Chapter One: Enemy Territory
Isger, 4701 AR
They rode their horses far from the well-trodden roads of the Conerica Straits. The ancient trade routes were no longer safe, even for seasoned warriors, and the pair stuck to the labyrinthine hill paths that intersected the foot of the Aspodells' northern peaks.
Kal Berne led the way, looking for any sign of the enemy's passing. The allied forces had managed to push the goblinoid insurgents back to the Chitterwood, but there were still isolated bands roaming the hills and mountains, ready to strike at the few towns and villages left standing. Their mission was part of the allied attempt to eradicate the goblinoid threat from Isger once and for all, and Kal relished the challenge. He had been a scout in the Steel Falcons for two years, and his tracking skills were as highly prized as his knack with a bow. With any luck, it wouldn't be long before he could challenge for the rank of lance corporal, and the success of this mission would certainly do his chances no harm.
His companion guarded the rear, though this did little to alleviate Kal's nerves. Truth be told, the warrior at his back made him more uneasy than the prospect of stumbling on a band of brigands or a goblin warhost. Kal glanced back, seeing the dark, brooding warrior atop his black destrier, gazing forward with barely disguised contempt. He was tall, his dark hair falling about his armored shoulders. On his breastplate was fashioned the face of a hideous demon, and at his back hung a wicked black sword.
A Hellknight!
What was General Marusek thinking, pairing him with such a... Kal couldn't think of the word; the warrior was hardly a man, after all. Men showed emotion, mercy, empathy. Whereas the armored fiend that accompanied him was like a block of cold granite.
They had been introduced at the allied base in Elidir. Tiberion was the Chelaxian's name, and he had ignored Kal's attempts at small talk. It quickly became clear that Tiberion was not one for conversation.
Their orders were clear--to scout out the hills east of the Chitterwood and report back any sign of the enemy. Simple. Or it would have been had Kal not had to ride with a devil-worshiping brute. Nevertheless, he had accepted his orders without complaint, and as they made their way along the treacherous goat tracks and shaded vales he focused on the mission.
For almost two days they had seen no sign of the enemy as they made their way toward the mountains, and as he sat atop his dappled mare, Kal was beginning to wonder if this was a fool's errand.
Then he saw it, almost imperceptible on the uneven ground. He quickly slipped from his mount, crouching beside the track and running a hand through his short, dark hair. It was barely half a print, but it was there, plain as day in the sodden earth, showing where a clawed foot had crossed their path.
"I have sign, headed south," Kal said, not expecting an answer.
"How old?"
Talmandor's wing--it speaks! thought Kal, though he didn't dare say it out loud.
"An hour, maybe less. On foot. If we're quick we may be able to catch them before night."
Kal glanced up with an eager smile, but instantly felt foolish as he was met with Tiberion's usual stolid expression. Kal leapt back onto his horse and reined it south, diverting from the path and moving higher over the lip of the valley. Tiberion moved up beside him as they mounted the rise, and the clawing peaks of the Aspodell Mountains rose before them.
Kal glanced up at the overcast sky. "We have maybe an hour of light."
"Then we had best make haste," said Tiberion, sticking his spurs to the black warhorse beneath him and galloping down the other side of the rise. Kal spurred his own mount, and followed behind.
They rode hard, navigating the narrow gullies and paths, rising higher into the foothills. Below them the ground gradually became firmer, as rolling hills made way for sloping mountains. With every step a darkening veil of shadow gradually
Isger, 4701 AR
They rode their horses far from the well-trodden roads of the Conerica Straits. The ancient trade routes were no longer safe, even for seasoned warriors, and the pair stuck to the labyrinthine hill paths that intersected the foot of the Aspodells' northern peaks.
Kal Berne led the way, looking for any sign of the enemy's passing. The allied forces had managed to push the goblinoid insurgents back to the Chitterwood, but there were still isolated bands roaming the hills and mountains, ready to strike at the few towns and villages left standing. Their mission was part of the allied attempt to eradicate the goblinoid threat from Isger once and for all, and Kal relished the challenge. He had been a scout in the Steel Falcons for two years, and his tracking skills were as highly prized as his knack with a bow. With any luck, it wouldn't be long before he could challenge for the rank of lance corporal, and the success of this mission would certainly do his chances no harm.
His companion guarded the rear, though this did little to alleviate Kal's nerves. Truth be told, the warrior at his back made him more uneasy than the prospect of stumbling on a band of brigands or a goblin warhost. Kal glanced back, seeing the dark, brooding warrior atop his black destrier, gazing forward with barely disguised contempt. He was tall, his dark hair falling about his armored shoulders. On his breastplate was fashioned the face of a hideous demon, and at his back hung a wicked black sword.
A Hellknight!
What was General Marusek thinking, pairing him with such a... Kal couldn't think of the word; the warrior was hardly a man, after all. Men showed emotion, mercy, empathy. Whereas the armored fiend that accompanied him was like a block of cold granite.
They had been introduced at the allied base in Elidir. Tiberion was the Chelaxian's name, and he had ignored Kal's attempts at small talk. It quickly became clear that Tiberion was not one for conversation.
Their orders were clear--to scout out the hills east of the Chitterwood and report back any sign of the enemy. Simple. Or it would have been had Kal not had to ride with a devil-worshiping brute. Nevertheless, he had accepted his orders without complaint, and as they made their way along the treacherous goat tracks and shaded vales he focused on the mission.
For almost two days they had seen no sign of the enemy as they made their way toward the mountains, and as he sat atop his dappled mare, Kal was beginning to wonder if this was a fool's errand.
Then he saw it, almost imperceptible on the uneven ground. He quickly slipped from his mount, crouching beside the track and running a hand through his short, dark hair. It was barely half a print, but it was there, plain as day in the sodden earth, showing where a clawed foot had crossed their path.
"I have sign, headed south," Kal said, not expecting an answer.
"How old?"
Talmandor's wing--it speaks! thought Kal, though he didn't dare say it out loud.
"An hour, maybe less. On foot. If we're quick we may be able to catch them before night."
Kal glanced up with an eager smile, but instantly felt foolish as he was met with Tiberion's usual stolid expression. Kal leapt back onto his horse and reined it south, diverting from the path and moving higher over the lip of the valley. Tiberion moved up beside him as they mounted the rise, and the clawing peaks of the Aspodell Mountains rose before them.
Kal glanced up at the overcast sky. "We have maybe an hour of light."
"Then we had best make haste," said Tiberion, sticking his spurs to the black warhorse beneath him and galloping down the other side of the rise. Kal spurred his own mount, and followed behind.
They rode hard, navigating the narrow gullies and paths, rising higher into the foothills. Below them the ground gradually became firmer, as rolling hills made way for sloping mountains. With every step a darkening veil of shadow gradually
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