Chapter 22: A ritual in the woods - 1
The large old trees of the forest loomed like silent guards against the pale winter sky, their gnarled branches reaching toward the heavens like the arthritic fingers of forgotten gods.
Snow had fallen thick and heavy through the night, blanketing the forest floor in a pristine white shroud that muffled all sound save for the rhythmic crunch of boots breaking through the frozen crust.
Darian Blakmantle, Knight of the Bryngar High, moved through the skeletal undergrowth with the measured gait of one accustomed to long marches and longer vigils. His iron-shod boots, forged in the fires of Mount Caradu and blessed by the warrior-priests of his order, left deep impressions in the snow.
The weight of his armour—blackened steel plates that had turned aside more blades than he cared to count—settled familiarly across his broad shoulders.
The wolf-fur cloak that marked his rank as a Knight of the highest order stirred slightly in the bitter wind, revealing glimpses of the rune-carved blade that hung at his hip.
Munshard, they called it – a weapon that had tasted the blood of demons and would taste it again before this day was through, if his instincts proved true.
Several paces ahead, Morgana Arkwright moved with the smooth grace of a hunting cat, her burgundy gown—practical wool reinforced with leather at stress points—swirling around her ankles as she navigated the treacherous terrain.
Where Darian’s passage spoke of martial discipline and raw power, hers whispered of secrets and hidden knowledge.
The silver circlet that crowned her midnight hair caught what little light filtered through the canopy, its central sapphire pulsing with an inner radiance that spoke of the Power that flowed through her veins.
The leather boots she wore—crafted by the finest cobbler in Central City and warded against cold and damp—carried her through the knee-deep snow with enviable ease.