THE CATAPHRACT

The Cataphract
Taken from a storyteller’s journal, date unknown.

The setting sun’s radiance spread a glaze of orange warmth on the Great Plains, and on the walls of Scylia. As we continued along the dirt pathway, the zest of this short-lived light filled our minute party with a sense of optimism.

“...And here’s your share. Two hundred and eighty coins. None more, none less.” I said, placing the compensation in the mercenary’s palms.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.” The mace-wielding man replied, shaking my hand afterwards.

“Let’s not waste any time. The journey back to Arkatan is a long one.” I continued.

I was, once more, flanked by my two temporary guards. As we continued into the trail, the darkness enveloped our surroundings. The roads were all but desolate, not another soul to be seen. After all, Scylians feared the dark, as Hemovites and other beasts roamed these plains. Luckily, the swordsman had brought a torch, guiding the way with what little light it mustered.

As we continued, the night grew ever-darker. There were clouds blocking out the stars and moon; a foreboding omen, according to my ancestors. Soon, I would understand its significance.

Suddenly, the swordsman stopped in his tracks, and we followed suit. He drew his blade, and raised its edge to my chest.

“As much as I think you’re a decent businessman…”

He raised the sleeve on his extended arm, and a symbol revealed itself. The same sigil which struck fear into nobles and peasants alike. A long dirk, its blade shattered like glass, pointing down at his clenched fist.

The Order of The Shattered Dagger. It was a coalition of rogues, thieves, and lowlives, spreading across the Fracture. Among all the merchants in this world, they had to target me. Their timing could not have been more perfect; I had no Gods to pray to, as I renounced my faith to fulfill my duties as a nomadic vendor. My hope was ever-limited, as were my chances of surviving.

In spite of these odds, deliverance arrived. From the darkness surrounding us, we heard a beastly roar, making the hairs on my neck stand upright.  It froze us for long, as such a noise was so guttural, so wrathful, so tormented, that we collectively knew; such a cry was not of this vast, unusual world.

The swordsman’s eyes were averted to the darkness, his sword pointing westward. His body’s courage seemed to have left him, for the thief shook as if he was afflicted with rickets. No longer did a criminal stand before me; merely a boyish man struck by crippling fear.

“What--what in Argos’ name is t-that?!” His accomplice cried out, pointing at a group of lights in the blackness.

They were flaring flames of light blue, lined up in twos. One pair was smaller than the other, high above the larger one. They were like beacons of holy light, a radiance which penetrated the darkness like blades through leather. They flickered ever so adamantly, like stubborn embers among smouldering ashes. Soon, we heard the galloping of a horse, coming from the same direction.

“You! G-give me your damned share! I will not die a failure!” The swordsman yelled at me, his voice sounding desperate. His blade’s point was touching my neck, ready to carve into flesh and bone.

“It--it’s an apparition! It must be! No living bastard would interrupt, let alone, attack The Shattered Dagger! Don’t those walled-in nobles say there are ghosts--” The arrogant mace-wielder was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a fired bow. Except this sound seemed to be amplified, as if the drawstring was of hemp rope.

“...No apparition would make such noises, no?” I commented.

“Shut up!” He lashed at me, striking my shoulder with his mace. The straps of my pack had already strained my body, and the blunt force had incapacitated me. I collapsed to the dirt road, writhing in pain. It was as if my bones were ready to dislodge themselves.

“Quickly! Grab his--” The cocky assailant was cut short, as an arrow the size of a spear flew through his torso, skewering him like a slab of meat on a campfire roast. For a moment, he looked at the foreign object, dropping his weapon as he felt his organs rupture. Sanguine liquid poured out his front and back, as he collapsed face-down.

“No...no…” The swordsman grew ever-anxious, sweat beading at his brow. His eyes were fixated on his partner’s corpse, his breath bated. The torch he held shook, as did his blade. Even though I was laying in pain, he continued to idle in uncertainty and fear.  Perhaps, he did not truly deserve the mark of a master rogue. For in the face of death, any normal man would falter.

