by Alex Aguilar
So calm, he appeared… So unafraid of death, as if it were no different than life…
To Nyx, it was all the same. He was like an ancient stone stuck beneath the surface of the earth, never moving, never changing, watching as everyone else around him lived their lives the way it was meant to be lived, here for a moment and then gone, leaving behind nothing but a trail of memories.
“How did it happen?” she decided to ask him, her curiosity getting the best of her. “The curse? That is, if you’re comfortable telling me…”
He lowered himself on all fours and sat across from her.
For a fox, his movements were so humanlike they were almost eerie.
“It happened after the Battle of Morganna,” he said. “The last battle of the Great War, 250 winters ago. Ironic, really… the way luck allowed me to survive through a war, only to be cursed with immortality the second it was all over.”
She said nothing, only leaned back and listened respectfully, as it became clear he hadn’t told the story to anyone in a long time.
“Do you know the worst part of every battle, Lady Robyn?” He looked up at her with that unmistakable sorrow in his solitary eye. “It’s not the killing… Morose as it may be, that’s the simplest part… Your primal sense of survival kicks in and you find yourself killing enemies one after the other... The worst part is after a battle, you see. Walking around the battlegrounds, looking at all of the damage that you caused, all the lives that you took, the aftermath of your own doings… When the Battle of Morganna was over and we had won the war, our knight commander ordered us to burn the bodies of the enemy’s casualties. I had only one eye by then. I was a bloody mess. I wanted to get back home and forget all of it had ever happened… Anyway, I scattered away from the crowds for a moment of silence. I walked all around the battlegrounds, surrounded by death… And it was then that I happened upon an old witch lying in the fields, shivering and groaning, still very much alive. She had survived by hiding… Sitting under a wrecked carriage, she was waiting for the opportune moment to sneak away into the Woodlands… I made the mistake of looking into her eyes. They looked to me as if they were on fire, only… Only the color was off. A glowing purple hue, it was. And suddenly something happened to me. I felt every one of my muscles become paralyzed right where I stood, as if she was keeping me chained down using only her glare. I can still see them sometimes. Those haunting unblinking eyes of hers… She approached me, whispering all sorts of things in a language unknown to me. She damned every one of us for killing her witch sisters. I wanted to tell her that it was not my fault. That it was either fight or be killed by the king’s men for being a rebel. I wanted to tell her how deeply sorry I was for what I’d done. But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink…”
Robyn cleared her throat nervously. “That’s awful…”
“There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t regret it, Lady Robyn. I deserve this curse…. Every single second of it…”
He lowered his head onto the cold stone, shutting his eye for a brief moment. He exhaled. And there was that pain he felt in his chest whenever he reminisced on those memories. It had been decades since he talked about it, and yet something about the girl was giving him the courage.
Quite unexpectedly, he felt a warm hand rub against the fur on his face…
His eye opened, startled and thrown aback, and he raised his head once more.
Robyn was caressing him, though not in the way one would caress an animal, more like the way one would comfort a friend. She’d crawled closer and was now sitting next to him, staring into his humanlike eye. On the left side of his face, there was that empty socket and that scar running down his eyelid, except now it was furry rather than black and feathery. Though he was a fox, she felt a connection upon looking at him, as if she could see the person he once was hidden there, somewhere on the inside.
“You are good, Nyx,” she said.
“I am not…”
“Yes you are… I know it and so do you. You can’t possibly think you’re evil.”
“There’s a very dim line between good and evil, Lady Robyn,” he said solemnly. “Sometimes you can’t tell one from the other… But a man that has killed hundreds of innocent lives simply because they didn’t look like him? You might call him many things, but ‘good’ wouldn’t be on that list.”
“You were just like them,” Robyn said, pressing her palm gently against his soft white cheek. “Forced to fight a war that wasn’t yours to fight in the first place…”
Nyx’s whiskers twitched nervously. There was something like fondness in the girl’s eyes and it made him feel uneasy. He’d seen everything he loved vanish. All those who were close to him had died or had been killed. And the thought of losing even more terrified him.
