Blood of the Stallion

‘I’m afraid I can’t stay,’ Horus stammered, finishing his pint with great haste and placing the glass back on the bar with a shaky hand.

His eyes flashed around the same seven people in the tavern over and over.

‘Slow down,’ said Kyln. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Despite his friend’s words Horus was already tying the cord on his coat, his arm tensing as his hand brushed against the pommel of the sword. Even now he could feel its power.

‘I’m sorry, but I just know somebody is coming for me.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Kyln asked, his eyes wide with concern.

Horus shook his head and turned to the door. Kyln stopped him.

‘Let me go,’ the smaller man demanded. ‘I have to get out of here!’

All eyes were on them.

‘Calm down my friend.’

‘If I disappear after tonight, tell Shael I love her.’

He barged past his friend and fled the tavern.

‘Tell her yourself!’ the voice of his companion called after him, ‘After all, I’m not her father!’

Horus delved into the chilled night air, the streets dark and damp. Buildings with lightless windows faced one another, separated by a path of cobblestone. He wondered why he had even gone to Crow’s Tavern, perhaps he had hoped somebody would listen to him. He could not bear to tell the story though, nor could he explain the churning in the pit of his stomach.

It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, he reassured himself, truly believing he had been a victim of chance. After all, what was he supposed to do when that old beggar jumped out at him three days before? Horus did what he believed any sane person would do, he cut the man’s throat with his knife. It was in self-defence.

He sped to a jog.

He had wanted to get away, to leave the body untouched, and tried not to wonder where such a clearly un-wealthy man got such a beautiful sword. The blade called to him though, in a way which he could not describe. He had not gotten half a block away before feeling compelled to turn back and take the sword for himself. The rush had left him jittery, and even now he shook from more than the cold. He knew somebody would come for it eventually. He had felt eyes on him at the market that morning, sensed a presence following him.

‘I’m not crazy!’ he cried to a street sign, birds flying away hastily.

He had seen him – the red-haired man. Not ginger nor auburn, but red. On every corner, in every store, at every turn Horus took. He was certain he was being followed, even now when he had not seen the man since sundown. Perhaps he had gotten away, he thought, and he fed on that gradually deteriorating hope.

The moon shone bright over the open sea. Horus knew it was the only way. He unsheathed the blade which gleamed like a million tiny crystals. So beautiful, so powerful. With it he could rule the world.

‘Maybe I can keep it,’ he whispered to himself. ‘I won’t do anything bad with it…unless I have to.’

He shook his head frantically, crying out as he fought the call of the blade. With two hands, he swung it around and launched it – far over the edge of the pier and into the water. He basked in freedom, sighing deeply as he turned away. It’s over. But it was far from over. Three steps were as far as Horus got before the draw of power grasped at him again.

‘No!’ he grunted aloud.

Another step. Everything in his head told him to keep moving, to go home to his daughter and to forget all of this business. His gut however had a different plan, and his gut was winning.

He turned back to the water, staring into the cold abyss. In that moment he knew he could not leave the weapon there, and before his head had a chance to kick back in he was leaping towards it. Water engulfed him, pulling at his clothes and trying to push him back to the surface. He opened his eyes, the saltwater stinging them with no remorse. But he saw it. Even in the blackness it glowed, bright and unyielding. It was magical. He swam against the waves, diving deeper until it was once more in his grasp.

When Horus surfaced he cried out, realising what had happened. He sheathed the sword and walked, headed for his home.

‘If it wants me, then I guess I’ll have it,’ he muttered, though he did not expect a response.

‘Somehow I doubt it.’

The voice was high and shrill.

The woman before Horus wore robes, her skin pale and sickly.

‘Don’t come near me!’ Horus cried, holding the shining sword aloft.

His opponent laughed.

‘Foolish man,’ she spat. ‘You would do well to realise who you are talking to.’

With a click of her fingers Horus’s blood froze, his body stiffened and despite all of his might he could not move a muscle. The coldness around his joints intensified, and he would have cried out in pain if not for his lips being frozen together.

‘That’s enough, Greskel,’ another spoke, and the man from before came into Horus’s view.

The woman tutted. With a wave of her hand Horus collapsed to his knees, panting and coughing.

‘Please,’ he begged, looking up at the figure before him.

His hair was crimson and spiked, his grin firm and cheek-splitting. He laughed, low and hearty, leaning over to make eye contact with the weakened man. Horus was filled with hope for a moment, the face of this stranger seemed genuine and caring.

‘Please,’ Horus sighed. ‘You can have the sword. Take it for all I care, just please don’t hurt me.’ He held the blade out, still breathing heavily. His opponent took it, marvelling at its beauty.

Greskel stayed back, but watched on with admiration.

‘Master,’ she said, ‘Is it the one?’

‘Indeed it is,’ he declared, standing and giving it a light swing. ‘Finally, after all of this time. An Elder Blade.’

‘Take it,’ Horus repeated. ‘But please let me go.’

The red-haired man chuckled, not warm and hearty this time but high and manic.

‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that my friend!’ he cried with glee, in one fell swoop slicing the blade through Horus’s neck. The body collapsed to the ground, the head rolling into the water.

‘Finally!’ the killer cried out. ‘I can feel it, the power – it’s surging through me!’

‘What now, my lord?’ Greskel asked.

‘Now, my dear sorceress,’ he cackled, ‘We begin the ritual. But first, I think it’s time to pay a visit to an old friend.’

He sheathed the sword and the two fled into the night – leaving the body of Horus to rot on the side of the pier until morning.