The rain beating down on them sounded as if the Amazonian trees were screaming at the duo. Thunder clouds above minimized the light. Some huts remained, however they were but standing toothpicks. The ground was still soaked with blood, and in some areas it flowed due to the fresh rain. Days ago, Amazonian cleanup crews, although decent in their attempts, had missed a spot here and there where there lay a hand or leg. Understandably it seemed the cleanup force was in a rush to complete their assignment. Rocks indicating their location, simple graves were made where the bodies fell.
Rathnial and Victoria walked swiftly in silence, boots sinking into mud, but with a determined edge. The Necromancer in his black cloak and the Amazon in her red, were the only living beings, save the trees, for miles.
Rathnial calmly examined his surroundings, taking in information, while Victoria held her bow readily. Taking in deep breaths, she was able to sustain an inner peace.
Suddenly, Rathnial was engulfed by the thick, sour feel of an evil entity. Darting his head to the left, he said, "The house."
Through a crack in the window, approaching the house, they made out a dark outline of a small creature. Closing in, lightening flashed revealing a domesticated dog creepily staring at them as if frozen. Wondering if some sort of traveling nomad had taken refuge in the hut, for it was common to have dogs accompany them, Rathnial knocked on the door and yelled, "Hello? Is anyone in there?"
Silence
He knocked again.
"No one's home," a quick raspy voice said.
Whizzing his head around toward Victoria, he asked, "Did you-"
Her face was pale as she stared at the dog. "It-it spoke…Rathnial, the dog just spoke. Rathnial, the dog just talked!"
Extending his arm out in a protective gesture, he said, "Stand back." Studying the dog he asked, "What is your name demon? Why have you possessed the body of this dog?"
Lightening flashed once more and water dripped down the window. Titling its head mockingly at the Necromancer, the possessed dog opened its mouth and said, "My name is Yusal. I entered this dog to be alive."
"What is your business here?" He demanded.
The dog made the equivalent of a human smile, teeth bared. "To kill." The dog's eyes flared amber, and began to rapidly scream, "Stburn allah tilldi anell npicno icaup neckular est burn alla helldi."
A mangled hand laying nearby flew and slapped Rathnial across the right check, blood quickly enveloped in the wound. With intense pain, he yelled, "Victoria shoot-"
Before he could finish, she had already landed an arrow through the dog's skull, blood splashing on the nearby wall.
Enraged at its new predicament, the amber colored demonic spirit frantically scrambled out of the corpse, grunting and screaming. Then it swiftly soared toward the Necromancer and Amazon.
"Victoria, drop!" Both landed into the mud, the slippery ground allowing for a quick fall. Hand on Victoria's back, Rathnial, dagger hilt pressed against his forehead, vigorously muttered a protective prayer. The demon loamed above them for what seemed like an eternity. Rathnial gripped the dagger with all his might, and then it was out of sight in the blink of an eye.
"Are you all right?" Rathnial asked. "I'll be fine…oh, Rathnial, your face…" she responded, placing her hand on his cheek, fresh blood rolled down his cheek.
He winched in pain, and he shook his head. "We haven't the time. My guess is that the demon was a scout, and whatever is commanding these array demons will surely find and destroy us. Hundreds of undead legions could be charging toward us at this moment. We must make haste to Athulua. It's our only hope of protection."
Their means of transportation was by a native mounting animal, Herbalas. The Herbalas is of the horse family, and it has been documented of the common Westmarch warhorse to breed with the Herbalas, producing a hybrid mule incapable of reproducing. The shadow of the creature could be mistaken as an ordinary horse, however on closer inspection the beholder can see the head and neck of the animal is significantly shorter, and the body is slightly longer. The skin of the Amazonian horse varies with many different shades of dark red, green, yellow, and purple, including stripes changing from black to white. Built for speed rather than power, the Herbalas can reach top speeds of 85 mounted and 105 MPH unmounted.
Rathnial had little need to learn horseback riding, thus had a difficult time with the animal. The military equipped him with strapping gear specially designed for inexperienced riders. The Necromancer would only fall from his Herebalas if the horse tipped over on its side, however allowing the rider to escape injury.
