Demon of the Black Gate

Sinjin reached the edges of the plains two days after the encounter with the wolves. His leg was sharply inflammed and he was reeling with fever. He stared out into the vast expanse of grassland that carpeted the land, laying up against the wall of the Granite Mountains to the West. He picked a southeast course and began to walk. The steppes that lapped close to the mountains rolled in heavy contours, but he knew as he headed towards the desert that bordered the Sultan Sea, the terrain would flatten considerably. He hoped he would soon encounter some outriders of the tribes that inhabited the grasslands. The Cherros had horses and he needed a horse. He grimaced in pain. He needed treatment on his leg, and he knew he was already in trouble.

He kept up his fevered pace throughout the day, the sea of grass endless. He felt he had gone nowhere, an unbroken journey that grew more wearisome as the day went on. By late afternoon, after ascending a small rise, he resigned himself to a perch on a low boulder that crowned the shallow hill. The same view as the last knoll, and the one before that. His leg was burning and he knew without looking that it would be a mess. He sat for awhile, trying to find defeat, but couldn’t. Even the pain wouldn’t do that. He gave in to the exhaustion and fever however, and either slept for a short while or lost consciousness. His awareness came in fits and starts. He had seen no one. If he could not find the Cherros, he would let them find him. He had to move while he still could.

He struggled to his feet and began gathering some of the longest stalks of grass that he could use as a torch. He sparked a small fire, and lit the sheave. He began circling with a lurching gimp just below the crest of the hillock and lighting the grasses there, the crackling growing behind him. He retreated down the hill to a bare patch, and trusted that the fire itself would be contained at the brow of the rise. He sat down heavily and waited. The nomads would surely see the glow for quite a distance. He had little doubt they would be here by morning, if not before.

He lay back, once again falling into a feverish sleep.

He fought in his dreams, voices carried him. He struggled, his shouts soundless, empty and meaningless. His feet toiled, sucking along in a quagmire until he fell back into it, the horror of blackness enveloping him.

The voices returned. His eyes struggled to open, and a glazed vision of a circle of dark hair framing painted faces, slashes of red, black and white burnishing cheeks and brows. They looked back at him through the haze of his dreams. He shut his eyes against it, and reopened them slowly hoping to penetrate the delerium. The faces were stil there, peering from hooded robes, the color of the plains.

“You have laid torch to our mother ground. Tell me why I should not kill you now?” said one, a grumble of assent circling around him.

Sinjin fought for some clarity when all his energy wanted to collapse back into the relief of a black coma. He tried to fight the weight of the fever.

“Signal … you.”

“What are you doing in this far corner of our domain? There is no trade, no town.”

“Following … woman.” Sinjin struggled with the thought, trying to separate it from the other episodes of his fractured dreams.

Laughter settled in around his ears as his eyes drifted shut. He was shaken back.

“You. Not so fast … you can sleep … or die ... later as the gods will. A woman? In this empty corner of Alatia? You are fevered worse than we thought. What does woman look like? A nymph? One of the driads? A famed houri of the Assai?”

“Red hair.” Sinjin managed with feeble breath. He thought of what he had seen of her trail. A last word echoed in his brain. He may have even relayed the thought aloud, he wasn’t sure.

“Witch.”

He sank back into blackness and the rider let the fevered man fall limply back to the ground. He turned to one standing at his shoulder.

“Jaden. He must have come from the north ... the forest.”

Jaden looked off to the direction of the distant wood.

“Xander, take this man back to the gathering. I’ll patrol the fringes below the forest land ... the old Vanden road is likely, and see if there are any red haired women wandering about. I’ll have to be careful if I find her.” he added with a wry smile. “She may be a witch.”