Chapter 1: Within the Burial Grounds
The grassy plains were spread out in all directions. The occasional lone tree or shallow pond appeared at random, amidst derelict walls of dark grey stone erected aeons ago to encircle houses long destroyed. Every now and then, a scavenger raven would caw, its hoarse complaint for flesh echoing in the vastness of the demon-filled lands.
Caw. Caw.
The lone figure striding purposefully—nervously—along the pathway was a slender one, a young woman. In her hands, she carried a staff topped with a rough-hewn gemstone of measurable size. Perhaps she'd wished to match weapon to garment; whether intentionally or not, the jade-coloured headpiece perfectly matched the emerald-green cloak clasped about her shoulders.
She was fair, considerably pale. Given the precariousness of her situation, however, she hardly cared. Most would be frightened in her place, and she knew it well.
Once or twice she'd stopped dead in her tracks to glance furtively about her surroundings, fingers tightening upon her weapon. The silence within the plains only worried her further; could it be that the hell spawn were planning a silent, and yet deadly assault? It was doubtless they knew she was there.
Caw. Caw.
She hastened once more, careful to avoid making more noise than necessary. Stealth had never been one of her strong points, and more than once, she'd found herself tripping over a stray root, or a rogue boulder. It took all her willpower to bite down, hard upon her tongue; to remind herself that cursing aloud would likely bring attackers in all shapes and sizes.
Caw. Caw.
Her nerves were starting to get the better of her. Why, by the Gods, had such fear overtaken her? She didn't know the answer to her question; she'd never imagined herself such a coward. Eventually, she steeled herself, and gritting her teeth, chided herself inwardly.
It would not do to back away. Not now.
Bawk off!
Saul twirled his staff once around his hands, wrinkling his nose at the crimson demon before him. They were annoying little monsters, and yet, once or twice, he found himself smirking in slight amusement at their inability to commune properly with one another. Often, they made noises that sounded almost like a form of human speech; yet, said speeches were short, and spoken with such ignorant gusto that it was impossible for him to keep a straight face.
Yaagh!
He could not help it. He smirked.
Perhaps the demon sensed his moment of weakness; it bared its teeth at him, waving its barbed club in a gesture of defiance. "Ah-eh!"
Saul offered that easy smile; for a moment or two, it stared back at him. Then, without hesitation, and catching him by surprise, it lifted that club, and in one single movement brought it down upon his unguarded foot.
He swore heavily under his breath as the creature ran away, gleefully lifting its club and proclaiming its glory to fallen companions. "Pathetic little—"
The demon came running back towards him, its club raised; poised to attack. This time, he was ready. Narrowing his eyes, Saul muttered quietly under his breath, then lifted his staff to point at the little crimson rat. It shrieked; the last thing it saw was the fury of the druid, and the last thing it felt, the icy-tempest of a whirling tornado. It exploded into a shower of crystalline sparks.
Saul smirked, all pain forgotten. Revenge was sweet.
Hours had passed since the moon disappeared permanently behind the clouds. It worked to his advantage; he preferred the darkness, which provided cover for quick escapes should all fall ill. Yet, Saul knew that he had little to fear; he'd long since cleared out the majority of the demon tribes within the plains. The demons were dwindling in numbers—and they knew why.
Many had taken to hiding.
He whistled mildly as he marched along, staff held loosely over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he noticed the lurking movements the resentful survivors. Saul chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he strode away; in the moments that passed, they seemed to think better of pursuing him, and with broken mutters and dark whispers, backed away into their hiding holes.
The dismal entrance into the burial grounds loomed ahead, crumbling and cloaked in moss. Saul let out a wary breath—whatever his success had been with the demons in the plain, Blood Raven promised to be far greater an adversary. Besides, he thought with a grimace, if Kashya's predictions were correct that Alathea had indeed succumbed to the forces of evil, she would have absolutely no reservations about cutting his head off.
If she can.
The thought made him smile. Adrenaline coursed through his veins—nervousness, mingled with a slight tinge of excitement.
Slowly, silently, he edged deeper and deeper into the cemetery. He held his staff at the ready, and recited, as he went along, ancient spells of protection known only to his kin. Somehow he didn't think they would help much with a demoness on his tail, but they offered some measure of comfortable familiarity.
Upon reaching the end of the alleyway, Saul lowered himself into the shadows cast by the low brick walls, studying the area with wary eyes.
