As Aia and Artorius took rest for an hour, the wraiths split and fled before they again rendezvoused to renew their hunt. The seven gathered at the base of mount Ézan and answered a summons sent to them.
The black riders descended their horses that each collapsed as soon as their riders abandoned them. The black destriers were each already dead– made to move against death by way of dark puppetry.
Before them, a cowled man waited.
"You return to me empty handed again. What happened, Drakkennide, Alto, Heathcliff? What happened to my noble and dependable knights of Helios?"
The seven spoke as one, "do not mock us wizard!"
"Then bring me results. Find the Friend of Spirits– the one called Trenewynn here in the west. Bring him before me as the emperor commands you."
"We will do the master's bidding."
"Do not forget whom you are bound to— Drakkennide, Alto, Heathcliff, Sylvus, Archphantom, Artesia, and you too, Aurius. Ancient heroes of the empire, you will not rest even when your bones have withered and flesh faded. You shall slave away for the empire onto eternity."
The seven turned back to the corpses of their steeds— dragging the creatures back into animus. They mounted their black destriers once more, and the leader of the seven turned towards the cowled wizard one last time.
"Pray that we never get free of your whims, wizard. Our vengeance would surely cause your precious empire to quake."
With a lash of the reins they called their wailing horses to action, and rode off into the night's pursuit.
Their unholy speed would catch up to the prey in merely an hour and a half.
At the pass, Artorius tended to Isthilias' hoof, wrapping it in crude bandages and foraging the mountains for any mild painkiller that could be applied to the horse. When the time to move again arrived, he addressed his trusted steed, "Isthilias, you've carried us far enough already– go on ahead of us and rush east towards Amar-lan. We will try to cross the Blackwood Forest and lose them in there.
Blackwood Forest– a place that had been tainted by the residual essence of the Dark Mists until its canopies shaded everything from the sun. It was safer on the north side, but they would have to pass through the south end of the forest. Artorius believed they would be safe so long as they remained on the forest outskirts and stayed only so deep as to slip past the wraiths in the brambles and thicket.
With these considerations, he and Aia prepared to cross the mountain pass and through the field sprinted onwards. Yet the priestess was no martial-trained runner. Her pace slacked. At her current speed it was estimated that the wraiths who chased after would reach them soon.
Artorius' voice shouted across the valley to her, "come along! Make way for the trees, they shall not chase on horseback into the Blackwood!"
There at the other end of the valley lay Blackwood forest.
Soon, Aia's breaths grew weak and her head turned light. Her feet thumped along the ground with the extra weight of fatigue, Artorius slowed his pace intentionally to keep with her. He glanced back to see the seven shrouds descending the mountains into the valley, each leaving a trail of long shadows snaking through the chasmous path.
The hooves of their restless black steeds could be felt through the earth and matched to the quickness of the mortal pulse that spurred on the two of them. The galloping grew louder and closer and louder still.
Aia felt her legs give under pressure. She fell a good six or so Drakesfoots from the treeline. Young Artorius turned back to help Aia to her feet, yet even he trembled to spy the wraiths chasing no farther away than the distance from one end of a large river to the other. But there was no river to divide them.
Artorius urged Aia with all of his strength. Pulling her up, the two then doubled their haste to reach the forests. Once they arrived at the tree wall the wraiths were already at their backs. A silver sword swung and split one tree clean in two, smothering its surface as well in a layer of frost.
Artorius dodged at the last second, he rushed deeper into the wood, ignoring the thorns and branches that whipped and scraped his legs. As did Aia who ran beside him. Two of the foremost wraiths got caught inside of the Blackwood bramble. Their horses strained and tangled in the vines, and the riders soon abandoned their steeds in preference of a foot chase.
The wraiths followed for seven more minutes as the prey ventured dangerously deeper into the forest until the smell of their bleeding feet and scraped arms had attracted dark predators.
Artorius darted his head aside as a makeshift wooden spear flew past him– grazing his shoulder. Another two followed after and he drew his saber to cut them down.
The black wraiths also found a flurry of spears attacking them from on high. Sulfur-yellow eyes glowed in the dark canopies of the trees. They darted between branches and slid across the trunks with uncanny dexterity and speed. Another volley of spears flew about, striking to injure and disarm their prey.
The wraiths bore the brunt as the new mysterious contenders instinctively judged them to be the most dangerous prey. As for Artorius and Aia, one particularly spry hunter stepped forth, barely visible under the clouded and shaded sky.
