by Scott Moore
Nov couldn't understand the damn importance of such a big place. It only had two purposes. For council meetings and for hearings on treason. There hadn't been a case for treason in many years.
Now days, the council didn't really run the show. The group, known as the Lady Duchesses, did most of the bidding. No one would admit that in public. Not at least if they wanted to stay away from the council chambers in criminal standing.
The only man worth a damn sat at the head of the closed council, Shylo Gant, who rarely left his mansion. He left it up to the rest of the city to impress him. He didn't give a lick about them though. Since the Groundborn had stopped attacking regularly over a hundred years ago, there formed another type of war in the city: a war of power, greed, and position.
When the kingdom expanded hundreds of years ago, far before the War of a Thousand Slaughters, there had been a class system. A hierarchy of sorts. A king and queen, lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, and far too many formal titles for Nov to stuff in his head.
Now, the council, led by the dukes; who were secretly ruled by the Duchesses held the city. Although none were supposed to have any power, that never seemed to matter. With new wealth to distribute, it seemed to be that everyone tried to kiss everyone's asses. Whoever had the biggest lips gained the most wealth. The ones with the most wealth bought titles. Titles bought power. Then, they hid that power behind wooden doors; the doors to the Council Hall.
Nov didn't knock. The council would already know he came, the assistances would alarm them. Scouts were paid to get the messages to the council. They informed the men inside long before Nov even reached the stone steps; steps that seemed to last forever. Better to get a man winded before he entered. A tired man represented far less danger. A tired man argued a damn deal less.
Nov trained daily, and, on a normal day, he wouldn't tire from that treacherous climb. Today, he had fought a two-man war and somehow survived. So, when Nov pushed those doors inward, he blew out a deep breath and his lungs burned.
Cold and barren walls sprouted around him. No frill, no decoration, and no comfort. The high walls and ceilings left everyone feeling like the weight of the world pressed down on their shoulders. A great way to deter people coming in for frivolous matters. The council, like most people, hated any actual work.
Nov stepped farther into the building. A single room made up the council’s chambers. There were no secret compartments, chambers, no hallways, nothing but this cold expanse. Nov’s boots echoed as he approached the council’s desk. The only furniture or item in the room blocked the lower half of the council’s bodies. It allowed for the council to sit and jot their notes. Notes no one ever got to read.
There were no other chairs in the room. They permitted no one else to sit in the chamber. So, Nov stood. He stood as still as he could with his shaking legs. The council didn’t bother to look at him. If they had, their first impression may have been different. They may have seen that his trousers, shirt, and boots were covered in black ichor and red blood; blood from the Groundborn and blood from Earl and other members of the troops.
Instead, their first impression came from Nov clearing his throat in frustration. The bastards pretended the people didn’t even matter. They pretended nothing lived beyond these walls. That nothing but what they had to say mattered.
Well, Nov had something important to say. Something so damn important, that their petty lives may hang by the thread of them.
Finally, the bastard named, San looked up to see Nov standing before them. His face seemed to scream shock at the fact Nov had appeared. Like the bastards couldn’t hear the damn large creaking doors or Nov’s boots beating off the hard ground.
San’s eyes drifted over Nov’s body. It seemed in slow motion, but then again San’s age made everything he did seem slow motion.
“What can we help you with?”
Nov wanted to yell it all. To proclaim everything he had seen on the battle field. Instead, he thought of how Earl would have handled this situation. Earl would have calmly explained it. He would have dreamed up fancy words to touch the egos of these men.
Nov couldn’t be Earl, and to hell with fancy words.
“The damn Groundborn are piling up outside the walls. Do you see the compliments they left upon my outfit? Well, this is nothing compared to the outcome if they breach our gates.”
All in all, Nov thought it rather noble. The council didn’t seem to agree.
“The Groundborn are few. They haven’t troubled us in many years. It is not time to panic on their comings and goings. We have more important business to attend to. If a few Groundborn beat at our walls it is your job to shoot them down.” San seemed bored.
Nov had tried to contain himself. He had known the bastards would react like this. They were all self-appreciative pricks.
