The Manor - Chapter 2

The sound of wind and the icy touch of cold rain on his face awoke Geroth with a start.  His head throbbed as if kicked by a horse, blurring his sight.

As his vision cleared, he sat up and began to take in his surroundings.  No longer in the city, he lay on a low hill surrounded on three sides by a thick forest.  A dense fog permeated the area clouding most of the landscape. 

The surrounding forest consisted mainly of pine trees and the few scattered oaks and ash trees that he saw were bare of leaves.  It was early fall, a time when the leaves just began to change colors, but here, it appeared to be winter.  It was almost as if he was relocated to the Northern lands or was asleep for a long period.

A gust of wind blew through the trees, sending a chill through Geroth’s body.  It also afforded him a temporary view of the sky.  Even the stars seemed different.  None of the known constellations were visible.  This was no place he was familiar with.

Geroth shook his head, hoping to clear it.  What exactly  happened after the odd meeting with the blind man and his daughter?  Had he been deceived, drugged and left out in the woods?  That seemed too far fetched.  He could feel his sword strapped to his hip and his purse fastened on the inside of his tunic.  The ring which was one of the few remaining family heirlooms he  managed to keep rested on his thick finger.  No thief worthy of the profession leave such valuable items behind.

With some effort, he rose to his feet.  At the base of the hill he made out the outline of a small, dirt road.  Another heavy gust of wind blew through the land and Geroth shivered.  He wore only a tunic and a light pair of trousers not suitable for this cold, damp weather.

He could not stay here, wherever here was.  If the weather did not take its toll on him then whoever was responsible for his being here might return. He reached the base of the hill and deciding there was no other choice, began to follow the road.

After only a short time walking Geroth could no longer see the outline of the hill he awoke on through the mist.

Onward he walked through the dense, oppressive fog.  Every so often, he made out the impressions of hoof prints in the road.  The tracks looked fresh, a good sign as he must be nearing a village or at least an inhabited area.  With luck, he would find shelter and someone who could explain his whereabouts.

Off in the distance, the sounds of horses galloping reverberated through the mist.  A glimmer of hope passed through his mind.  Perhaps, it was the local militia or a merchant caravan that could escort him to safety.

The sound of the horses grew closer, yet nothing could be seen through the fog.  His hope began to change to trepidation.  What if it was a band of brigands or the ones responsible for his being here?

The gallops abruptly ended, but were replaced by the sound of raspy breathing all around him, be it horse, human or otherwise he could not tell.  With nowhere to go or even hide, there was but one choice.

"Who is out there?"  As a reflex, his hand went to his sword.

The continued rasp of ragged breathing and the howl of the wind was the only answer

"Show yourself.”  Geroth lacked conviction in his voice.

The sounds continued to swirl around him like the mist.

He drew his sword and said a small prayer to the gods.  This sword, made by his own hands,  never failed him and its familiar feel steeled his nerve. Slowly, he circled, attempting to get some bearing on whomever or whatever surrounded him.  The mist and the sound drew closer, enveloping him like a blanket.

Ever circling, his heart beat heavily in his chest as a bead of cold sweat rolled down his cheek. He tried to maintain focus but fear and doubt crept into his thoughts.

Banishing the thoughts, he set his feet and waited for whatever may come.  A blast of frigid air assaulted him, stealing his breath and the mist and the sound began to swallow him.  He felt as if doom was upon him.  He would die never knowing the meaning behind the painting.  However, if Geroth were to die he would not be taken without a fight.

He cleared his mind, preparing himself for the end and then all was silent save the whispering of the wind. 

With blood pounding in his temples, his mind searched for a rational explanation.  This must be a dream or a hallucination brought on by some drug or toxin. 

He knew that there were mysteries in the world that could not be explained however Geroth was a man of reason and reason dictated a logical explanation.  His mind searched for answers. 

With trembling hands, he sheathed his sword as a powerful wave of nausea overcame him.  His legs felt like Lead and his head was light.  Collapsing into the mud, he retched.

He knew to stay here any longer would be foolish.  However, he longed for nothing but to sink into the cold mud and lapse into unconsciousness.  Steeling his nerve as best he could, he rose awkwardly on dead legs.

As he wiped the bile from his lips, his eyes caught a glimpse of something off in the distance.  For a moment, the mist receded and he saw the silhouette of a girl.  She was only visible for a moment but he was certain the girl looked familiar.  His mind searched for the answered that could not be possible.  Could this be the girl from the painting? 

"Wait!"  He stumbled off in pursuit, his legs trembling and weak.

