Daemon King - Into the Killing Fields   Snicker followed at the rear of the group, and was surprised by how suddenly the town ended and the Killing Fields began. There was no forest, or open plain or any other barrier between the last of the buildings and the edge of the deadliest lands in all the Realm. But he had no doubts at all about where they were. It wasn’t just the twisted and threatening landscape, but the feeling in the air. It was as if fear was part of the air itself and was dragged down into his lungs, where it spread throughout the rest of his body. It was nameless, and irrational, but it was paralysing nonetheless. Snicker hadn’t realised that he had come to a complete stop, a few paces into the Fields, until Roger looked back and called out to him. "Keep up with us, lad! This is no place to be alone." Snicker shook his head ruefully and forced his legs to move, until his pace was quick enough to once more catch up to the group ahead of him. After a few minutes of walking, Roger organised a north-south line of people, each close enough to see the torch light of the next person in the queue. Snicker found himself at the top of the queue, as they walked slowly but purposefully, east into the heart of the Killing Fields. To the north of him was blackness, to the south, the faint flicker of a torch. It took all his willpower to remain calm and steady, but he kept glancing nervously southwards to make sure he didn’t lose sight of the others. They continued this way for several minutes. No-one made any more noise than they had to, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. But the silence only increased the tension. Snicker resisted the urge to yell out at each shadow that formed before him. So intent was he on keeping his emotions in check, he failed to notice the small shape that shot out of the darkness and hurled itself at him. It hit him full in the stomach, and knocked him backwards, expelling the air from his lungs, making it impossible for him to do anything more than gasp and wheeze. The torch he had clung to so grimly, spilled from his hands and rolled off, spluttering indignantly. He struggled momentarily with the multi-blade sword he had sheathed at his side, before eventually bringing it out and holding it out before him. He managed to do this just in time, as the creature, its black skin shining in the flickering torchlight, launched itself at him once more, this time using a taloned wing to lash out at him. He deflected the attack easily, and studied the creature for a moment. It was smaller than he was, and vaguely humanoid in shape. He had never fought one before, but was certain, from the descriptions he had heard, that it must be a kilrog. The kilrog, obviously deciding that brute force would not work, raised its right arm high above its head, and shot forth a small cloud of thick green gas at Snicker. Snicker rolled to the left, trying to dodge the spell, but was too slow. He felt the cloud hit him in the side, penetrating his armour and burning the sensitive skin underneath. He grimaced in pain, while climbing to his feet, all the while keeping his sword in position. Not waiting for the creature to attack once more, he slashed at it with his multi-blade. Such was the inherent magic in the blade, it sliced the kilrog twice, deeply, before Snicker had it back in a guard position. Twice more the creature used its magic to wound him, but Snicker lashed out each time with the multi-blade, eventually killing it. As he reached into a pouch he had fastened on his belt, Snicker noticed with despair that his torch had eventually gone out after he had dropped it. All he had to see by now was the pale moonlight. Cursing the fact that he did not have any flint, he removed a small vial of clear liquid from his pouch. Removing the stopper, he tipped the contents down his throat and felt it ease the pain. A moment later, the wounds from the creature’s magic had disappeared completely and he felt whole and well again once more. "Now what?" he said to himself, his voice little more than a soft mutter. Looking south he saw nothing but darkness. North, the same. Hoping that he could catch up with the others, he began to make his way eastwards. He passed several twisted and misshapen trees, that only added to the unpleasant feel of the place. But the trees were few and far between. Most of the Killing Fields was open and gave a feeling of vulnerability. There was grass underfoot, but even in the pale moonlight he could see it was not the lush, green grass he was used to, but withered, dying tendrils. Nothing more than a mockery of what nature had intended them to be. He imagined that in daylight it would probably seem less threatening, but at night, with darkness all around him, it was terrifying. After what seemed an eternity of walking, Snicker came to a halt. There was something ahead of him. Moving cautiously forward, he saw that it was a rock. And it was huge. It easily matched him for height, and was twice his width. Seeing no signs of anyone nearby, he approached it. He was examining the unnatural smoothness of it, when he heard a noise to the north. It sounded like a groan. His heart pounding, Snicker edged his way around the rock, until he saw the prostrate figure of a young boy, on the edge of the clearing. It must be the boy, Thomas, he thought to himself. Snicker eagerly stepped forward, meaning to grab the boy and return to the safety of Kurz, when a gust of wind, strong and powerful, made him stumble backwards. Only the huge rock at his back stopped him from falling over completely. When he saw the cause of the wind, Snicker felt fear unlike anything he had ever felt in his life before. Page 2 of 3   Previous Page Return to Index Next Page   This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page