A Day to Remember Part One

          There's an old saying, you are your own worst enemy. This can be especially true when it comes to children, especially those with far too much curiosity for thier own good. One such little boy was known as Rynn Drochar, a bright, but mischievious 11 year old, with dark brown hair and an innocent smile. His best friend was also a bright, mischievious 11 year old,  Stam Goodwyn. Always together, they had ran and roamed and played together for as long as they had been alive. Today, they were far outside their sleepy little village, practicing their swordfighting, as they called it. It was more like playing at practicing their swordfighting since at their age they had not yet received any formal training in the art of swordfighting.

            It was a bright day, a hot one in the middle of summer, but neither of them seemed to mind or take notice. They were happily engaged in their swordplay, Rynn with his wooden one handed sword, and Stam with his heavy two-handed weapon, their weapons of choice. This was a game they had played many times before and both of them were equally good. But they still got their fair share of bruises from each other, and no doubt if their swords were real steel they would both have been gravely wounded by now. If one were observing these two rascals, and he had too choose who was better, it would probably have been Rynn. He was slightly faster, slightly more observant of his oppponent and his suuroundings, and slightly stronger. Stams favorite weapon, the heavy two-hander, was really too big for him and it slowed him down, but he refused to relinquish it for a faster weapon. So it was that at the end of most of their "battles", it was Rynn who came out on top, by virtue of having the fewest cuts and scratches. And today was no expection, and at the end of their game, they counted their new bruises to see who won, and as usual, Stam had one more than Rynn.

            "Rats", Stam uttered," You always win."

            "Well you can't keep up with me because you won't give up that clumsy tree trunk your're using for a sword.". Rynn smiled as he answered him they'd had this conversation a million times it seemed.

            "I can use whatever I want," Stam started, then Rynn quickly interuppted him,

            "And so I can beat you whenever I want. Those big swords are for big men, and neither of us are big, at least not yet."

            "I'm bigger than you," Stam replied. And it was true, Stam was at least an inch taller than Rynn, maybe two. "I should have a bigger sword."

            "But a bigger sword doesn't do you any good if you can't beat me with it."Rynn smiled again.

            "O I will, and someday soon you'll see. Tomorrow you're going to have twice as many bruises as me." Stam said, with all confidence that  he could do just that.

            Both of them smiled and breathed deeply, tired and worn out from their day of "practice" as they called it. Almost at the same time, they collapsed where they stood, falling into the tall grass of the field where they had been "practicing". For a long moment they lay in silence, catching their breath and looking up at the clouds. Here was another game they often played, picking out which cloud looked the most like a dragon. At length, Stam pointed up and spoke first.

            "That one there, almost right above us. It looks almost exacltly like the painting on the sheriff's wall."

            "It doesn't look anything like a dragon Stam, much less like the one on the stupid sheriff's wall." Rynn didn't like the sheriff much, and there was good reason.

            "Does so, there's it's body, and the wings are out, and the mouth is wide open like it's breathing fire. It looks just like the sheriff's painting."

            "Does not," Rynn replied, "I don't see any wings or..."

            Rynn suddenly quieted down, thinking he heard something.

            "Or what," Stam began, but Rynn quickly cut him off.

            "Wait, I hear something, be quiet a second."                                                                                              For a moment, Stam couldn't hear anything. Suddenly, he heard it too, and regular thud, most likely hoofbeats. Both boys quieted down, and lay perfectly still, the last thing they wanted was to get caught in this field, for many reasons. First of all it belonged to a farmer who was known  for flogging little kids that he caught in his field, and for that reason both their parents had banned them coming out here. They had also been told not do any more swordplay, as their mothers had gotten tired of tending to new scrapes and bruises every day. So they had become quiet adept at making up new excuses for why they continued to get new scraped and bruises, but if they were caught in this field all those stories would come crashing down on their  heads, quite literally. So they lay perfectly still, trying to will themselves into the ground itself, as if that would help them remain unseen. The hoof beats got louder and louder, telling them whoever it was was approaching them. Both of them thought it was was their own fathers, who had probably seen them out here and had come to get them. Soon the sounds were right on top of them, and suddenly a horse galloped at full speed in between them. The horse did not stop. As they continued to lay perfectly still, they heard the horse get further and further away.

