Hunt of the Horn - Prologue - Part 1

Chayton Kindel watched the red outline of the horizon in the fading light anxiously. Here he stood in his old cabin, which he had lived in since his parent's death. The snow sparkled on the ground, reflecting distant fires. The screams that echoed in the night he knew would be the last human sounds of the North where winter never ceased. Against the orange, smoke filled sky, Chayton could see the outlines of dark wings and in the night, he could hear the growls and the roars of the horrors of the North.

It was time.

Behind Chayton, shining in the firelight of his hearth, a small golden horn sat on the table. To any who viewed the object, the instrument would seem a simple horn, but to Chayton, the value of his creation was far beyond that. He had spent the majority of his life as a blacksmith's apprentice, even before his parent's had died. He had gained many talents and skills in the blacksmith's shop and had often even exceeded the skills of his master. But he had never created an object to match the likes of the Horn.

Since the death of his parents, Chayton had sought revenge, but nothing he tried could stop the attacks, the constant pain, and the chaos of the North. At first, the creatures had let them be, but centuries had become shorter when they grew eager for blood. Several long and hard years before Chayton's birth, the attacks had become more frequent. Chayton had read and heard the stories as a boy, never thinking such deaths could befall his perfect family. But the night of the attack, he had barely escaped with his mauled leg intact and his clothes on fire. Now he walked with a distinct limp and a scarred inhuman face, often stumbling and more often falling. A day never passed when, as he tumbled to his floor, he wondered if he would get up.

However, hope had entered his life once again when a young man had stumbled into Chayton's homely cottage not two months previous. The boy had given him urgent instructions, tossed him a bag filled with a dull coloured powder, equivalent to ash, as well as a lump of gold, and promptly fell to the floor quite dead. Chayton, horrified by the events, had then dragged the young man's body far from his home. Days passed before Chayton acted upon the boy's instructions. Fearful and uncertain, Chayton had tried to ignore the impending words of the adolescent but had found no such action possible. The Horn began to take shape, but the work was time-consuming and the ash-like powder dissolved slowly.

The sudden sound of a creature not far from his door, and the sight of fire bursting across the sky caused the startled man to topple to the floor. Crawling to the table, fear in his eyes and his breath suddenly coming in short breaths, he snatched a bag that sat across from the Horn, which he, with trembling fingers thrust inside the satchel. How he longed to blow the object, though he knew he couldn't. The Creator could not make the call.

Without a seconds delay, Chayton climbed to his feet and rushed to the back door, hoping he would not find a nightmare waiting for him. Luck stayed with him as he slowly rushed to the barn not far from his small home. Inside, a skinny but strong horse welcomed him. Grabbing her halter, he painfully climbed atop her. It had been years since he had ridden a horse. He had been told - and never thought he would - regain the muscles in his leg. With luck, he wouldn't fall off.

The old horse he personally had never worked, but with the help of a young man, whose family desperately needed the money, the mare was often exercised. However, it had been days since the boy showed up and Chayton certainly never blamed him. Any person would have to be insane to walk the dark roads to his lonely home even in the company of several well built men.

Urging the horse into a canter, Chayton gripped the horse's wire-like mane and pressed against the horse with his one good knee, hoping he wouldn't slip from the mare's bony back. The bag Chayton carried in his hand dangled amongst the horses' hooves as he fumbled to tie it around the frantic bay's neck, hoping it would be safer there than in his shaking hands. Fortunately, as he tightened the knot of the bag, he slipped to hang on the horse's side, pulling on her mane in an attempt to pull himself back up. A large wolf flew above him just as he slipped. The sight of the grotesque creature, flaming yellow eyes and rock coloured fur coat, large paws and razor teeth, stunned Chayton and he feel to the ground. His fingers, so tightly entangled in the horse's biting mane refused to give up and for several heartbeats, he was dragged alongside the mare's threatening hooves.