The black figures had moved swiftly, passing through the Duchy of Dominas like a roaring wind in the night and coming to the border with the Duchy of Belovel. The road leading to Belovel was bordered on either side by tall, rocky hills that funneled the road like a valley before reaching the border of Belovel where it opened from the tall pines and dark forests into open grain fields of yellow wheat and barley.
The Duchy was a dark and quiet one, the forests holding dark monsters and even darker secrets. A plague had devastated the region, and what few people remained were insular and quiet, rarely ever leaving the borders of their territory, and their Duke was an absent man who rarely showed himself beyond his castle on the upper reaches.
They came roaring down the road, thundering hooves as they went. They passed a farmhouse swiftly and suddenly and the farmer, having heard the roaring thunder, came outside after they passed wondering whether a stray storm cloud had let out some sudden burst of lightning overhead before disappearing in much the same way it had come.
But his thoughts were wrong, and if he had known the truth he would have never dared to have opened his door and peak outside for the figures in the night.
They rode on, the territory passed in a blur and soon the deep veil of twilight turned to a light blue hue on the eastern horizon, and as nearer they came to the border that blue hue turned to yellow, then a bright salmon pink as the sun prepared his sleepy ascent and the dawn came. The dark forest now held a watchful eye, like the Duchy itself watched them eerily as they passed, and the stones seemed to echo their thunder.
The border was just ahead, the road thinned and squeezed between the two rocky hills, the pink stream of sunlight beginning to shine upon the yellow fields ahead, they pressed harder into the flanks of their beasts. And then, a sound.
To an untrained ear, it was nothing but a robin chirping in the air, or perhaps the drowsy hoot of an owl preparing to nest through the hot day. But to the wise ear, it was the signal of an ambush.
Their funneled hope at the end of the road was dashed as from either side of the rocky hills came rolling down two logs, picking up speed until crashing down on the road and blocking their path. As they came to a halt, figures appeared on the ridge line of either hill, they drew their longbows and fired down onto the road.
Arrows stormed like hail onto them, impaling horse and rider alike. The robed figures threw themselves from their mounts and sought cover, whether behind boulder, horse or man. They cried out in confusion and anger, and as they tried to gather their bearings the battle cry of dozens of men sounded.
The knights of the Dawn's Watch came screaming down the hills, their swords lifted high as the dawn light lifted and shined upon their armor. The dark figures cried out in anger before their armored foes were upon them with a crash.
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Sword struck sword, horses cried out in pain and terror, mud mixed with blood and red stained the rocks. In the midst of it all one of the knights fought. He was a younger man, but not a man of youth. He had a worn face, and a scar across the bridge of his nose. He was a young man that had traveled much, and seen more. He fought with agility and grace and clear in his movements was expert training. One of the black robed figures rushed him with a dagger, the two tumbled over the rocks and wrestled for control. The knight kneed the man twice in the side, and as he gasped for breath the knight shoved the dagger into his chest and left him there to bleed out.
Another came, a man whose hood had fallen down and revealed a ugly, crude face decorated with scars and dirt. The man stood atop a dying horse and lunged for the knight with his sword. The knight parried the blow and threw a chop at the man's head, but the man glanced the blow and pressed again, catching the knight by surprise and getting a glancing blow across the knight's arm. The knight could see that the man was well trained.
The knight kicked at the fallen horse the man stood atop, kicking the beast in the belly. The dying horse cried out and threw itself back and forth. The man lost his balance and fell forward. Before he could recover the knight put a sword in his neck.
The battle was in their favor. Most of the robed men were killed, and what few were alive were making their way down the road before being ridden down by the reserve knights.
The knights had made swift work of the invaders. The knights wore decorated raimants, plate armor that shined with colors of gold and white. Over each of their chests was a tabard of a white sun with golden rays stretching in all directions, and over the sun was a black hand holding a gold flame stretched out above.
They were the Dawn's Watch, an ancient order of knights dedicated to the god Adir. Once the most numerous order in all the kingdom of Bravia, now they were numbered only a few dozen.
"Isaac!" Another knight called out to the younger.
"Borges." He returned the greeting.
"Praise Vero you survived." The older knight said. "I saw you in a nasty scrap and go down, I didn't see you get back up."
Isaac smiled. "It will take a lot more than a crazed cultist or two to take me down, Borges, you know that."
"Well, the battle is won," The older knight said. "We're rallying on the western slope." The older knight got closer. "We've tracked them for days, and it led us right here. Do you think they have found out?"
Isaac looked gravely at the older knight's face. "This is no coincidence, Borges." He said. "They know the Redeemer has been found. Time is of the essence. We must ride to Hollyheln immediately and ensure his safety."