            As the sound faded, both of them wanted to get up, but neither of them did.  Finally Rynn's curiosity got the better of him, and he slowly rose, looking at first in the direction the horse had gone, and then quickly all around him. Stam spoke up in an urgent but quieted voice,

            "Get back down stupid, you're gonna get us both caught!"

            Rynn didn't reply, he kept still and looked in the direction the rider had gone. After a few seconds, he looked down at Stam, right in the eyes, and motioned with his head in the direction he had been looking. Rynn's gaze returned. Stam didn't want to move at first, but his own curiosity forced him up, slowly, and with their heads heads the same height as the tall grass they were in, they looked down the field where the rider had gone. They saw him, maybe a hundred yards away, the horse standing still, and the rider still on it. For just a moment, nothing happened, no one moved. Not the horse, nor the rider, nor either of the boys. Then suddenly, the horse and rider vanished.

            After that, neither Rynn nor Stam moved or said anything. They had never seen anything like that in their eleven years, and at first had no idea how to react. Suddenly Stam knew exactly what to do, he leapt to his feet,  yelled "Come on!!", and started to run as fast as his legs could carry him toward their village. He had gotten a good twenty or thirty feet when he noticed he was alone. He slowed down slightly and turned his head, and saw Rynn wasn't with him. He stopped and turned all the way around to see that Rynn was still where they'd been sitting, watching the rider, although he'd stood up all the way now. But he was still looking at the place the rider had disappeared. Stam couldn't believe what Rynn was doing.

            "What are you doing Rynn?" Stam raised his voice as much as he dared, wanting Rynn to hear him but not wanting to attract any undue attention, from either nasty farmres, angry parents or disappearing riders. Rynn turned his head slowly toward Stam, and then motioned for Stam to come back. Rynn began to take a few tentative steps toward the spot where the rider had disappeared. Stam was dumbfounded by Rynn's actions, he didn't know whether to run for safety or see what Rynn was doing. Finally he decided to just go get Rynn and drag him back if he had too. He started to run back to where Rynn was. Rynn was now walking at a good steady pace toward the spot where the rider had disappeared. He heard Stam running back toward him, and after a quick glance is Stam's direction, began a slow run toward the spot where the rider had disappeared. Rynn thought Stam had suddenly found the same enthusiasm he himselfl had for finding out what had just happened.  Rynn slowed down to a slow walk as he neared the place where he thought the rider had vanished, and he heard Stam running up behind him. Then heard heard Stams admonishment.

            "What in the heck are you doing fool?" Stam was almost angry, at it was beginning to show in his voice,"You're going to get us caught, or worse!"

            Rynn turned his head slowly toward Stam, looking almost puzzled. "I'm the fool? We've just seen a man and a horse vanish into thin air, something that no one ever sees. What if we can figure out how he did it? This is a strange place to just disappear don't you think? There's nothing around here. Where did he go? If we find out, we could famous in the village for the rest of our lives. Just think."

           

            All Stam could think about was what would happen if the farmer or their parents caught them out there in that field. Or that rider suddenly reappeared. He said as much to Rynn.

            "Who cares where he went. I don't want to know, and I don't want to be famous. Not for this anyway. What if the village decides we're magic users and wants to turn us over to the Archmages. I haven't heard very good things about those wizards, or any wizards for that matter. Come on let's get out of here while we still can."

            Rynn acted like he didn't hear Stam, at least for a few minutes. He was busy looking around to see of he could spot anything on the ground that might look out of place. He motioned for Stam to look around as well, Stam saw him wave but was having none of it.

            "Look I'm leaving. You can stay here and get caught by the farmer, or that rider if you think being famous is so important. But I'm getting out of here."

