A Call to War: C02S02

When morning came, Taemis was the first to awaken, followed by Kyrl, then Geoffrey and the squires. Unger and Marcus were the last to wake, shortly before the first rays of the sun kissed the land. The knights stretched, Geoffrey and Unger being unaccustomed to sleeping on the ground and the rest to prepare for the ride. The squire set about cleaning up the campsite, burying the carcass of the night's meal.

The tolces where untied from the trees, and they set out for Orelkel, Taemis taking the lead. They would walk for the first part of the day, to allow the tolces time to stretch their muscles before riding. It was a ten hour ride at full pace to the township, so Marcus assumed that they would reach it by nightfall. They took a midday rest, hiding from the blazing sun under the trees to the side of the road.

The day was largely uneventful, with no one particularly speaking save for the occasional off joke by Kyrl. There was no laughter in response, but the veteran expected none, only joking to put himself at ease. Towards the final quarter of the day, they approached the twisted woods leading to Orelkel.

The road cut through the forest, but the trees were twisted and gnarled, giving a sense of foreboding to the men and their squires. Taemis called their progress to a crawl, motioning Kyrl to come forward with Marcus. The two knights joined their senior at the head of the pack.

“Sir Kyrl, you've been to Orelkel before. Have these woods always been as dark as this?” Taemis asked, urging his tolce on at a walking pace.

Kyrl threw open his cloak and looked. “No, Sir Taemis.”

Taemis nodded, leery at the news. “Sir Marcus, what do you hear?”

Marcus strained his ears trying to discern any sound other than the hooves and claws of the tolces tapping on the road. There was nothing to hear, though. Not the call of a bird, nor the skittering of a beast, nor the buzz of a late season insect. He said to his elder, “Nothing, Sir Taemis.”

“Aye,” the old knight replied. He raised his hand, calling forward Geoffrey and Unger. The other two knights approached, leaving the squires riding nervously behind. “Sir Geoffrey, ride ahead with you brother, as fast as you can be carried. Stop in sight of the gates of the town, and watch. You will report when we arrive.”

“Aye, Sir Taemis,” Geoffrey replies as he pressed spurs into the side of his tolce. Unger matched him, and they soon disappeared as into the growing shadows of the Orel forest. Marcus slowed his pace, joining with the squires to give them a sign of support. They weren't needed here, but he knew that this would help them to become better knights in the future.

Thomlin quickened his pace and came up beside his master. “Master Marcus, what is this place?” he asked.

Marcus thought a moment before saying, “A place of evil.” It felt true enough, and, while he didn't want to frighten the boy, he couldn't bring himself to speak to him as they had before. Thomlin picked up on his and slowed his tolce back down, dropping back to the group of the squires.

Marcus felt bad about the change in relationship between himself and Thomlin, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't as when they had met, Marcus still a squire and Thomlin the bastard son of a Count on the other side of the barony. He had to maintain a level of disconnect with him, even if it was just for show for the other knights. Thomlin was his first squire, after all. He would have more in the years to come.

Taemis spoke quietly to Kyrl in front of all the others. They'd traveled far enough into the forest to loss sight of the plains and farmland they'd come from. There was nothing around, save the twisted trees and pressing atmosphere. No trace of life was to be found, save the withered trees. It was near an hour later, in the last few moments of the daylight, that they came to Geoffrey and Unger.

The brothers stood between the trees, off the road, over a body burned beyond identity. Their tolces were tied to a tree several steps behind them. Taemis dismounted and walked to them, leaving his tolce in the middle of the road.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice tight.

“It would seem to be one of the tax men, Sir Taemis,” Geoffrey replied.

Taemis knelt over the body as his squire rode up and snatched the reins of his tolce. He took a quick look at the body before calling to Marcus and Kyrl. “Brothers! With haste!”

Marcus hopped from his mount in unison with Kyrl and they ran over, Thomlin and Kyrl's quire grabbing their tolces before they ran off. Taemis showed the body to them, pointing to the scorched flesh and burned off hair. The stench was nearly unbearable for Marcus, but he endured.

“This is the work of a mythier. Paeth, I would wager,” Kyrl said, his hands clenching into tight fists.