The corpses wandered the paths about the gravestones, sombrely, confused. Saul wondered if it was his imagination; it seemed to him that the undead walked in pain, each step accompanied by a low, raspy moan. Skeletal warriors trudged tiredly alongside the decaying undead, bones clicking at the ankles and heels—these carried with them axes of ivory.
Saul knew without a doubt they were lethal—even more so for being already deceased.
He allowed his eyes to wander in search of their leader. After a moment or two of scouring the area, his eyes fell upon a towering dead tree with low-dripping branches, snapped clean off their boughs. It dominated the centre of the burial grounds.
"Aha." He breathed.
She sat beneath the shadows of the branches, slowly, but steadily drawing the string of her long bow, then coaxing it back with the precision of a careful healer. Blood Raven was lost in thought—too gone at present to take note of the druid's arrival.
Saul held his breath. Her eyes were crimson, so bright they were visible to him even from a distance. For a moment or two, he thought he could see flashes of sadness and pain within them, but those traces of emotion were quickly lost to a snarl of rage as a wandering corpse nudged her side as it passed.
It took but a second for her to slit its throat. Saul winced again—then swallowed. His own throat itched for water; it felt constricted.
Nothing for it, then. It's now or never.
With a heavy grunt of determination, the druid pushed himself to his feet. He broke into a run, raising his staff towards the group of skeletal warriors closest to the entrance gate. Much too soon, Blood Raven lifted her head; her eyes met his. In the brief second it took for him to conjure up the elements, she got to her feet, drew back the string of her bow, took aim, and fired.
Something's wrong.
She gazed solemnly about, brow furrowed in her puzzlement. Given the state of the Sanctuary, it made no sense to her that the plains were devoid of demons. They were trawling the land—but here, they were non-existent.
Or almost non-existent.
Once or twice, out of the corner of her eyes, she thought she'd caught glimpses of crimson lurking deep within the shadows of the night. When she'd discovered no more than a frightened squirrel, she forced herself to believe that her mind was playing tricks.
Still, it nagged at her as an itch would. Something was wrong.
Where are the demons?
She tossed her long ponytail irritably over her shoulder. Her nervousness had long since been replaced by suspicion and grouchiness; she'd been anticipating battle. Having spent days in preparation for her first venture into the battlegrounds against evil, she was, oddly enough, disappointed.
Impatience was a balm for unsettled nerves. She knew this now.
She strode along the pathway, thumping her staff onto the ground with each step. There was no point in remaining discreet; no demon seemed intent upon attacking her.
Soon, she found herself standing before an alleyway of cobbled, grey stones. Curious, she leaned forward to peer into the clearing beyond, only to find numerous trees of various heights and widths blocking her vision. She swore.
She refused to be thwarted. Her curiosity would be sated. Gripping her staff hard, the young woman edged quietly into the alleyway. She held her breath as she moved, careful to switch her gaze back and forth between the knobbly, root-infested ground, to what lay before her. Somehow, she didn't think it would be in her best interests to succumb to carelessness.
"Join my army of the dead!"
She could barely contain the shriek of surprise that rose within her. In her state of panic, self-defence had her subconsciously cast a spell; several tiny waves of lightning weaved about her form, bristling the grassy ground. She yelped and hopped back in a futile attempt to avoid the sparks, before coming to remember—the lightning would not hurt its summoner.
Strange.
The source of the disembodied voice seemed nowhere near intent upon hurting her. Indeed, while she'd tensed, anticipating battle, she was seemingly unnoticed by all but for several hungry ravens perched on an overhead branch. Puzzled, she wrinkled her nose.
"You cannot hide from me forever, maggot druid!"
It became apparent to her that she'd stumbled upon a battle—one in which she was not involved. A battle in which another was fighting. A battle in which, no doubt, one fighting would require aid.
She took pause to breathe—then, fingers crackling with energy, slipped through thorny brambles and took a step forward.
Saul ducked behind a tombstone, cringing as a rain of arrows pelted the area. Inwardly, he thanked the owner of the gravestone, one called Ketia Dhoran, who'd passed into the realms of the dead some fifty years back. In spite of his situation, he wondered, even as a stray arrow stabbed the earth dangerously close to his calf, whether Ketia Dhoran walked again amongst the horde of undead.
"Face me like a man." Blood Raven's voice was a low, taunting whisper, carried on only by the grace of the winds. "You cannot hide forever."
Saul grimaced; he didn't think he'd be able to hide much longer. Just as he was about make a dash forward, he saw a flash of red, and a barely-camouflaged shade of emerald.
He frowned.