            At that, a sigh escaped Rynn, and he stood straight up. He had an almost despondent look on his face, and he was clearly dismayed that he hadn't found anything. He looked up at Stam and started to say something, and then, right in front of Stam, Rynn disappeared.

            At first, Stam was frozen in place, having no idea what to do, say or even think. Whether it was his own feet or a small rock Stam would never know, but at that moment he fell backward and landed flat on his back. Suddenly, in the very spot where Rynn had been standing, the rider reappeared. He was just a few feet from where Stam was laying. For what seemed like forever to Stam, the rider didn't move, at all. Stam didn't move either, but at this distance, Stam could see them very clearly. The horse was a solid black, and it had a black saddle. The rider himself was draped in a black cloack and hood. He wore black leather boots that almost seemed to shine as they were highly polished, and seemingly unblemished, which even Stam knew was very unusual for anyone's  boots, especially a rider. Both horse and rider were facing away from him, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then, without moving his head or looking around at all, the rider kicked his mount into action and they rode off, directly away from Stam. But Stam dared not sit up for a long time, or even move. Even his breath was drawn in shallows. His mind was racing about who that rider was, and where had his best friend gone.

            Rynn was disappointed he hadn't found anything. And he was even more disappointed that Stam wasn't helping him look. Stam was always worried about something. But this was their big chance. The whole village always treated them like kids, even though they were better swordsman than some of the guards. If they could find out what had happened here, they could prove to everyone how they weren't kids anymore. So Rynn was desperately looking around for anything that might be out of place on the ground. So when Stam ran up to where Rynn was looking, he hoped his friend would help him find it, whatever it might be. But instead Stam called him a fool and instead of helping him, he just stood there complaining. Rynn kept looking, but there was nothing there. At last, he began to feel depressed as he realized he wasn't going to find what he was looking for. When Stam stated his intention to go back to the village, Rynn realized he was probably right, and he tore his gaze from the ground and started to stand up. He was about to tell Stam he was sorry for dragging him out to look for something that wasn't there, when suddenly Stam disappeared, along with everything else. The field, the sky and his best friend simply faded from view. Suddenly he felt lightheaded, and his strength fled quickly from his body. Rynn thought he saw a figure approaching, far away. But that notion and the rest of the world disappeared as Rynn completely lost conciousness.

Hunter in Black:The Well

The Hunter in Black: The Well

     The hunter lamented. His quarry had gone over the horizon. He knew in what direction it lay, he always knew. Though the creature might be out of his extraordinary vision, the hunter’s feelings could always tell him in which direction to go.

     On this bright day, those feelings told him to go north, by northwest. The hunter’s faithful black mare had those same feelings, and needn’t be told by him where to run. They were nearly flying now, moving so fast that the human eye would barely have perceived them.

     The sun was falling below the treetops of the thick forest, its bright rays bouncing from one leaf to another. The edge of the forest was damp. The musty smell of moist earth hovered above the path. Soon, horse and rider emerged into the waiting arms of the prairie beyond the forest.

The pair slowed as a village came into sight. The hunter knew his quarry was not there, but he might find some bit of information about where it went, or even its intentions. His mount slowed to a walk as the hunter regarded the broken and fading wooden sign near the road, ‘Ostracar’.

     The hunter began to fear the worst as they passed the first few houses that comprised the homes and shops of the little town. He saw not one sign of life. No people, no animals, no sounds of habitation or nature, nothing. Often, this meant the destroyer had come through with grave intentions. The creature was full of hatred and loathing, and would often kill out of that malice, though sometimes it seemed to kill for nothing more than its own amusement.

     Apprehension gave way to relief soon enough. Sounds began to reach his ears, hurried and excited. His mare unconsciously increased her steps. The pair wound around homes and shops until they came to the village square, where every member of the town had gathered, or so it seemed. A few people at the perimeter of the gathering cast frightened glances at the hunter and his mount, each of the intruders dressed so hauntingly in black.

     The hunter stopped and dismounted, one hand on the mane of his companion as he moved into the crowd. People with wide and frantic eyes parted as though he’d threatened their very lives with his presence. The crowd became thicker with villagers as he neared the cause for the inadvertent gathering.

