickeder laugh echoing through her old throat. "I know all about you." She said slowly. "Born on a red Moon. Cursed by the most regular yet righteous of families-" her voice mischievous.
He cut her off, "No. You lie, you've only said the past, yet you say you know the future." he wanted her to stop. He still wasn't looking at her, head straight like an arrow.
Her smile stopped. She put her wrinkly hand to her face as if surprised. Her eyes widened, she then let out a sarcastic sigh, "You are now going towards… a ghost. There… I helped you dearie."
"What ghost?" M questioned.
"Dearie… You'll find out soon enough." she turned and started walking towards the path M had originally come from. Then stopped. "You were generous to me, for that I will pray for you dearie." She tapped her grey walking stick ominously on the path, and said one last thing, "Two will stand beneath thunder. The white one is the truly cursed one…" she then let out a pleasant smile and tilted her head, "Don't fret dearie."
The old crone laughed again, as if entertained with what was to come. Then tapped her grey stick one last time and started walking away slowly as if she were a turtle.
"Hyah!" M said in anger, slamming the reins on his beloved horse, he demanded his horse to move now and it did.
His horse did not trot anymore, M thought he had found peace escaping Flemdale but no. He needed to find out what that old hag had said. He zoomed past the massive trees which were besides the path.
Thankfully, his trusty horse did not disappoint again. Fenwell was now in front of him after an hours ride. He didn't have time to put his horse into the stable. Fenwell was much bigger than Flemdale, most houses and shops were tall and wide. The murmuring of people could be heard, doing business, causing chaos and running around. People of all different colour and sizes were walking about, some hurriedly others slowly. Fenwell boasted a thousand houses, a densely crowded metropolis where golden paths snaked between buildings that shot up towards the sky.
As he entered, the town was crowded, he knew his horse would slow him down. He got off and leashed it to the nearest wooden post he found which was located right in front of the entrance. Right besides the leashed K, was a man sitting on a chair smoking a pipe. Who was looking at the bustling entrance of Fenwell. M quickly walked towards him.
"Do you know someone by the name of Gareth?" M needed information, and fast.
"What's it to ya?" a kid smoking a pipe, acting like an adult.
"I need to talk to him." M didn't have time.
The kid knew he was in a hurry.
"I know everyone in this massive ass town. If ya give me some coi-" the kid tried asking for money.
M grabbed him by his rusted and old collar, "Where. Is. He?" Seeing the man's devilish red eye, the kid dropped the act and could be seen shaking in fear.
"Go straight, till you see the armourer, go through the alley besides it. He lives behind the shop, wooden door with stone around it."
M started running. People were in front and behind him, but that didn't stop him from reaching the house quickly. M bolted, weaving through the throng of people ahead and behind him, their groans of protest barely registering as he raced toward the house. The path was suffocating and small as shops and other types of buildings surrounded him.
He saw the shop, beside it lay a long alley. He ran in till he saw a wooden door with intricate stone carvings to the left. He tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He tried ramming his shoulder against it once. No one responded; he could only hear a faint, unsettling sound. He then slammed it with his shoulder again, using his full power, the lock finally gave up.
He entered, finding Gareth… beheaded . Crimson red blood gushed from the corpse's neck; it looked unreal and devilish. His head was a few centimetres away, resting unnaturally on the floor, tilted at an angle, eyes gone. Someone had scooped his eyeballs out with a knife. Cruel would be an understatement. His once pleasant face was disgusting and pale now with some flies already feasting on it. Kneeling beside the horrific corpse was his own son.
The boy clutched his father's shoulders with his small hands, shaking them, trying to make the lifeless corpse respond. He kept whispering, then shouting, as if volume alone could resurrect the corpse.
"Father… please wake up!" The young boy stared at the gap between his father's head and neck, his eyes enlarged and filled with trauma and misery no words could ever justify. Tears streamed down the boy's cheeks, which were dropping onto the floor and mixing with his dead father's blood.
M had never encountered a situation like this. He quickly shielded the boys eyes. M knew this would definitely haunt the boy for a long long time to come...