Peter’s face colored in shame, as he imagined his master chastising him.
“No more lies,” Peter finally replied.
“Good,” she said, “Now you may resume, Proctus’ story, your story.”
Peter looked past Thea, his eyes lingering on the map of Verold.
It was strange. Ever since he was a child he had craved one thing, adventure. And now that he was in the middle of one, all he craved was his old life. Something simple. Something safe, away from the torn cities, away from the dead, away from the memories of failure.
Verold could wait no longer. It was time to grow up.
Peter took in a breath, “Where was I?”
Thea regarded him for a moment before responding.
“You were relaying the story of how you, your friends of the Ranged Guard, and the annalist sat about the campfire.”
Peter rubbed his hands together and glanced out the window momentarily as he gathered his thoughts.
“Then I will resume, your grace, if that suits you.”
“Please,” she said, gesturing with an open hand.
Chapter 6
“Men are but ashes before the light of Salvare.” Book of Khein 6:10
The snow began to fall that night. It fell in wet sheets of despair. It swirled about in the icy wind, and it settled upon the group. The firelight about the campfire flickered as the Shrouded Mountains exhaled their first taste of a Vintas Night.
Without a word, the annalist stopped his story and stood. It was abrupt, the way a deer raises its head in the woods. But the annalist was nothing like a deer. His movements were purposeful. They were fluid and strong.
“They’re here,” he whispered as he glanced once about the campfire.
I suddenly felt a shiver travel down my spine.
The annalist’s eyes were slightly wide, and his head was cocked, as if listening for something that only he could hear. He suddenly walked off.
All eyes tracked his movement as he slipped into the shadows, swallowed by the night like a Dimutian trade ship in a squall at sea.
I looked to Sabin. He shook his head in disbelief. Nell’s mouth hung open as he simply stared into the night. The gentle sound of the falling snow echoed as loudly as our confusion.
“What the hell was that,” Derek said loudly.
Nell smiled, “I think he might be crazy.”
There was some murmuring that swept about the group. Nell had a point. What if the annalist was crazy? I didn’t want to concede. Not simply out of spite for Derek or Nell, but because I wanted to believe in the goodness of man. I wanted to believe in something greater than myself. I wanted to believe in the arkein.
“But what if he isn’t,” Jon interjected, “Crazy, I mean.”
I stood before I knew what I was doing.
“I’m following him,” I said as I turned and slipped into the relative darkness, following the annalist’s footprints in the snow.
Sabin yelled after me, “Damn Peter, how about giving us a chance to move as a team?”
“I think he’s trying to make us look bad,” Derek uttered from behind.
I glanced back and saw that everyone had gotten up. It was decided then. We were going to figure out if the annalist was indeed mad.
I led the charge through the greater Bodigan Camp with the entire team trailing behind; Sabin, Derek, Jon, Nell, Edon, and David.
We weaved through makeshift encampments, skirting tents set about campfires. We first passed the rest of the Ranged Guard. It was the smallest unit in the battalion. The Ranged Guard was loud and boisterous. Then we passed soldiers of the Light Infantry. They sat more calmly about the fire. Finally, we jogged past the Heavy Infantry. They were nearly as loud as the Ranged Guard, telling jokes and dancing about, half-undressed, despite the chill of Vintas.
Derek yelled some jokes as we passed. Some were funny, others were merely obscene, and some were simply insulting. I don’t think he always knew what he was saying, let alone how it was perceived. He’d follow up by laughing, as if he were one of the funniest men in the battalion.
The reactions to Derek were equally mixed. Some laughed. Some joked back. Others merely looked at him as if he were an ass. It was those that ignored him that elicited the loudest laugh from Derek.
As we traveled, we left more soldiers behind. The camps became sparse, and the light of the last campfires began to fade. The forest grew dark and I slowed, straining to see ahead. I held up a hand, signaling for silence.
The Ranged Guard had taught us how to move quietly through the forest. They had taught us how to use cover and concealment. They had taught us how to track, how to fight, how to hide, and how to disguise our silhouette to mask our presence.
The sounds of the camps faded as the woods enveloped us in their shadowy embrace.
“Where in the hells are you taking us,” Jon whispered.
“I think he wants to show us his cock,” Derek said, just loud enough to be heard, followed by a short laugh.
Sabin edged up behind me and whispered, “that’s the fourth mention of cock in the last hour,” he said, “I seriously wonder about him sometimes.”
I edged forward, feeling a faint tingle on the back of my neck. Something didn’t feel right. The air felt heavier somehow. The wind had stopped. My ears buzzed slightly as if I’d been submerged underwater.
“You guys feel that?” Edon asked aloud.
“Shhh,” Nell whispered.
I held up a hand, and we came to a halt. Although, the gesture was more of a habit than a necessity. Anyone listening would have heard our whispers.
I strained to see into the darkness. The trees took on strange shapes as the night played with their features. I steadied my breathing and struggled to listen.
A hand fell onto my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Hey buddy,” Derek whispered, “How about letting a professional lead this,” he said, as he slipped ahead.
I shrugged. I was surprised he hadn’t tried to take lead earlier.