     A stone well stood at the center of the town, and the crowd’s attention. Several old and large men stood near, peering into its depths. Most looked up at the approach of the hunter in black, though none spoke until the hunter drew near the well. One of the oldest of the humans finally spoke to him, the firmness of the old man’s voice giving away his fateful disposition.

     “So who are you to come prowling through here all high and mighty? We have big problems here, and no time to spare for interlopers like you. Just get back on your horse and be on your way.”

Something in the old man’s harsh tone of voice belied a feeling besides irritation. Fear, or warning? The hunter couldn’t be sure. Humans were so hard to understand sometimes.

     The problem, the hunter surmised, had to be something trapped in the well. A rope had been attached to a nearby tree, and two younger men were busy uncoiling it, and then gently lowering it into the well. The hunter approached the opening, coming close enough to look down into it. Blackness obscured even his exceptional sight from seeing the distant bottom. He looked deep into the old man’s eyes, silently informing the elder that he wasn’t going anywhere. The old man’s shoulder’s slumped, his head slowly shaking.

     “We’ve lost a little girl down this well.” The old man answered the hunter’s silent question. The hunter peered down again into the well, trying to push his vision through the darkness beneath. His sight failed him.

     When the rope was tight against the tree, the two young men grabbed hold and began to lower themselves down, hand over hand, one at a time. The hunter marveled at their bravery, and shook his head at their foolhardiness.

     “That rope might not hold two men at once. Perhaps only one of them should go.” The hunter offered.

     “When we need the advice of outsiders,” the old man snapped, “we’ll ask for it. No one’s asked for your help anyway. Be off.”

     The hunter ignored the old man’s indignity and his warning, watching the young men slowly disappear into the blackness of the well. Suddenly the rope began to stretch, its twines snapping in unison. The sound grew louder, threatening to give at any moment. The old man, and the others gathered near the well, seemed to not hear the ominous sound. The hunter began to offer his advice again, but closed his mouth instead. These people had already decided to close their minds.

And then the rope gave. The snap was loud, and the rope whipped across the lip of the well, smacking the edge soundly before disappearing into the black along with the cries of the two men it had held aloft. The villagers did not alarm. Instead they simply turned to the elderly man who seemed to be their leader. After considering the well for a moment longer, he looked up at the nearest man.

     “Fetch another rope.”

     The man nodded and ran off as fast as he could. The hunter shook his head inwardly at these strange people. This was no concern of his. The hunter was merely chasing his quarry. But something made him suddenly jump into that well. Compassion, most likely. If the destroyer had indeed paid this quaint little village a visit, it might very well have thrown this child down the well. Of course, were that the case, it would have stayed to reap the benefits of its malice. Whatever the reason, the hunter suddenly found himself falling into the gloom of the well after the two men who’d gone before him, and the little girl who ostensibly lay at its bottom.

     The hunter fell like most men, until he threw his arms out. Through his powers and force of will, the hunter slowed his descent. A split second earlier, he’d heard the two men below him hit the bottom, somewhere far below. Their anguished cries came up to his ears, then disappeared, leaving the hunter to assume the worst. The men may not have survived their fall.

     The fading light of the sun had not penetrated far down into the well, and the hunter’s vision was still unable to penetrate the blackness. This was profoundly strange, and disturbing. He’d always been able to see through the darkest nights, the blackest caves. Now he could barely make out the black boots on his feet. Most unnerving indeed.

     Moments passed in silence both above and below him as the hunter floated down. The strange behavior of the villagers gave him pause as he thought about the companion he’d left alone with them. His concern fell away though; she was quite capable of defending herself when the need arose.

At last a shape appeared beneath him. Again the darkness and his lack of vision surprised him. The hunter did not see the two young men, crumpled into silent, unmoving heaps until he was almost on top of them. The well was not large, and the bodies of the two young men splayed out at the bottom took up most of the available space. As the hunter arrived, he chose to stand near the edge so as not to step on the men.

