Legend of the Ravenstone by M.S. Verish

membranous wings that remained poised at its side, and white was the tattered swathe that concealed its wraithlike form. Its face was hidden beneath a hood, but from the depths of that hood were the two, violet, glowing eyes that she had seen moments ago. The White Demon.
    There was a flash of light from the heavens that struck behind the creature, followed by a deafening crack. The Demon was swallowed by shadows, gone only from sight. There was movement, but not by the creature. A couple of men ported a tall, post-like object to the middle of the encampment. When they stepped away, it began to blaze. Unlike Arcturus’s staff, the light was brilliant and powerful enough to illuminate the camp like a small sun.
    “For the love of reason!” Arcturus cried, shielding his eyes.
    Kariayla turned away from the blinding source, and in doing so, saw what was truly transpiring around the camp. Like spiders caught in the light, there were a dozen or so men in black scurrying away from the wagons. Close on their heels were the armed men from Duke Dinorthon’s carriage. The travelers could see nothing of the pursuit, but the shouts and cries of men suggested an ensuing skirmish.
    “Get him!”
    This shout was too close. From behind her fingers Kariayla dared look back at the beacon in their midst. A small, dark shape was headed for it. Behind it were several more men in quick pursuit. The beacon toppled, though it did not extinguish, and Kariayla stared wide-eyed as the shadow headed straight for her and Arcturus. She barely moved in time, but Arcturus was not so fortunate. The shadow collided with him and rebounded as though it had hit a wall. The dark form immediately solidified into the white-cloaked creature; it did not have a chance to recover before its pursuers tackled it.
    The armed men formed a tight wall around the Demon, and all Kariayla could see was the swinging of clubs and sticks as the threat was subdued. She could feel the magic dissipate from the air like smoke from a spent fire, and the clouds relented a steady but harmless rain. Jaharo appeared from behind her with a grim expression, his eyes upon the violence before them, though he said nothing.
    Arcturus, with the aid of Whitestar, found his footing. “There is an experience I would not care to repeat,” he said. “We are fortunate the duke’s men were prepared for such a calamity.”
    “The duke is dead,” Jaharo said softly.
    “Your pardon?” Arcturus asked in disbelief.
    The cartographer did not repeat himself. His attention, as was Kariayla’s, was upon the limp form of the Demon the men began to drag beyond the wagons. The still-shrouded creature’s white cloak was now darkened by dirt and blood.
    It’s not as big as I thought, Kariayla considered with a strange twinge of sympathy. “Is it dead?” she asked.
    “If it is not, it soon will be,” Arcturus said, disgusted. “The felons behind this will answer to Belorn justice. I expect the Crown will be swift in executing those responsible for the murder of one of their own.” He rubbed his chin. “They deserve no less for what they have done.”
    “What will happen now?” Kariayla asked, noticing their leader as he addressed some of their party.
    “More than likely there will be a choice,” Jaharo said. “The thieves will be taken back to Belorn. You can return to the kingdom, or you can press onward.”
    “You speak as though you have already made a decision for yourself,” Arcturus said.
    Jaharo gave nod. “I am expected by my client, and I cannot afford any delay. I intend to ride on.”
    “Indeed.” Arcturus sighed. “If you will excuse me, I will speak to our leader.”
    Kariayla watched him walk away, still reeling by what had just transpired.
    “Are you all right, Kariayla?” Jaharo asked.
    She nodded. “It’s hard to believe that after all those stories of the White Demon, he was caught this night, before my eyes.”
    “Incredible, isn’t it?” Jaharo said in a low