The Shadows of Jugathon

The Shadows of Jugathon

The wind lashed against the buildings of Jugathon, turning the city’s narrow streets into treacherous paths of water and shadow. Carlia Havannah moved quickly, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders, feeling the cold rain trickle down her neck. Each step through the flooded cobblestone streets sent shivers up her spine, but it wasn’t just the storm chilling her.

Someone was following her.

The sense had begun as a whisper on the edge of her awareness—a creeping feeling of eyes in the dark, of footsteps that matched her own. Now, that whisper had grown into a thunderous certainty. Whoever, or whatever, was out there was deliberate, patient, and relentless.

Carlia kept her head low, though her eyes scanned every alley, every doorway, for the flicker of movement. The rain drummed against the rooftops, the downpour making it difficult to see anything clearly. But in the brief flashes of lightning, the jagged silhouette of Jugathon loomed above her, and she could make out the path ahead.

Archi’s dwarven smithy. It was not far, just a few streets away, but the journey felt like an eternity.

Another crack of thunder, another flash of light, and Carlia turned sharply into an alley, her heart pounding in her chest. The wind howled through the narrow passage, and for a moment, she considered stopping to catch her breath. But the sense of pursuit was stronger now. The footsteps had grown more distinct, echoing against the stone walls.

She quickened her pace, her boots splashing through puddles, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The alley twisted and turned, leading her deeper into the heart of Jugathon’s underbelly. Here, the city’s darkness was palpable, the air thick with moisture and the faint stench of rot.

Ahead, the glow of a distant lantern flickered in the mist—the marker she’d been hoping for. Archi’s forge was close.

But the footsteps behind her quickened as well, keeping pace with her, never far behind.

Carlia’s pulse raced as she darted around a corner, her hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of her dagger. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t. Whoever was following her wouldn’t stop either, not until—

A flash of movement.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carlia saw something shift in the darkness. A shadow too quick to be a trick of the light. Her breath caught, and she sped up, her legs burning from the effort. The smithy was close, she could feel it, but so was the presence behind her.

Then, finally, she saw it—the forge’s glowing hearth illuminating the fog, the unmistakable shape of Archi’s smithy ahead. Carlia pushed herself harder, her boots slipping on the slick cobblestones, but she didn’t slow down. The footsteps behind her grew louder, closer, almost upon her.

She lunged for the door, her fingers grasping the heavy iron handle, and she flung it open with a crash. The warm light of the forge washed over her as she stumbled inside, breathless and soaked to the bone. She slammed the door shut behind her, bracing herself against it.

For a moment, the world was silent, save for the crackling of the forge fire and the distant roar of the storm outside.

Then, a gruff voice broke through the stillness. “Who in blazes are you?”

Carlia blinked, her vision adjusting to the warm light of the room. The large, imposing figure of a dwarf stood before her, his arms crossed, his thick beard braided and dark as coal. His muscular frame was silhouetted against the forge’s fire, and his eyes, sharp and wary, fixed on her with suspicion.

This had to be Archi.

“I... I’m sorry,” Carlia panted, still catching her breath. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to break down my door?” Archi grunted, his brow furrowing beneath his thick, already furrowed forehead.

Carlia straightened herself, pulling her soaked cloak tighter around her. “I didn’t mean to cause alarm. I had no choice. I think... someone was following me.”

Archi’s gaze softened, though his stance remained defensive. He stepped closer, wiping his hands on his leather apron. “Following, eh? Jugathon’s full o’ shadows these days. But you’re safe in here, lass. Whoever’s out there won’t bother you now.”

She nodded, though the fear that had gripped her heart still lingered. She had no idea who—or what—had been after her, but it wasn’t the time for speculating. Not yet.

“I’m Carlia,” she said, offering a small, shaky smile. “Carlia Havannah. I was looking for you, Archi.”

The dwarf grunted. “You’ve found me, though you’ve found a storm too by the looks of it. Come, sit by the fire. I’ll get you somethin’ to warm your bones.”

Before she could protest, Archi had already turned toward the back of the smithy, where a simple wooden table stood, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. The room was filled with the scent of iron and burning wood, but it was welcoming compared to the chaos outside.

Carlia sat down, the warmth of the forge seeping into her chilled skin. Her heart had finally begun to slow, though her mind still raced with questions. Who had been following her? And why?

Archi returned with a steaming mug of spiced ale and a plate of bread and cheese. “Eat up,” he said gruffly, though there was a note of kindness in his voice. “Ain’t no sense talkin’ with an empty stomach.”

Carlia took a sip of the ale, the warmth spreading through her body. For a brief moment, the tension ebbed away, and she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. But she wasn’t here for comfort. There was something she needed to know.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said after a long pause, her eyes meeting Archi’s. “Alden. I was told he might’ve come here.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Aye, Alden. You’ve come to the right place, lass. He was here last night.”

Carlia’s heart skipped a beat. “He was?”

Her mind raced. Alden had been here, and so recently. She was close. Here was Archi, someone close to Alden, someone who…

Her internal monologue was cut off by Archi. “Aye lass.”

The hearth fire crackled softly in the background as Archi's weathered hands tightened around his own mug of spiced ale. The warmth in the smithy was palpable, but there was a heaviness in the air—something deeper than the storm outside. Carlia sipped her drink, feeling the heat spread through her chest, but her mind churned with the questions swirling inside her. Alden had been here. Last night. So close.

Archi’s sharp eyes flickered with a glint of something—perhaps memories—as he studied her from across the table. She sensed that this dwarf had lived through more than he was willing to share openly.

“He was here,” Archi said again, his voice low but firm. “Came in after sunset, lookin’ worse than I’ve seen him in some time.”

