The Dark Rider

The Never Ending Quest - Episode 5733

Fred stared into the deep darkness of the forest's edge. The ghostly woman had vanished into its mists, leaving him cold and trembling. A bitter wind had picked up and now howled through the rocks above him and the trees below. His cloak flapped wildly in the cold night air and he shivered. Was it only the wind that blew across his cheek? Or was this but the rising tide of a sea of spirits, come to dance in this haunted wood? And what was he to make of the ghostly Alice's parting words? What was he to do with a message from the world of the dead? A message he did not even understand.

And then faint cries reached his ears. Cries that floated up from the forest below only to be torn and lost by the howling wind that buffeted the rocky crest where Fred stood and did not move. Cries of dwarves.

The three yet lived, but for how long? The spectral wood stared out at him, its broken and twisted trees limned in the faint moonlight. Trees, bare and jagged, that gaped at him and grinned like an angry mouth full of sharp teeth. The wood was warning him not to reenter its dark domain or try to follow its shadowed paths. The wood had let him escape; he would not be given the boon twice.

Fred breathed in the sharp, cold air on that lonely, stone hill and still he did not move. Far to the north his home lay waiting, but below him, trapped in the darkness with things not of this world, were three dwarves. Dwarves that needed his help. But to help them he would have to go back down into that perilous and devil cursed wood. And he did not want to do that. But to just leave them there...

...

The rough snort of a horse pulled Fred away from his dilemma and back to the world around him. He turned, sword raised, and was surprised to see a man looking down at him. Surprised and shocked that a man on a horse could have gotten that close to him without any warning of his approach. The man stared down at Fred from his saddle without saying a word. He wore a wide brimmed conical hat and in the darkness Fred could not see his face clearly. But he was slightly bent and though his hands were gloved, the fingers seemed a bit crooked, as if with age.

The horse snorted again and pawed at the ground with a hoof. And then the man spoke. "Spirits are a most dangerous thing," he said in a deep but quiet voice. "One is never quite sure of what they want. And that makes it an unfortunately simple thing to make them angry."

"Who are you?" Fred demanded, cold suspicion rising within him. "I am just a rider, good sir," the horseman answered, "who's travels have led him to this wild country." Fred took a step closer. "A robber is more like it," the knight retorted, "a thief in the night."

"Or perhaps something worse," the Rider added casually. The horseman's gaze did not waver, but remained fixed upon Fred. The Rider did not even glance at the dangerous sword leveled at his breast. "But come now, sir," the Rider said with all seriousness, "I am no threat to you." With one hand he patted his beast's thick neck while with the other he motioned for Fred to lower the sword. "Please, you'll frighten my horse."

But Fred stood firm, and did not lower his blade. "I think your time would be better spent trying to save your friends," the Rider suddenly advised, "instead of guarding yourself against me." Fred glanced back at the forest, "My friends?" The Rider pointed down to the tree line below them, "You know, the ones down there. The ones I can hear screaming."

"They're not my friends." The minute Fred said it, he felt a deep shame. No, they weren't his friends, but that was no excuse to abandon them to the horrors of the haunted wood. And then the Rider said something curious, an old adage Fred's own father had often repeated. "The stranger, aye and even the enemy, that you help today may be the friend that saves you tomorrow." Fred wasn't sure exactly, but the Rider had spoken as if... well, as if it was more than just an old proverb.

He was about to ask what the strange horseman had meant but he never got the chance. A thunderous roar shook the ground and the night sky was lit up as a ball of fire exploded from the forest depths. Fred had run out of time. If he was to save the dwarves he would have to do it now. Turning his back to the Rider, he rushed down into the hellish wood. More fireballs shot out into the sky, but strangely enough the forest did not burn nor did the flames spread. Fred thanked the gods that it was not a fiery maze of twisting root and burning limb that he was dashing into. But finding his way through the winding paths was no easy task. Smoke curled through the branches and mist crept along the damp, worm-tossed ground. Fred was reduced to seeking out the three dwarves by the sound of their shouts and screams.

Onward Fred ran, closer and closer to the beleaguered dwarves. He had run like this only once before, long ago, in some childhood nightmare. But this was no dream. And he wasn't running away from the horror, but running straight for it. Fleshy tendrils reached out at him, things overgrown with spikes and pulsing petal-like mouths scratched and pulled at him. He looked back once, to check the way he had come. He spotted the Rider, high on the stone hill, and quickly marked the place. A fiery flash erupted in the sky and when it faded away, the Rider was gone. But Fred had his bearings now, the way out was clear. All he had to do was find the dwarves and then survive long enough to escape.

It was a wail of pure malevolence that finally brought him back into the company of the half-sized men. Dokken, Baren and Lem were trapped, their backs against the dead remnants of a gargantuan tree. Floating before them was the Woman in White, her diaphanous gown billowing away from her like huge butterfly wings. Her face was an unholy terror, bony and sharp, the very image of death. Her clawed hands were outstretched, ready to call down vengeance from the heavens or perhaps hellfire from the earth. And then the spectre caught sight of Fred. It's eyes burned a sickening green and its mouth twisted into a snarl. One cancerous finger pointed accusingly at the knight and then the ghost of Alice de Vere screamed as if the very world was about to end.

And then it was gone. In its place was the black night and the acrid stench of burnt wood. The three dwarves stepped toward Fred, shaky on their feet. They looked at him and he looked at them. "I know the way out of here," Fred said. "Then let us begone," Dokken answered in a hoarse voice. Fred pointed the way they would go and was about to lead them when he suddenly stopped. He stood perfectly still, and the dwarves too. And they all listened.

thuddup thuddup thuddup THUDDUP THUDDUP THUDDUP

A figure burst out of the trees and came galloping down a path straight at them. He was riding like the devil, the eyes of his horse blazing like sin. The horseman was fitted with black squaremail armor and in his iron-spiked gauntlet he held a huge double-edged sword. The warrior said not a word as his steed raced the wind, leaving in its wake a wild flurry of forest scum and broken earth. The warrior said not a word as he bore down on Fred and the others, intent only on their destruction. The warrior said not a word nor uttered a sound, for the warrior had no head.

  1. The Headless Horseman
  2. Demon of the Underbrush

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WolfRun

11/27/1999 6:38:32 PM

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