"Come on! We're almost there!" Commander Nerault let his voice carry off behind him to his three-remaining horseman as the sound of clacking hooves threatened to drown out his voice. The castle was in sight just beyond a grove of trees that where the castle's keep poked up just above the treetops.
Thick beads of sweat covered every inch of Nerault's paled face. He glanced nervously behind him again and again until the tree line was reached.
"It's just beyond these trees!" Nerault was forced to slow his horse a little in order to safely maneuver thrown the vines and brush of the woods. Squirrels and rabbits scurried away at the sound of the approaching horsemen.
One of the surviving men called to Nerault from behind him now, "Commander, men coming from our rear, approaching quickly!"
Nerault turned in his saddle while simultaneously slapping the reins to speed his horse in response to the report. He would not be caught; he was so close now. It was in vain however, his hose stopped below a fallen tree but Nerault had not seen it coming and as he turned his head, he was just in time to see his face collide hard against the bark of the pine tree.
He staggered to his feet, swaying greatly and grimacing with hands to his head that now pounded like the butt of an axe slamming against his forehead repeatedly. Nerault's vision cleared up enough to see that two of his men had been hacked down further back and his last man left was only fifty yards away now with the horsemen hot on his tail.
His last man caught up to him and urged him to hop on quickly in an attempt to get away quick. Nerault was still groggy though, and he just stared blankly as his man blew by him after missing his outstretched hand. Nerault turned to see an arrow slam home into the last man's back, and then a second arrow sunk into his skull and he was flung from his saddle like a training dummy.
As the men in pursuit reined in closer, Nerault recognized the fine cloth of their cloaks and their shining silver swords with intricate patterns etched into the flat of the blades. Their hoods covered their faces and their horses were all black as night. I'll be damned, its Nightclaw and his Ki'vatsu. Nerault cracked his neck and shook his head to wake the grog from his swirling mind. It was no use. He unsheathed his sword from over his back and wished he had his battle shield. He would not allow himself to suffer a fate like his fifty men had, although these were Ki'vatsu he was dealing with now—not just any enemy.
There were eight Ki'vatsu that reined in, in total. They encircled a wide perimeter around him, and Nerault's eyes grew wide and bewildered as the brush, trees, and plants all around them began decaying and disintegrating into thin air. Nightclaw is near. As if on cue, Nerault saw a white horse enter into the woods with an empty look on his face, his eyelids slid halfway down his eyes now, but Nerault knew he was more awake than ever. The perimeter around him grew flat and empty and ugly. The Ki'vatsu stood still as stone and Edmund Nightclaw reined his fine, white stallion into the middle of the circle to meet Nerault where he stood. Nerault's horse was long gone now, and there was no escape.
"Lord Nightclaw, have mercy, my lord. It is I, Commander Nerault of the lord king's royal army. My men have just been slaughtered at the hands of a powerful foe, lord Nightclaw. Please, help me return to the castle and we can explain this to King Erilin. He must know before it is too late; before King Steed's army arrives and breach our walls in the night."
Nightclaw did not speak a word, but instead closed his eyes and held his hands around a ball of swirling colors and images. Nerault's vision was blurred and too him Nightclaw held a shiny ball of blinding lights and colors.
"Lord Nightclaw, please, I beg you. Let us go together inside those castle walls just beyond the trees here and explain this to the king." Nerault had a pleading face, a face that rarely crossed him for he had never known fear very well. Today he was getting a full-fledge introduction and he knew it could spell the end of his life on the earth.
Nightclaw opened his eyes and returned the bright ball of colors that hovered inches above the end of his staff to his pocket inside of his flowing robes. Nerault's eyes flickered over each of the Ki'vatsu who still seated stone were cold, still as a rock upon their mounts. Their hoods covered all of their face except for the mouths which remained unmoving.
"There is a chance that I let you live another day, Nerault."
"Yes, anything lord. I will serve you unconditionally if it please you."