     The hunter knelt, though he needn’t have to know that these two men were most assuredly dead. Their heads were in ghastly, unnatural turns, their eyes and mouths open and frightened in death. It was only after the hunter was busy considering the states of the two men that it occurred to him that two things were missing from the well. Water, and a little girl.

     The hunter looked up, as if to question the darkness above him, when a shape loomed suddenly near his head. He moved in just enough time to avoid a rather large rock. The stone struck one of the dead men in the arm, smashing it with a disgusting sound into the soft ground of the well.

Another stone fell, this time striking the hunter on a shoulder as he was looking down. Another fell, then two and three at a time began to rain down on him at once. He managed to dodge a few stones, but with limited room to move, many more found their mark. The hunter held his hand up, summoning an invisible barrier just large enough to shield him from the rain of stone.

     The rocks continued to fall, and began to gather upon one another, and on the two bodies lying on the ground. If this storm of stone continues, the hunter thought, I’ll be buried alive. What was going on?

The hunter knew the answer just as soon as he asked. A heavy sigh escaped him.

     The shower of stone stopped just as suddenly as it began. The hunter wasted no time managing his escape. Leaping from one side of the narrow well to the next, the hunter made his way up, and up, and up. His keen eyes found the fading sunlight as he neared the top of the well, and he pushed himself into a strong leap at the last second, sailing high into the air. An uncharacteristic gasp escaped his lips as he viewed the sight from on high.

     All around the village square, the villagers lay dead. Their frightening visages told that they’d died with anger in their hearts. Melancholy overtook the hunter as his fears were confirmed by what he saw around him. He landed softly, sadly considering the scene before him.

     The hunter looked up where he’d left his dark horse before setting out on his mission of mercy. The black mare was gone. Standing in its place was a mysterious woman. She was tall and slender, dark hair flowing down around small yet muscular shoulders. She was lithe, yet powerful. Though outwardly she seemed unclothed, her figure bore only the resemblance of femininity. The shapes were there, but the most distinguishing aspects of the female body were obscured by a dark kind of fabric that seemed to drink in the light. She shimmered slightly as she walked, resembling the hunter’s dark armor when he moved.

     The two stood opposite one another. Images of the previous few moments suddenly leapt into the hunter’s mind. The villagers suddenly bending down to pick up the large stones they’d been standing over. Some proceeding toward the well, while others turned on the hunter’s mount, descending upon her in a wild frenzy. She’d wanted to run, to avoid hurting these pitiful people who’d ultimately had no choice in the unjust fate that had been imposed upon them. But what of her friend, her companion, her love? She couldn’t leave him. The transformation was swift, and should have itself served as a deterrent. But the poor villagers had been set upon their course by the destroyer itself, and once that had happened there was no turning back, for them or her. If only there had been some way to know.

The first stones had been easy to avoid, but as more people joined the fight against her, the rocks got nearly impossible to escape. She’d had no choice, and as the villagers came at her, mouths open in rage and fists closed in anger, she’d laid them down to their eternal rest.

     As her nearest opponents fell, the people near the well had turned to join the fight against the dark woman, running past their fallen comrades as if they weren’t there. These too she’d had to kill, sensing the destroyer’s dark work within them. She’d lamented every death.

     The hunter held his companion’s eyes with his own. He alone could see the despair within those deep black pools. He mourned the villagers with her in the moments of silence that followed.

     “It killed them,” the hunter began at last, “using us as the weapons. I’m so sorry I didn’t see this trap sooner. I should have, after all. I know it better than anyone. What it’s capable of, and why.”

     The hunter could sense Stallia’s misery. He shared it as the two of them looked around the village in the dying light of the sun. He knew of humanity’s custom of burying the dead, but they had no time for that. Such a ritual was probably what his quarry had in mind, should the villagers fail to put him off the trail forever. No, they had to continue the hunt, and be successful, so that the deaths of these poor souls would not be in vain.