“Aye,” Taemis replied. “Conjured flames. Paeth is skilled at them. We go on foot from here. Leave the squires and the tolces.” He looked at Marcus. “Bring your squire, Sir Marcus. I need to see if he has the mettle to be in the order when he gets older.”

“Aye, Sir Taemis,” Marcus replied before moving back to Thomlin. “Dismount, tie up the tolces and come with me, Thomlin. We are going into Orelkel.”

Thomlin's eyes lit up, but he remained silent. He slid off the saddle and led the tolces to a tree and tied them. He followed Marcus back to Taemis, now looking to the gate past the corpse. Kyrl walked by, going to give the orders to the squires, including burial of the body of the tax man. Marcus looked at Thomlin as they approach, placing an extended finger over his mouth. “Not a word for now, Thomlin.” Thomlin nodded.

Once back, Taemis began explaining things to the three knights and the squire. “We can now assume that Paeth has gone mad. We have no choice other than to kill him and report our failure to the Lord Count. Sir Geoffrey, I need you and your brother to search the houses of the town. One of them should hold some clue as to why the Lord Mayor has done this.” He looked over his shoulder to Marcus. “You, your squire, and I will scout the northern half of two, and see if we can't find a trace of the other tax man. Kyrl will scout the southern half alone.” He noticed the slight look of concern cross Marcus's face. “Do not fear. Kyrl has survived far worse than this.”

He looked back to the gate. “I hate doing this in the evening, but we can't very well wait until the morn. Yell if there is trouble and everyone will come running.” He looked past the gate, to the manor standing at the center of the town. “No one enters manor, save Sir Marcus and myself. Not even you, boy.” He touched Thomlin's arm.

Thomlin nodded, and the men began walking toward Orelkel. The gate showed great damage as they approach, seeming blasted open by a great ball of fire. The large beams that made it were warped and charred, and it was left standing open. Taemis hoped for someone, anyone, to approach. He didn't like the abandoned feel of the town.

Kyrl came running up, his sword, a gigantic claymore, already in hand. Geoffrey and Unger drew their swords as they crossed the threshold into the township proper. It was only a little bigger than Delrin, but it seemed smaller because of the large stone and wood wall that surrounded it. Marcus drew his sword, preparing himself for another battle.

It would not be beasts this time, he knew. He'd have to take the life of another man once more. He'd done it only twice before, killing two men that tried to steal his master's horse. That alone had damaged him somewhat, turning him hard for months afterward. He would have to overcome it before he returned home, this time. They made their way to the square as a group, watching the light in the third floor of the manor flicker.

The knew that they were being watched by Paeth. He was on that third floor, preparing some cruel and horrible fate for them. But they couldn't concern themselves with that just yet. They had to worry about the tax man before dealing with him, after all. In the square, they found him. He was twisted and battered, a fixed to a wooden frame with roped. His entrails had been cut from him, his torso splayed open and hollow. The look on his face showed that he had been alive when it was done. Unger vomited at the sight of it, spilling forth all he'd eaten that day on the cobblestone road of the merchant village.

“Cut him down, Sir Marcus,” Taemis whispered.

Marcus went to comply, drawing his new knife with a trembling hand. It was a nearly too much cruelty for a man of his youth to know, but with four swift cuts, the body fell to the ground. There was no use in checking to see if he was alive, as his body was already rotting away.

A low groaning came from down the street to the left. Marcus looked in the fading light, seeing a figure shamble onto the paving. It was a man, if you could call it that. It was burned beyond recognition, like the tax man outside of town. But it walked and groaned, a blue haze glowing in the blacks of its eyes. Marcus held up his sword to it, guarding himself. Taemis approach silently, making sure the young knight made no sound.

Unger saw the creature and could not contain himself. He screamed like a woman, and the being's gaze snapped to him. A blood curdling screech pierce the late dusk and it bounded to the fat knight. Horror and hell was awakened that day, as the wraith's fingers sunk effortlessly into Unger's throat. A gleeful sound was loosed by the thing as it ripped the meat from his neck and watched him drop to the ground dead. Taemis knew this was a battle that they could not win without drastic and dangerous measures. Who knew how many of these things were in the town? How long Paeth had been crazed?