"Do not assume I would be honored of your service, Nerault. You are a weakling and a coward inside. I can read your fear. It is plain for any man to see. Do you see the faces of those men around you?" The hoods of the Ki'vatsu were flung down with the flick of Nightclaw's hand. "These are a different breed of man from you, Nerault. Unable to experience fear, and only capable of full devotion to their master. I would not doubt their loyalty to me for a second."
"Most undoubtedly, lord. Most impressive, lord Nightclaw. I admire their dedication."
"It is not from their own dedication, Nerault. It is from the powers of my palms that they serve me so well, and it would take a simple nod for any one of them to have you hacked to pieces without you being able to lift so much as a finger."
Nerualt swallowed hard and grimaced. He glanced around the circle for any opening he might escape through, but they were spaced so evenly that it was clear that it was not an option.
"I have plans for you, Nerault. I will not bind you to my will, it might raise suspicion if you were to enter the royal court cold as stone. With the Ki'vatsu, they do not know any better that their mannerisms might not curtail stone-cold faces of nothingness and eyes that do not flicker at the sight of a woman. It is not too different anyway from the culture of Rednork, from which these men hail. A fine country that I should like to visit should I get the chance. Listen, Nerault, if you stop quivering like a little girl and pull yourself together, I can make use of you yet."
"Yes, my lord. Whatever is required of me, I am prepared to do in your service."
"Good, Nerault, good. Does your head hurt from the collision you took with the tree that is no longer blocking your path?"
Nerault turned his head and almost stumbled from the dizziness but he saw indeed that the tree he had slammed into was now disintegrated into dust like most of the wildlife within the radius that they stood.
"Yes, my lord, it pains me greatly."
"If you do not do as I say, how I say, then that will be the most minimally troubling pain you experience for the rest of your life, do you hear me clear commander?"
"Lord, I hear you clearly and I am prepared to do as you say." Nerault's brows were knitted in pain from the pulsating headache.
"First, tell me what you were to report to King Erilin had I not stopped you here."
"Erm, well, in searching for a potential marching army from the south we discovered there is indeed an army, and it is led by a skinchanger who King Steed is presumably. We were the ruins of a kingdom that was burned to the ground when Prince Brahon—"
"Enough. Come forward, Nerault." Nightclaw's tone had become icy and Nerault's face twisted in fear.
"I said, come forward."
Nerault slowly edged forward until he was face to face with Nightclaw. Nightclaw lifted a palm and spread his fingers along Nerault's scalp and squeezed tight. Nerault screamed but Nightclaw's other hand slammed into his gut to quiet him. Nerualt grunted but Nightclaw's palm kept Nerault's head upright. The hair on his head was sticking straight up now and his head was turning purple with lines of pink running like veins through his face.
Nightclaw let go and Nerault toppled to the ground. Seconds later Nerault rose from the ground and stared at Nightclaw with a look of confusion.
"Tell me what you know, Commander."
"My name is Nerault and I serve—"
"—No, tell me what you are to report to the king."
"We found a small army of around a hundred men from Mestrane trying to infiltrate Dansington and Prince Brahon insisted that he remain at Dansington with his fifty men to help subdue the small army."
Nightclaw nodded his head and pursed his lips. His eyes went Erdezo's and he nodded assuredly. Erdezo dismounted and walked his horse to Nerault. Erdezo did not say a word but gestured for Nerault to mount. He jumped up and Nightclaw gave him his parting words.
"Report what you have just told me to King Erilin. Fail to do so, and I will ensure you are fed to the Night Wolves myself, Commander. From now on, you report directly to me."
"Yes, my lord. It is a pleasure to do so." Nerault's face had grown still and bored, and he rode off beyond the circle of death where the wildlife of the forest no longer existed and into the brush of the remaining forest, straight towards the pointy tops of the keep's south tower that poked pointedly above the tree line.
King Erilin was in his bedchambers having his squire read through a book titled, "The Entire History of Modena, Volume 1: The First Ages."
"Shut up, Piotr, we have a message from Commander Nerault."
