Previous Chapters: (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6)

There was no dawn, no daybreak to announce the hour here in the subterranean depths. Fortunately the Coursers didn’t need the dawning to call an end to their rest. The six Coursers roused slowly, and spent a fair bit of the morning in the necessary task of keeping themselves fed. Unlike the horses Imrys vaguely recalled from his past, Coursers didn’t need to graze for endless hours, whiling their lives away just to keep themselves from starvation. Courser digestion was closer to omnivorous than pure herbivore, and the variety of foods the Coursers carried allowed for almost human-like meals in lieu of prolonged grazing. 

When everyone was fed and gear was strapped on and made ready, they split up again, with Crispin and Imrys following roughly the same path as they had the day before. The ruins were apparently more distant than they had appeared, and the moors stretched out before them in a seemingly unrelieved flat expanse. But as Imrys glanced back, he discovered that he could no longer see the Campfire due to the curve of a downward slope. 

The mist was thicker here in this low-lying area, and Imrys was more certain today than he had been the previous evening that the mist was actually something of an impediment to their travel. 

“We should head for that rise.” Imrys said finally, annoyed at the increasing drag on his limbs. “The mist here feels… heavy… like it’s pulling at my legs and slowing me down. We’ll make better time if we’re up out of it.”

“It can have that effect.” Crispin agreed. “Though it’s not always so pronounced. We’ve never been able to determine if it’s magic or some strange alchemy that makes the thickness of the mist slow our steps. I was wondering if you’d noticed.” There was a smugness to Crispin’s words that made Imrys realize the elder Courser had been testing him. One of the criterion Crispin had set forth as indication Imrys might be ready to explore on his own was that Imrys could respond appropriately to dangers found in the Dungeon. The mist, apparently, was one such danger. 

At the top of the rise, the ruins seemed closer again, as if some trick of elevation could alter the lateral distance. It defied any laws of the natural order, and yet Imrys couldn’t deny the evidence before his own eyes. He looked to Crispin. “Why does it seem as if that ruin is getting closer or farther all out of proportion to how far we’ve travelled?” He demanded, annoyed that they might not make their goal in a timely fashion.

“Because, Imrys, the rules simply don’t apply here.” Crispin answered patiently. “This realm you see, it is full of strange magics, things that defy explanation. You, yourself have no recollection of your past, and yet, here you awoke. You could have been anyone, from anywhere, but the Dungeon calls you. Perhaps it chose you, perhaps it was chosen for you. Either way, there was magic in your arrival and there is magic here now. Expect the unexpected, young Courser.” Crispin was entirely too cheerful in discussing the very laws of nature being bent and broken without any rhyme or reason.  

“You do realize that if all that is true then… really, anything could happen? The ground could suddenly open up beneath our feet and swallow us up. The cavern could collapse. The whole world could be turned on its head and the floor become the ceiling and there’s nothing we could do about any of it!” Imrys said in frustration. He was a simple creature and liked concrete, sensible rules to his world, thank you very much. 

“Of course.” Crispin replied, as if Imrys was only stating the obvious. “Isn’t it exhilarating?” His tail swished happily and Imrys could only stare at him in consternation. 

Imrys had just opened his mouth to tell Crispin exactly what he thought of the ‘exhilaration’ of such impossibilities when something flickered in the corner of his eye. Both Coursers stopped and stared. Down in the valley from whence they’d just come a figure strode with draggingly slow steps. The Courser’s appearance was as if someone had shone a light on someone in deep water, it wavered in and out of clarity. The apparition was dressed in the tattered remnants of amor, with shreds of barding still draping here and there over withers and hindquarters. On the Courser’s back was the figure of a man, though if anything the rider was even more indistinct than the Courser. 

The pair did not seem to notice or respond to Crispin or Imyrs, simply plodding along some dedicated path at a vague slantwise angle to the sunken portion of the ground. There was no sound to their footfalls, and their passage did not stir the mists as Crispin’s & Imrys’ did. Aside from the fact that both Imrys and Crispin could plainly see them, there was no sign that the phantoms were there at all. Soon enough, their path carried them around a hill. Neither Crispin nor Imrys spoke until the apparition had passed completely from sight. 

“Ghosts? There are GHOSTS down here, on top of everything else?” Imrys demanded.

“That… is the first I’ve seen. I wonder why that human-shadow was on the Coursers back…” Crispin stared after where the ghost had gone thoughtfully. 

“Wait… what?” Imrys couldn’t believe his ears. Did they really not know? Were Coursers so far removed all these generations later that they truly had no idea what the relationship was between horses and men?

“The human… it looked like it was sitting on top of the Courser just like a pet would do.” Crispin clarified, proving Imrys’ suspicion correct.

“Ah.”Imrys replied, noncommittally. He had no interest in revealing his outside knowledge unless it seemed critical to do so. For all he knew the Humans of this place HAD been like pets to the Coursers, for all the talk of ‘guiding hands’. 

Crispin shook himself all, and turned back the way they’d been heading. ”Let us continue.” He said somberly, still seeming lost in thought.

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