Victoria led the way through the thick Lycander jungle on the trail they traveled to this location on the same morning. Adept in both her ability at horseback riding and archery, she was the ideal warrior. Rathnial had a silent respect for her. During their brief time together and leisure conversations, Rathnial had picked up information about Victoria's life. During her childhood, she had grown up the oldest in a family of loving parents, two sisters and a brother. Unfortunately her parents were tragically murdered in a trading dispute with Westmarch sailors. The men were never captured. Forced to care for her siblings and herself alone, she joined the military when they became independent of her. Thus, the military had been her life ever since.
Deep in the dark Rathma church, he wasn't without worries. From childhood up, Rathnial spent his years studying, and conducting missions outside of the church. The Rathma cult wasn't an ordinary inhabitancy for anyone, including the students living in the catacombs the elders provided. Under unwavering pressure to be the best, students of Rathma were in competition. You had to be. If you were anything less, the spirit you were practicing on could overwhelm you.
Not everyone in your class could graduate, and be officially without the need of elderly assistance. Always struggling to remain the highest among his peers, he remained mentally awake and was always on guard. Students of Rathma would often try to demoralize Rathnial, to break him. Offering great wealth, and sneaking pornography and other obscene materials into his books. Becoming increasingly more difficult to stay on task when he reached adolescence, Rathinal was fortunate to be selected to assist elders at age sixteen in a spiritual disturbance mission in Kurast. Doing expectantly well, he selected for missions of increasingly greater importance. Upon graduation at age 20, Rathnial was out of the cult and was able to venture the world on his own terms.
Athulua's night lights illuminated the city. The rain had stopped, and there was night calm in the air, however not without the wary Amazonian scouts patrolling on the top wall. After many hours of galloping at an exhausting pace, the Herbalases deserved a rest.
"Should we tell her Highness?" Victoria asked.
Rathnial thought for a moment. "The possibility of an attack shouldn't be anything new to the scouts. It's more likely an army won't attack if they realize they're expected."
Returning to their cabin, both Victoria and Rathnial unsaddled and refilled the Herbalas' liquid containers. The two would also need to wash themselves of the now dried mud on their cloaks.
Now that he wasn't in constant movement, Rathnial was reminded of the deep slashes on his right cheek. The right side of his face was now covered with dried blood and had swelled significantly, which the possibility of an infection reduced due to the cleansing power of blood. However the pain was overwhelming, and treatment would be needed or wound may worsen.
Having the finest cloth for the two beds, and an array of rare paintings and decorations, the cabin was built for royal guests. A large washing basin occupied the far right corner of the main room. Two comfortable beds, a marble sink with an attached mirror for makeup and quick face washes, and a fireplace were also gifts of the Queen.
After changing into a clean black cloak, Rathnial started a fire to have a source of warmth for the room and heat water for the washing basin. Then, sitting down in front of the sink, he examined his wound. Placing his fingers on the scratches he quickly pulled away when the pain suddenly shot through his entire head, he could literally taste the electric jolt his nerves gave him.
Discarding her red cloak and removing her armor, Victoria revealed a cotton undershirt imported from Westmarch farms, tightly fitting around her developed abdomen muscles and medium-sized breasts. She wore leather leggings as well. "Oh, Rathnial let me help you…" she said sympathetically.
He waved one hand, and, shaking his head he said, "No, no I'm sure I-" Reluctantly, he gave up his manly pride. This wasn't deep inside the Rathma catacombs where it was every man for himself.
Putting the hair in her face behind her ear, Victoria had already taken her seat next to his, with a smooth washcloth in her hand, and proceeded to cleanse the dried blood and mud away from his cheek. "Hold still."
Rathnial winched at the oncoming pain, but felt nothing. Actually, the feel of her hand, combined with the silky washcloth, was soothing. Perhaps the demonized hand was cursed with anti-recovery poison, which would explain why his own efforts were unbearably difficult.
Now at ease after a stressful few days, he considered himself fortunate. "There's still much we don't know. The demon wasn't for giving me useful information."