Nerault stood in his royal plated armor with the emblazoned dragon across his chest and his helm in his hands. Dirt and blood stained his dented armor and his cape hung tattered from his back.
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When Nerault had finished explaining the recent occurrence King Erilin was bewildered. Maids were attending to his feet and filing his nails as he sat upon his bed back in response to the news of his son his feet kicked out clumsily, nailing one of the maids in the nose and blood spurt out all over the floor. King Erilin paid her no mind but the other two maids in the room took to consoling her sobs and wiping the blood off her face with wet cloths.
"Why, in Etrorin's name, would my son find it appropriate to take up the walls of another kingdom without my permission? He has duties to attend to here! Royal duties, at that. Commander Nerault, you are a commander and that is why it is your responsibility to do as such, it should be you helping to defend at Dansington, not my own son.
"I tried to convince him, lord king, but he was insistent. He told me I was to be committing treason if I did not let him carry out his duty as a prince to help his neighboring men at Dansington."
An hour had passed and Nerault had finally begun to feel content that the King was understanding the situation now. The squire eyed Nerault cautiously as he moved around the two men as they spoke, helping to aid to his king's every wish, but Nerault had every belief that the squire boy Piotr was surely the eyes and ears of Edmund Nightclaw.
King Erilin's initial flustered state had improved considerably so, much to Nerault's relief.
"Commander Nerault, do you remember why I appointed you as commander of the royal guard?"
"You told me I had fought admirably when the Ulthraki tribe had captured the princess and held her ransom, your highness."
"Yes, Nerault, indeed. It was your braveness and boldness to come before me that night, after the fighting had been done. You came to me and told me what was hard to hear, but it was true. You did not hide the truth that day, am I right, Nerault?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Now, remind me again what the news was?" King Erilin asked with a hint of suspicion in his eye and Nerault was back to feeling uneasy again.
"Well it was true that Princess Ceceyla had been rescued but only at the cost of your second oldest son, my lord."
"And whose decision was that, Nerault? That the princess be saved at the cost of my second eldest son?"
"It was the decision of your youngest, lord, Ser Fallon."
"You told me true that day, and I grieved for many years after, Nerault. But it was truth that you spoke to me that saved me from unnecessary and confusion about the mental state of my youngest son, and to this day he is a misery in my life from that day."
"Rightfully so, my lord."
King Erilin rose from his seated position to wander about the tile floor of his bedchambers. Squire Piotr stood watching with the ointment for the king's troublesome spots in his hand.
"You will tell me truthfully now, then, Nerault. Did my son choose to stay at Dansington or did he perish in a skirmish with King Steed's men?"
"Erm, m'lord, I do not know where you would have gotten that notion from, good and gracious king. I stand true to what I said, he is at Dansington."
King Erilin motioned for the guards at the door to have the door opened. The two guards in full plated armor and helms that covered their faces opened the heavily bolted door to his chambers and Fallon Diehurn was ushered inside, his hands bound behind him and escorted by two guards. Nerault's eyes grew wide in fear at the site of Fallon. How does he know? He was not there, surely the King is testing my loyalty here.
A second later, the man who Nerault faintly recognized to be one of Fallon's captures with the neck charms across his chest stumbled into the room after being prodded in the back with the butt of a spear. Six guards now stood in the room, four in front of the door which was shut and one each standing behind Fallon and Vince. Nerault met Fallon's eyes and saw a fierceness there that scared him, although him and Vince both bore gags in their mouth's that prevented any unwarranted words spilling out of them.
"Now, Ser Nerault, I do not condone the use of dark magic in this castle, in this kingdom, in this realm. But there are occasions where a dark moment is a means to a happy ending, yes? I am going to give you one more chance to tell me exactly what happened to my son." King Erilin's voice had grown very cold and it gave Nerault chills. In all his time serving his king, he had not heard such a dark tone from him.
