Pueblo, Mexico, April 16, 1870
Father Augustine stood on the edge of the ravine as the sun beat down hot and heavy. He ignored the heat, the shouts from the riders below as they fired wildly with their rifles. He only continued to read with a passionate voice from the Bible he held in one hand. In the other, he lifted his crucifix high as his voice carried over the sounds of the gunfire. Beside him, Miguel winced with each report, worried that a stray bullet would take down the old padre. In the ravine below, a posse had cornered a beast so vile. Unnatural in origin, the locals believed without a doubt that it could be only one thing.
El Diablo.
After several innocent people had been viciously cut down by the creature, Federal soldiers tracked it down, only to be dispatched easily by the ferocity of the wild creature. Death lay in its wake, and most certainly, these men that cornered it now knew that their lives would surely end in the next few moments. But desperate men will fight when there is nothing left to do.
Spurred on by the word of God, the men took up arms and with boisterous voices they took to their horses and began the hunt. It did not take long to find the creature as it fed upon a fresh kill. A poor farmer that lived to the west of Pueblo. A little known man, but now he was made a king with the anger of the posse.
Miguel watched with horror as the creature’s blood lust took down gunslingers with ease. Father Augustine continued to recite the passages from his Bible, hoping that the mere words from the most holiest of books would drop the creature in it’s tracks. This proved itself futile. Even in the shadow of the creature, Father Augustine continued to recite the passages, defiant in the presence of pure evil.
One swipe, that was all it took, and Father Augustine fell to the ground, screaming in pain. But the holy man managed to push Miguel as he fell, and shouted out to him as the creature advanced. “Miguel! Run! Get back to Pueblo. Tell the others at the mission. Get word to Rome!” Father Augustine looked back toward the creature, a defiant scowl on his face. “Warn them. Tell them that the devil must be stopped!”
Miguel did not turn back, his feet raced toward Pueblo. He did not even risk finding a horse. He just knew he had to run. Even as he heard the last cries from Father Augustine ringing out in the hot afternoon sun.
*****
Seven years later, Stonebridge Cemetery
Midnight. The city was quiet as its residents were safely tucked into their beds. Only the odd rogue would run through the shadows, sprinting from one place to the next. But never would they enter the cemetery. That was the domain of the Consolers. The Consolers were a sect of knights that dealt with death. At night, one of the members would patrol local cemeteries, making certain that the dead did not rise from their final resting place. Such was the case for one odd member of this sect of knights.
Rarilmawren Wennemein was not a typical Consoler. Consolers would often appear dower in demeanor as though they themselves embodied death. They spoke rarely, if ever, and always in a voice that seemed filled with grief and sorrow. But Ril, as she was known, was also a Wennemein. And Wennemeins all had an air of kindness, playfulness and the willingness to reach out to someone in a time of need. As if doing such duties were not only based on some moral code, but ingrained in their very being from birth.
Ril was rather tall, yet still slight of frame. Not nearly as athletic as her cousins Shani or Sywyn, what she lacked in agility she more than made up for in wisdom and kindness. A comely elven maid, who unlike her brothers and sisters in the sect, almost always had a smile. Pink lips were framed by a face as white as snow, hair as black as a raven’s feathers, and almond shaped eyes that seemed inviting to those she would meet. In truth, she embodied the spirit of what a Consoler should be. Kindness and caring when a person needed it most.
She went about her duties in the cemetery as she always did. Praying at each grave, ensuring that the dead remained in their state of eternal rest. Rarely did she receive a visitor in the cemetery, whether living or undead. The latter she would dispatch with precision, the former she would tend to their needs should they arrive in need of speaking with their long gone relatives.
This night, however, she did receive a visitor. Sometimes, less rare than other visitors, she would be called by a page, and informed of a recent death. Ril knew this was coming when she looked up and saw a young page approaching her, his footsteps quiet as though he did not wish to disturb those who had entered their eternal slumber.
“Fair eve, Mistress Ril,” the page announced in a humbled and quiet voice. “I regret the interruption, but there has been a passing. South of Stonebridge, along the farmer’s road. They are in need of a Consoler.”
Ril rose from her spot by the grave and nodded to the young boy. “Stay here, Page. I give my duty to you for the night.” Often if a Consoler was called from one duty, it was the role of the page to take up that which the Consoler had begun. Within reason, mind you. Overseeing a cemetery was a practice first learned by most pages in their progression through the ranks of knights. Ril walked past the young boy without another word, and reached her mount, a jet black steed who seemed to know exactly what Ril needed to do. Without a sound from the horse, Ril mounted the saddle and urged him forward. His hooves clopped along the cobblestones as both horse and rider went about in search of their needed duties for the evening.
*****
South of Stonebridge, Farmer’s Road
Ril could feel the sorrow that filled the house as she neared it. She could see the looks on the faces of the family members. And she knew this was not an older family member, but a young one, cut down in his prime. They hadn’t moved him at all from his position, and all the family members seemed gripped with fear. Ril herself felt something claw at her as she neared the body, she saw the look in the man’s eyes, so filled with terror. What had happened?
She could sense something.
