Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27012445-20161128051437

Kneeling before the Knight, the boy accepted the scroll laid upon his open hand. It was such an odd thing he held. One of the likes he had never seen before. The parchment was cold to the touch and made from leather of the deepest black. It was absent of moisture. Still, it felt slick and slimy in his hand as if it had been pulled from the river, rotting and decayed. He shivered at the thought of the animal whose hide hailed its origin. It was rolled tight and bore a clay seal with an emblem consisting of sharp lines and gashes. Dark curses and wicked hexes did this crest bind.

"Arise boy! Make haste and do not delay your departure. Word will soon reach the Enemy of the scroll's discovery. The sands from the hourglass are not on our side!"

With great effort, the young boy tried to remove any hint of apprehension and fear from his voice. "Yes my Lord," he answered.

"Heed my words and do not deviate from my instructions. Head South and ride hard across the plains and through the Scorched Hills until you reach the Sunken Mountains. Avoid the main paths and stay hidden until you reach the gates of the White Keep."

The Knight put a large hand on the boy's shoulder and said with a lowered voice, "The item you carry is dangerous and will betray you if given the opportunity. Never must darkness fall upon it. An hour before nightfall, build yourself a fire and green salt must you encircle the scroll to ward off any dark spirits and shadows that call to it. If you must draw your sword, you strike to kill! Trust no one! Do you understand me?"

The boy swallowed and gave small nods to the Knight. Satisfied with his response, the Knight continued, "I ride East in the morning with every sword and shield that would follow my banner."

He paused and looked affectionately down at the boy, "I fear this may be the last time we speak, but if fortune favors us, we will draw their numbers toward us, and you will pass through the lands undetected."

The boy took leave of the Knight and made his way to the supply hut within the encampment to gather all he would need for the journey. He was lost in thought as he saddled his young steed. He thought of the war that tore through the land from an enemy that came from the stars. He wondered about the object openly displayed in the daylight upon his saddle bags. He pondered what would come to pass if the rays of the sun no longer fell upon the scroll. So focused on the dark scroll was he, he took no notice of the hooded figure that approached from behind.

"Such a mighty quest for such a tiny boy. Are the times so dire that it comes to this? Well, one cannot deny that the Fates do not have a sense of humor in matters such as these. Wouldn't you agree?" he laughed.

The boy turned and clenched his jaw at the insult but held his tongue when he saw the robes of a nobleman adorned by the man. He bowed his head and said with as much respect as he could muster, "I do what is commanded of me, Sire."

The man laughed again, "Do not take offense, young one. I merely saw an opportunity to jest with you. Although, in the light of things, it might be wise to avoid such things until a more appropriate time, wouldn't you say?"

The man's eyes suddenly narrowed as if truly seeing the Squire for the first time. To the discomfort of the boy, the man approached. He circled the boy several times, inspecting him up and down. Once satisfied, he knelt before the young man, meeting his gaze as equals and said, "Yes! Yes, I have chosen well. I have chosen well, indeed." At this, he removed his hood and revealed his identity.

The Squire immediately recognized the face of the wizard and fell to his knees and bowed. He gasped, "The Old One!"

The old man smirked, but still held humor in his eyes, "Hmph, If I were able to conjure the name of the bastard who thought up that title, I would curse his children and his children's children. The whole lot of them would sprout tails of a pig from out of their bottoms!" Jokti, wizard, and advisor to the king returned his attention to the Squire and gently lifted the boy back to his feet and spoke, "Nay! Brave, brave child, arise. You bow to no one after this day comes to pass."

For a moment, the old man's attention seemed to drift to other matters. He lifted his head as if listening to voices only he could hear. After a time, his eyes cleared, and they fell upon the boy. He hurriedly began helping to load the Squire's equipment and supplies on the horse. He said, "Time is precious. So little of it remains and you have so far to go. But do not despair, my lad. You do not go into the wilderness unprepared."

The wizard reached into his robe, removed several objects and presented them to the boy- a torch, a dagger, and a leather pouch.

He said, "This the Torch of El Anan-dor'ah. Darkness has no power under the light it shines. Bathe that wretched thing you carry under its flame, and you will be safe."

Next, the wizard held up a sheathed dagger of silver and blue steel. He spoke, "This blade was blessed by the touch of the goddess before she succumbed to the Enemy and was taken from us. It will serve and protect you well." He placed it in the boy's hand.

He lifted up the final item and gently laid it in the boy's hand, "Last, I give to you this pouch. It holds the very last of our most treasured possession, silver salt. It is but a pinch, but it is all that remains, and no more will there ever be after this is gone. Use it wisely and as a last resort."

The wizard led the horse to the encampment's edge and helped the Squire mount his steed. He spoke, "Accompany the scroll and personally place it directly in the hands of my sister, Aliadria. Tell her you carry the Scroll of Ne'Kra Toratum. She will know what to do."

