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CHAPTER 1

Part 1 : A Lone Rider

A lone rider was galloping frantically through the woods in the middle of a night. Fear

and panic, induced by the faint scream of men behind, could be seen on his eyes. Arrows could

be seen stuck on luggage sacks of pack horse he mounted, hinted him the looming danger

behind his back.

"Damn bushwackers!" He cursed.

The lack of saddle on his mount and add with the luggage on top of it made it hard just to

stay mounted, but by the fact they maneuvered swiftly between the trees, it clearly showed a

remarkable skill of the rider and his understanding of the stallion he rode. His eyes focused to

find a path among the trees with the help of dim light of full moon that seeped its way through

the branches and leaves. His heart was pounding loud like war-drums at a battlefield in his

memories. The branches of trees that brushed his clothes felt like the bony fingers of Death

obscured his attempt of escaping the threats to his life.

"Damn trees!" He cursed again.

Canopy of branches blocked his sight when he looked up to find direction from the stars.

He rode without slowing down even when the silent night was the only thing that followed

from behind. He could not feel safe until there is no longer line of trees on his sight and no

darkness veiled any threats in shadow. He kept riding with the hope of safety on direction he

chose.

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After long rides that felt forever, a glint of light could be seen seeping through the trees

on his direction and the trees gotten sparser. In the flash of a moment later, he arrived on the

edge of the woods and prairie reflected on his sight. Dawn started crawling up behind the

rolling hills dissipated thin veil of mist on horizon reflected a glint of hope back on dark

colored eyes of his.

He slowed down his ride and then came to halt. The light of dawn fell on his face calmed

his mind from fears and worries. He removed his keffiyeh off his head and exposed his

shoulder lemgth black hair to the wind. His sand colored skin shimmered in the sunlight. A

smile crept under thin goat styled beard of his.

“Blessed Asera!”

It hasn’t been long since he felt the threats to his life, but somehow it’s felt so distant at

this moment.

“Damn it!” He cursed himself suddenly.

Worries snapped his mind back to predicament he was in that night. He looked behind

through his shoulder, watched carefully between trees and its shadows then shifted to the sea

of grass that tall enough to hide a crawling body for anything that moving.

“It seems I safe... For now, at least…”

“Haah…"

"Altan! You fool!”

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Altan sighed, and then cursed himself again for negligence to feel relaxed without

confirming the safety.

“But, where am I?”

After decided it would be better for him to grasp the terrain from elevated position and

moving farther from edge of the woods, Altan commanded his mount to walk toward nearest

hill in front of him. The stallion neighed, and proceeded to stride across prairie at a steady

pace.

With all the uncertainty Altan faced, he wanted to hurry but, he worried about his

mount’s condition. He understood from the neigh that the stallion was exhausted. His mount

was a fine steed, a rare breed of desert horse that famous for maneuverability and endurance

for crossing the bronze desert – his homeland but, galloping with a rider while carrying a

couple of luggage sacks that weighed more than two grown men bound to depleted its stamina

faster. Altan knew it would overburden the steed but, did not cut off the sacks out of

consideration that it could be an armor to protect them. His decision proved right by arrows

jutted out from the sacks behind him and beside both horse’s hind legs.

“I know you’re tired but, please hang a bit more. We can’t rest here.”

Altan said consoling words while stroking the neck of the stallion he rode. The stallion

neighed while shook its head as if to answer Altan while slowly walked to climb the mound

like hill. After they reached the hilltop Altan dismounted to let the stallion rest a bit. He then

faced the sun, putted on his keffiyeh to protect his eyes from the bright lights and started to

look all direction.