“You, uh… You should sleep,” he said, clearing his throat.
She smiled, and then gently removed her hand from his face. “I’ll try,” she said, and then settled herself against the stone. Her eyes, however, remained slightly open, staring at him with bewilderment.
A moment passed. Then another. And when he could no longer hide it, Nyx turned back to her and asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she smiled. “It’s just… You look good as a fox, that’s all.”
“Don’t get used to it, Lady Robyn.”
* * *
“Gather the recruits at once.”
“Yes, sir… Are you absolutely certain we’re to march now, sir?” asked the stroppy soldier. “It’s not yet midnight, it’ll be hours before first light. Surely, w-“
“Don’t argue with me, lad, just do as you’re told!” said the noble Sir Percyval Garroway, and then his soldier stammered and darted out of the tent. Percyval was sitting with his arms held firmly at his sides like a scarecrow while his squire, a gnome with a boyish face and a mop of brown hair, laced the chest armor onto his torso, tightly and carefully.
“No sign of the bastard yet,” said Sir Antonn worriedly. “But his goons have spotted our camp, no doubt. Won’t be long ‘til he finds us.”
Sir Percyval could do nothing but hold still and listen, as his squire and his second-in-command prepared him for the worst. The black leathers, bestowed to him in Wyrmwood, were robustly thick and the dark steel plates over his chest and arms were a piece of art. And yet the man couldn’t help his aching nerves, burning up his insides. The Rogue Brotherhood was notorious for a reason; if armor could protect a man from them, they wouldn’t have such an appalling death count. And Percyval dreaded the idea of losing the numbers he’d worked so hard to acquire. “I’ve never heard of this Pahrvus character,” he said. “I thought the captain of the Brotherhood was some rugged old bloke.”
“He was ‘til recently,” Sir Antonn replied, re-reading a scroll sent by one of their contacts. “The word is this Malekai Pahrvus was the captain’s second-in-command ‘til he betrayed him and took the company for his own.”
“Sounds like an opportunist.”
“Sounds more like a coward.”
“That’s even worse, I’m afraid,” Percyval sighed despairingly. “Cowards don’t hesitate to strike you from behind when you aren’t looking. If they attack and we’re unprepared…”
“We’re screwed,” Sir Antonn grunted. Then he turned to Zahrra with a bitter expression, more bitter than usual. “I don’t suppose you can help out a little?” he asked coldly.
“Haven’t I before?” she replied with a glare.
“Not when we’ve needed you the most. All you do is sit on your arse.”
“Enough, you two,” Percyval scowled, the torment radiating from his eyes. “F-Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. He was thankful there were no recruits in the tent aside from his squire. So odd it would have seemed to the average soldier, so disappointing, to see their knight commander broken down to such a nervous state, so unlike a knight. It was a state of mind that Percyval would only unveil in the presence of his closest companions. And often Sir Antonn’s rou
gh demeanor would bring him back to his senses; in fact it was for this very reason that he chose the man as his second-in-command to begin with.
“Keep that chin up,” Antonn grunted in that coldhearted manner of his. “You’re a damn knight, not a priest. Act like it.”
Outside, recruits were rushing to leave the camp. Armor was being laced, tents were being rolled, horses were being gathered and prepped, and fires were being put out. In a matter of minutes, the camp seemed far less crowded than before.
It wasn’t hard for Viktor Crowley to spot his men. Even when they roamed away from their usual rest area, they were easily the three most confused faces in the camp.
Twelve, he had in his company… And now this was all he had left…
Cedric, a naïve squire with little experience.
Thaddeus Rexx, a blacksmith with a need for the gold.
And Jossiah Biggs, his friend and former brother-in-arms.
Truthfully, Viktor had nearly given up hope until the witch Zahrra came along. Despite his doubt, the man couldn’t help but keep his optimism. He had survived many times before in dire situations, worse than this one in fact. And his brute determination was about the only thing the man had left.
The journey hadn’t been kind to Jossiah Biggs. Sweat and dirt ran down the sides of his face and he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. He approached Viktor the way he usually would, with a scowl and a wrinkled face, quite clearly about to complain about something.
