Windrider Unchained
Chapter 1
:.Will the old man never cease speaking?.: Wondered Herald-Prince Darshay, staring resolutely ahead. His amber eyes focused on a wooden wall growing steadily larger in the distance visible between his Companion's ears.
:.I could accidentally knock his horse off the path, Chosen. .: Snaked a suspiciously solemn answer into Darshay's head.
The lanky Herald broke out into a fit of coughing, as Windrider showered his Chosen with images of the softly fat Baron Kestlon flying headfirst into a snow drift, still talking.
:. Don't do that Horse! It's hard enough trying to keep a straight face through a candlemark on the virtues of bristleworms. I know the fuzzy things are a great help to farmers, but by the hundred little gods, they're worms! .:
Windrider pranced a little. Darshay could feel the amusement seeping from his Companion. Sliding his slim hand beneath the thick blankets Windrider preferred to a saddle, the Herald scratched his Companion's back with easy affection. With the sun shining warmly on his back despite the biting cold of the snow glittering in white blankets around him, Darshay had been enjoying the final leg of his journey to Newhart. They would be, after all, his last moments of peace before the inevitable political dancing descended on him at the hands of the newest of Valdemar's potential allies. That is, they were supposed to be. The Baron Kestlon had quickly dashed Darshay's hopes, meeting Darshay on his path earlier in the day. Not that he had minded too much, initially.
Kestlon had risen to power from humble beginnings, decimating bandit group after bandit group with the same iron fist that built the fortress of Newhart in less that two years time--all without anymore Gift that his own shrewd intelligence and boundless energy. Given that, Darshay had always picture the man as a more interesting conversationalist.
". . . and round nor bristleworms, in partic-lar, seem to be attractin to the first on plantins more'n the latern. Speakin from a purely object've point nor view, the thicker'n bristles on the variety make for'n intriguin un-du-latins for 'em short matin . . ."
Stifling a yawn, Darshay ran a hand through his auburn locks, letting Baron Kestlon's words blend into the background. Looking ahead, he could make out the barest hints of buildings peeking over the top of the increasingly looming wall. Darshay marveled at the size of the trees used to create such a colossal palisade. Maybe there was more to the rumors than I thought. There's no way Kestlon could have moved those logs, much less built that monstrosity so quickly without some sort of mage.
Windrider gently rumbled his agreement. :. The structure reeks of Power. You know, if the entire place hadn't been deemed safe by Herald Rist, I'd suggest we head back. That wall makes me nervous. .:
:. I think that's the point, Wind. The place IS rumored to be impregnable. It's supposed to impress, so nothing unwanted can get in. .:
:. Or out. .: A brief silence passed between Companion and Herald as the impact of the statement was absorbed.
:. No, but Rist saw nothing wrong. I trust that. Besides which, you're the Windrider, lord of the sky. No walls can hold you, or chains bind you. Your magic is unstoppable, your legend as untouchable as your gossamer wings of Pow. . . .:
Darshay felt his bones rattle as Windrider rewarded his tripe recital with a series of bone jarring steps.
:. Come Wind, you should be proud! You're a legend before your time. .: Continued Darshay, amused despite his quickly bruising rear. It wasn't often that he got to tease the sardonic Companion with so little in the way of retribution. :. This could be your chance to prove yourself. There's got to be some reason you're a featherhead, after all. .:
:. Perhaps I have feathers to match my Herald's bird-brain. .: Came Windrider's acidic reply, accompanied by a final stomp that made Darshay's teeth rattle in into one another. :. Seriously, I don't like this essence of hidden Power. I like my mages where I can see them, thank you. .:
The sound of snow crashing down from overhead branches distracted Darshay from replying. Even the long-winded Baron paused briefly in his one-sided conversation. Very briefly.
"Look ye, we be almost back nor the fortress. Quite a nice place'n that, I'll have ta be show'n you my bristleworm samplins, yur High-ness. I have'n nor incredible spec-i-men with'n nearl-y two nor the bristlen lengths on fore-segments. The amount o'. . ."