“If you don’t understand the words look outside the walls. Seven men died today, and the captain is lying in a hospital bed in a near death condition.”
The other members looked up.
“Earl is injured?” San didn’t seem concerned. More so, he just seemed curious.
“He is being worked on as we speak. Barely got him back into the city before he passed. Can you not see the situation is much more dire than you perceive it?”
San almost shrugged his shoulders.
“Soldiers die. They can be replaced. If Earl is to die, you have prepped to take his place, I assume?”
San sounded like he exchanged rates with a merchant and didn’t talk about a life hanging in the balance.
“I cannot do Earl’s job,” Nov started.
“Then, someone else will,” San said, cutting him off. “There are soldiers with the smarts to do just that, one of them won a fortune at the tracks, didn’t they?”
Nov wanted to explode. Wanted to jump over the table, grab the old fucker by his lapel, and then drag him to the city gates and throw him to the Groundborn. Before he could do anything, San waved his hand in dismissal.
“We are a busy group of men. If that is all?” He left it as a question, but the answer loomed. Get the hell out.
There would be no use fighting. He wouldn’t convince them. Their best chance lay in a hospital dying. These men would continue their noblemen games. They would continue trying to dig up wealth, and if the Groundborn came, that mattered little to them.
Nov turned and left the chambers. He had no other choice.
There was a beast all of his own for him to obey, The Angel of Death. Death himself was the controller of, not Hell, but The Underworld. There's a difference between the two, as is there a difference between the Devil and Grim, or at least, there's supposed to be.
4
It started to rain, or at least that is what the man Miles called it. To Sammy, it seemed like the sky cried. The water drenched through the clothes that Miles had given him and plastered his hair to his face. Sammy had never seen rain, or at least he didn’t recall it. There seemed to be many things he couldn’t recall.
He didn’t know how he traveled to the cemetery or where he had been before coming there. He couldn’t recall his name, but the name Sammy kept coming to him when he tried to remember.
Miles kept them at a steady pace, getting them away from something he called bastards. The language didn’t thrill Sammy; it just rubbed him wrong. Sammy kept up with ease and when Miles stopped to rest, Sammy didn’t even breathe hard.
Miles opened his mouth wide and stretched his arms high into the air. Then without another word, he lay down. “I am going to sleep,” Miles said. With the rain drenching him to the bone, he lay and closed his eyes. Sammy didn’t sleep. Didn’t even know how Miles had fallen asleep, it didn’t seem natural to sit still so long.
Being alone left Sammy with his thoughts, and at first, they focused on Miles. He noticed that the man had been quick to fight when he first laid eyes upon him. Miles had been covered in the red sticky goop that Miles called blood. Arrogance wilted off the man, and he talked a lot about himself,
but Sammy didn’t mind, he had nothing to say. Sammy assumed that Miles made up for his height in the way he talked. Though he stood a smidge shorter than Sammy, he had been hardened by a tough life it appeared.
Sammy wondered where Miles called home. Or where he guided them on this fast-paced escape. Sammy couldn’t recall having a home of his own. There were no clues as to where he had come from, or when he came. He had a weird feeling that wherever it had been, he could never return there.
Sammy stopped thinking a moment as the sudden cease of rainfall distracted him. The clouds parted and allowed a sliver of some yellow orb to protrude through. Sammy had seen nothing like it before. He had caught glimpses in the foggy cemetery but seeing it now without obstruction alarmed him. What was it? Where had it come from? Or was it like him? Lost and looking for home.
Miles grunted in his sleep and rolled over onto his back. Sammy watched him for a moment, but he made no further movement, and Sammy soon lost interest again.
Sammy stood up; the rain drenched mud sucked at his toes. Miles had lent him extra clothes, but claimed to have no extra boots. Sammy didn’t mind, he enjoyed the feeling upon his feet. It soothed as he walked down the beaten path toward the tree line.
