Mystara: Dark Knight of Karameikos by Timothy Brown

Author:Timothy Brown [Brown, Timothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7869-0307-8
Publisher: Fanversion Publishing
Published: 2018-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

A stiff wind howled through. the desolate forest around the tired orc horde, bringing with it the icy chill of the far north. Memories of recent slaughter and plunder did little to keep their monstrous minds off the frigid weather. Orc soldiers removed tattered chain mail and rusted greaves to keep the cold iron off their green skin, pulling their rags close around their chests and hideous faces. At the head of the rambling horde rode a single human, donned from the neck down in black plate, riding a beast of shambling bones, followed closely by a small orc on foot.

“Your orcs can’t take the cold,” the Dark One observed, a blast of chill wind blowing across his exposed, bearded face. His every breath sent puffs of steam into the evening air.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve climbed the mountains of home,” Chilth replied, pulling a scarf away from its face to make itself heard. “Their blood has gotten thin in the south. They’ll do well enough, though.”

“No doubt.” The Dark One pulled his leather gloves down more tightly on his hands and fingers. “I’d wager many of them wished they’d pillaged more warm clothing and less silver,” he said with a chuckle.

“Warm coats are fetching many coins among the ranks,” the small orc pointed out. “And there just aren’t enough silver pieces to get one to part with a pair of warm boots.”

“Nevertheless, we’ve made good time today,” the Dark One said. “Set up camp among these pines. I want my tent erected over there.” He pointed, and the magical armor flowed with his arm as easily as if he wore nothing at all. Chilth spread the order among the ranks of orcs, and they gratefully pulled off the trail to huddle among the trees. Cooking fires were started and unidentifiable meats set to roasting on sticks. Beds were dug into the snow and blankets broken out, but the ceaseless howling of the wind reminded them that winter would rule the night. The Dark One left his beast motionless near a copse of leafless trees and sat with Chilth, waiting for his tent to be erected, beside a thick fallen tree trunk that blocked the fierce wind somewhat.

“We should reach the falls in a couple of days,” Chilth pointed out, and the human nodded in agreement. The orc shivered uncontrollably, shifting its weight again and again to try to keep warm. The Dark One sat motionless, the youthful blood surging through his veins keeping him reasonably comfortable. An orc officer approached from the direction of the main encampment. It wore the accoutrements of one of Chilth’s elite guards, with full breastplate and leather leggings hung with feathers. The officer’s face was hidden behind a stark white mask carved in the ghastly image of a crook-nosed hag. It wore a recurved black bow across its back with a quiver of black-fletched arrows. Half a dozen shrunken heads, tied to its belt by a knotted fistful of hair, bounced awkwardly at its thigh.

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