Using all the powers of Heraldic judgment, Darshay decided it was safe enough to nod once or twice, and let the conversation once again fade into the background. His mind flickered briefly on the thin line between obsession and genius. Pity for the Baroness, he grimaced slightly, before returning to Windrider's last words. :. I'm the Crown Prince of Valdemar, Wind. I've got to be able to negotiate my way out of wars, much less into a simple treaty. I'm not backing out of this. Farmers have been spreading further and further out north, they're going to need the protection that a treaty with Kestlon can provide. .:
With what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, Windrider lengthened his strides. The Baron, being an observant man, if a singularly horrible conversationist, quickly adjusted his own lithe brown filly into a light canter.
"The horsen seem eager-like for'n some shelternin," Baron Kestlon said simply, as his horse inched a hair's-breath past Windrider. "Frank'ly, I'll be a happier'n ta gettin inside walls meself. Yer can never tell where'n those bandits residen these days."
Darshay nodded his agreement, hands tightening on Windrider's decorative reigns for a little more balance as the Companion matched his gate to the filly's. Darshay marveled at his luck for a moment as Kestlon proceeded to keep his mouth shut, perhaps with the effort of riding. The companionable silence--only interrupted occasionally to voice a comment on the surrounding forest or offer information on new bandit sightings--was definitely a pleasant change from bristleworms. Well, perhaps not pleasant, but at least far more applicable, thought Darshay. Plus, it had the benefit of actually holding his attention.
"West?" Asked the Herald suddenly as a particular comment caught his ear. "I was always under the impression that the bandits approached from the north."
"Wall, I be tellin ya, yer Majesty. There be some nor queer'n folk comin out nor the western forests. If they'n be not up ta some nor evil schemin, I'll eat me boots."
Uneasiness settled in Darshay's stomach like a stone. Something about those words just did not rest well in his mind.
:. Gut instinct, Chosen? .: Asked Windrider gently.
:. Perhaps. Just remind me of all this later, alright Wind? .: replied Darshay, trying not to twist in his saddle uncomfortably. He had the barest touch of Foresight that came and went. He hoped this was not one of those moments. If it was. . .
"And here we are'n 'erald-Prince soir," shouted Kestlon suddenly, interrupting Darshay's train of thought.
The Herald-Prince soon lost the train of thought completely as he watched the enormous gates grate open with awe. There had to be some HUGE men pulling the lever for that gate, or at least some very very clever gear configurations. The artificers would have a field day, he thought as he gazed at the slowly opening doors. Walking through the gates was like walking into a dark tunnel. Layer upon layer of wood and stone combined to make walls that could be no less than several man-lengths thick. Impressed despite himself, Darshay let out a whistle of appreciation as he neared the end.
"Kestlon, I must say, this wall is absolutely enormous! How ever did you get it. . ."
The rest of the Prince's statement was cut off and transmuted into a scream of pain. Lashes of violet light shot through his body, overwhelming his mind with pain, just before the world went black. A scream tore from Windrider's throat in response, half shared pain, half challenge. The Companion unfurled his wings of legend in an attempt to escape whatever struck his Herald.
Only they could not. He could not. An enormous net of energy burned through feather and bone, digging down into his wings until Windrider was forced to bid them away lest he lose them.
"Stupid horse, do not think I have not heard of your ways," the clear voice of Kestlon penetrated through Windrider's pain, "You'll find that I set my traps well. Neither you nor your little precious princeling will escape."
Windrider tried to blink the black that encroached on his vision away. This could not be right! Kestlon had changed completely, down to his very soul!
"I am stronger than you stupid horse," replied Kestlon to Windrider's unasked questions, "I could make you see what you wanted to see, the poor country bumpkin lord. That's what you wanted isn't it? What your precious king wanted? Ha! Well, you'll be getting a lot more than that horse. What's more, you and your little friend will soon add to the Power I've already collected. Now why don't you and the young Prince stay here while I go see if your new quarters are ready?"
Laughing, Kestlon strode off into the depths of his fortress, leaving Windrider and Darshay alone, bound down with nets of Power. The glowing lines of that Power, angry and purple, burned into Windrider's mind as he gave himself to the darkness. . . and to despair.
"Windrider fettered, imprisoned, and pinioned Wing-clipped by magic, his power full drained, Valdemar's Heir is defeated and captive, With his Companion by Darklord enchained."