Suddenly the room felt stuffy and crowded, and to add to the numbers inside the bed chambers at the very top of the windy steps leading up the north tower, the barred door was pulled open by the guards and a masked man who stood a half foot taller than the tallest man Nerault had ever seen entered the room with a long broadsword across his back. Nerault's stomach did a flip. Why is he here? The castle's butcher executioner? Nerault was no stranger to what the sight of him meant. It meant the King demanded answers, and he wasn't going to let the man live who did not speak the truth exclusively. Someone was going to die, if that's what it took to get to the bottom of it.
Nerault's mind wandered back to Edmund Nightclaw just a couple hours previously. The cold looks of those Ki'vatsu like some mindless murderers. Nightclaw's touch of death that had disintegrated everything around him. The thought of it sent his stomach into loops again, but at this point nothing about his current situation had greeted him any different.
The executioner stood himself in the back corner with the awful black mask over his face. No one really knew who was under the mask, for no one who was deemed to be an executioner would have a roof under his head. But Nerault wondered why his identity had managed to remain a mystery despite his unique, towering stature and height. King Erilin's glaring stare brought him back, and Nerault realized his time was out.
"Lord, as you have recalled from the past, I only speak the truth. I think it is appropriate that I now tell you exactly how it happened, your majesty. The first signs of the enemy we stumbled upon were the remains of a kingdom that had been burned to ashes and burned corpses were aid upon the ground as a feast for the crows. Prince Brahon demanded were journey onward to find out if this atrocity had reached Dansington yet. We travelled a pass less travelled by since we have few men and are able to travel quicker than an army. Upon reaching Dansington, we were informed they had their own scouts who had seen an army approaching through the main road, just ahead in between the mountain pass from the south. Prince Brahon offered his men in service to which Dansington readily accepted. Although we did not boost their numbers dramatically, we are seen as the pride of Weptswur, as you know lord, and our arrival was a huge boost to morale. Prince Brahon only trusted me to return with word of the occurrence, for there are some strange men wondering about as we speak in Weptswur. It was fortunate I even made it back, lord, but I did. So now here I am to tell you, your son serves at the hand of the King of Dansington, right inside our own borders."
"You see, Nerault, I don't buy that."
"You what? Why—"
"—as I've said, I don't like to use dark magic, but in this case, I find it appropriate."
King Erilin's cold tone made Nerault nauseous. He knows, but how?
King Erilin approached his son, staring into Fallon's eyes intensely. He removed Fallon's mouth gag and Fallon coughed from the tickle of the dry fabric in his throat.
"Tell Commander Nerault what you have seen, my son."
His words sputtered out like rain from the cloudy skies, "I have seen the death of my brother at the bloodthirsty hands of King Steed through the vision of the dragon. Nerault does not speak truth to you, father." Fallon nudged his head towards the charm that hung from Vince's neck. King Erilin stared intently at the small horned piece that hung from Vince's neck.
"Piotr, go and take the dragon's horn from the sorcerer's neck. See if you see what my son has seen in his vision."
"Father, it does not work like that. Piotr is but a squire and he is not equipped to see such things."
"Oh, shut up Fallon, if what you say is true then Piotr will see just that."
Piotr timidly untied the horn from Vince's necklace. Vince grimaced as it left his neck, he had grown accustomed to the weight of the artifact hanging from his neck.
Piotr grasped the horn and became transfixed, standing still with a dumb look upon his face. After a few minutes of the profound look upon Pitor's boyish face, he returned the artifact to Vince's neck hurriedly.
"Well, what did you see boy?" King Erilin's voice was gruff and impatient.
Piotr trembled and struggled to find his voice. "I cannot say, father. It took me to a place I did not want to go. I did not see him, your son."
"Nonsense! What did you see Piotr! We will not waste our time with that dark magic if it has no purpose to serve us! Do it again." Piotr was almost in tears as he grasped the horn back into his hands and fell into a trans again.
Piotr began to stare again and King Erilin shook him from the shoulders, "What do you see? Tell us, tell us!"