The tempo of the galloping sped up into a charge, and my own heartbeat quickened the same. Much like a rapid bargaining, my mind was skimming through options.  My working arm could not support my own body, let alone the inventory strapped to my back. Removing the pack would have further damaged my shoulder through sheer weight. To make matters worse, I was laying belly-down. To me, it seemed that all hope faded away, much like the torchlight that began to die down. As I laid on the path, the shaken swordsman started running into the distance, torch in hand. I watched his silhouette sprint for his life, as I felt a strong gust of wind blow past me. Looking to my side, there were the four piercing flames, speeding like comets in the night sky as the figure galloped. The mass of shadow and blue flame quickly caught up with the deserter.

The galloping stopped. The torchlight illuminated the enigmatic figure, and for a fraction of a moment, I witnessed its true form. A horse made of shadows leapt over the coward’s head, blue flames raging in its chest, and its head, an inferno of black flame, cyan eyes ignited amongst the fires. Riding upon its back, was a human-like figure, enshrouded in the same black flame, wearing it like a cloak. The head was obscured by an iron helm, its eye-holes flaring with the same shade of blue which petrified two professional fugitives. An arm stretched downwards, and swung towards the thief’s head, shadows shifting into a blade of black and cyan flame. I could not tell where the arm ended, nor where the sword began, as the black, scorching inferno concealed every inch of flesh, if there was any. As quickly as the equine jumped, the sword seamlessly sliced through the tissue and bone of the boyish man. His skull split in two, like an axe cutting a log of wood. Blood and brain splattered sidewards, as the horizontal cut was brutal, yet swift.

The man’s shadow-blade morphed into an arm, extending to the ground as if it was made of rubber. The limb retracted as it approached the flaming torch, seemingly out of fear. The stallion of darkness then turned towards me, and the horseman kicked into the beast. It advanced towards me, albeit at a steady pace. My heartbeat surged, and I attempted to get on my feet, desperately clawing at the straps on my back, in spite of the stinging pain of a dislocated joint.

Before I could blink, there they stood. A cavalryman and his steed, consumed in living shadow and fueled by blue and black flame, towered over my fallen body. They looked down upon me with contempt, akin to a master to a servant. At that moment, I had accepted my fate.

“M--make it quick. Please…” I begged, my hands folded in prayer.

The wind across the plains howled like wolves, and the moon revealed itself once more. Exposed under moonlight, the imposing figures were now ever-shifting silhouettes, black mist still floating like a fog of mystic poison. The rider’s arm let go of the reins, and it seemed to form another weapon of darkness; this time, a glaive. The edge of its blades glowed the same cyan aura, and he brought the tip to my straps, tearing them instantly. At that moment, the heavy load from my shoulders dissipated, as well as my anxiety. For the most part, at least.

“No.” He replied, his voice warped beyond recognition. It was as if he was half-drowning.

“Who-what are you?” I asked, standing up, realizing his mount was taller than I was.

“My name is Khunbish. I am a Cataphract. The last of my kind. You?” He said, his glaive disappearing into the black mass.

“Yarin, sir. Yarin of Arkatan.” I replied, bowing out of dignity, and fear.

“Ah, a man of the seas. What is a gypsy like you doing so far inland?” He retorted, giving off distorted chuckles.

“I...I’m not--”

“No matter. Come. Your shoulder is hurt.” His hand came out of the cloaking shadows, a cyan light beaming from his palm.

I stepped closer, and his hand rested on my damaged flesh, and the mist crept on my body. I was frozen in fear, as the black, seemingly living shadows encompassed my entire arm, wrapping itself like sentient bandages. The mist twisted around my limb, until I could no longer see it. Streaks of cyan and black quickly hovered above my skin, feeling like tiny insects flying close to my body. Suddenly, it seemed, the sting on my shoulder was gone. In disbelief, I rotated my arm as the blackness retreated to its source.

“Thank you. I am in your debt.” I bowed once more.

“No need. I work with no reward.” He said, facing his horse away from me.

“Where are you going?”

“North-west. I must heed a call.”

“Oh! I musn’t stop you, then. Farewell.” I waved at him.


In response, he raised his left fist above his head, lifted above the shifting darkness as his stallion sped off. The equine blurred into the shadows of the night, along with its rider. In blazing speed, the two had disappeared among the plains, never to be seen again.