Chapter 1
:.Will the old man never cease speaking?.: Wondered Herald-Prince Darshay, staring resolutely ahead. His amber eyes focused on a wooden wall growing steadily larger in the distance visible between his Companion's ears.
:.I could accidentally knock his horse off the path, Chosen. .: Snaked a suspiciously solemn answer into Darshay's head.
The lanky Herald broke out into a fit of coughing, as Windrider showered his Chosen with images of the softly fat Baron Kestlon flying headfirst into a snow drift, still talking.
:. Don't do that Horse! It's hard enough trying to keep a straight face through a candlemark on the virtues of bristleworms. I know the fuzzy things are a great help to farmers, but by the hundred little gods, they're worms! .:
Windrider pranced a little. Darshay could feel the amusement seeping from his Companion. Sliding his slim hand beneath the thick blankets Windrider preferred to a saddle, the Herald scratched his Companion's back with easy affection. With the sun shining warmly on his back despite the biting cold of the snow glittering in white blankets around him, Darshay had been enjoying the final leg of his journey to Newhart. They would be, after all, his last moments of peace before the inevitable political dancing descended on him at the hands of the newest of Valdemar's potential allies. That is, they were supposed to be. The Baron Kestlon had quickly dashed Darshay's hopes, meeting Darshay on his path earlier in the day. Not that he had minded too much, initially.
Kestlon had risen to power from humble beginnings, decimating bandit group after bandit group with the same iron fist that built the fortress of Newhart in less that two years time--all without anymore Gift that his own shrewd intelligence and boundless energy. Given that, Darshay had always picture the man as a more interesting conversationalist.
". . . and round nor bristleworms, in partic-lar, seem to be attractin to the first on plantins more'n the latern. Speakin from a purely object've point nor view, the thicker'n bristles on the variety make for'n intriguin un-du-latins for 'em short matin . . ."
Stifling a yawn, Darshay ran a hand through his auburn locks, letting Baron Kestlon's words blend into the background. Looking ahead, he could make out the barest hints of buildings peeking over the top of the increasingly looming wall. Darshay marveled at the size of the trees used to create such a colossal palisade. Maybe there was more to the rumors than I thought. There's no way Kestlon could have moved those logs, much less built that monstrosity so quickly without some sort of mage.
Windrider gently rumbled his agreement. :. The structure reeks of Power. You know, if the entire place hadn't been deemed safe by Herald Rist, I'd suggest we head back. That wall makes me nervous. .:
:. I think that's the point, Wind. The place IS rumored to be impregnable. It's supposed to impress, so nothing unwanted can get in. .:
:. Or out. .: A brief silence passed between Companion and Herald as the impact of the statement was absorbed.
:. No, but Rist saw nothing wrong. I trust that. Besides which, you're the Windrider, lord of the sky. No walls can hold you, or chains bind you. Your magic is unstoppable, your legend as untouchable as your gossamer wings of Pow. . . .:
Darshay felt his bones rattle as Windrider rewarded his tripe recital with a series of bone jarring steps.
:. Come Wind, you should be proud! You're a legend before your time. .: Continued Darshay, amused despite his quickly bruising rear. It wasn't often that he got to tease the sardonic Companion with so little in the way of retribution. :. This could be your chance to prove yourself. There's got to be some reason you're a featherhead, after all. .:
:. Perhaps I have feathers to match my Herald's bird-brain. .: Came Windrider's acidic reply, accompanied by a final stomp that made Darshay's teeth rattle in into one another. :. Seriously, I don't like this essence of hidden Power. I like my mages where I can see them, thank you. .:
The sound of snow crashing down from overhead branches distracted Darshay from replying. Even the long-winded Baron paused briefly in his one-sided conversation. Very briefly.
"Look ye, we be almost back nor the fortress. Quite a nice place'n that, I'll have ta be show'n you my bristleworm samplins, yur High-ness. I have'n nor incredible spec-i-men with'n nearl-y two nor the bristlen lengths on fore-segments. The amount o'. . ."