Dipping the silk cloth in the sink, liquid blood and mud mixed together in the water. "The Barbarian tribes…what about them? Do you think they still have a hand in all of this?"
"I haven't eliminated them as a suspect, however I can say very little about them." He paused. "I'm sure Gugan is perplexed on the lack of our rendezvous."
Victoria made a grunt of disapproval. "The primate of a man was rude to our ambassadors. He was lucky. They should have killed him like the people say."
Rathnial took in a deep breath and blew out slowly. "There is a serious imbalance here. That is certain. I sensed much anger when we ventured through Symonun today…the Undead being that source of anger. The origins of their reincarnation seem to be formed not of this land. However, I do not believe they come forth from Hell directly. Demon involvement on the mortal plain is the doing of man in virtually every instance…" He frowned. "I just cannot say from where or whom."
Victoria got up to retrieve her self-medic kit from her torso armor, and Rathnial look at the mirror to see the slits had become fresh and clean.
She returned and opened a pouch of maggots, and filled the slits until they were evenly distributed with the squirming critters. A patchwork of Dihusmal leaves were applied to his face, the surface naturally adhering to his skin.
Satisfied with the work on his face he said, "Your amazing, Victoria, you truly are." He studied the binding as if it was artwork.
She smiled and look away, seemingly embarrassed. Fiery green eyes glistened back at him. Those beautiful yet strong eyes. He found himself smiling back, locked in her gaze, as she was in turn locked in his intense yet handsome face.
Being a Necromancer, he never had the time to couple with the opposite sex. His efforts to supersede his loneliness on those missions on distant lands proved to no avail. Distracting his mind with his tasks at the moment was his only escape.
Victoria quickly smiled once more. "I must wash. I too am filthy." With that, she walked over to the fireplace to retrieve the hot water in the cauldron. Once the washing basin was filled, she pulled the curtain built into the ceiling over the area. Apparently, the Amazons needed a way to prevent male stares. Rathnial wasn't offended in the least. He understood completely.
He positioned a chair in front of the fireplace, gazing into the flame. It seemed to stimulate his mind, willing him to mediate.
"Trag'Oul help me," he thought aloud. He had come here to save these people, to liberate them from some unseen enemy. Never had he encountered such circumstances where he felt so desperate or so apprehensive of the next second. The Necromancer feared for these people more than they feared for themselves.
The Amazon people may perish from this Earth tomorrow. How did such a heavy burden befall upon him? How was he going to fight an army, an undead army, alone? When he actually confronted the enemy, he was chased away.
Rathnial made his right hand into a fist, placed his left over it and rested his jaw upon them. At least he wasn't alone this time, he thought. At least Victoria was there. He glanced over at the curtains where she bathed. If he could just have one aspect with him, no doubt, it would be the woman he trusted the most. The thought stayed with him, with a person he knew for such a small amount of time, he never had anyone as close since his days at the Rathma cult.
Victoria exited the basin with a purple silk night gown, akin to Rathinal's stress, she briskly glided over to him, knelt down, extended her right arm around his neck and said, "I think it best to call it a night."
Rathnial looked down to see the firelight illuminating her concerned face. He agreed earnestly by nodding his head, "Yes…thank you." With that, Rathnial changed into a clean wool undershirt with wool pants dyed black.
Victoria covered herself and sleep peacefully. Rathnial however forced his eyes closed and breathed slowly and steadily to will himself asleep. Eventually he dreamt.
He was nowhere. Yet he was somewhere. The Barbarians lived out their daily lives, trying to sustain serenity in their new land. There is good and evil in all living beings, and this place was no acceptation.
Then he saw it. Inside the tent. The amulet was glowing. Amber. The color was amber. Evil and hatred it screamed. It was the source of everything. It must be.
It is contemplating. It's alive. Angry. It's forming a new army. A massive army. There is no stopping it. No stopping it…no stopping it…no stopping…Trag'Oul help me.
"Rathnial! Wake up! What's wrong?"
He eyes were in complete shock. Gasping for breath and looking her incredibly intense in the eyes he said,
"They are coming."