Carlia set her mug down, leaning forward. “What happened? Why did he leave?”

Archi sighed, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms. “That’s the question, ain’t it? Alden’s been runnin’ for years now. Not from the law or some bounty, no. From himself. From what we all used to be.”

Carlia’s brow furrowed. “Used to be?”

Archi gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “We were riders once, part of the Black Horse Guild.”

She recently learned from Isaiah of Jugathon that the Black Horse Guild were a large group of elites and enthusiasts of black horses backed by the League of Extraordinary Explorers. The Guild has Taverns across the River Valley. But she dug deeper in her mind for a moment. The name stirred something in Carlia’s memory. There it was, a group of songs she had heard from a band of bards from the lands of Dair several years ago. The original Black Horse Guild was a band of adventurers, not the actual Guild its namesake has since evolved into. They were legends, feared and respected across several kingdoms of the world. Their steeds, the infamous Black Horses, were said to be as untamable as the riders who mounted them. Not natural beasts—something more, something enchanted or perhaps cursed, depending on who told the tale.

“You... you were in the Black Horse Guild?” she asked, her voice barely above an awed whisper.

“Aye. Alden led us. Me, Brianna, Hindor, and Darkmoore. We were unstoppable once. Rode through fire and battle, quests and missions that even kings feared to sanction.” Archi’s voice took on a wistful tone, his gaze drifting to the glowing forge as though seeing something far beyond the present.

“And Brianna...?” Carlia ventured carefully, sensing the name held deeper meaning.

Archi’s jaw tightened. “She was one of us,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. “She was... she was my heart, lass. She and I were together—partners in every sense of the word. We rode side by side for years. No one could stop us.”

Carlia nodded, her heart aching for this dwarf who had clearly lost more than just a comrade. “What happened to her?”

The dwarf’s eyes darkened, and he took a long, slow breath before answering. “Brianna died. There was a battle—one too many. We were outnumbered, cornered, and... well, not all of us made it out.”

Carlia’s heart sank. The weight of Archi’s grief was evident, even after all these years. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her hand resting on the table between them in an offer of silent comfort.

“After that,” Archi continued, “the Black Horse Guild disbanded. Alden couldn’t lead us anymore. Not without Brianna. We were a group forged by trust, by a bond that went beyond orders or gold. When she was gone, that bond snapped. Darkmoore vanished, Hindor went back to his family, and Alden... well, you know Alden. He kept running.”

“And you?” Carlia asked softly.

Archi looked around the small, cluttered forge, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of his mug. “I came here. Jugathon’s quiet enough. No one asks too many questions. And it’s far away from... from everything we were.”

Carlia leaned back, letting the gravity of Archi’s story settle. She couldn’t help but wonder what it must have been like for Alden, losing not just a comrade, but a group—a family. And she began to understand why Alden might have spoken so highly of her. She reminded him of a time when things were simpler, before the weight of loss had crushed the life they once knew.

“Do you ever think of riding again?” she asked, curious.

A faint, bittersweet smile crossed Archi’s lips. “Every day. But it’s not the same without her. Malgor’s still with me, though. My Black Horse.”

Carlia’s eyes widened. “You still have your horse?”

“Aye.” Archi nodded, pride flickering in his eyes. “Malgor’s one of the last Black Horses still bound to a rider. He’s stubborn as an old mule and faster than the wind. They’re not like any ordinary horses, you know. They choose their rider, not the other way around.”

Carlia’s mind was spinning. The Black Horses were rumored to have some kind of magic about them, bound by destiny to their riders, and one of them is right here?!. “You said Malgor’s the last one... what about Brianna’s horse?”

Archi’s face softened for a brief moment. “BlackMare. She’s still here too. After Brianna... passed, she wouldn’t let anyone near her. Not even me, for a long while. But she stayed, loyal to her last breath.”

Carlia could hear the emotion in his voice as he spoke of the mare. “Do you ever see them?”

“Of course.” Archi stood, stretching his back as if shaking off the weight of old memories. “I still care for them, though they don’t roam like they used to. They’re in the stables behind the forge. Would you like to meet them?”

Carlia blinked in surprise, her heart quickening. The idea of seeing one of the legendary Black Horses in person was exhilarating, but more than that, it felt like a connection to something Alden had once been a part of—a piece of his story.

“I’d love to,” she replied, her voice full of curiosity and anticipation.

Archi grabbed a lantern from the table, its flickering light casting long shadows across the walls of the smithy. “Come then. They’re just out back.”

As she pulled her cloak about her, Carlia asked, “You said Malgor was One of the last Black Horses bound to a rider, but BlackMare is not bound. Is there another Black Horse bound to a rider?”

“Aye lass, Eternigh. Alden’s Black Horse.” Archi replied.

The two of them walked to the door, the storm outside having eased to a light drizzle. The wind still whistled through the streets of Jugathon, but the oppressive darkness felt less daunting now.

As they made their way to the stables, Carlia could hear the faint sounds of hooves shifting in the straw, the snorts of powerful creatures waiting in the shadows.

Archi paused at the stable door, glancing over at her. “They’ll know you’re here,” he said quietly. “Black Horses, they’ve got a sense about people. If they don’t like you, well... you’ll know it.”

Carlia smiled, though she felt a twinge of nerves. “I guess we’ll find out then.”

With a deep breath, Archi pushed open the door, and they stepped into the stables together. The dim light of the lantern flickered across the forms of two massive, midnight-black horses, their eyes gleaming with an intelligence that sent a shiver down Carlia’s spine.

Malgor and BlackMare. The last of the Black Horse Guild’s steeds.

And as Carlia stood in their presence, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something more than mere coincidence had brought her here.

The Ballad of Carlia Havannah