Trying to feign as much courage as possible, he asked the old man, "My Lord, why does this scroll carry such importance? Why do you entrust its charge to me? I am a mere squire who has barely seen the edge of battle."

The wizard gazed sadly at the child and said, "My boy, I am afraid your questions must be put aside for another day. The less that is known to you the better. If it were up to me, a garrison of our mightiest men would accompany you, but this quest is for you and you alone. I have foreseen it. Like I said, the Fates do have a strange sense of humor."

With that, he slapped the rear of the horse and sent the two racing off towards the smoky, black Southern horizon. The wizard turned and softly said to him, "Yes, I have chosen very well."

As the Squire was an obedient servant as there ever was, he followed his master's instruction to the letter. He rode hard and swift through the Scorched Hills and faithful to the Knight's word, not a sign or hint of the opposition's forces did he encounter. The boy was ever so careful to be mindful of the position of the sun to give himself enough time to make camp before nightfall came. He carefully sprinkled the emerald salt around the scroll and set ablaze the sacred torch. There he sat till morning, with his dagger clutched tightly in his hands.

It was not until he reached the passageway to the Sunken Mountains did misfortune finally find him. A company of troops stood stationed at the mouth of passage. He had never seen soldiers of the Enemy before this day. Even from a distance, they filled his heart with terror and dread. Long and slender, they stood motionless. The armor they wore grew into their brown and black rotting flesh like that of moss upon the trees of the swamp. No hint of eyes did they possess except for pinprick glints of silver like that of a coin. Their mouths slowly opened and closed, reminding him of a fish plucked from the waters with gills gasping for breath.

Consulting his map, the boy confirmed what he already knew. Only one other path could he take. Determined to complete his quest, he continued South and followed the river. In two days time, he stood before the forbidden forest's edge of the Devil's Mouth. A treeline of large gnarled tree trunks of black and green stretched as far as the eyes could see. No sound could be heard. No bird sang or animal stirred within the dark wood. The silence and absence of movement were oppressive upon the young boy's spirit. He took what supplies he could carry, unsaddled his steed and wished it good fortune as he set the horse free. With the Torch of El Anan-dor'ah in one hand and sword in the other, he entered the Devil's Mouth; alone as the wizard foretold.

By the Squire's calculation, three day's time would it take to transgress the narrowest part of the forest. He would emerge on the morning of the fourth day with only a quarter of a league to travel. The silence was maddening the first full day in the belly of the beast. True to its word, the Torch of El Anan-dor'ah burned brightly. Never did its wood burn down nor was its oil consumed by flame. The trees looked down with such hatred and rage. Root and twine writhed on the ground, unable to penetrate the glow of the torch. Thorn and thistle scraped along bark and rock waiting for a chance to pierce and puncture skin and flesh.

On the second day, broken was the silence. Stirred was the stillness. Whispers emerged and called out from the darkness behind the deep groans and moans of tree trunks swaying in the windless night. The great branches beaconed for a champion to come hence to handle this trespasser and acquire this hidden thing that tingled the ground it passed over. At last, did a champion emerge for the thicket to answer the giant master's call.

Upon the evening of the third day, weariness and despair weighed heavy on the young Squire. He poured the last of his precious emerald salt around the wicked scroll and sat before it, with dagger in hand. Fatigue overcame him swiftly, and the Forest saw its chance and took it. Twisted and gnarled vines approached from above, carrying droplet of mildewed water within its crevices. Drip by drip, water fell upon the Torch. The flame singed and hissed against the moisture, but slowly its light grew less. With the last droplet of water, the boy's eyes opened wide, and the last of the light was extinguished. All was plunged into darkness.

In the darkness, the Scroll gave a heavy sigh then silence fell. A scream pierced the night from the cursed object. It shrieked with the voice of a hundred women and infants merged into one. It hurt the boy's ears and filled him with terror. The wail slowly faded, and in the distance, something answered the Scroll's cries.

The Squire unsheathed his dagger, and it cut through the air with a swoosh. A yellow wave of light shot forth in every direction illuminating the area. In the distance, he heard branches breaking and leaves trampled from the one who answered the Scroll's call. Not knowing what else to do, he scooped up the green salt on the ground into a satchel and shoved the Dark Scroll within it. He placed the pouch of silver salt around his neck and hurriedly gathered his necessary belonging when he heard the sound of the ground tearing apart. A large black root had emerged from the wet ground. Blackthorn covered its body and glistened in the yellow light as it reached for the boy.

The boy fell to the ground as similar ripping sounds began to emerge from his left and right. The sound of galloping feet grew closer from the woods. The black root curled itself into the shape of a scorpion's tail, preparing to strike. The Squire pushed himself off the ground with only moments to spare as the black root stabbed the ground he previously occupied. In a burst of speed, the boy ran toward the direction that would lead him to the gates of the White Keep; that would lead him to safety.

