more day that you may keep the heads you use to fill those bellies. Now move!”
Hnarg viciously kicked the sprawling form of the Hackle at his feet. The creature took the blow then sprang to its feet and followed his brethren as they raced east through the grasses.
Kael ran at a steady pace beside Eidyn’s trotting stallion. His chest heaved at the strain of trying to keep up with the horses. He and the Elven prince switched positions twice since the loss of Kael’s chestnut, each man spending nearly five hours running. The boy neared exhaustion.
The darkness did not help matters. It covered the broken landscape hours before and as the night grew long, Kael’s body begged for sleep. Suddenly, Sprig materialized from behind a sea of swaying grass. The Sprite made his presence scarce since the loss of the horse, disappearing for hours at a time. The tiny man dashed forward and grabbed hold of Ader’s outstretched hand, launching himself onto the back of the giant gray stallion.
The Seraph continued to ride on as he listened to the Sprite’s report. Kael swallowed hard as he watched Ader’s face tighten. After a moment more, the Sprite sprang from the stallion and disappeared again into the long grasses of the Eru plains. Ader slowed and turned to Kael.
“We can no longer afford caution with our mounts,” stated Ader. “The Ulrog have neither turned nor slowed from our trail. In fact, they are but half a league behind and gain rapidly. We must push our steeds to their limits and hope they hold.“
Ader extended a hand to the Southland boy and Kael quickly took hold as he glanced nervously over his shoulder to the West.
“I would suggest a course due south,” continued Ader, “to give the Ulrog one more thing to think about.”
“But ...” began Eidyn.
“We would be abandoning our quest for the rescue of Lilywynn,” interrupted Ader. “A suggestion that would be met with heavy disapproval I am sure not only from our Elven prince but from the remainder of the party as well. Therefore, we will continue on this course and hope to stay ahead of our pursuers.”
Ader whispered to his mount and the giant horse raced forward into a rugged land of washes and breaks.
The moon sat high in the evening sky spilling silver light over the swaying grasses. Hnarg’s Hackles slashed through the greenery following the paths trampled by the two large horses they pursued. They were close and the pack knew it. They gathered strength and energy from the signs. The old man and his Elves were running scared. Their course seemed almost frantic. They zig zagged across the land attempting to throw the pack from their trail, but the pack could not be fooled. It was now a matter of moments before the Hackles would stumble across the small group. That is when Hnarg would take the old man’s head, a prize that would absolve any wrongdoing in the eyes of the Malveel.
The priest burst from a particularly thick section of grass into an open wash. Several of his Hackles ran before him and howled with frenzy. Hnarg’s vision followed the extended arm of one of the Hackle’s. Approximately three hundred yards from his position, a pair of horses bore riders through a steep sided, dry gully. The shimmering moon lit the white stallion like a blazing star and the huge gray shown like its reflection in a still pond.
“The Seraph runs before you,” shouted Hnarg. “Finish him and take his head.”
More Hackles poured from the grasses and followed the lead runners into the wash. Hnarg licked his lips in excitement. They would be upon the old man in minutes.
“They are close,” huffed an exhausted Ader as the huge gray pounded along the winding floor of the dry creek bed. “Their leader already delights in his victory.”
Kael held the Seraph’s waist tightly. The power in Tarader’s stride diminished over the last few days, but the horse remained difficult to stay upon. Kael slowly stretched his mind east and
Hnarg viciously kicked the sprawling form of the Hackle at his feet. The creature took the blow then sprang to its feet and followed his brethren as they raced east through the grasses.
Kael ran at a steady pace beside Eidyn’s trotting stallion. His chest heaved at the strain of trying to keep up with the horses. He and the Elven prince switched positions twice since the loss of Kael’s chestnut, each man spending nearly five hours running. The boy neared exhaustion.
The darkness did not help matters. It covered the broken landscape hours before and as the night grew long, Kael’s body begged for sleep. Suddenly, Sprig materialized from behind a sea of swaying grass. The Sprite made his presence scarce since the loss of the horse, disappearing for hours at a time. The tiny man dashed forward and grabbed hold of Ader’s outstretched hand, launching himself onto the back of the giant gray stallion.
The Seraph continued to ride on as he listened to the Sprite’s report. Kael swallowed hard as he watched Ader’s face tighten. After a moment more, the Sprite sprang from the stallion and disappeared again into the long grasses of the Eru plains. Ader slowed and turned to Kael.
“We can no longer afford caution with our mounts,” stated Ader. “The Ulrog have neither turned nor slowed from our trail. In fact, they are but half a league behind and gain rapidly. We must push our steeds to their limits and hope they hold.“
Ader extended a hand to the Southland boy and Kael quickly took hold as he glanced nervously over his shoulder to the West.
“I would suggest a course due south,” continued Ader, “to give the Ulrog one more thing to think about.”
“But ...” began Eidyn.
“We would be abandoning our quest for the rescue of Lilywynn,” interrupted Ader. “A suggestion that would be met with heavy disapproval I am sure not only from our Elven prince but from the remainder of the party as well. Therefore, we will continue on this course and hope to stay ahead of our pursuers.”
Ader whispered to his mount and the giant horse raced forward into a rugged land of washes and breaks.
The moon sat high in the evening sky spilling silver light over the swaying grasses. Hnarg’s Hackles slashed through the greenery following the paths trampled by the two large horses they pursued. They were close and the pack knew it. They gathered strength and energy from the signs. The old man and his Elves were running scared. Their course seemed almost frantic. They zig zagged across the land attempting to throw the pack from their trail, but the pack could not be fooled. It was now a matter of moments before the Hackles would stumble across the small group. That is when Hnarg would take the old man’s head, a prize that would absolve any wrongdoing in the eyes of the Malveel.
The priest burst from a particularly thick section of grass into an open wash. Several of his Hackles ran before him and howled with frenzy. Hnarg’s vision followed the extended arm of one of the Hackle’s. Approximately three hundred yards from his position, a pair of horses bore riders through a steep sided, dry gully. The shimmering moon lit the white stallion like a blazing star and the huge gray shown like its reflection in a still pond.
“The Seraph runs before you,” shouted Hnarg. “Finish him and take his head.”
More Hackles poured from the grasses and followed the lead runners into the wash. Hnarg licked his lips in excitement. They would be upon the old man in minutes.
“They are close,” huffed an exhausted Ader as the huge gray pounded along the winding floor of the dry creek bed. “Their leader already delights in his victory.”
Kael held the Seraph’s waist tightly. The power in Tarader’s stride diminished over the last few days, but the horse remained difficult to stay upon. Kael slowly stretched his mind east and
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