Derek gestured for us to move. I glanced back and signaled the rest of the team. Most had automatically taken a knee, sinking into the snow and obscuring their silhouettes. I saw them rise and begin to move forward, spaced evenly apart.
I too resumed my movement, now following Derek. It felt strange without my bow in hand.
The air grew colder and my mind wandered. How far had the annalist gone? Was this a trap? We were now on the other side of the battalion, and far enough away that we could no longer hear the laughter, or easily see the campfires burning along the mountainside.
Derek held up a fist, and I did the same. The signal was repeated down the line as we all paused, and again sank into the obscurity of the rising banks of snow.
I suppressed a shiver as I struggled to look ahead. It appeared as though Derek had seen something. He now circled his hand and tapped his head. It was the signal to rally on him.
The team gathered, moving quietly through the snow, forming a partial circle.
“He’s up ahead,” Derek whispered, just loud enough to be heard.
I looked into the bleak of night but couldn’t make out what Derek had seen.
“I don’t trust this guy,” Derek continued, “I say we flank him with one element, as the other approaches from the east.”
There were several nodding their heads.
“Good,” Derek said, “Nell, David and Edon follow Jon as the flanking element, me, Peter and Sabin will approach from the east.”
“Signal to break cover?” Jon asked.
Derek looked at him for a moment, his face serious, before giving way to a smile, “Cock.”
Sabin shook his head, “Five,” he whispered, so that only I could hear him.
I merely smiled.
My mind burned with thoughts as I suppressed another shiver. All my life I had read stories of fearless heroes on daring adventures, battling the forces of evil, aligning with powerful wizards with secret powers. Now
I was living in the middle of one of these stories. The excitement was almost too much to bear.
Underlying the excitement was a hidden layer of anxiety. Its weight could be felt in the air. It was the stillness of the wind. It was the quiet of the forest. It was the lack of sound, as thoughts echoed in a chamber of self-doubt.
The icy fingers of Vintas bit harder, as they reached through my furs, and traced cruel lines of shivering intensity across my body.
Yet, my attention was pulled by shadowy movement, barely perceptible. It was the tangible movement of inky darkness in the midst of night.
“Did you see that?” I whispered.
“What?” Sabin asked in equally hushed tones.
What had I seen? A shadow on the backdrop of night? A specter in the woods of the Shrouded Mountains?
Derek signaled for us to creep forward.
With slow, deliberate steps, the team advanced into the darkness. Broken whispers tugged at me, pleading to turn around. But I couldn’t abandon my team. I couldn’t let the unfolding mystery remain veiled before my young eyes. I would be a part of it.
Finally, we were close enough to make out the features of the annalist, and one other man. I squinted in the faint moonlight, looking through the falling snow, to discern the angry lines of the captain of the Ranged Guard, Jakob.
It was then, that I noticed Jakob’s feet were swinging in the wind. I forgot about any attempt to conceal myself and walked stupidly forward. Curiosity tugged at me morbidly, as all thoughts slipped my mind. Whispers of death tingled at my ears, pleading for my attention.
“Peter,” Derek whispered.
I hardly heard him.
“Cock,” Derek yelled into the wind.
I heard Sabin’s faint response, “stupid,” as if from a great distance.
Even more faintly I heard my team move forward, approaching the scene from two directions.
“It’s a message,” the annalist stated, without turning around.
The sound of his voice startled me. It was confident and ringed with anger.
“From whom,” I asked, surprised he had addressed me.
The annalist now turned. Sabin too broke cover and approached, as did Jon and David, Nell and Derek. Where was Edon?
“From the Witches of Agathon.”
My mind reeled. Only moments ago, the annalist had been telling us the story of their escape from Templas, across the Black Sea, to Heorte. Had the story been a warning? Or was it something else entirely?
“A message?” Sabin restated as if in shock, the pitch of his voice carried farther than he intended.
“They’re trying to incite division in the ranks and sow fear,” the annalist said, slowly turning around.
“Where are they?” Derek asked, the underlying tone of disbelief just bleeding through his words.
I only half listened as I inspected the area. I saw our footprints in the snow, as well as that of the annalist, however, immediately below and within a few feet of the body, the snow was fresh, untouched.
“They don’t reside in our plane,” the annalist answered distractedly.
“I don’t understand, sir,” Jon piped in, clearly curious.
Light approached from a distance. I only glanced at it momentarily, before returning to the body of Captain Jakob. The faint yellow of flickering torchlight allowed me greater glimpses of the Ranged Guard Captain. His face was as pale as a ghost. His skin partially shriveled, as if his insides had been sucked dry.
“What in the seventh hell is going on here?” A commanding voice shouted, trailed immediately by Edon.
Soldiers stood aside as the First File Commander shoved his way forward. A torch was in his left hand, brandished against the night like an angry beacon. The sound of its lambent flame was a testament to Rory’s displeasure. In his right he held a bow with runes etched into its frame. It was the bow made famous at the Siege of Sawol.
The yellow flames flickered and cast a grizzly scene in the wake of its coppery hue.
