Monument

Here is a fragment, meant as a preface to a longer story which never materialised. Maybe someday...

Steam puffed from the horse’s nostrils as it crunched upward through snow-covered trees. Night was falling, and the rider was aware that his pursuers were moving closer. He had lost hope of escape hours ago, but there was still one thing that kept him moving. He had changed his goal: he no longer wished to avoid his fate.

In the fading light and the growing chill, the horse reached a small clearing. The rider pulled the beast to a stop and dismounted. The mare danced briefly, sensing her master’s apprehension.

He allowed his legs to adjust for a few seconds; hours in the saddle had left them wobbly and unused to the weight of a man. Then he strode to the opposite end of the clearing and knelt down. There, he found what he was looking for.

Half-buried in a low drift, and covered in winter-dead vines stood a short monument. The stone was no more than a pillar about as high as his waist surmounted by a foot-wide disc. Upon the disc was carved a serene face, eyes half-open, nose narrow, mouth small and quiet.

He pulled vines from the face and knelt down. He said a small prayer and gazed at the face for a short time. He felt calm wash over him. It was done; he had attained this goal, at least, even if the other was lost.

In another moment, he rose and returned to his mount. Rising into the saddle, he kicked her sides and they were off, into the woods. The snow had begun again the process of burying the little monument.


Less than an hour later, five more riders thundered into the clearing. They paused, their leader examining the scene before him. He was a master tracker, but little skill was needed to see what had passed here. Their quarry had stopped to pray. He smiled through his thick, graying beard.

He spurred his great black horse closer to the monument. The light snow had not yet obscured the marks where his quarry had knelt. The bearded man snorted derisively and spat into the face of the statue. He considered raising his mace and smashing the heretical thing, but he stopped short. Somehow, he could not bring himself to do it.

He jerked his horse around and crashed back into the trees, following his enemy’s trail. His underlings followed his example, leaving the little clearing empty, once again.