Using all the powers of Heraldic judgment, Darshay decided it was safe enough to nod once or twice, and let the conversation once again fade into the background. His mind flickered briefly on the thin line between obsession and genius. Pity for the Baroness, he grimaced slightly, before returning to Windrider's last words. :. I'm the Crown Prince of Valdemar, Wind. I've got to be able to negotiate my way out of wars, much less into a simple treaty. I'm not backing out of this. Farmers have been spreading further and further out north, they're going to need the protection that a treaty with Kestlon can provide. .:
With what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, Windrider lengthened his strides. The Baron, being an observant man, if a singularly horrible conversationist, quickly adjusted his own lithe brown filly into a light canter.
"The horsen seem eager-like for'n some shelternin," Baron Kestlon said simply, as his horse inched a hair's-breath past Windrider. "Frank'ly, I'll be a happier'n ta gettin inside walls meself. Yer can never tell where'n those bandits residen these days."
Darshay nodded his agreement, hands tightening on Windrider's decorative reigns for a little more balance as the Companion matched his gate to the filly's. Darshay marveled at his luck for a moment as Kestlon proceeded to keep his mouth shut, perhaps with the effort of riding. The companionable silence--only interrupted occasionally to voice a comment on the surrounding forest or offer information on new bandit sightings--was definitely a pleasant change from bristleworms. Well, perhaps not pleasant, but at least far more applicable, thought Darshay. Plus, it had the benefit of actually holding his attention.
"West?" Asked the Herald suddenly as a particular comment caught his ear. "I was always under the impression that the bandits approached from the north."
"Wall, I be tellin ya, yer Majesty. There be some nor queer'n folk comin out nor the western forests. If they'n be not up ta some nor evil schemin, I'll eat me boots."
Uneasiness settled in Darshay's stomach like a stone. Something about those words just did not rest well in his mind.
:. Gut instinct, Chosen? .: Asked Windrider gently.
:. Perhaps. Just remind me of all this later, alright Wind? .: replied Darshay, trying not to twist in his saddle uncomfortably. He had the barest touch of Foresight that came and went. He hoped this was not one of those moments. If it was. . .
"And here we are'n 'erald-Prince soir," shouted Kestlon suddenly, interrupting Darshay's train of thought.
The Herald-Prince soon lost the train of thought completely as he watched the enormous gates grate open with awe. There had to be some HUGE men pulling the lever for that gate, or at least some very very clever gear configurations. The artificers would have a field day, he thought as he gazed at the slowly opening doors. Walking through the gates was like walking into a dark tunnel. Layer upon layer of wood and stone combined to make walls that could be no less than several man-lengths thick. Impressed despite himself, Darshay let out a whistle of appreciation as he neared the end.
"Kestlon, I must say, this wall is absolutely enormous! How ever did you get it. . ."
The rest of the Prince's statement was cut off and transmuted into a scream of pain. Lashes of violet light shot through his body, overwhelming his mind with pain, just before the world went black. A scream tore from Windrider's throat in response, half shared pain, half challenge. The Companion unfurled his wings of legend in an attempt to escape whatever struck his Herald.
Only they could not. He could not. An enormous net of energy burned through feather and bone, digging down into his wings until Windrider was forced to bid them away lest he lose them.
"Stupid horse, do not think I have not heard of your ways," the clear voice of Kestlon penetrated through Windrider's pain, "You'll find that I set my traps well. Neither you nor your little precious princeling will escape."
Windrider tried to blink the black that encroached on his vision away. This could not be right! Kestlon had changed completely, down to his very soul!
"I am stronger than you stupid horse," replied Kestlon to Windrider's unasked questions, "I could make you see what you wanted to see, the poor country bumpkin lord. That's what you wanted isn't it? What your precious king wanted? Ha! Well, you'll be getting a lot more than that horse. What's more, you and your little friend will soon add to the Power I've already collected. Now why don't you and the young Prince stay here while I go see if your new quarters are ready?"
Laughing, Kestlon strode off into the depths of his fortress, leaving Windrider and Darshay alone, bound down with nets of Power. The glowing lines of that Power, angry and purple, burned into Windrider's mind as he gave himself to the darkness. . . and to despair.
"Windrider fettered, imprisoned, and pinioned Wing-clipped by magic, his power full drained, Valdemar's Heir is defeated and captive, With his Companion by Darklord enchained."