Dear Marta

     Dearest Marta,

     Greetings my love, from so far away. I hope this letter finds you and your family well. How is everything in our little village of Diris? Are you still working for the milkmaids? How about your father, is he still the village's blacksmith? Your father is the best smith in Telengard; we could sure use some of his steel now. How is my mother holding up? She took it very hard when I left, as I know you did. I know too you're giving each other the love and support you need during these troubling times.

     I miss you Marta. I miss seeing you, and holding you in my arms. I long for your touch, and your kiss. Thinking of you, and the hope of one day being together again helps get me through each and every day. Sometimes, it is the only thing that gets me through. It is torture being so far away from you. Each night I go to sleep, thinking I couldn't possibly miss you any more than I do now.  Then I wake up the next morning and somehow my heart aches for you just a little bit more.  Oh how I wish I was home, with you.

     I think often of our first kiss under the oak tree. You remember that old tree, with the lightning marks on one side? I can still remember when we noticed those marks; it was right after our kiss. Remember I said it was our passion that had struck the tree so. I still feel that passion, my love. Those feelings are what gets me up each day, and helps me to march forward with the army.

My fellow soldiers are small compensation for your absence. And despite having been with them for almost a year now, most of them are still strangers to me. The men from Thrice are all bullies, walking in our tents and taking whatever they want. We fight with them constantly, sometimes it's hard to believe we're on the same side. The Sivilar are the same way, and the commanders are constantly breaking up fights between the soldiers from those two kingdoms. Sometimes I think it's a wonder we've gotten as far as we have against the enemy, with so much fighting going on amongst ourselves.

     Does news of the war get as far north as our village? No one is supposed to talk about the war to anyone outside the army, and letters to home are strictly forbidden. I've managed to bribe a friend I made in our supply train to get this to you, so please keep it secret.

     The war has been going our way for the last several months. We've pushed the Arcanians all the way back into the Narrow Way. But our progress has halted now. The Arcanians are not retreating any more. And things are turning worse for us, once again.

     Something has happened to the sky. It's been dark for at least three days, as if the night is never going to end. The commanders keep saying it's just some kind of natural phenomenon, but we can tell they're lying. The Arcanians have cast some kind of spell, and that's not the worst of it. At the battle lines, the ground has become cursed somehow. The dirt smells like decay, and the air itself is nauseating, far worse than the smells of battle ever could be. Our men come back to camp stricken with some kind of disease. There are strange-looking boils all over them, and it hurts just to have their armor on. I've heard rumors too that some foul sorcerers are mixed in with the Arcanian soldiers; wizards who can raise the dead right there, and force them to fight. Our own men who fall in battle are being made to fight against us. Gods, I hope that isn't true.

     Lately, a group of nine people, five men and four women, have been moving through our camps. Someone said they’re called ‘monks’. The monks are from some place called the Order. No one's ever heard of it, and we were all suspicious of them when they arrived. It was strange, them showing up just when the Arcanians had begun casting their evil spells. But then they started curing the disease, so the commanders let them stay. Now that they've been here for a few weeks, I've gotten to know them fairly well, and I like them. They're all quiet, they don't talk much, and when they do, it's quick and to the point. But they're always polite. Most everyone seems to like them, except the Sivilar, but I don't know why that is. Then again, the Sivilar don't seem to like anyone.

     The generals all say we're winning the war and that soon the Arcanians will break and the war will be over. But no one believes them. The generals are wearing the same masks of fear that everyone else is wearing. The unnatural darkness, the cursed ground and this disease, it's obvious the Arcanians are planning some kind of counterattack. I'm hoping our leaders are indeed planning some kind of strategy for ending this war, but every day that nothing changes is another day my hope fades away.

     The thought of seeing you again is the only thing that gets me through each day, the only thing that keeps me from running back now. Because if I run I won't see you. We've had a lot of deserters lately, and every one of them has been caught and executed. That's how bad things are getting. Oh how I wish these Arcanians would just give up, I want to come home, to hold you in my arms. I love you Marta.