It was a satyr– a lesser demon. His complexion was ashen and pallid, with dark curls of goat hair about his lower body. The lean creature had a dancer's physique, and bore little more than tattered cloth as clothing. His visage was humanish— but slightly strained, as if the skin around his muscle and bone was a bit too tight. Darkened sclera cracked by blackened veins beset the sharp clarity of the satyr's yellow eyes.
As a member of the caprine family, the satyr bore a naturally violating stare– inclined by instinct towards ill-natured desires. Yet for all the primal bestiality of his demeanor, the satyr spoke eloquently in perfect common tongue.
"What a curious sight. It is rare that prey comes willingly to our territory. Has it come to surrender itself to our custom?"
The custom in question was well known to the people of Helios– for satyrs would often subject their prey to their ill intentions before death as is their inclination and the purpose which their dark maker intended them when first they came to be. Long had passed since the War of Choice, yet its sins remained deeply embedded in culture and place even as far as the present.
"Well, prey, are you paralyzed by fear? How sweet."
A second, serpentine tongue darted out underneath the first as the satyr spoke— it tasted the air.
All around the battle with the wraiths continued. Several satyrs had been struck dead. One Wraith conjured a spear of ice and thrust it through the forest and squarely into the heart of a particularly far off demon.
Artorius held his saber at the ready, his other hand squeezing Aia's wrist and keeping her at his flank protectively.
The satyr sniffed the air— his arrowlike nose arced upward and nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.
"So much blood spilled already… A waste."
Aia nearly mustered the courage to respond when Artorius warned her, "do not reply to him. Satyrs are sly creatures, poetic and handsome in speech, yet poisonous. His words will only dig your fears."
"Oh, the male prey talks. Its voice is like cherries. I wonder how juicy the apple in its throat would be. Does its vocal chords taste like apricots? Is its meat as tender as a lamb?"
Artorius pulled Aia closer and whispered in her ear, "when I tell you to run, sprint for the left flank. I will draw his attention."
"But, sir Artorius—"
"Fret not, I will survive."
He lunged forward and said, "Now go!"
But the satyr was fast. He moved as a dark wind and thrust forward his spear towards Artorius' eye– who could but dodge by guesswork and instinct in the rapid moment. Aia obeyed the young Drakkennide's command, but was quickly snatched up by another satyr that was waiting in hiding.
As she screamed for help, the distraction earned Artorius a spear towards the appendix. The Drakkennide boy groaned in great pain. His hand fell to grasp the shaft and he cut it narrowly at the wound's entrance with his saber.
Another spear followed to strike from behind at his shoulder. But Artorius was ready this time. He took one step to the side and saw the spear strike the ground next to him, then the satyr dove down on him from above.
Following two backward paces, he evaded the drop-attack and slashed with his saber towards the demon. The satyr arched his back until nearly parallel to the ground, and still somehow repositioned his grip for another thrust with his makeshift wooden spear.
The strike, unfortunately, was true. It jabbed again into Artorius' thigh, cutting between the muscle and bone with the uncanny precision that a hunter would use to cut into a deer.
Artorius swung again when the spear drew back, but the satyr's agile hooves allowed it to dart quickly in the forest.
The young Drakkennide gripped his bleeding thigh and grit his teeth. But just as the satyr rose and loomed over him– ready to strike the killing blow, another satyr's corpse was flung towards them and landed beside the hunter.
The satyr looked at his fallen kinsman and then looked at the seven wraiths who had already killed fifteen of them so far.
"Strange," muttered the satyr, "they don't smell like anything."
The satyr then whistled something elegant and bird-like, causing the other satyrs to retreat.
"Too bad. The males have more meat on them, but the female shall have to satisfy."
Yet again as the satyr spoke his second tongue slipped out to lick at Artorius' ear before the creature vanished into the darkness of the deeper forest.
Artorius looked behind him at the seven wraiths, who each approached with silver swords drawn. He expected one of the tarnished blades to sever his head from his neck, yet the wraiths did not even acknowledge him. They walked right by and gazed into the forest.
They had only one objective which they were commanded to do. The Drakkennide boy was irrelevant to them. None of the wraiths moved by choice, and so, none of them felt any sentience beyond the achieving of their immediate goal. They did not care what happened to Artorius. They did not care what he did next either. All that mattered was finding the girl and tracing the location of the Friend of Spirits. Anything else was not relevant to their task.
And so, the wraiths left Artorius there in the dark forest. They moved onwards to track down the lost priestess and interrogate her.