He didn’t know why he moved toward them, but the trees just seemed like a reasonable place for him to be. Like something drew him in toward them; an unseen beacon that called for him to come. So Sammy started to run toward them. As he ran, the rain started again, splashing him in the face. When he met the trees, they stopped most of the rain with their overhead leaves.
Sammy inspected the trees, not knowing what he looked for. He still couldn’t remember much beyond waking up in the cemetery, as Miles had called it. A place of the dead, Miles had said. Sammy had no clue what the dead were, but Miles didn’t sound too thrilled about the chance to face one.
Sammy moved into the tree line, amazed at the colors of the leaves. Each seemed to be its own little world, with color, life, and beauty. He pushed the branches back and moved farther into the bunched shrubs. The silver orb disappeared behind the canopy. He looked hard for it, but the trees blocked his view at every angle. It made it darker outside, but Sammy didn’t mind. He continued to search the tops of the trees anyhow. Everything was so new and wonderful.
***
Miles hadn’t been able to sleep, his mind kept trailing back to those damned beasts popping up from the ground. Still he faked it, trying to keep an eye cracked to watch the man who called himself Sammy.
Sammy didn’t do much of anything. Nothing special or interesting about his movements, but Miles couldn’t trust a man who he had found naked in a graveyard. Something about that didn’t settle right with him. Sammy watched the sky for what seemed like forever, as if he had never seen the moon rise into the night sky before. The fucker didn’t even try to shield himself from the pouring rain. Miles wondered if the imbecile even knew what the rain was.
Miles played his role of sleeping man, and Sammy played his role of village idiot for quite some time; then Sammy stood. Miles didn’t follow at first, curious what Sammy would do. The man claimed to remember nothing of his past. He could barely recall his own name, but that didn’t seem likely to Miles. Who forgets everything they have ever known? Who sits bare assed in a cemetery? Who isn’t scared of that damned purple mist?
Sammy moved away from the small camp. Miles noticed the man marveled at the squishing mud between his toes. Sammy reminded Miles of a child. Everything seemed to amaze him and fill him with wonder. The man wasn’t the swiftest person Miles had ever met. To be fair, he may have been even worse than those fucking rebels.
Miles rolled to his stomach and watched Sammy as he moved toward a distant tree line. Sammy started to run, causing Miles to jump to his feet and start off behind him. Sammy never turned, always looking forward, oblivious of everything that surrounded him. The man would die fast in a battle.
Sammy halted at the tree line and stared over the branches and leaves. Miles stayed a good distance behind, trying not to alarm Sammy. Not that Sammy would have noticed a herd of cows stampeding behind him. When Sammy moved into the thick brush, Miles followed him. Miles couldn’t be sure what, but Sammy hid something behind that façade of memory loss.
At the beginning of the day he would have chalked it up to nothing and moved on. After the night he had, he wouldn’t let anything go without further inspection. Maybe Sammy had called the damned beasts, or maybe he was one in disguise, or maybe he was a fucking idiot, but Miles had to be sure. Not that he could do anything if he found out the truth. If Sammy was a monster, or a summoner of monsters, the only choice left to Miles would be to run for his life, but maybe he could find help. Maybe the rebels hadn’t all died horrible deaths at the end of those yellow teeth and claws. Unlikely, but possible that some of them had made it out alive.
Sammy continued to wander around as if the world amazed him. Miles marveled at how childish this man acted. An elaborate act or a reality? Why would he continue the charade if he believed he hadn’t been followed? That only left the option for Sammy to be an idiot, and Miles wondered if he would be better off turning around now and running off without him? He had tried his duty with idiots; the rebels had failed. The fucking rebels had made him sleep in the dirt, wear secondhand clothes, fight with a rusted sword, and then fucking died without giving him the retribution he deserved.
Should he let Sammy attach to him like a leech? The man seemed to be lost and confused about what he had going on in his own life. Miles didn’t need that trouble, he had trouble enough all on his own. Hunted by not only the king but also those damned beasts sprouting from the ground. He didn’t have time for Sammy and his problems. And yet, there he stood monitoring the bastard. Seeing him stare off into the canopy of trees and marvel at their existence. Miles envied him a little at that moment, what it would be to forget all troubles. To forget that he was Miles Tiro, traitor to the crown, failed rebel, and now food for monsters. What it would be to forget the coin, the castles, and the soft leather boots of lordship. What it would be to forget the instructions to kill an innocent child. Or maybe he should have just sucked up his conscience and done the damned deed.
