A Sacrifice for Varkanah (On Indefinite Hold)

A Sacrifice for Varkanah Chapter 6

Chapter VI

It was with the fires of the newly risen sun in their eyes and the pounding of hooves on the grass that Saeran, Lark, Hesio, and Hathien awoke from their weary slumber. Hesio rose first, grabbing at the sheathed sword that lay by his side as he stood. “Riders,” the tall warrior muttered as he squinted into the west, where the noise came from. “They’ll be here soon.”

Lark pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his sore red eyes as he yawned. Fighting creatures from children’s storybooks was hard work, he had found. “What are you on about?” he asked Hesio through another yawn. “What’s that noise?”

Hesio rolled his eyes. “Riders, you fool,” he said. “You don’t know the sound of hooves? They’re hostile, from the way they’re galloping here to catch us, which won’t take long.” He paused, feeling the hilt of his longsword. “Well, elf? What are you waiting for? Grab your bow, and be ready for a fight! All of you, get your weapons,” he said, turning to the others, who were still in the process of waking up.

Saeran grabbed his shortsword, Lark his bow. Hesio drew his longsword, with its blade pulsing crimson, watching the riders as they drew ever closer. “Is that a banner?” Hesio asked no one in particular. It was, a huge square of fluttering blue canvas, depicting a rose floating in a pool of water.

“Riverthorn,” Saeran answered, “an island in the Merripond. I pass through it every time I go to Valdi, a resting place.”

“Have they ever done this before?” Hesio asked. “Stopped you before you even come to the city?”

Saeran shook his head, but the hoof-beats became so loud at that point that talking became impossible. Coming to a halt not ten feet away from Hesio, who stood in front of the others with his sword held in both hands, were twenty riders on massive destriers. Knights in full steel plate held drawn longswords in their gauntleted hands, along with a squire in mail for each of them, one of who was holding up the banner.

One of the knights lifted the visor on his helmet, revealing a face lined with wrinkles and bearing the scars of past struggles. It was a young face, despite this, the man being only in his middle thirties, Saeran guessed. “This is land belonging to Riverthorn, travellers,” he declared. “State your business in Her Grace’s lands immediately, or I shall have you leave them.”

“How is our business any business of yours?” Hesio asked defensively, holding his weapon in a threatening manner. “We’ve got as much a right to be here as anyone, you filthy highwayman!”

“I should make you eat that disrespectful tongue of yours,” the knight—who, judging by his full, shining steel plate that bore not a speck of rust or damage, was not a highwayman—replied.

“We’re just passing through, sir,” Saeran said, interrupting before Hesio had a chance to do anymore damage. “We’ll only be in Riverthorn a night, at the most, before we leave again.”

“I shall have to get your names, as well as your destination,” the mounted knight responded. “By order of the Queen, I am not permitted to let anyone pass through Riverthorn without knowing their true intentions.”

“Leave us be, knight, and we’ll do the same for you,” Hesio said.

“Hesio!” Hathien snapped at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Hathien,” he snapped right back. “This man has stopped us on the road and held us here without even giving us a reason. By the Gods, I won’t let him hassle us for nothing!”

Bristling with sudden anger for the man’s stubbornness, the knight resolved to ignore him as best he could. “Your names, sir,” he asked of Saeran, who seemed the most sensible of the bunch.