Chapter 1.

Thunderous hooves deafened the night. The small village of commoners were rocked awake by the steady beating of the hooves and the neighs of the approaching horses. The riders made no sounds and created fear throughout the village. Peasants scattered, running and screaming in fear. Awaiting the raid they believed was coming. But to their surprise, the band of war horses continued on, leaving behind only muddied walls of huts from the horses fast pace. 

They watched in disbelief as they passed, and one man shouted out, "What in the name of God is that?" 

Peasants searched the horizon as he pointed to a distant flickering trail of light that streaked the night sky. 

The leader of the band called back to the other riders, "Hurry, we must find this thing." The large black steed felt the kick on his sides and snorted as he lengthened his stride. His long, black, muscular legs carried him swiftly over the muddy terrain. He was a large horse, standing almost six feet tall at his withers. Noble, he had been bred in the King's stables. King Friedrich Wilhelm I. had watched his birth and knew he would lead many great battles. He snorted again, loving the hunt his rider led him on. His mane flowed like a river behind him and his tail that normally drug on the ground flew like a proud black flag in the air. He was a proud horse, as his rider was a proud warrior.

Sirens blared and red warning lights flashed. The occupants of the skiff remained unaware, unconscious from the wormhole they had just been sucked into. The large pilot was the only one beginning to stir. He moaned slightly as his eyes fluttered open. Slowly the shining silver orbs began to open wider. "Fuck!" His massive hands worked frantically to control the heated skiff that tore through the sky for the earth below. "Shit!" Riddick braced for the impact as he felt the skiff start to bounce off the forest's canopy. The skiff moaned and screeched as it was tossed about the trees. It cut a long deep furrow as it slammed to the ground. Riddick grunted in protest as the skiff began to spin wildly, twisting its form and causing the bulkheads to snap. Piece by piece the skiff came apart. Leaving shards of metal in its wake, deep in the highlands forest.

Finally, it came to halt, upside down in the freshly dampened soil. The cold rain pelted the white-hot hull and the skiff hissed and groaned in the night. Riddick struggled to free himself from the twisted metal of the wreckage. He called to his passengers, "Jack? Holy Man?" No answer came, only the fresh scent of blood. His nostrils flared at the familiar coppery scent. A scent he knew all too well. Finally he freed himself from the seat restraints and fell to the heated metal that was the roof. Riddick hissed as he pulled his bruised body up and went to see the carnage behind his seat. Luckily, they were alive but rather beaten. Jack had a large gash across her chest that trickled a steady stream of blood. Imam lay in fresh puddle of blood that ran like a waterfall from a head wound. The angry wound stretched the length of his forehead. His skin parted, showing the sickening white skull below. Riddick flinched as he stared down at the man. "Not much chance for you."

The leader of the band spotted the fire that started in the forest. Turning to the riders following, "A fire grows, quicken pace!" Again the black steed snorted. He could feel the other horses growing tired but as he felt his rider's command, he again reached out his strong legs to carry them faster. He neighed triumphantly at the rest of his herd, urging them on. Hooves beat faster, harder, as the horses obeyed his commands. The only sound was the thunder created by the majestic animals. Riders held their tongues and concentrated on the speeds that they rode in the darkness of the night.

Ares, the large black steed could smell the smoke ahead. His head rose higher in the air as he breathed it deeply into his flared nostrils. He was eager, he had always loved the wars, and the fights his rider led him to. True to his name, he was the God of warhorses. He wouldn't be happy as a maiden's horse, or the horse of a peasant. He was a warrior's horse. The forest was thick and his weight left craters behind him carved out by his hooves. He didn't slow, he didn't tire, and he carried his rider into the smoke and the stench of this place. He could see the flames as he galloped closer. Flames cradled the strange figure on the forest floor. Ares grew unsure, he had never seen or smelt anything like it before. As the flames shot out, the thing burst and an explosion ripped through the night. Ares reared and fell to avoid the intense heat that rushed for his herd. His rider cried out as its leg was pinned beneath the massive Trakehner.

Riddick threw his body over Jack's as the skiff blew up. He pinned her to the earth, hoping to protect her from the heated metal that shot out like bullets. Imam moaned slightly as the heat washed over his battered body. Riddick heard the shrill cries of the horses in the distance. He pulled Jack closer to Imam and quickly slid away from them, into the cover of darkness and away from the flickering flames.

He watched as the first horse was led by an iron and leather clad warrior into the clearing the fallen skiff had created. Soon, it was followed by more horses and warriors. Riddick felt for the shiv that should have been tucked into his waist, but it was gone.

Ares knew that there was another man, he could smell him. As the warriors hefted the two survivors onto the back of a horse, he stomped his hoof heavily on the ground. His rider turned to him, "What is it?" Again, Ares stomped his hoof and snorted, he tossed his head and stared at the glimmer in the darkness. His rider turned and looked carefully in the direction he had looked. "Search that area, someone is there."

Soon the search was over as the flames spread. The leader of this band called out to the other riders. "Come, the fire has blocked our way. We must cross the Baltic River and follow it to the sea. We will ride the beach home."

Riddick took a deep breath as the warriors mounted and rode off. Allowing them distance, he began to follow the hoof prints that sunk deeply into the soil, leaving a perfect trail behind them. He had smelt the aged blood that stained their leathers. Something was very wrong here, and he meant to find out. The strange voices, the horses, the weapons, all this made him wonder where in the hell they had crashed. And where they were taking his newfound friends.