The Last Runestones: Chapter 1

[Throndir]

Prologue here: http://forum.fantasyworldcreations.com/under-the-bard's-tree/the-last-runestones-prologue/

I'll be posting this chapter in bits. Criticism is needed, I haven't looked at this in years and haven't bothered rewriting paragraphs for clarity, flow, or smoothness.

Magic is the strength that pierces
Through every room
Through every corner,
In every mind, body and soul.
It courses through the veins of the many,
Ever flowing and streaming,
Ever ebbing and biding.
Commanded by every grasping call,
Ever guarding and empowering,
Ever nourishing and restoring.
As the winds breeze, as the stars roam,
As the waves journey across the seas;
So will magic be a wanderer.
Finding a place in every room,
Through every corner,
In every mind, body and soul.

* * * * *

Chapter 1 - Thirty Riders
   The horse bayed as the lone armored rider descended down the hill, slowing his steed at the same time. Not that the unholy horse needed to, for the rider knew that his creation could out-maneuver any other horse, and that it possessed unnatural agility and sure footedness, but he had felt some sort of change in the area. It was a subtle feeling, no more than a slight touch of his senses, and to any other person, would have been shrugged off, or more likely, not felt at all. But the lone figure had encountered many such auras before, back when the world was filled with the most curious of creatures, the most ferocious of beasts, and the most powerful of magic. He was surprised to feel such an aura emanating around him; it has been decades since he last felt the magical workings of another instead of his own. Yet, when he considered the place he was near to, the surprise was not as shocking.

   ?Of course.? The hooded man whispered to his mount. The creature neighed in response, as if understanding his master?s musings. And without further thought, he urged his mount forward again at the same blinding speed.
   The lone rider felt the emanations of the aura, but knew that even with his talent and skill, he would need to be closer to the source to discern what the aura meant for him. But the very proximity to his destination told him what it was. Feeling the strength of the aura bolster as the dark rider came sped across the fields, he saw the ruins that marked a once proud city, now forgotten in the dusts that covered the place. As he came closer to the ruins, the aura heightened threatening to cloud the senses of the unholy steed as it should have unwaveringly galloped on ? except it didn?t. The creature cried, and snorted its disapproval of nearing the ruins. Even when the rider urged the beast to move forward, the creature steadily slowed it?s speed, if only so slightly; it still knew that it could not disobey its master.

   More annoyed than perturbed, he ignored the creature?s protest, and commanded his mount to charge forward. Reveling in the magical aura, so familiar and yet foreign to him, he silenced his creature?s protest. A moment later, the creature?s whining stopped. But it wasn?t from the command that its master imparted. In that single instant, a wave of energy hit both rider and mount. Ignoring the armored figure on top, it directed its power to the mount. Another moment later, the lone rider found himself flying through the air, propelled by the speed of his steed that was no longer there.

   Reflexes honed through many dark ways, the heavily armored rider impossibly flipped once in the air, only to land on the ball of his feet, rolling once to lessen the impact, and crouching as he ended his flight. When one expected to hear the scraping of armor piece against armor piece, instead no sound was heard, no noisy clanking or clashing was evident as the man stood up to his full height. The figure looked behind him to find any evidence of his creation, but finding none, he tuned out his surroundings, and concentrated on that same aura, and the fading energies that blasted his steed. The strength of the magic was formidable after all these years in dormancy, and he didn?t expect his steed to be undone by the magicks still in tact around the area. Still a good distance away from the ruins, the figure gathered the meager energies around him to whisk himself nearer to the ruins. But thinking of his mount disappearing into nothingness, he thought it better to continue the journey without the aid of magic. He didn?t dare test what else the aura can do.

Starting forward toward the ruins, the figure thought of nothing else but reaching the broken walls, fallen columns, crushed structures: the ancient and forgotten city. For there, in the heart of the age-old city, hidden away through many centuries and generations, protected from the very river of time, lay his rightful power.

[Throndir]

* * * * *

   Trees rustled as the heavy footfalls of the horses galloped by. The wind blew harshly as the riders urged their horses to make speed, while the thin branches creaked in reply. The stars would have shown brightly this night, save dark and thick clouds covered the tiny specks of light. And even those clouds were seldom seen as long branches of leaves and bark covered the canopy above them. The riders rode through the worn and rarely used path, grown over with foliage after years of neglect.

   The cloaked man narrowed his eyes as he saw the clearing of trees, and the long fields beyond. Raising his left hand, he signaled for the others with him to urge their horses at a faster rate. He knew that these brave men were exhausted, and their horses even more worn out. But he knew they must gallop on, for too long have they delayed. They covered miles upon miles, but still, they had many more to go. The fields was a good sign however, not only are they one step farther down their path, the going will be much easier as trees and other obstacles would be much fewer.

His thoughts were interrupted as his eyes wandered to the falcon high above him, flying in consort with the group. It cried once, and changed his direction to slightly to the right. Seeing the change in direction, the man raised his right hand, and relayed the change in direction to the rest of the group. Soon, the riders were on the grasslands, and even though they were still hours away from the end of their journey, a smile made its way on the cloaked man?s lips; they were making progress. Soon, they will reach their goal, and end the threat. As he turned around and glanced at the hardened ? but worried faces of his comrades, a lingering thought came to him: even if they reached their goal, what then? He grimaced at his last stray thought, and quickly pushed it aside. It?s not a time to wonder about such things, when too many things lay in the balance. The cloaked man tightened his grip on his reins. One problem at a time.