If he had just killed the little bastard, this would all be over now. He could be sipping wine from a silver goblet in front of a warm fire. Instead, he sat here rain soaked, cold, and running for his life. Maybe Sammy wasn’t the idiot in this situation, maybe Miles was the idiot.
Why did he continue to lead this life? Why didn’t he just run somewhere else? Anywhere else had to be better than this shit hole. Why did so many damned people have to die? Why did it seem that war never stopped? Why did this man in front of him have to be so damned stupid? Too many questions and not enough answers. How it had always been. Too much of the unknown and very little of the known, this was life.
***
The sound brought Sammy from his daydreaming. His heart fluttered and his stomach dropped. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t control it. To his left stood a creature he felt familiar with. It stood to his chest in height and weighed about the same as him. The creature stopped as Sammy made eye contact with it. The two sat this way for a moment as Sammy scanned the creature’s body over.
Gray skin covered the beast and sagged at the knees and arms. Its face drawn back to expose sharp, long, and yellow teeth; teeth that could rip through flesh. The eyes a matching yellow not matching the eyes of other creatures Sammy had noticed. The creature lifted its hand, but didn’t seem to be threatening Sammy with the motion.
The creature’s hand froze halfway up toward his chest. Sammy wondered if he should run? His heart slowed to a normal beating, and the feeling in his stomach disappeared. He knew this creature; he had seen it before, but he couldn’t imagine where it had been. Had this been the beast that Miles ran from? It didn’t seem so bad. Sure, it was strong and filled with sharp points, but it didn’t threaten Sammy. It looked more curious than anything else. As if ready for Sammy to speak and comma
nd. Sammy didn’t speak though he wouldn’t have known what to say to the creature.
Instead, Sammy stood stark still and stared. When Sammy heard the second noise behind him, toward the tree line where he had entered, he turned his head, but not his body. There behind him stood Miles with his sword pulled from his belt. Miles’ face contorted in some kind of weird expression and he yelled something at Sammy. Sammy’s feet wouldn’t listen to the urging in his mind. He froze to the ground. Miles continued to charge and did not change his path. Miles would barrel him over with no regards for injury, and yet Sammy couldn’t move his feet. Miles continued to yell and then he heard the creature yell. A deep, shrill that shook Sammy’s chest, and then Miles jumped in front of him his eyes blazing with a fire.
***
Miles had seen all he needed to see. That bastard Sammy wasn’t being attacked, and that meant he was one of them, or at least something that allied with them. Miles hefted his knife and ran with blind rage, or maybe blind fear. It didn’t matter. Miles ran full speed with every intention of taking his sharp-edged sword to Sammy’s throat.
Sammy didn’t move as Miles barreled toward him. He didn’t let out a scream of panic or fear. He just stood there with a stupid look plastered on his face, a look that meant nothing, no emotion at all. That pissed Miles off more, why wasn’t the fucker scared? Why didn’t he move to run or to fight?
Then it hit him with a screech and a shoulder. The creature laid him out quicker than Miles could react. Its claws embedded into his shoulder and Miles let out a scream of his own. Why had he been so damned stupid? He left the creature a path to him and focused only on Sammy. That’s why the bastard hadn’t moved, he didn’t need to. Sammy could call for help from this monster and order it to kill Miles.
The burning sensation in Miles’ arm flooded his brain. Making it hard to think of much else, but he kept his grip tight on the dagger in his opposite hand. If he could just bring it up into the creature’s throat, he still could survive. He could still stand up and take his chances with the man who called himself Sammy. If it was one-on-one Miles liked his chances at walking away. Instead, the creature shifted its weight and pinned Miles’ good shoulder down to the ground. With no hope of lifting his dagger, there remained very little hope of escape.