The moonlight filled the small field behind the farm house, as the family members huddled inside. The Consoler drew her sword and looked back to the house, calling out in a loud voice. “Which of you is the fastest, most accomplished rider” One young woman called out, indicating she was, now that her brother was taken from them. “Take my mount. Ride to Stonebridge. Look for Sywyn Wennemein in the Magistrate’s Court. He’ll be there, I know my cousin well. Inform him of the…”
Ril stopped her sentence short as she felt a cold breath caress her neck. Slowly, she turned her eyes widening just a bit as she saw the creature responsible for this man’s death. Eyes that burned like hot coals, skin as black as night. Dark tendrils of black and red seemed to float about him as his cloven feet slowly pushed him forward toward Ril. A sickening laugh escaped through his blackened lips as he bared his fangs. He bent his head low as he dipped his horns as though preparing to charge.
Ril gripped her blade and pointed it toward the beast. “Stay back, devil,” she hissed as she stood defiantly between the beast and the farm house. “Go!” she called back toward the house as she kept her glare on the demon. “Ride to Stonebridge now!” She heard the hooves of her mount pounding the ground as horse and rider sped off toward the city. Leaving her to defend the family on her own. “I shall not let you do any more destruction.”
The beast laughed again before his lips curled into a snarl and he spoke with words dipped in venom. “¿Una mera muchacha como usted, me amenazaría?” he said in a language all too foreign to Ril. “Usted es un tonto, el niño. Pero su esencia está llena de más que aquella que la criatura solitaria alguna vez podría tener. Me alimentaré sobre su alma para un muy mucho tiempo.” He laughed again, and it was this laugh that made Ril prepare for a battle.
*****
Stonebridge, Magistrates Tower
Two guards halted the erratic rider, while trying to calm her at the same time. She had ridden fast and hard, charging toward the gates of the tower. As the guards tried to calm her, she screamed out of demon who attacked their farm, and of the Consoler who defended them this very moment. One guards tried to calm the woman as the other held the reigns of the horse. It was then he took note of the rather calm nature of the horse.
He inspected the animal carefully, his eyes narrowing as he saw the tell tale markings of a horse belonging to one of the Consolers. “Ye bettah tell us the whole story, Missy,” the guard said in a gruff voice. “Don’t be lyin’ ta us now. People can ge’ the wrong idea when someone from the farms come ridin’ in on the back o’ a Consoler’s ‘orse.”
“I told you,” she cried out again through tears of sorrow and fear. “There is a Consoler defending our farm. The demon already took down my brother.” The arguments and accusations began to fly as the story unravelled. The guards of the Magistrate’s Tower were taught to be suspicious of everyone. So it was fortunate when the argument was quickly interrupted.
All three stopped their arguing as the doors to the main lobby of the tower opened. There stood six knights, lead by one familiar face among the guards of the tower. They seemed to bow as the men stepped forward, their eyes gazing over the scene before them. The one who led them looked from the woman to the horse, then to the guards. “Lord Wennemein,” one of the guards managed to squeak out. “Didna realize ye were still ‘ere.”
“I had business to take care of,” Sywyn Wennemein explained quickly. “More to the point, what is the problem here?” The guards explained the situation as the young woman added her own words. All the while, Sywyn watched the woman. He had a way of determining whether a person was telling the truth or not. Only the extremely skilled could charm their way past his ability and mask their true objectives from him. And this was not one of those times. Sywyn felt the woman was telling the truth.
As the woman told her story, Sywyn walked up to the horse. He held out a hand so the animal knew he did not mean any harm. The horse seemed to be familiar with Sywyn, and Sywyn recognized the animal right away. “This is Ril’s mount,” he said as he looked back to the guards. He saw the confused look in their eyes as he spoke the woman’s name. “My cousin. She has been a Consoler for sometime.” His eyes drifted back to the woman once again. “She is defending your home as we speak?” The woman nodded quickly. “Very well then,” he said in a calm voice as he looked to the guards. “Make sure she has a warm bed and food ready for her. Make her as comfortable as you can.” He turned to look to his lieutenant. “Bring me a few more soldiers, and then prepare mounts. We ride within the hour.”
*****
Ril scowled as the demon attempted another attack. She parried each with ease, hoping that she could withhold long enough until reinforcements came. The beast was strong, of that there was no doubt. But she was determined, she swore to preserve life, even in death. Her duty was to guard against undead to protect the living. And this creature had already proven his evil meant that death was quick and painless, but the soul would suffer for all eternity.
She would lash out with a divine spell, knocking the demon to the ground, sending him reeling just a bit. The first blow shocked him, as he had no idea that Ril had such power. But then, he began to revel in it, looking forward to the time when he could consume her. Ril had to ensure that would not happen, and her blade easily defended against the blows the demon attacked with his scythe. She ignored his taunts and his sickening laughter as she continued to think of the family behind her. Ril could not fail them.
The demon looked up as the sound of many hooves beating the ground began to grow louder. He scowled as the white and gold clad knights thundered toward the tiny farm house. Among them were two dressed in black. More than likely a similar duty to this woman. But he now knew that flight was the better of the options available. The odds had just changed. He thundered past Ril easily as she followed the demon to the road, but heard the horses in the background.
Leading the charge was Sywyn, Ril’s horse being led by him. As the group stopped, Ril rushed for her horse and carefully climbed into the saddle. “He’s fast for his size,” she informed them as she nodded to the pair of Consolers. They broke ranks and went to the farm house. They would take over from Ril as she joined the knights. “We don’t have much time.”
“He’s heading south,” Sywyn observed. “Toward the Harvest Hills. Pray that we don’t disturb the druids. Forward men!” he called out in a commanding voice as he pushed his horse forward. The other knights let out a cry of victory as they followed his command. The battle was yet to come, as the chase had now begun.
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