The wagon rushed along the road, moving faster than common sense dictated. Normally, pelting rain and the dark of night would drive travelers to seek shelter and wait out the storm. But the drivers' mission was urgent, and the horses were frightened. A sickly-sweet smell permeated the air around the wagon, pungent even under the rain. The horses did not like the smell, and were doing the best their primitive animal minds could to get away from it. They smelled disease, filth, and death following them. And so they ran.
The driver snapped the reins for the fifth time that night, pushing the horses faster. His companion glared at him. "You're going to kill the horses!" he shouted, straining to be heard over the thundering hooves and rain.
"You know the master's orders!" the driver shouted back. "This delivery must be made tonight!"
His partner pulled his hood low to shield his face. Both men were wearing long black robes, marked with purple runes. The runes glowed with a sinister dark light. Behind them, in the carriage's bed, sat eight barrels, lashed down to keep them from bouncing about. "We still have time," the second man growled. "But if the horses wear out then we definitely won't make it!"
"Where is your faith, brother?" The driver looked at him. "Our mission will not fail."
"If you're so sure about that," said his partner, "then stop whipping the damn horses!"
The driver lashed out at the horses, urging them onward. The beasts were frothing at the mouth. Most of the water on their bodies was sweat. His partner reached over and yanked the reins from the driver's hands. He quickly pulled them up, halting the horses. Their sides heaved in and out as they struggled to catch their breaths. The driver glared at his partner again, who tucked the reins away. "You err, brother."
"No, brother, it is you who err." The man glared back. "We will let the horses rest for a moment. Then we will continue."
"No!" Now the driver's mouth was covered with foam. "We must continue! The master demands it!"
His partner jumped from the carriage and walked towards the horses. He unfastened them from their harnesses and led them off the road under a nearby grove of trees. There the horses grazed hungrily, pausing only to lick water from the grass. "We rest," the man said.
The driver was beside himself. "You fool! Don't you see? This storm was sent to test us! The master wishes to know which of his followers are the most devout!" His hood fell from his head. The driver had long, graying hair, which was strange, since he obviously was in his early twenties. His skin was pale, and his eyes bulged wide. Veins widened across his forehead. "Don't you see, brother?" he asked again. "The master needs us!"
"The master is all powerful, brother, and has waited decades for this day." his partner said calmly. "He can afford to wait a few hours more."
The driver screamed in rage. "You will lead us away from the blessing the master promises! You lead us to damnation!"
His partner shrugged.
The driver jumped to the ground and drew a dagger from his cloak. "I am a loyal follower," he muttered darkly. "You have betrayed the master's trust. You do not deserve the master's blessing, the gift of all gifts."
His partner stood calmly, arms hanging at his sides. With a wicked grin the driver ran towards him, thrusting the dagger towards his partner's chest. The road was suddenly lit with a green light, startling the horsed. When the light faded, the wagon driver lay dead on the ground, still grinning.
His partner crossed his arms and sighed. "Guess the Cult of the Damned lets anyone in these days." He kicked the driver's leg lightly. "Shame."
He shook water from his robes and tucked his hands in his sleeves. The horses had taken shelter under a nearby tree. He went to join them and sat against the tree trunk, smiling slightly. Behind him, one of the horses snorted and gave the carriage a wary glance. Lightning shot across the sky, fully illuminating the cart and its cargo.