The road was little more than a muddy path and the surroundings masked in mist.  He carried onward; unsure of the direction he headed; wandering aimlessly except for the moments where the mist would part long enough for him to glance the girl off in the distance. 

He followed, giving chase as the path became more solid.  The familiar feel of cobblestones under his feet gave him hope that was heading in the right direction. The strength in his legs began to return as he detected an upward slant to the road.

A gust of cold air parted the mist and reminded him to remain focused.  Up a short hill, the girl stood at what looked like the gateway to a large estate.  This time, he was able to get a complete look and he was certain that it was the girl from the painting. 

She wore a white silk dress as she did in the painting.  While Geroth was soaked and covered in mud, her dress was flawless.  She turned toward the gateway, glancing over her shoulder toward him.  Her face held deep sadness and her cheeks were moist with tears.   

He wanted to call out to the girl to try to get some understanding about what was occurring.  Before the words would escape his lips, the mist reformed and the girl was obscured once again.  With a slow and haggard pace, he walked toward the gate with his sword drawn, his grip on the hilt tenuous at best. 

What was left of the gateway was supported by two large pillars of carved stone whose facades were chipped and covered in clinging vines.  The once grand gates of wrought iron were now marred by rust and pitted to the point of breaking.  The left gate lay on the ground as if it was knocked aside by a mighty blow. 

Above the pillars and gates stood what was left of an archway also made from wrought iron.  At one time, it proudly bore the name of whoever dwelt here.  The left half like the gate had fallen away, twisting the remaining metal and obscuring the identity of the inhabitants.  All that was left was "grim."  Geroth thought that the name appropriate.

Beyond the gates resided a once majestic courtyard.  The courtyard was in disrepair, bearing none of its former glory as if the estate was abandoned for many years.  To the left and right were isles of hedge rows, their unhindered growth blocking the paths that led further into the courtyard.

About thirty yards away, a fountain lay to the right side, its water stagnant and filled with decaying leaves.  To its left was a small garden with statues in honor of unknown gods or possibly the patrons of whoever owned this place.  The marble statues were in varying degrees of decomposition.  Some had limbs or heads missing and some were no more than pedestals surrounded by rubble.  A flagstone path led through the courtyard, deeper into the compound.  Weeds and grass grew between the stones. 

The fog obscured much of the outlying area making the courtyard seem to stretch on without end.  To Geroth, it felt like he was wandering through a maze. 

A flash of white silk caught his eye, sending him off in another direction. What seemed like a game of cat and mouse ensued with Geroth wandering without aim until he would spot a flash of the white dress through the gloom. Ever onward he walked until the haze began to lift. 

In front of him loomed a mansion the size of which he had never seen in all the lands he traveled in his life.  Not even the country estates of the lords and nobles of his land compared to this once great structure.  Now, what was left was a hulking derelict; a shadow of its former self.

The mansion was covered in grime to the point of being almost black.  Shingles hung loose or were missing in many spots. The windows that were not boarded over were black, whether from grease or filth one could not tell.  The railings on the balconies were ruined with many of the balusters missing.

In the doorway stood the girl, her white dress flowing.  Even from the distance, Geroth could see that her eyes were red as tears flowed freely down her cheek.  Her arms were held out at her sides almost beaconing him to come to her.  Their eyes locked and Geroth stood transfixed by her gaze.  He could feel her pain searing through him like a hot knife. He longed to go to her but his legs would not comply.  A shriek that could not have been made by a human pierced the air and then the sounds of charging hooves shook Geroth from his trance.  He turned and what he saw made his blood go cold. 

With foam spraying from their nostrils, Geroth counted ten horses charging toward him. Their bodies were malnourished almost to the point of being skeletal.  Sickly sores and festering wounds covered their coats.  He watched in horrors as they drew closer.  Geroth felt the bile rise in his throat as he realized that their skin was actually translucent and he could see their muscle and bones through the rotting, rubbery flesh.  The riders they bore were even less substantial than their mounts.  All that could be seen was a hazy outline except for eyes which burned red with malevolence.

Geroth stood frozen with fear.  He could not move and was certain he would be run down by these demon riders.  Something in his mind willed him to move.  He turned back toward the house. The girl was once again gone but the door to the house which was closed a moment before stood ajar.  Geroth stumbled forward on legs weak with fear, praying to every god he knew for the strength to allow him to reach the house.  Onward he struggled, his breath coming in ragged gasps.  He was almost to the porch as he could feel the rank breath of the horses on his neck.  A sickening stench enveloped him, causing him to stumble.  He dove for the door and was through.

Geroth lay on the floor panting, his vision darkening and his mind frozen from fear.  As he struggled to remain conscious, he imagined the girl in the white dress smiling over him then all went to black.