     Think of me, my love, and know that I'm thinking of you, every minute of every day. Sometime soon, we'll be together again. We'll get married under the oak tree, and live long and happy lives, forever after.

Yours forever, all my love to you,

Stigon Aquaria.

The Hunter in Black

      A sudden breeze blew down the dusty dirt path. The forest echoed a forlorn song the wind played as it rustled leaves and whistled through root and branch. The dark eyes of the hunter pierced the road ahead. A hot breath of late summer blew his dark cloak about him as he scanned the distance, searching road, rock, root, and leaf.
     He saw everything, yet nothing. A frown crossed the pale features of the mounted man. The hunter dismounted from the black horse that had carried him thus far into the forest. He moved forward, his hand on the beast’s mane informing that it should remain still. The pair shared a momentary glance.
     A black, wide-brimmed hat covered the hunter’s head. Hair black as midnight flowed from underneath it, cascading down his shoulders in a torrent of thick locks. His doublet, breeches and cloak were made of a thick, black material that seemed to shimmer, as though he disturbed some dark pool whenever he moved. Black boots made of the hide of some unknown creature covered his feet and ankles, traveling halfway up his leg. Black gloves and thick, dark vambraces covered his hands and arms. Shadowy runes flashed upon his wrists when the sun’s rays struck them.
     The hunter knelt, one knee barely hovering above the dirt road. Dust swirled, avoiding him as it whirled away in the wind. Dark eyes searched the road, looking both ways into the forest. Another moment of scanning the horizon passed, as the hunter sought his quarry. He turned, moving to stand beside the companion that had brought him thus far through hills and mountains, rain and snow, rivers and forests, in search of his prize.
      “Gone again, my old friend.”
     The voice of the hunter was mysterious. His tone was low, yet high, and carried great authority. He sounded youthful, though he was far older than anyone who saw him ever suspected. His dark eyes turned again to the distance. The hunter’s face betrayed an air of sadness as he looked to the horizon one last time.
      “Well, at the least we know where it’s going. Alas, the ruin it shall leave in its wake, as ever. I am sorry.”
     The black horse struck the road with a great hoof. The hunter turned and quickly mounted his old friend.
     “Always a word of wisdom when most I need one. Aye, perhaps you are right. On then, you are correct far more often than I.”
     The hunter allowed a faint hint of a smile to cross his countenance as horse and rider bolted forward. The black mare reached an amazing speed in just a few short steps. Suddenly, they were gone, as sudden as a summer storm upon the sea. Only the wind and the trees ever bore witness to the dark hunter’s presence.
     A red sun was setting when the searchers arrived at the small village. Barely that, the gathering of homes was little more than a collection of ramshackle houses. A rusted anvil sat upon an oaken stump in front of one these derelict abodes, the only testament to a craft the pair could see. The village seemed abandoned. Broken doors swung on rusted hinges, decrying the lack of humanity. The sun’s crimson rays cast the hovel in an eerie blood-red glow. The hunter never felt fear, but the sight of the empty village left him slightly troubled. His quarry had most certainly come this way.
     “More troublemakers, I see. Well, get on with your business and be off. I’ve quite a mess to clean up. Left me by the last ruffian.” The hunter turned to face his accuser, an elderly woman in a dirty brown, rough-spun dress. He smiled slightly at the old woman’s remark.
     “No trouble from us, dear lady.”
     It suddenly occurred to the hunter that the woman regarding him with the cool stare had not fled, from him or it, his quarry. Emotions rarely crossed the stony face of the hunter, but the old woman might have sensed his confusion.
      “The other one scared everyone off, ‘cept me. Only ‘cause I don’t scare any more. Been alive too long to fear Mr. Death. Or Mrs. Death, as it happens.”
     An eyebrow raised on the hunter’s normally expressionless face.
      “Interesting.” The hunter said to no one in particular. “And the rest?”
     This question he directed at the old woman with his eyes.
     “Gone, fled ‘afore her. They took one look and ran like they’s on fire. And here you are. What’s it about?”
     The hunter considered his answer carefully.
     “It is about the destiny of your world, young lady.”