| The headless horseman rode straight towards the small band and all
time seemed to lose meaning. The dwarves began to lift their axes, Fred's
head turned to stare, and the silent monstrosity quickened its gallop.
From the point between the batting of his eye and the reaching of his sword
a million images swirled within the mind of the Knight from Allaria; whatever
the rider might be –whether ghost, ghoul or some other unholy thing- the
noise of the horse's hooves and the debris they kicked up meant it was
a real, solid being. And if real, then powerful though the animal be, it
would still struggle to make any progress through a thicker tangle of tree
and bush. And that's when time seemed to regain its solidity (if even only
for a moment) and his lips made free to scream: "Off the path!"
Fred dived into the nearest bushes while the dwarves followed suit.
Yet it was the forest itself that seemed to take its own course. The fog
was still not gone and apocolyptic lights still burst through bramble high
and low. As Fred sought to reach the safety of that clump of twig and leaf
it appeared as if the fog erased them from existence! The dwarves, too,
found refuge a thing hard found and the confusion that seemed a hallmark
of this lost wood continued unabated for this weary crew. And all the while
the silent rider, that headless horseman, galloped ever closer with his
double-edged sword held at the ready.
Whether seconds passed or an eternity, no one could tell –not then at
that moment nor when the ordeal was finished and all quiet anew- the motions
of madness coalesced with the instincts for survival...and the stink of
terror. A crazed game of musical chairs ensued between hero and bramble,
dwarf and ivy, between the warriors trained for battles more mundane and
a forest that seemed more than alive. And still the horseman rode nearer.
It was Baren who found himself the object of the horseman's ire; it was
Baren who was without cover when the hoof-fall of the fire-eyed equine
shuddered throughout the glade; it was Baren who found himself as no other
dwarf known to history –face to 'face' with a demon from the underbrush!
The battle was swift, for Baren could barely hold his battle-axe. His adrenaline
was pumping but not enough to save him that day. The horseman's steady
hold upon his sword, the horse's uncanny stride through shifting branch
and bush, and the momentum of rider and beast together saw to it that the
ghostly vengeance of the wood would be appeased that night.
As Baren's head flew cleanly –cleaved from his otherwise strong dwarven
neck- and the demon-rider continued on through the shifting forest, only
one sound was heard, the desperate cry of Lem. "Ko!" he screamed
into the night. "Khe hracht te krillsevenge!" And with those words
he bowed his head and bitterly sobbed.
-
 ten ways to die, only
one to escape
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