undead monstrous copy of his original form. “I am no longer Sakatha the Great, ruler of the children of dragons, King of the Marshes and Swamps, I am now Sakatha the Undying, Sakatha the Lich Lord, Sakatha who Shall Rise.”
“Interesting,” said the Demon Rider and pursed his lips with a smile. “When, might I ask out of curiosity, will this rebirth take place?”
The skull had no lips by which to reveal its teeth and smile, but that was the impression it gave off in any case. “Ages from now, when the Staff of Sakatha is recovered, when Chusarausea wields it, I shall return, I shall fulfill my destiny, I shall rule the world!”
The Black Horseman shook his head for a moment and then drew out the slimmest of scimitars that glinted with a flash as the sun caught its blade, “Nothing for me to worry about then,” he said and made a little motion with his head as he and his companions closed in on the thing that was once king of all the children of dragons.
Chapter 1
A rider on a brown splotched fox trotter emerged from the low rolling mist that tended to gather around the foothills of the Mountains of the Orc much like a swimmer might suddenly break the surface of a high mountain lake after a deep dive. He wore a long gray cloak fringed with a floral arrangement on the collar of both the neck and sleeves, and his horse seemed small for his frame as the stirrups were so low that they almost dragged the ground. He stopped for a moment, pulled out a well tattered of parchment, and looked back over his shoulder towards the narrow path that led high into the peaks. Ahead of him a small river flowed from his right to his left and he traced a blue gash on his map that was labeled “Frosty Run.”
As he read the map his youthful face showed a square jaw with no trace of manly whiskers and light gray eyes that danced in the morning light. A broad smile, so genuine and happy that it seemed to cause even the birds to chirp with a little extra vigor, came across his face. He tucked the map back under the gray cloak, turned the horse to his left with a subtle movement of his hand, and began to follow the river downstream.
A few hours more and the mists of the mountain morning lay far behind him as he came to a river junction where another stream flowed from the north into the Frosty Run. He stopped again to pull out his map only to smile even more deeply than the first time and let out a great, “Whooop!” that echoed so deeply and loudly that a woman who tended to her kettle in a farmhouse almost a mile away looked up and around for a moment before she went back to work.
In the distance the rider saw smoke from what must be the chimneys of a small town, he dismounted quickly, and stood next to the horse so that they were shoulder to shoulder. He rubbed the mane and neck of the beast with gentle motions of hands so enormously large that the horse appeared to be a small version of the breed. “Eschrichtius,” he said and leaned down to whisper in its ear, “many miles, many months but now we are close to our destination, we will complete our mission.” Tche young man looked up to the sky, his hand fell on the thick gray scabbard at his side where a stone handled hilt protruded, and he ran his finger over it lightly, “For the Gray!” he shouted and slapped the horse on the rump, which launched the trotter into motion, and it pranced over the fields and left the young warrior behind for the moment.
He stripped off his gray cloak and revealed a rather skinny frame considering the tremendous size of his hands and then pulled off a heavy chain shirt and the jerkin below it. Within a few moments he was naked, his well-tanned and muscled body still yet to completely fill out. He took three enormous strides towards the river, dove in with a great splash, and screamed out in pain and ecstasy as his body hit the cold mountain runoff.
Ten minutes later, still swimming in the river with massive overhand stokes, he felt a presence and, with a look to the shore, spotted a young man near an eddy in the river with a small keg in his arms. Behind the boy stood a two-wheeled barrow with half a dozen more of the small kegs stacked neatly in it, on it side was emblazoned a symbol of a frothy mug of beer with the name “Smooth Stride” etched below.
“Hail there, boy,” shouted the young man in the river and stood so that the upper half of his body was revealed. “Is this Elekargul and do you understand me?”
The young boy nodded his head, his eyes wide as he stared at the behemoth in the river. The boy wore a heavy wool coat and deerhide pants that were worn and sturdy at the same time. “You have a funny accent,” he replied, “But I understand you.”
“I’ve been studying the whole trip,” said the young man in the river with a shake of his head that sent water cascading in all directions. “Father made me promise.”
“Who… who are you?” said the boy. The keg still dangled in his left hand and his eyes squinted a little to get a better look. As he glanced around the boy spotted the pile of clothes that included the chain shirt and the thick scabbard with the stone hilt and took a step backwards away from the river.
“I am Jon Gray, son of the Gray Lord, ambassador of Tanelorn the City of Gray. I come to Elekargul to meet with the First Rider and conduct affairs of the state.”
“Oh,” said the boy.
“I’ll come ashore there and get dressed if you don’t mind. I don’t mean you any harm,” continued the naked young warrior in the river.
The boy on the shore nodded his head and backed away further yet.
Jon emerged from the water, his thin frame somewhat blue from the short immersion. He strode up to the young man, gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder, and stuck out his hand, “Jon Gray at your service,” he said.
The boy looked up at the young man who stood at least a foot taller than him and whose body was half again as wide at the chest.
“Sorus Brewer,” he said with a look over his shoulder towards the smoke that rose down river. “I’m a brewing apprentice from Black Dale. I’m getting fresh water from the creek. How tall are you?”
Jon laughed aloud his deep voice booming and young Sorus suddenly found he couldn’t stop the laugh that rose to his own throat and, he smiled brightly. He thought to himself that nothing could go wrong with this enormous young man at his side. It was the first time he had the thought but many years later he still remembered the moment and how true it was in so many respects and yet how utterly and completely wrong it was at the same time.
“I like beer,” said Jon. “My father says too much, but what do old people know?”
Sorus laughed again, “He sounds like my dad. You are really tall, I’m near six feet and everyone says I’m the tallest boy in town for my age, maybe in all of Elekargul. Taller than a lot of the squires and some of the knights too.”
“I’m just short of seven feet myself,” said Jon with smile as he turned his back to the boy and began to gather up his clothes and pull them onto his wet frame with apparently no concern at all. “My sister says all my growing happened to my body not my brain, but what do girls know?”
Sorus laughed again, “Not much. How old are you, I’m fifteen but I’ll be sixteen in a six month.”
“Seventeen by now I’d guess. When I left Tanelorn I was sixteen but it’s been a long trip.”
“I’ve never heard of Tanelorn,” said Sorus a rather sheepish expression on his face. “Is it past Adas Jdar?”
“It’s north, far to the north near the center of the continent, have you heard of the Lake of the Demons?”
The boy shook his head.
“Hmm,” said Jon Gray. “Lonely Mountain?”
The boy shook his head.
“You’ve heard of Tarlton, the City in the Sand at least, right?”
The boy nodded his head, “That’s thousands of miles to the north but I’ve heard of it.”
“If you go to Tarlton and then travel the same distance twice more you’d be near Tanelorn,” said Jon Gray his smile suddenly seemed to widen further as he noted the wide eyed look of disbelief on the boy’s face. “You don’t believe me?”
“That’s all wild lands, filled with terrible monsters, you couldn’t have come all that way on horseback?”
