Arc 2: Chapter 3: Oathbound
The hunting horns sounded before I’d drawn within three miles of Strekke’s border. Wounded, limping my way through the scattered woods, I knew I couldn’t outrun them.
Didn’t matter if I could move fast, as much blood as I left in my wake. The child necromancer’s undead bloodhounds could track me until I collapsed.
I needed a way out.
Ghosts haunted my steps as I drew deeper into the wilderness. Drawn by the scent of my blood and my Alder-alloyed soul, they congregated in the shadows until the woods seemed nearly alive with their writhing shapes. Some mocked me, or begged for my help, or muttered in confusion. A few tried to encourage me along, but the more benign voices became lost in the din.
The horns sounded again, closer.
I needed a way out.
There wasn’t one. I felt a cold tendril of despair coil its way through me.
It shouldn’t have surprised me then, when she appeared.
A black cloud moved over the moons, casting all the woods and fields in shadow. That shadow was a tangible thing, an aura just as real as my own magic and countless times more potent. It made its presence known in the forest with the impact of a heavy, bloodied hoof against the ground, with a guttural snort and the rattling of rusted chains.
I stopped my march as an enormous destrier, of the kind once used in war before the myriad breeds of chimera had proliferated, moved to block the field in front of me. It snorted, bloodshot eyes rolling to fix on me with eager malice.
“Do you have anything better to do than follow me around?” I asked the nightmare’s rider, even as a cold dread ate its way into my veins.