“What the bloody hells is going on, old dog?!” he asked, a clear agitation in his voice. Thaddeus and Cedric listened closely from a distance as best as they could. Leaving in the middle of the night was never a good sign, and they had all learned that the hard way. Something had to be wrong.
“Rogues,” Viktor replied honestly. “They’ve been spotted. We can’t risk an attack. We must march now.”
“The Brotherhood?!” Thaddeus asked, for the first time looking slightly worried.
Cedric, in contrast, was mortified.
“Then why are we still sticking with this lot?!” Jossiah snarled. “They’re not our problem and we aren’t theirs. I say we cut our losses and get out of here before we get caught up in the middle of their mess.”
“Patience, old friend,” Viktor said. “The only way to reach Qamroth is by ship. And King Alistair’s got plenty of them. The more allies we make, the better our chances of getting through this voyage alive. We’re low in numbers as it is.”
“But these people?” Jossiah took a second to glance around him, and then he spoke in an even lower voice. “It was one thing to ally with Blackwood and the witch. But you mean to tell me we’re fighting alongside freaks now?”
Viktor’s brows lowered and his jaw tightened. He felt the impulse to strike the man, but decades of friendship held him back. And when he spotted Skye watching from a distance, it was the last push that he needed to finally speak up. “Jossiah, with respect, you need to start thinking twice about when it’s best to shut that yap of yours.”
Jossiah appeared both startled and slightly enraged. He wasn’t fond of being challenged or talked down to so directly, unless it was by King Rowan. And yet in the last few weeks alone Viktor had done it on numerous occasions. “What did you say to me…?”
“You heard me clearly,” Viktor stepped forward. “We aren’t in Vallenghard anymore, Jossiah. It’s about time you wake up!” Viktor’s voice was nowhere near subtle, and Jossiah was growing restless, knowing they were bound to be overheard.
“I need to wake up?!” Jossiah hissed, his watchful eyes gazing about every few seconds. “I need to?! Viktor, they’re changing you… They’re corrupting you. They’re meddling with your mind, don’t you see, old boy? They want you to warm up to them, they’re only trying to push their own luck. Are you that blind?!”
Viktor’s silence stung Jossiah like a dagger. His stare was no longer friendly. They had been like brothers for nearly two decades and though they had their differences in the past, Viktor had never shown Jossiah the hostility he was showing at that moment through a simple stare. And when Viktor finally spoke, it wasn’t only to Jossiah but to Thaddeus and Cedric as well.
“Listen here, all of you,” he said unsympathetically. “This journey isn’t over yet. And I intend on finishing what I started… I’m marching with Sir Percyval and his troop whether you like it or not. You can join me or you can stay behind and die.”
There was a brief silence. By then, many eyes in the camp were watching in awe, both humans and nonhumans. Cedric was the first to step forward. Looking as startled as a lost pup, he stood by the golden knight with his hand at his dagger. “I’ll join you,” he said, not as confidently as he hoped to sound but firmly all the same.
Viktor gave him a nod of acknowledgment before turning to the two other men.
“And the two of you?”
Jossiah scowled, exhaled sharply, nodded his head ungraciously…
“You’ve gone soft, old boy,” he said sourly. “I never thought it would come to this.”
Viktor said nothing. Jossiah was talking down to his friend in a similar form as he had talked to Hudson Blackwood. And Viktor fought hard to hold back his fist.
“Marching with the enemy,” Jossiah said as he spat on the dirt near Viktor’s boots. “How low have you sunk?”
“Shut your mouth, Jossiah,” Viktor stepped forward.
“Or what? You’re going to fight me to defend a bunch of rabbits?”
“I said shut it…”
“They’re freaks!”
Then it happened… Viktor’s fist moved almost on its own and he struck Jossiah’s jaw. Jossiah was a large man, and it was the only thing that kept him from losing his balance. Instantly, he lit up with fury and reached for his sword. He would have unsheathed it, but then Thaddeus Rexx held him back.
