A Call to War: C02S03

Unger laid dead in the street, a pool of blood building around him. The creature turned its head to the side, questioning. Geoffrey, enraged by his brother's death, yelled and ran the creature through. The wraith looked down, barely noticing the blade through its heart and showing no pain. It raised its arm and backhanded Geoffrey, sending him flying into the wall of the manor. The stones cracked from the force, and the bloodied knight fell dead to the ground.

“Retreat!” Taemis screamed, raising his hand to the wraith. Marcus found he could not turn from it, let alone run. He saw the white tendrils oozing from its every orifice, and knew that it had been given life with mythis. The tendrils flowed to Taemis's hand, and he ripped at them, but more sprouted forth.

The old knight looked back to his junior. His voice was louder and more immediate. “Don't gawk, Sir Marcus! Run!” Using his other hand, he shoved Marcus, giving him the strength to move once more. Marcus stumbled, grabbed Thomlin's arm, and began to sprint away from that thing of Hell. He whispered a prayer to the Godking to himself as he went, pulling his squire.

He knew terror then. In all the years that would follow, the wraith butchering two knights in a matter of seconds would still bring a cold sweat to him, he knew. He turned down a side street, and huddled against the side of a house. He pushed Thomlin hard against the wall. “Stay here,” he ordered through his ragged breathing. He could not abandon his companions despite his fear and his orders.

He steeled himself against the unshakable terror he felt and stepped back into the road, looking back to Taemis and Kyrl. The wraith had been hacked to bits, but still moved, frighteningly fast. He lowered his head and cleared the doubt from his expression, looking up with determination before running back. His sword gleamed, catching the light of the full moon as he approached the melee.

Raising the knife still in his left hand, he took aim and threw it, striking the creature in the left leg. It howled, not in pain nor surprise, but with something more primal. The threads covering its leg burned and severed, causing it to drop to the ground. It screeched and screamed, flailing about and trying to raise itself back to its feet. Taemis looked over his shoulder, his halberd in hand, a smirk growing on his face as Marcus returned to the fray.

Marc slowed, stopping next to the older knight. The wraith hissed and ripped the knife from its leg. The silvery white threads began to regrow and reattach, letting it said once more. Taemis lowered himself to a more defensive posture. Kyrl swung his sword, missing the wraith by a hair’s width. Marcus moved next, bringing his sword up and aiming to remove a hand from the creature.

It was to no avail, though. The wraith moved fast, dodging each strike from Kyrl and Marcus. It had now time to go on the offensive, but Marcus could tell that it had far more endurance than either of the knights. It took nearly no damage from the flurry of swings from Marcus’s gleaming sword or Kyrl’s blackened claymore.

Soon, the pair grew tired, though they both knew that if either eased up in their assault, they would both be struck down. Marcus tried to make a decisive move, but found the wraith’s hand chasing his throat. He seized with fear, but the axe head of Taemis’s halberd came down next to him, relieving the wraith of its hand. Marcus’s heart soared as the creature screamed.

Kyrl took the opportunity to strike, swinging for its head. It was a true hit, his blade passing cleanly through half of the wraith’s neck before stopping at the bone. It tried screaming again, but all that came out was a choked gargle. There was little blood, but just made it easier to reduce the wraith to small, still moving pieces. The trio’s work done, Kyrl sat and took out a roll of paper packed with bandle leaves.

Using a device similar to the one that Marcus’s father had given him, he lit the roll and pulled in a lungful of smoke. Taemis stood next to Marcus, looking down to the remains of the creature. Marcus had never seen anything like that before, he was sure. “It is a wraith, Sir Marcus,” he said, looking from his junior to the scattered chunks of what used to be a man.

“A wraith?” Marcus asked.

“Aye,” Taemis replied. “When a man is killed by mythis, he doesn’t die. The mythis moves his body until it runs out.” He pointed to the hand on the ground that clenched and unclenched. “See how this hand moves still? That’s the mythis moving it as best it can.” He stepped back and looked to the fallen knights. “They aren’t alive, but they are not dead. They move on instinct and kill and eat whatever they happen upon. The mythier that made them can’t even control them. There is no darker horror in the Seven Worlds, to my knowledge.”

Marcus felt a great unease. He’d never known that such things as wraiths could exist. “Why do we even allow mythiers, Sir Taemis? Such things…” his voice trembled with a combination of fear and rage. “Evil beyond comprehension, my brother. Unger and Geoffrey died in an instant.”

Taemis was silent for only a moment, before saying, “Aye.” He stepped over to the shaking and bloodied Kyrl. “We live still, brother.”

Kyrl smiled, a gash over his eye from the wraith pouring blood down the right of his face. “Pity. The weather is good for a death on the battlefield.”

“We’ve still Paeth to contend with, Sir Kyrl,” Taemis said. “There is hope for you to die yet.” Taemis let out a stifled laugh, one that seemed out of place for the middle aged noble man. He looked to Marcus, and quieted himself.

