The Hollow Crown Page #7

• Fantasy
• Fiction
• Action and Adventure

								


He knew he had to investigate, though every nerve in his body screamed that whatever lay ahead was not of this world. Making his way to the base of the winding stone staircase, Alaric momentarily sheathed his sword to climb the stairs. The steps were cracked, many half-destroyed, and the railing, once sturdy, hung loosely in place, as if ready to crumble under the slightest touch.

Alaric ascended cautiously, each step creaking ominously beneath his weight. As he made his way higher, a section of the staircase collapsed behind him, sending a shower of stones to the floor below. He quickened his pace, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as the light above grew stronger.

When he finally reached the upper floor, Alaric found himself in a dimly lit chamber, illuminated only by the unnatural glow emanating from the centre of the room. He froze, his eyes widening as he beheld a creature that seemed to defy reality. It stood twice the height of man, hunched and grotesque. Its skin twisted and stretched tightly over bones that jutted unnaturally through its chest. Its rib cage was splayed open, as if its insides had been clawed out, leaving a gaping void where its heart should have been. The creature’s eyes glowed with a sickly light, locked onto Alaric with an unnatural hunger. It was not of this world.

Without a sound, the creature lunged.

Alaric barely had time to react. He drew his sword in a swift, fluid motion, raising it just in time to block the creature’s bony, claw-like hands. Its ribs scraped against his blade, sending a sharp, grating noise echoing through the room. Alaric pushed back, struggling to maintain his footing on the uneven floor as the creature snapped at him, its mouth wide, revealing sharp fangs coated in a dark, foul substance.

Summoning his strength, Alaric swung his sword in a wide arc. The blade connected with the creature's exposed ribs, shattering them as though they were made of glass. A piercing shriek filled the chamber, and the beast stumbled backwards. Its form wavered, shimmering and twisting in the air as if it was caught between two realities. Then, with a final, haunting cry, the creature erupted—into a cloud of black feathers.

The feathers swirled chaotically around Alaric, and from the midst of them emerged a raven, its eyes gleaming with the same eerie light as the creature’s. The raven circled above him, its wings brushing against the air in near silence. Alaric watched in disbelief, his sword still raised, though now useless against the sudden transformation.

Before he could react, the raven dove towards him, talons outstretched. As it swooped past, its claws dug deep into Alaric’s cheek, tearing into the flesh, leaving a sharp, searing pain. He gasped, stumbling backwards, his hand instinctively reaching for the wound. Blood gushed down his face, warm and thick, but the raven did not linger. It flew towards a decayed wooden wall and Alaric could only watch as it erupted into a ball of light, blowing a hole through the wall and disappearing.

Left alone in the dim, silent chamber, the pain in his cheek intensified. However something deeper burned beneath the wound, a feeling he could not yet comprehend. He touched his cheek gingerly, feeling the gouge left by the raven’s claws. Something about it differed from the other wounds he had accumulated through past battles.

Alaric lowered his sword, his breath steadying. The room was empty now, the unnatural light gone. But the encounter had shaken him to his very core. His fate was tainted more than he could have imagined.

Breathing heavily, he sheathed his sword and turned his attention toward leaving the decaying watchtower. It seemed empty now, devoid of the dark presence that haunted it once, but he knew better than to linger. Whatever the creature was, he didn’t need to know how it got there. Alaric wiped the blood from his cheek and made his way back down the crumbling staircase, careful not to lose his footing as pieces of the stone continued to fall away.

When he finally stepped outside into the cold air, he let out a relieved sigh. His horse, still tethered to the nearby tree, snorted softly as Alaric approached. The animal sensed his unease, its eyes flicking nervously towards the tower. Alaric patted the horse's neck, trying to calm both of their nerves. He mounted quickly, eager to put the cursed place behind him.

The path before him wound through a dense forest, the towering trees casting long shadows across the trail. Alaric urged his horse forward, his mind occupied by the strange events that seemed to follow him like a shadow. His destination was clear—the city in the north. There, he might find answers.

The journey was long and difficult. Alaric rode from sunrise to sunset. As he rode, the landscape shifted and morphed, from a dense forest to rolling hills, and as he approached the last leg of his journey, the terrain turned to jagged cliffs and sheer drops.

The path ahead narrowed, weaving through the rugged terrain, climbing ever higher. Alaric slowed his horse, carefully navigating the rocky ground, mindful of the steep drops that flanked the trail. Climbing higher, the air was sharp and cold, carrying the distant roar of a river below.

As Alaric rounded a corner, the ground beneath his horse's hooves began to slope downward, leading to a massive ravine that cut through the landscape like a jagged wound. Spanning the ravine was an enormous rope bridge, its thick ropes stretched tight over the abyss. The planks creaked under the weight of the howling wind, and Alaric could see the churning river far below, its surface broken by jagged rocks that rose like teeth from the depths.

He dismounted, knowing the crossing would be too precarious on horseback. Leading his steed to the edge of the ravine, he patted its flank reassuringly before tying the reins to a nearby rock. The horse snorted nervously, sensing the danger ahead.

Taking the saddlebag, Alaric pulled his cloak over his armour for warmth and stepped cautiously onto the bridge, testing the planks with his weight. The ropes groaned but held firm as he began to cross, his every step slow and measured. Beneath him, the river surged, its roar amplified by the towering cliffs that surrounded it. The wind tugged at his cloak, calling him to the currents below, but Alaric kept his focus, gripping the ropes tightly as he moved forward.

Halfway across, a gust of wind caught him off guard, causing the entire structure to sway violently. Alaric froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he glanced down at the deadly drop below. For a moment, he considered turning back, but he could not give up. He clenched his jaw and pushed forward, each step bringing him closer to solid ground.

At last, Alaric reached the other side. His muscles were aching from the tension of the crossing. He glanced back at the bridge, the ropes still swaying in the wind, before turning his attention to the path ahead. The cliffs here were taller and steeper, and they seemed to rise endlessly towards the sky, but the sight that greeted him as he rounded the final corner made the arduous journey worth it.

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