He ran without letting up, occasionally slashing at vine or thistle that moved with the bloodlust of an enraged animal. The footsteps of his stalker were relentless in its pursuit. It stomped on the ground and then leapt to the trees and back to the ground. The boy scrambled to the top of a ridge and saw a cluster of vines not yet afflicted with the forest's curse. He grabbed the vines and swung across the open gully and cut the vines to prevent anyone from following.

The scraping of two metal blade rung out from the darkness. It kept its distance just beyond the mystical golden light that surrounded the blessed dagger. It continuously scraped its blades together, over and over again. The sounds grew louder and faster. Panic filled the boy. Just as he was about to turn and flee, the scraping stopped, and the beast emerged from behind the trees. It stood at the edge of the ridge, and its stare fell upon the boy.

It was a dwarf; not the dwarves recited to children in tales of fantasy and delight. These were evil creatures who despised the very existence of man. It was half the size of a man, naked and emaciated. Its flesh was white and stretched tight over its bone. Every manner of metal spikes or nails pierced and punctured its skin. Filled was its mouth with two rows on top and bottom of needle-thin teeth. Upon its head sat the only clothing it wore, a pointed hat, stained brown and red and made from the skin of human flesh.

It bellowed a loud howl and backed up to give itself space to build up speed to make the leap across the opening. The boy turned to flee as the beast jumped high into the air landing a short distance behind him. The Squire suddenly stopped and turned to face the dwarf with his sword in one hand and the dagger in the other. The dwarf approached with two short and twisted blades, one in each hand. The boy swung and jabbed, but the white creature evaded each slash. It hopped from the ground to the branches of the trees then back to the ground with speed and grace. It was now playing with the boy.

From behind, it jumped onto the boy's back and buried its needled teeth into the boy's shoulder. He howled in pain and ran backward until he slammed the creature into the trunk of a tree. Its teeth shattered and broke off in the boy's flesh. The wounded Squire was losing hope, then he looked past the dwarf and saw the ground sloped downward and heard the sound of running water. A glimmer of hope crossed his eyes. He broke the bindings of the pouch that held it around his neck and poured its contents into his hand. With all his might, the Squire charged at the dazed creature. He slammed hard into the dwarf sending the both of them spiraling out of control down the wet hillside and towards the running stream's edge.

They rolled and tumbled for what seemed like forever until landing hard at the hill's bottom. The beaten and battered Squire slowly crawled towards the water's edge to make his escape, but the dwarf was unfazed and pounced on the boy. He landed hard on the boy's body, submerging his head under water. It grabbed a handful of hair and yanked it roughly back to expose the child's throat. It laughed in his ear and spoke insults to the boy in its strange tongue. The Squire could feel its hard member dig into the small of his back. He felt the cold steel pressed up against his neck. The dwarf lifted its head and howled a cry of victory.

Before the sound had faded completely from the dwarf's mouth, the Squire turned his head around and spat a mouthful of water directly into its face. Silver beads of light erupted upon contact with the dwarf's face. It clutched its face as its flesh began to fall away and seep between its bony fingers. Its eyes were expelled from its skull with such force, the dwarf's head snapped back sharply, breaking its neck.

Paralyzed, it wailed in agony from the silver salt the boy had put into his mouth before his head was plunged underneath the cold water. His wounds were many, but he picked himself up and stood over the broken body of the fallen dwarf as the light from a new dawn broke through the forest's edge. The boy smiled as he tightly grasped the hilt of his sacred dagger and with two mighty swipes took the head and manhood of the defeated dwarf.

On the Fourth day, the Squire emerged from the treeline and fell into the arm of the beautiful Sorceress who had been anxiously awaiting his arrival. With his last breath, he reached into his bag and placed the Scroll of Ne'Kra Toratum in the soft hand of Aliadria.

Alidadria fell to her knees from sadness for she had not foreseen this. She looked down at the child and mourned the loss of one so young and brave. Then a glint of silver caught her eyes. From out of the child's mouth, the rays of the sun had found a single granule of silver salt; the very last of the precious salt to be found. Aliadria smiled and quickly took out her wand and waved it in a circular motion over the boy. She said, " Not yet, child. You have much left to do in this world. Come back. Come back."

The eyes of the Squire flickered open with awareness. Tears of joy filled his eyes. They flowed down his cheeks in streams and glistened with magnificent light from the silver salt they held. He clasped the beautiful sorceress by her hands and said, "I saw her! She spoke to me!"

"Be still. Of whom do you speak, child?" asked Aliadria.

"The goddess!" said the boy. "I was with her. She told me where she was and how to reach her! I know what the scroll is for. I know how to use it!"

The boy stood, his face now ablaze with light from the silver salt of his dried tears. He spoke with such joy, "We can bring her back! We can win the war!"

The End

Author's note: This story is meant to be a companion to the story "Day of the Worm" It is both a sequel and prequel to the world that short story created for me. 