“Remus, run!” Rinda screamed. Remus had given up trying to force his way back into the thicket and instead turned and dashed for the woods—but one of the riders, moving swiftly, grabbed his slender arm in a grip like a vise.
“Let me go!” Remus screamed and struggled. His small face shone with the kind of prideful rage that only the most noble of blood and heart can muster.
The rider with the black plume gave another sharp order. “Get them”—he said “Get them,” thought Rinda. The language he spoke was not foreign to the twins, but the accent was so thick that it took her a considerable amount of effort to decipher the meaning. Remus screamed even louder as the other riders approached the vasya thicket. Heedless of the thorny bower into which Rinda had wormed her way, a hand sheathed in a gauntlet of cold iron reached in to snatch her as she clawed and twisted like an angry kitten.
Her captor seemed oblivious to Rinda’s screams at the thorns that caught on her skin and in her hair. He dragged her roughly from the thicket and she tumbled out onto the grass where she caught her breath in ragged gasps, tears welling in her eyes from the scratches covering her body and face.
“Barbarians! Beasts! Swine of Gohra!” Rinda’s deep violet eyes blazed with anger. “Why are you doing this? You Gohran dogs have taken everything from us! May Janos’ bolts strike you and turn you to ash!”
The black-cloaked riders looked down coldly at the girl whose slender body shook now as her tears of pain turned to tears of rage. The captain laughed harshly, then suddenly, stepped forward. With his iron-gloved hand he grabbed her chin and looked at her face. His intent was clear.
“Let her go!” Remus shouted and strained against his captors, but their hands held him fast. Recoiling, Rinda spat at the mask covering the leader’s face, and then in one swift motion leapt deftly out of his grasp and drew the short sword from the sheath at her waist.
She crouched like a mountain cat, fierce and proud. But her sword—a finely ornamented thing wrought of silver—was too slender to seem a threat. The men guffawed and cheered her on as their captain gave a guttural laugh and strode boldly toward her.
Rinda raised her sword and drew back; the black rider closed in. She stepped back again, but this time her foot caught on a tangle of weeds. She yelped and fell backwards, and the black rider leapt atop her.
“Rinda!”
The girl heard her brother scream as strong hands pinned her down to the ground. She fought wildly, with all her heart, struggling to get free. But her strength and her will were nearly exhausted.
“Rinda!” Remus screamed again and squirmed, trying to wrench out of the rider’s steel grip, and then—
And then everything stopped. There was a sudden silence so complete that Remus could hear the breath catch in his captor’s throat. The captain rolled off of Rinda and froze. Beneath his faceplate his eyes were wide with disbelief and terror. Rinda cried out weakly, but that sound too vanished into the overwhelming silence that had swooped upon the glade.
Slowly, slowly, something had stepped from the shade of the trees and begun walking toward them. The way it walked, with both arms stretched out before it like a mindless zombie feeling its way along, spoke somehow of things more horrible than death. Its steps were unsteady; yet, as it approached, its gait became increasingly stable and determined.
“W-What may’t be?!” spoke a rider unconsciously, his voice trembling.
’”Tis a Rood demon!”
“A walking corpse!”
“A monster!”
A wave of fear rippled through the men. It was as if a nightmare had crept out of the darkest corner of their superstitious minds and was now stalking quietly through the gloom of the trees. It was coming for them.
“Janos! Mercy!” One of the weak of heart shouted a prayer and bolted toward his horse. The sudden movement broke the spell holding the riders. They tossed Remus aside and made a mad dash for their steeds.
“Hold! Who gave orders to mount? Who!” the captain shouted in wild frustration. He was nearly dumb with fear, and his hands shook, but he was their leader, and he had not forgotten his duty.
Rinda moved swiftly. As soon as the grip on her arm relaxed she pulled away and dashed toward her brother.
“Wait!” the captain called out. He took a step to follow her, momentarily forgetting the freakish horror in his chagrin at letting the girl go.
“You! Get them! The twins of Parros must not—”
His voice broke off in mid-order. The fiend’s outstretched hand had yanked him backward by the black plume atop his helmet. Its two giant hands then closed upon his throat. He yelped and twisted to draw the sword at his waist—but it was barely halfway out of its scabbard when the man’s neck broke with a wet popping sound. The leader’s head was now hanging backward at an unnatural angle in the powerful hands of the thing.
“Captain!” The riders stopped in their tracks. Though fear had nearly robbed them of their wits, these were trained soldiers, not a band of cowering children. Seeing their leader fall broke the spell of fear. They turned from their horses, drew their swords, and moved to surround the creature.
A strange, menacing sound, like the howl of an animal, came from the creature’s mouth. One of the riders leapt forward, his sword-blade slashing down. The creature lifted the captain’s body and blocked the swinging blade—and battle was joined. At once the wood was filled with cries and shouts and the clanging of blades and armor.