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(Page 2 of 5) Stormcaller: Prologue by James LThe sense of calm that had settled over Erlund shattered and fear flared once more in his gut. The voices continued and words as sharp as icicles cut into his ears. Wearily he pushed himself to his feet. Gathering the bare sinews of his remaining strength, he pushed away from the tree, running once more. He made it no more than several strides before his right foot caught in the root of a tree. With a startled cry he fell heavily to the snow.
Rolling onto his back, he glanced upwards. His three pursuers loomed over him. Helpless, Erlund gazed at their skeletal, arachnid legs, and then upwards to their armour-covered torsos. His eyes passed over their smooth, angular faces that gleamed like polished ivory in the moonlight, their straight silver hair and thin, lipless mouths. Finally, his heart pounding, Erlund met the gaze of their cruel, black eyes and felt them spear through his skin and into his very soul.
For several moments the three creatures stood in oppressive silence, before one of them spoke in the strange language. The words were aimed at Erlund but he simply shook his head helplessly. The speaker fell silent, his mouth twisting into a hideous parody of a smile. Sharp teeth glinted. In a flurry of movement, the creature pulled free a wickedly curved blade. The moonlight played along the weapon's serrated edge. Erlund's eyes widened in horror. With a vicious motion the creature slashed the blade downwards, twisting it as it fell so that the flat of the blade connected with Erlund's head. Everything turned to darkness.
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When Erlund awoke, it was to a throbbing pain in his temple and a chill that seemed to seep through his skin and rake against his bones. He tried to open his eyes but this seemed to increase the pain in his temple. Disorientated, he wearily tried to shift his position, to curl up against the cold. He couldn't move. Panic flared in his gut. It was then he became aware of the chanting; a group of cold, sibilant voices fusing together into an ominous mantra. For several moments he lay still, listening in dazed confusion. One voice then spoke above the others and the harsh, obscure words seemed to echo in his mind. The language seemed strangely familiar. Memories sparked in his mind; terrible images of fear and death. He remembered.
Panicking, Erlund forced his eyes open and found himself in a nightmare. He was in a clearing in the forest, lying spread-eagled on a stone plinth. His limbs were lashed to metal rivets with lengths of rope. He was naked. Braziers burning with unnerving blue flames were arranged in a rough circle around the edge of the clearing. In between each one stood a Galgarith, wearing not the jagged armour of his pursuers, but robes of an icy blue under which their spider-like legs protruded. Each had its head bowed, lipless mouths moving and constricting as they chanted. The solitary voice that spoke out above the chant came from a Galgarith clothed in a white robe, who stood at the foot of Erlund's plinth. A crown carved to resemble a spider adorned its head. The creature hunched over a pedestal, reading rapidly from an open manuscript, black eyes scanning the parchment.
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