She was young, by his reckoning—much too young to be out and about in times such as these. Long, orange-red tresses trailed behind her in a thick ponytail. With a pang of panic, he noted that she was making her way towards his opponent.
"Not good." He rolled to his feet.
His opponent had not noticed this new arrival; with a yell of triumph, she drew her bowstring once more, the glimmering length of a magical arrow appearing in her fingers. "Now, you die."
Confronted with an arrow to his face, Saul found he could manage only a feeble smile. "That doesn't sound very nice." Desperately, he attempted to convey his message to the red-headed lass—for her to leave. He raised both his hands, refocused his gaze upon the risen rogue. "You're not this person. You were a rogue once."
Something flickered in Blood Raven's eyes; then the crimson wavered, and she snarled. The arrow in her bow pulsed, as if with a surge of energy. "No."
Saul gritted his teeth. She reminded him of Kashya—and he knew without a doubt which of the two he'd prefer at the moment. Still, a part of him wondered if a part of the rogue had lived in her risen, demonic body. If such were even possible.
He let out a breath. "Alathea."
The crimson eyes wavered once more. Saul found himself transfixed upon them—but then the red-headed lass re-surfaced, directly behind the rogue. Large, bright-blue eyes met his own grey gaze—only for a split second, but Blood Raven had seen.
With a scream of rage, the rogue turned on her heels and let loose the arrow nocked within her bow. The red-headed lass tumbled out of the way with a cry, then stretched out her hand. As the ground burst into flames, causing nearby headstones to explode into rubble, Saul leapt out of the way. In the chaos, he'd lost sight of Blood Raven.
"Run, girl!"
The red-headed lass had gotten to her feet. He dashed towards her, but was thrown off-course by the arrow that came his way. "Get the hells out of here!"
"No-one leaves." Blood Raven's voice echoed thunderously through the flames. Saul swore, then turned at the sound of rattling bone. He barely managed to parry the carved ivory axe swinging at his face, then sent the head of his staff into the torso of his assailant, before calling upon the winds. His tempest swept an advancing row of undead and skeletal warriors away—but even with the girl's bursts of fire and lightning, Saul knew they had to end Blood Raven fast.
He sent a blast of ice forward, letting out a breath as it blew away the arrow that had moments ago been streaking towards his chest. Across the burial grounds, several shattered headstones away, the red-headed lass was sending ball after pulsing ball of exploding fire at the decaying bodies before her. She was occupied.
Good, he thought. I can put some distance between us, then.
He darted across the broken path, dodging the rogue's arrows and the warriors' blows—Blood Raven was hot on his trail. He elbowed a skeletal warrior in the cheekbone, swivelling around just as the rogue pulled up a glimmering arrow—
—and met it with the sharpened edge of the warrior's axe. As warrior, axe, and arrow crumbled to the ground at his feet in a snowfall of electrified dust, Saul bent low, snatched the dagger from his boot, and planted it deep into the rogue's chest just as she let loose her final arrow.
Even as the arrow found home in his shoulder, the druid twisted, hard—then the rogue crumpled to the ground, falling in a heap upon the bodies of those she'd been made to defile.
Across the grounds, the red-headed lass had disposed of her opponents, but Saul had no eyes for her at present.
He frowned, kneeling before the twice-murdered woman. "I'm sorry it had to end this way, Alathea." He murmured. "I tried to be gentle." Without thinking, he tugged the dagger from her body.
Almost immediately, a blinding flash of light filled the burial grounds; he was blasted off his feet onto his back. A woman's shriek told him the red-headed lass had suffered a similar fall. Several long moments passed before the light dissipated, restoring peace and silence to the dead. He winced; the wound in his shoulder was sopping wet with thick, red blood. The lass was groaning several feet away, but once again, it was Blood Raven who caught his eye. Her body lay scorched and shrivelled before a tombstone hewn of rough grey stone.
It said: Alathea Dracnogari.
He quirked a wry smile.
Author's Note: Phew! There goes another chapter! I hope you enjoyed this chapter—it was done in rather a hurry. I plan on editing and re-writing it, but I thought it was best to write, before the ever-frightening writers' block hits me again!
The Phrenologikal Cat – Hullo, thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you liked my prologue, and I'm really thankful for that comment you left me. It makes my day! And, hah! My English is rather elementary, but thank you! I blushed to beetroot levels when I read your remarks. Thank you, thank you! Keep reading and reviewing!
Update: This chapter has been edited for clarity and continuity as of December 29th, 2013.