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Never-ending prairie with rolling hills that crept up to mountain on his far left, the

shadow of the mountain that fell on its west side looming over the woods in its foot brought

grim smile to his face, the woods that almost became the bane of him, situated in front of

mountain range that cut by a narrow valley in the far-off distance right on opposite direction of

the rising sun, the woods spanned wide like a crescent sea of trees from mountainous horizon

on north to another mountainous horizon on south filling a vast plateau in between where it

met a vast grasslands like a meeting of two seas inside a bowl of mountain that enclosed it but,

with some valleys here and there as gaps in between like gates of castle walls. After he

completely grasped the terrain on his vision, he compared it with a mental map in his head. He

then looked at direction of mountain range over thick woods and pondered.

‘We entered Zestea Forest through its south entrance after we depart from Poros

yesterday noon, so that must be Parda Mountain Range with Poros at the south end of it, so

that narrow valley is Agres Pass that situated east from Zeonica that I saw a month ago on my

travel to Poros, and based on the trade route map that sir Zeno showed me yesterday, Amitatys

is supposed to be located right after we exit Zestea behind the northern part of Parda Mountain

Range and that mountain at north-east must be Mount Pethra and the Southern Empire Capital,

Lycaron is on its east side…’

“Damn it! I’m in middle of nowhere and the only route those imperials use for travel and

trade around here is through a bandit lair!”

Altan grumbled while fixing his gaze toward the sea of trees in front of him.

‘I don’t think to enter the woods again is a wise decision right now but, I can’t see the

end of it, it will take days if I take detour to circling around this damn woods’
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Altan pondered, while stroking his beard on his chin and looked around at vicinity. The

stallion stood idle while chewing some grass, the breathing has gotten better and the sign of

exhaustion started dissipated. In the short amount of time he left it to rest, the stallion has

recovered its fatigue slightly. He shifted his gaze toward the luggage it carry, a sack of silks

from eastern steppe, a sack of salt, and a couple more of iron and silver ores from his desert

homeland. Then, he looked at the sash of his thawb robe where his ornamented dagger, satchel

and water canteen supposed to hung but, his dagger and satchel were the only things he saw.

“I need to find safe place to rest, food, and water. Hm… Should I look for a village

first…?”

He muttered while touching focale scarf on his neck under his sagum cloak that covered

his body.

‘These wool garments are supposed to be one of the main merchandise of Poros, so at

least there has to be a sheep herding village around this region…’

Altan thought then he turned his face toward north-east where rolling hills gradually crept

up to the foot of mountain.

‘That direction then, toward the foot mount Pethra… Well… On that elevation it would

be easier for me to spot if there’s any village on flatland down the hills. It will make me detour

farther to reach Poros but, this is my best option right now. Maybe I could trade some of the

luggage for supplies or a pack horse, that way I won’t overburden him.’

His thought continued while shifting his gaze to the stallion stood upright facing him,

gallant and ready, like a trained soldier that wait for an order from his commander.
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Altan walked to his steed and pulled out jutting arrows out from the luggage, two arrows

were at the sack on right hind legs and three at the right side of a sack filled with silk on top its

lower back.

“Damn those woodland monkeys! These silks cost a fortune and I brought them across

Nahasa for months just to get it here!” He cursed and complained.

“Haah… At least the sack of salt is okay, I would cry if it leaks.”

After confirming the state of his merchandise, Altan observed broad-head hunting arrows

on his hand, sharp iron arrowheads but with slightly bent shafts made from twigs and some

had a missing fletching or two.

‘The arrowheads had been maintained well but, the other parts are scraps… If they didn’t

have enough resource maybe, they made the woods to be their lair not that long, last winter

perhaps… It could be the reason why Agres woods still considered as a safe trading route, no

one at Poros catch any news of bandit making a lair there. I need to get back to Poros as fast as

possible to inform them, before more caravanserai fall victim to those wretched bushwackers.’

Altan threw the arrows away, then his left hand reached out to hold the reins and by using

his other hand to supported his body weight on the stallion’s back he jump nimbly to slide his

right leg over. After he shifted his body to riding position and gave command to his mount, the

stallion trotted gracefully with steady pace toward the rising sun to the rolling hills at the foot

of mount Pethra.

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