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Bonesaw McGraw
Rul-Aman rode behind one of the armored Redguard horsemen, his hands gripping tightly to the warrior’s leather bandolier as instructed as their shared mount surged across the sands of Stros M’Kai. Brinlaith was several yards over clinging to the back of another of the riders, her red hair whipping wildly behind her in the wind. The afternoon sun hung heavy and ominous in the clear blue sky. No one spoke during the first stretch of the flight from the western side of the island due to a shared suspicion between the two castaways and their rescuers. Not to mention the lingering unease at what had just transpired back at the canyon. Eight armored Redguard riders surrounded the pair in a disciplined formation, their curved swords, armor and round shields flashing beneath the golden light above. Their horses carried them swiftly over the rolling yellow dunes that stretched across the island. Every so often one of the cowled riders would glance suspiciously toward Rul or Brinlaith before turning his attention back toward the eastern horizon.
The riders pressed on for several hours, only slowing their pace after they were certain they had left the horde of undead far behind them. And even then they did not stop their horses once. Beyond the dunes, the terrain gradually changed into tangled jungle brush threaded with narrow streams and patches of thick green undergrowth. Brightly colored birds burst from the trees as the horses forced their way through curtains of hanging vines and broad jungle leaves. Sweat soaked through the clothing and armor of the riders, though none of the Redguards uttered a single complaint.
When Rul and Brinlaith asked where the horsemen were taking them the leader of the group answered curtly that the coastal settlements were safer than the island interior. Rul and Brinlaith’s encounter with the zombies and the grim tone of the leader of these armored men suggested that safety on Stros M’Kai had perhaps become very uncertain. Near the island’s center, the patrol crossed the first of three abandoned farms.
The first homestead stood beside a dry field overgrown with tall yellow weeds that swayed endlessly in the breeze. Vines crawled across the walls of the farmhouse, and the nearby well was coated in sand and looked parched. Farming tools lay abandoned beneath a rickety awning. There was no sign of recent habitation anywhere nearby. Several miles later the group passed a second farmstead half consumed by dense jungle growth and shoulder high grass. The third rested beside a narrow ravine, most notable by a field of tomatoes and eggplants that had been left to insects and decay - as if the farmer had more pressing matters to attend than his source of livelihood. Every abandoned property deepened the unease among the riders who kept their hands close to their sword hilts as they traveled on. Even the horses seemed nervous whenever the patrol neared the silent ruins of the deserted farms.
Later in the afternoon, after their group had passed through the heart of Stros M’Kai, the leader asked with a dark expression where Rul and Brinlaith had come from. The two quickly explained that the ship they had bought passage aboard had sunk and they were left adrift at sea, adding that they had washed ashore early that morning and while searching for life on the island had stumbled upon the horde of undead in the valley. The armored men all exchanged wary glances among themselves as they listened to the short story. At last the leader nodded slowly and admitted that shipwrecks were common enough during the summer trade season. He introduced himself as Ghufran and revealed that the eight riders served directly beneath the Grandee of Stros M’Kai. According to Ghufran, they had been sent across the island to investigate a growing number of strange and dangerous incidents. He explained that undead creatures had begun appearing in number across the island in recent weeks, though he added that he and his men had seen nothing like the massive host of reanimated fiends they had all just escaped.
The undead were not the only problem at hand either. Travelers were reportedly vanishing along roads without a trace. Stray rumors spoke of figures wandering near old ruins at night before disappearing into the darkness before dawn. Several riders quietly muttered prayers beneath their breath as Ghufran mentioned the sightings.
As the jungle finally began to recede, the distant scent of saltwater and smoke became stronger on the air. By the early evening hours, the patrol emerged from the wilderness and looked down upon the sprawling harbor city of Port Hunding. The crown jewel of Stros M’kai, Port Hunding spread across the coastline in gleaming layers of pale stone walls, crowded docks, and towering watchtowers overlooking the sea. Even from a great distance the city gates bustled with merchants, dockworkers, caravan guards, and streams of shouting travelers moving in beneath the walls. Ghufran halted the patrol near the outskirts of the city and ordered his riders to prepare to depart once more.
He warned Rul and Brinlaith to enter the city quickly and remain within its walls for their own safety until the island’s troubles were better understood. With that, the eight riders turned away from Port Hunding and disappeared over the ridge back toward the wilderness, leaving Rul-Aman and Brinlaith standing alone before the great city of legend.
