The Lore Anthology: Lore of the Underlings: Episodes 1 - 5 Read Online Free PDF Page A

width of the chevox, its kin. Its coat shone sleek, colored lightly of tan, but with head and mane that seemed of smoothest soulstone, carved in perfect measure by a master’s hand, cast pure white despite the summer moon’s yellowed palette. Its eyes were set like treasured gems that had been polished well and inlaid with a gentle touch, wide apart upon each side. They were lidless and black, like liquid pooled, a black the deep of dreams.
    As the wounded one approached, each chevox bowed its great horned head, some quietly scraping the ground with their heavy hooves while it passed. The vell seemed to nod slightly in return, revealing the hint of horns that crowned it.
    The rider called out, “Ayr, Pyr, Ayron! Come here!” He dismounted the vell with care and lowered himself to the ground as the three boys came quickly forward. The vell staggered then let out a muffled grunt. “Lead Arrowborne to the stables. See that he is fed and watered — and made comfortable.”
    “Yes Uncle,” answered Pyr.
    “We will sir,” said Ayron.
    Ayr silently took the vell’s gold-hued reins in hand and turned away to hide his damp eyes.
    “It reminds me of something from the Everall,” said the young woman softly in the direction of John Cap.
    “I have seen such a creature before,” added Morio through a hand cupped to mute the sound. “Once in a book of Semperors past… a noble animal… quite rare it seems…”
    The vell craned its neck and stared at the strangers as if listening to them.
    Ayr gave a little tug at the reins but Arrowborne ignored him. He tugged a little harder. Nothing still. “Come on boy … please,” he whispered. “You’re not right. We’ve got to look after you.”
    Arrowborne shook his head and kept an eye fixed on the three unknowns.
    The two other brothers took hold too to give the vell a pull. It answered them by turning tail and letting its hindquarters do the talking. The message was clear from the look on their faces. No buts about it. Then it sat down.
    Try as they might to plead with the ground-bound vell, it was all to no avail. “We have our orders,” Pyr explained. “We must not fail them and let Uncle down. Duty calls, old boy. You know that.” Arrowborne crossed his lengthy front legs, low and close to the hooves.
    The rider had seen enough by now. “Very well then. Leave him be.”
    As the boys let fall the reins, the vell seemed to sink a little and sigh. They moved to its side and used their hands to smooth its coat and comfort it. But the man spun sharply in place and cast a cold eye over the figures of the field, now dimly lit by the dying glow of ashen logs and burnt oil. The jawbone under his thin, red beard looked to lock up tight.
    In the meantime, the Guard about him posed poised for force, as if waiting to seize a word or a sign. Each held his battle pike high, at the ready. Overhead, a thick bank of clouds, gray ghosts from the east, had rolled in unnoticed. They blinded the heavens and stole the gold of the moon gone mournful and dull.
    John Cap watched as the bearded man pulled a tired firestalk from the ground and headed in his direction. He approached with a certain swagger wearing a long, brown journey coat and minder’s cap well-worn of heavy boven hide, yet the closer he came, the smaller of stature he seemed. He rose perhaps to the shoulder of the strong young stranger, perhaps less. His eyes though, dark and sharp, bore a stare the match of any man. They locked on John Cap.
    John Cap did not look away. He returned the gaze unblinking and began to raise an arm, his right, as he had raised it before in battle with the ogs. This time though, he stopped and held it halfway, holding for things to unfold. His hand hung awkwardly in the air.
    “We are infected, Fyryx!” The words burst from Bylo’s crooked mouth in a shower of bitter spittle. “So good you could find your way back for it.”
    The man, Fyryx the Red, the brother Treasuror, paused for an instant