"I SEE A WOMAN, WEEPING. YOUR SON IS CONSOLING HER, BUT THE WOMAN'S SKIN IS NOT NORMAL, NOW SHE IS A MALDURIAN MONSTER. NO, NO..."
"What, Piotr, what is it?" King Erilin's face had gone crazy now and Nerault was skin went cold. This was it; Piotr was seeing it exactly as it happened.
"PRINCE BRAHON HAS BEEN KILLED TERRIBLY, OH NO, OH NO, OH NOOOO." Piotr began to cry, but it was not a cry like Nerault had heard, it was a cry that curdled the blood of even the fiercest man.
"He can see me! Help, get if off, the skinchanger is looking at me!" The dragon horn fell from Piotr's hands, but his face dried up and shriveled into a terrible thing that Nerault could not put into words and he could only shield his eyes from the horror. King Erilin and the rest of the room watched in shock as Pitor's face shriveled and was no longer a face, or even a head. The rest of his body burnt to a crisp without a lick of flame and soon he was a thin piles dead leaves on the ground, sitting atop his garments.
"Well, I guess we have the truth then." King Erilin's accusing glare turned on Nerault. The guards began to encircle him and Nerault tried desperately to explain but his cries were tuned out by the clatter of spears and metal armor as they subdued him to the ground before the executioner's great broadsword. Nerault tried desperately to croak out Nightclaw's name, but his throat betrayed him, and a gag was stuffed into his mouth.
His eyes flickered up at Fallon and Vince, who watched with grimaces on their faces. Nerault tried to scream but nothing could stop the great big sword that was raised above his head. Nerault's last thought was of Nightclaw, who somehow seemed to be watching. He could hear Nightclaw's condemning words as the sword hung above him, "You would have died either way, Commander. That's just how it goes."
With the crunch of the blade upon the cord of his neck, the duty was done Nerault's head toppled noiselessly to the ground where the tile flooring ran red with blood. Fallon heaved a heavy sigh of relief from his stance beside Vince.
King Erilin turned on him, "You are not off the hook, my son. Brahon may be dead, but he is my favorite son, and now he is dead. So long as I live, I will never see you sit the throne as king of Weptswur, you piece of scum. As far as I'm concerned, you will return to the dungeon with your friend of darkness and rot there until Brahon's death has been avenged. Guards take them back to coldness below. Oh, and Fallon, sometimes the truth wins you favor, this time it didn't. Find a different to report of your brother's death your clever swine. The throne will evade you for all of your days."
The guards took their leave of the room with Fallon and Vince, barring the doors shut as they went. The king's hand had been summoned, and a new squire whom hardly reached puberty entered his chambers in due time.
"What is it my lord?" asked the king's hand, already sensing the anger inside his king.
"Gather my wife, gather the royal court. Tell the all who have come to visit. That devil of a being Terran the Slayer is to be executed tomorrow. Go now, get it done as soon as possible. That Maldur Slayer is going to pay a hefty price, a price worse than my son's own death. I mean for it to happen on the 'morrow, no questions."
"Aye, but lord, what about the great feast? Shall I prepare that for tonight? We always have a feast before such a thing."
"No, there will be NO feast. I am in mourning, and there shall be no such celebration inside my castle walls. Send out a decree to the guards to slay anyone who comes to me outside my bed chambers with a smile on their face, I wish to see no such thing."
"Yes, my lord, it shall be done." The King's hand scurried off without wasting a second and soon it was just King Erilin, his new squire, one guard at the door, and his three maids who were curled up together in the far corner of the room, trying their best to contain their sobs from reaching the King's ears.
The guards shoved Vince and Fallon back down the long twisting stairs to the dungeons below where the smell of body odor, death, and diseases plagued their sorry little noses. Vince hurled upon reaching his cell and whimpered at the thought of Piotr's death. Fallon screamed and cursed his father, kicking the bars of his cell. But none of them had taken the time to notice the cell across from them which sat empty, Fintan was gone.