Kyrl laughed. Marcus could not understand their joking, but knew that it was one of the ways that they coped with the reality of their lives. He would be like them one day as well. He turned to retrieve his squire from the end of the street. Taemis said nothing to him as he left, only watching the young man. Marcus’s boots tapped in a steady rhythm as he went to the alleyway he’d left Thomlin in.

Seeing the boy huddled against the wall and trembling with fear, Marcus could not help but feel for him. This was the first time he’d seen any real combat, after all, and he was still just a commoner, with no training to deal with these sorts of things. He put his hand gently on Thomlin’s head and rubbed his hair, whispering, “Calm, my young friend. We’ve work still to do.”

Thomlin looked up to Marcus, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Is that demon dead, Master Marcus?” he asked, his small voice shaking nearly as much as his body.

“Aye, squire. Now breathe and calm yourself.”

Thomlin took a deep gasp and breathed out, a small bubble of snot forming in his nostril. “Forgive me, Master Marcus.” He stood and lifted his tunic, revealing the dark stain at the crotch of his leggings. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Fear not, Thomlin. We’ll have no more trouble from the wraith,” Marcus said, reassuring his squire. The boy dropped his tunic and nodded, though still terribly frightened. Marcus once more patted the boy’s head, then turned to move back down the road. “Follow along, Thomlin. We’ve work still.”

The pair walked back slowly, moving to where Taemis and Kyrl remained. They had pulled the bodies of Unger, Geoffrey and the tax man into the street, wrapping the knights in their cloaks. The tax man was unwrapped, as there was no spare cloth on hand to prepare his body. Taemis heard Marcus approaching and raised his hand to him. “Hail, Sir Marcus. All that is left is to deal with Paeth, if that’s not too much trouble for you.” He left out a light chuckle as he finished.

Marcus forced a smile. “I had to collect my squire. You never know when they will come in handy, Sir Taemis.”

Taemis nodded, his face growing serious. “Paeth must be put to the sword.” He held up the knife he’d given to Marcus. “I believe this is yours”

“Aye and many thanks, my brother.” Taemis tossed the knife to Marcus who caught it by the grip and tucked it back into his belt. “How are we going to go about ending this madness, Sir Taemis?”

Taemis sighed, feeling his aged body heavy with the action. “Kyrl will burn this forsaken place to the ground. He will set fire to all the buildings while you and I go into the manor to hunt that bastard down. After that, your squire will set the manor ablaze and we shall ride back to Eliberin and report this wickedness to our master, the Lord Count.”

“Why burn Orelkel, Sir Taemis?” Marcus asked, his expression furrowed.

“So that evil and disobedience will never again take root here, Sir Marcus. It is the duty of strong rulers to ensure that all that would taint the hearts and minds of those under their rule does not have the opportunity to do so,” Kyrl responded, breaking his silence. “The Lord Count has given this responsibility to us knights of his Order of Elibe, and it is our duty to fulfill his wishes.”

Marcus was silent for a moment as he thought of the gravity of the situation. Surely, he thought, there were people that lived still in the township. Setting fire would kill them as well. “And if there are other here, living in fear of Paeth?”

“Then they are already tainted with evil and resistance to our Lord Count, brother,” Taemis said gravely. “They would leave here and spread their tainted ways to others. It is not a chance that a ruler can be willing to take. It is a terrible thing, but it is our duty, to our Lord Count and our oath to his Order.”

Marcus stood, mouth agape. It was a horrible thing that they would do. Orelkel would be razed because the Lord Mayor had fallen insane, and its people would pay the consequence of his madness. He almost could not fathom the intent of the action, but it made a certain sense to him. That thought brought more sickness to his stomach than all he’d seen in the day already.

“So they are damned?” he asked, his voice near a whisper.

Taemis nodded, then looked to the ground. “Aye, as are we.” He tossed his halberd to Kyrl and took the sword from Geoffrey’s body. The interior of the manor would make a pole-arm unwieldy. “Say your blessings, Sir Marcus. We will strike in a matter of minutes.”

Marcus lowered his head and muttered a prayer of safety and courage to the Godking. He knew better than to protest their intentions further, and he certainly knew not to say a thing to the Lord Count about it, even if Jerno was once his mother’s older brother. Such familial connections had no place in their kingdom. Instead, after his prayer, he made a vow to himself. A vow that he would never allow such a disgraceful action to enter into the minds of his subordinates.

He raised his head and gripped his sword tighter. The blade caught the scant moonlight and seemed to glow. He looked to Thomlin and nodded. “Wait here, squire. We shall be back in a few moments.” His eyes moved to Kyrl and he nodded again, this time saying nothing to the veteran. Finally he glanced to Taemis. The older knight didn’t meet his gaze, still looking to the ground. “It would be best to get this over with, would it not, my brother?” He gesture to the door of the manor with his free hand.

The pair, Marcus and Taemis moved in unison, taking one step after another to the large oaken door. They didn’t know what horrors waited within, nor what devious plot Paeth had concocted as he waited for them. But Marcus was right. It was time to settle this matter and report to the Lord Count. Taemis reached the door first and threw it open. The interior was blackened and wrecked without a light to be seen.