Hanging from the tree was the captain of the Ranged Guard. His body was limp, his chin rested oddly on his chest, and his face was pale, sunken. His cold, frozen gaze, remained fixed upon the ground.
Commander Tirrell blanched as he slung his bow and reached for the hanging body.
“Stop!” the annalist commanded, his eyes momentarily lingering on Rory’s bow.
Tirrell seemed inclined to touch the body anyway, but hesitated. He slowly withdrew his hand and looked about.
“Cut this man down,” the commander shouted.
“No,” the annalist said calmly and loudly, contradicting the commander, “It isn’t safe.”
The commander turned to face the annalist, there was murder in his eyes. He wasn’t used to being told what to do. And by now a crowd had gathered. As the First File Commander and as son of the High Priest and Emperor of Heorte, he had become a god in his own eyes.
“There’s no rope,” Sabin whispered to me.
“What?” I asked, still watching the commander and the annalist.
“No rope around his neck or body,” Sabin continued, “Yet he’s clearly hanging there.”
I pulled my attention away from the standoff and forced myself to look at my former captain’s suspended body. Sabin was right. There was no obvious mechanism of support. How was he hanging there?
“You,” Commander Tirrell shouted, “Bring down that body, we don’t leave anyone behind.”
He had pointed to Edon.
I watched as Edon touched his beard once, his hand shaking slightly. Edon grasped hold of the corpse and tugged. At first it seemed to work. Everyone around watched with wide eyes, as the annalist stepped away from the ranged captain’s suspended form.
“I think we should…”
But that was all I managed to say before a piercing light filled the space, followed by the sucking rush of air. My eyes burned and my ears rang. I stumbled and felt around for Sabin.
When I found him, I exhaled a shaky breath. He was my anchor in a sea of discontent. We held each other for a moment, as if securing ourselves to reality.
“Are you okay?” I shouted.
“I can’t see anything.”
“Me neither,” I replied.
Another set of hands found me. They were strong. I was pulled back, along with Sabin. The whiteness faded from my vision and turned to a throbbing red. My ears continued to ring, but I could hear more than before.
There was cursing. Men fumbled about clumsily. The commander was fuming. Snow continued to fall with increasing intensity. The commander’s torch had gone out, but more men approached with fire.
It cast the scene in amber and despair. The body of the ranged captain was gone, as was Edon, the soldier tasked with pulling him down, a member of the Ranged Guard, and a member of our team.
Chapter 7
“Cold knows no other name than the frosted edge of fear.” The Lost Explorers – Isle of Fire
The following day, the sun had disappeared behind a gray mass and a cold wind swept in from the east. It snatched at one’s breath as it rattled the very trees. The day grew darker as salt-like snow pelted the forests, disturbing the stillness, and whitening the mountainside.
Along with the gray came something less discernible. Its edges were only first glimpsed; jagged, frozen, and hidden in shadow. But as it took shape, it slowly became clear that its name was Fear.
It was the shadow that cast its weary gaze upon the Ranged Guard and trickled across the line, affecting the Light and Heavy Infantrymen alike. It was the whispers of death, the unknown, and the Witches of Agathon.
I was not immune.
I observed as we stood, gathered about two pairs of boots, centered within a circle of carefully stripped and placed branches. I shifted my weight as I attempted to look over the shoulder of the soldier in front of me.
I imagine if a bird were to fly overhead, it would have wondered why men stood in neat rows and columns. Would it know that the three format
ions correlated to the Heavy Infantry, Light Infantry, and Ranged Guard? Would it have known that the formation closest to the encircled boots were the men of the Ranged Guard? That these were the men who had lost two of their rank the night before.
I doubt it would have thought much. It certainly wouldn’t have understood the purpose of ceremony. The need for closure. The spiritual aspect of man. Or the carefully constructed words of a military funeral, designed to encourage the living to keep fighting in the face of perpetual struggle.
I listened as words were spoken to honor the passing of the two soldiers. I contemplated their meaning and I thought my own silent thoughts. But words are fleeting, and they floated on the wind and tumbled into memory.
The ceremony ended almost as quickly as it began. Even death didn’t slow the Bodigan Army.
We were dismissed. The former hush of nearly a thousand men in mourning was now replaced with whispers and conspiracies.
“It’s weird, you know?” Sabin said, as he picked up his pack.
“What’s weird?” I asked.
“How regimented our life is,” he said, “We’re told when to eat, sleep, march, and now,” he paused for a breath, “We’re told when to mourn. It’s sick.”
It was an interesting facet of military life, one I rarely pondered. It was rather sick. We had just lost a member of our team, a brother. We were allocated a few minutes to grieve, then resume our soldiery duty as if nothing had transpired. I had far greater freedom as the adopted son of a verder, yet at the time I didn’t know it.
“You’re just figuring this out?” Nell asked. “I’ve been asking permission to shit for so long, that I don’t think I could go unless ordered.”
David grunted in agreement as he put on his own pack, placing his bow temporarily in the snow. I glanced about for a nearby officer. They had drilled into our heads the importance of our bow and taking care of it. It was our life, they said. Had they seen David’s careless placement, they would have berated the whole lot of us.
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