Ashley Hay

EH 390

July 13, 2010

The sun's scorching fingers sear across my skin. My eyes flicker open and promptly slam shut upon meeting the jarring light of the summer sun. I am suddenly very aware of the dry, raspy breath scraping in and out of my cracked lips; each lungful more painful than the last. My left hand grasps convulsively around my sword, dusky brown fingers wrapping and unwrapping around the worn leather of the pommel. Achingly, I swivels my head from side to side, and then with painstaking effort I extend my careful probing to each limb checking my battered body for broken bones. The examination yields discouraging results. My ribs were broken or fractured by the weight of my horse crushing me in her fall, and I cannot feel my right leg.

With every passing hour the sun's light grows stronger, blaring forth like herald's trumpet. The oppressive heat has made the stench of battlefield palpable. Carrion, seemingly unperturbed by the heat, feast upon the remains of the furious battle. A vulture lands unnervingly close to my head whose addled wits rally enough strength to realize the imperative need to find shelter.

Every ounce of concentration is then funneled into getting my body to respond to my brain's commands. Move. My left leg twitches in response. Move! Nothing, not even a twitch from my bruised limbs—a moment of panic flashes across my consciousness. Move! Move goddammit! Move! I suck in a lungful of stale air, jab an elbow into the earth, and shove myself into a sitting position. The air screams back out of my lungs on a wave of pain startling the nearest birds into flight. Tears sting my eyes in with the effort to stay conscious. When my breathing returns from ragged back to a dry rasp, I begin to survey my surroundings.

Death is everywhere. Dismembered body parts are scattered across the rough grasslands. Bodies lay piled one atop another making it impossible to distinguish friend from foe. Crows fill the air, raucously cawing out their delight and alerting the other scavengers to the location of the mostly human banquet. The land is a blur of black feathers and clotted blood. I can see no living being besides carrion. Not even a stray horse lingers at the edges of the field as most of them lay pincushioned to the earth by arrows and spears. The tree line of the Southern forest is the only distinction that can be made, and that is at least twenty leagues away.

I return my attention to my numbed right leg. It has swollen to grotesque proportions. Having lost my dagger in the chest of the man who had speared my beloved horse, I clumsily cut away the cloth of my pant leg using my sword. Blood has congealed into a dark jelly between the flesh and leather of my now too tight boot. My leg is a mottled red and purple sausage bulging out of its diminished casing. Setting my jaw, I take the sword mid-blade and carefully wedge the tip between the leather of the boot and my fevered calf and attempt to saw through the boot. The slick leather forces my hand to slip and the sharp steel of my blade jabs into spongy flesh. Stars burst brightly into existence before everything goes black.

A small, almost reluctant breeze kisses my feverish skin. The unforgiving sun has given way to balmy night. I try to uncurl myself from the fetal position only to faint once again.

A chestnut stallion wanders through the battle grounds prodding one body after another. None of them respond to his inquiring muzzle. The full moon washes the land in an eerie silver light, the birds are silent silhouetted guards over the mangled armies. It is a portrait of Hell.

"Aaagh"

The stallion stills at the sound. Waiting.

"Aaagh"

The stallion follows the moans until he locates the injured soldier. The moonlight gives the soldier's raven hair an ethereal glow. His square shoulders are slumped with his long arms wrapped protectively, instinctively around his injured leg. He moans with agony as if pain radiates throughout his entire body. Stooping low, the horse nuzzles the man's face, which only serves to elicit another moan. The horse gives a loud snort before plopping down beside the soldier to sleep.

I groan as I wake. I feel stiff and stretched like old leather. A horse neighs to my immediate left. My body gives a violent jerk in the shock sending a surge of fiery pain through my lungs. I scramble up onto my elbows and come face to face with a velvet muzzle. The horse cocks his head so that we are looking directly into each other's eyes. Those large chocolate orbs blink once before he heaves himself up off the ground. I crane my neck to see him fully. He's at least seventeen hands high with a gleaming chestnut colored coat that perfectly sets off his black tail and mane.

"Easy boy, easy." I try to use a soothing tone, but my voice cracks from thirst and disuse. He tosses his silky black mane and paws the ground impatiently. I tentatively put all my weight onto my left arm and stretch my right hand towards him, but he prances out of reach. Again he neighs, tosses his head, and prances around me in a semi-circle.

Puzzled by his antics I enquire, "What are you doing?" He snorts in reply. I wait a beat and ask again, "What are you doing?" This time I swear he rolls his eyes. Smartass horse. He dips his head to eye level and holds my gaze and then, he slowly turns until we are facing the same direction. Just as I was about to ask his intentions for a third time, he kneels down until my head is parallel with his neck. He turns and looks me in the eye again before roughly nudging my head. I cry out in reflexive pain and try to swat him away. He does this several more time before I realize that he is pushing me toward his own body. I look from him to my bum leg. No harness, no bridle, and no saddle. There's no way I can ride him bareback in my condition, but it's plain to see that he's going to continue rattling my brain around inside my skull until I move.

I grab a sweaty fistful of his silken hair for leverage and ease myself closer to him inches at a time. I'm in so much pain by the time we are making skin contact that I collapse against him. I can't distinguish one part of my body from another. He whinnies at me to keep going, or at least that's what I think he's saying. Every muscle tenses in preparation for what will happen next, I give up on breathing entirely. I fling my left arm around his neck, pull myself upwards, and miraculously manage to get my left leg over his broad back. Hissing through my teeth, I bury my face into his mane. His muscles ripple and I brace myself for what's coming next. Gingerly, the horse rises onto all fours, and as if heedful of his rider's condition, he steps guardedly through the pockmarked grassland.

I hang haphazardly onto his back with my entire body pressed as close to him as a second skin. He heads east, following at the edge of the Southern forest. The hours lengthen with the sun's shadows. We come to a low stone wall and we swing our direction to the north away from the forest.

Shortly after nightfall, we come upon a small glade. In the center of the thick foliage is a sprawling cottage. A structure so unobtrusive to its environment, that it was barely distinguishable excepting the swirl of smoke rising from the chimney.

"Welcome to the Council Deyna. I am Kort, and I shall be your guide."