The two former knights glared at each other, each one equally as enraged.
“Call them freaks again and it won’t just be my fist I’ll strike you with,” Viktor said, softer yet loud enough so that many ears in the camp were able to overhear. “They welcomed you into their camp. They fed you. And you dare stand there and call them freaks? Call them the ‘enemy’?”
Viktor took another step forward.
Jossiah kept his stance but he was at a loss for words. Never in the twenty years that he had known Viktor had they quarreled physically. And yet there he was, with a chest full of rage and a throbbing jaw that was bruising purple.
“I’ll tell you who your ‘enemy’ is, you blind bastard,” Viktor said. “He, who raided your kingdom. He, who took your princess hostage. He, who decided to walk into your city and piss on your doorstep. And tell me, old boy… Was he an elf?”
Jossiah said nothing. There were raging fumes radiating from his eyes.
By then Thaddeus had let go, but he remained close, ready to intervene again.
“I asked you a question, Jossiah… Was he a bloody elf?” Viktor asked. “Or an orc, for that matter? A gnome? A bloody pixie?! No… He was a man. A walking, breathing, fucking man. And those you call freaks!? They might be the only difference between you living or dying.”
Viktor paused there to catch his breath.
He was shaking from the rage, a rage he wasn’t aware he had until that moment.
After a brief silence, he scoffed. “We’re marching with them,” he said. “If you’re not with me, then… then get out of my bloody sight, I’m done with you.”
With that, the golden eagle walked away.
Jossiah stood there firm and motionless, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. He remained that way for several moments, before sighing and walking to the nearest barrel of ale.
Thaddeus and Cedric were left alone, and so they looked at one another for a moment, each unsure of what to say.
“Y-You coming?” the young squire asked nervously.
Thaddeus sighed and took a gander at their surroundings. “I don’t know, lad…”
Cedri
c bit his lip. Thaddeus Rexx was the only familiar face in the company. In a way, he was the only friend Cedric had left. Without him, the young man would be lost, squire to a knight he hardly even knew. He nearly begged the man to come along, except something stopped him. A loud voice broke the silence. A voice that gave Cedric yet another shred of desperately needed hope to cling onto.
“Oi, toothpick!”
Cedric felt a blow to his chest. Something heavy and rough slammed against him and he was able to catch it just in time. It was a piece of rusty chainmail, too slim-fitted for any soldier in the camp.
“Throw this on under ‘em rags. Make ‘em work for it, yes?” said Gwyn, shooting him a smile and a wink of the eye.
Cedric tried to smile in return, but Viktor’s words echoed in his mind.
The Rogue Brotherhood, he’d heard him say. And the name alone gave him chills.
Fretfully, he removed his ragged shirt and threw on the chainmail. It was heavy and was sure to slow him down. And it nearly frightened him to death.
“Think fast, Mister Rexx,” Daryan said.
Thaddeus nearly stumbled, but caught the piece of steel just in time. “I don’t like shields, they slow me down.”
“This ain’t a street duel, tiny,” Gwyn snapped. “A battle’s stirrin’ up.”
It was then that Thaddeus and Cedric realized how nearly empty the camp was. Even with the few hundred recruits standing about, the tents and the stands had all been put away. And it shrunk the size of the camp significantly.
As Cedric threw on the chainmail, Gwyn was able to catch a glimpse of Cedric’s bare chest and arms and noticed the several scars and bruises on his lanky torso. Cedric did not strike her as a fighter, and she was caught by surprise because of it. The young man, of course, panicked and his face became flushed when he noticed her staring.
“You’ll be needing this, little squire,” Daryan handed Cedric a sharp rusty blade.
Cedric stuttered nervously, wiping the sweat from his face. “I-I’ve never used a sword b-”
“It’ll be alright, toothpick. Just ye watch,” Gwyn said, giving him a friendly tap on the back, though the squire could see the pity in her expression. “It’s just like a knife, yes? Only bigger,” she shrugged. “Anyway I’ll be right there with ye. We’ll watch each other’s backs, yes?”