“Garreth, we must get to the wall, hurry!” The young squire yelled. His voice strained with fear and anguish. Crimson splotches could be seen through his tan-colored tunic. They marred the image of a grinning sun that lay emblazoned across the front. He was wounded.

The knight said nothing but turned in the squire’s direction. His expression was unknown through the gray lacquered great helm he wore on his head. His eyes, hardly seen in the narrow slit that ran across the top of the helmet, were the only part of him that betrayed his feelings. They appeared worried.

Garreth and the Squire continued their backward retreat, taking care to hack forwards now and again to prevent more abominations from advancing. They were hideous corpse creatures of rotten flesh in various conditions of decay. Some appeared fresh as if they had been dead no more than a week. Others were skeletal and had been dead for years if not eons. Regardless, the brittle condition did not affect the ferocity of their fighting.

Garreth glanced at his sword. Bits of stringy flesh and viscera clung to it in strands and it stank of copper. It was getting dull, and soon would not be enough to hack through the bone and muscle of their reanimated enemies.

“Ah!” A pained cry pierced the air around them. It was the squire. He stood beside Garreth using a large kite shield to cover his wiry frame. A few creatures shambled against it, unable to get past the sturdy combination of metal and wood. However, this left the squire open to other attacks, and one of the wretched things had accosted him from the side and bit at his shoulder. Its hollow eyes stared blankly ahead as the jaw moved up and down. A trail of blood ran down the squire’s arm, the top of which was entirely red now.

Garreth raised the butt of his blade and struck the corpse in the back of the head. The pressure of the metal created a dent in the back of its skull and it hung limp for a second before crumpling to the ground. Some of its teeth remained embedded in the squire’s shoulder. Garreth took another thrust forward and speared his blade through one of the enemies stacked against the squire’s shield. The flesh gave way with a soft squelch and Garreth could see black, rotted organs within. Maggots, flies, and other vestibules of decomposition piled onto the dirt below. The reduced pressure on the shield gave the squire enough strength to shove it forward, knocking the other creature pressed against it to the ground. Garreth wasted no time and delivered a swift stomp to its skull. The heavy metal boot caused an instant depression at the top of the head, making the sunken sacks of fluid that were once eyeballs to displace outward: brain matter and darkened, black blood pooled from the site of the impact.

The squire shoved his shield forward, knocking the remaining enemies off balance. Garreth slashed at the one in front. His blade notched right into the side of its face, displacing the skin and making a solid knocking sound as the dull blade chipped into the skull. The creature reeled back, crowding up against the second. The squire used the opportunity to turn backward and sprint at the large castle behind them. Garreth followed.

Scenes of carnage lay around them. Knights and squires alike, footmen, archers, priests, musicians, all laid on the ground, victims to the horde of undead soldiers. There were many of those on the ground as well, missing appendages and flapping their now shattered jaws and skulls at nothing in particular.

Garreth felt the exhaustion creep into his bones. They had fought for hours. Though his armor kept him protected it impeded his movement and the weight of the metal around his frame felt cold and heavy, like the surge of running water over a stone. Finally, they made it back towards the castle gate. There were less undead here than further up the path but it wouldn't be that way for long. Those able to do so had started to go back towards the castle, leaving the wounded to succumb to their foes. Garreth thought that might be for the better.

He had seen the injured from the earlier days of the siege lying in the medical tents on the castle grounds. The wounds received from the abominations were nothing like Garreth had ever seen before; the affected skin turned black and festered, making amputations common. Boils burst over the wounded areas and if the pus was not cleaned quickly it would continue the cycle of infection and reinfection.

His thoughts turned to his squire ahead of him who had just jogged through the gate.

“Sit,” Garreth said, “Let me see your shoulder.”

The squire sat on the ground in front of Garreth, thankful for the opportunity to rest. Garreth stripped his gauntlets and carefully removed the outer layer of the squire’s clothing. His hands, though gentle, did not shake. They stayed firm and steady like the hands of a surgeon. He pulled the shoulder of the squire’s tunic down and to the side, exposing the wound. The squire winced as the fabric slid against the bite. Small fragments of teeth could be seen lodged in the skin. There was tearing in the bite mark and the skin around was already red and inflamed.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“I can hardly feel my arm,” the squire said.

Garreth made no reply. He stood up and walked over to the medical tent, coming back quickly with a pair of forceps, a container of poultice, and a roll of bandages.

“Hold still,” Garreth said.

He took the forceps in his hand and pried one of the teeth out of the wound. The squire cried out in pain at the forceful maneuver but then covered his mouth. Garreth continued, removing the teeth from the wound and following it up with a healthy smear of the poultice. It smelt strongly of herbs. He then wrapped the bandages over the squire’s shoulder and around his arm a few times, creating a tight seal.

“Thank you,” the squire said.

“That was the simple part,” Garreth said, “Pray it doesn't take on infection or you'll end up like them.”

Garreth gestured with his head towards a hand-drawn cart slowly making its way down the row of tents. Bodies lay strewn about in the back of the cart stacked on top of each other. Normally they would be afforded proper burial but due to the siege, everything had to be done within the castle grounds so they would be burned instead.

A horn sounded in the distance towards the keep. It was three ascending tones, each a third step from the other. Garreth and the squire recognized this as the command to close the gate.

Shouting could be heard as soldiers right outside made one final push to get back to safety. The heavy chains that wound the gate in place creaked and clinked as it started a slow descent. Once lowered, Garreth could see men still on the other side, desperately trying to get there in time to live another day. Their cries were ignored, and heavy wooden doors were shut in front of the gate, ensuring that even if someone were to squeeze through the holes in the grate of the gate they would still be locked out of the castle grounds.

“You are dismissed,” Garreth said to the squire. “Clean up your things and get some rest, there will be more fighting tomorrow.”

The squire nodded and slowly rose to his feet. He walked off towards a small stone building on the right-hand side of the castle grounds. It was the squire quarters.

Garreth returned to the medical tent and gave the forceps, poultice, and remaining bandages to one of the attendants. The smell of death and rot started to clear and was soon replaced by the aroma of stew and bread. Though they had been fighting for a week their rations were hearty. A bountiful harvest that fall led to a well-stocked winter. Garreth figured it did not matter how much food they had as their foe did not require any. This would have to be something they fought out of.

The short walk to the knights’ quarters was uneventful. Garreth opened the door to the simple, stone building casually. He stepped into the main room and removed his helmet. Tightly braided locks of black hair covered the top of his head and rested right above battered ears that would need to be lanced later. His skin was an umber shade of brown and stretched across a thin nose and sharp lines that made up his cheeks and chin. Brown eyes peered out from beneath bushy eyebrows that matched his skin and the rest of his hair.

Garreth sighed and began to strip the armor off of his body, he wished he didn't dismiss the squire earlier but resigned himself to doing it alone. He knew the boy was tired, and he needed rest if his shoulder was to heal. The boy was a good squire, Garreth thought to himself. He fought with as much bravery as some of his fellow knights. Garreth knew better than to get attached to the idea. Squires came and went quite often. Not many of them made it to knighthood, and even fewer of those made it to retirement. The thought of which had never crossed Garreth’s mind. All of his life he had been raised to fight, to kill. He knew he was destined to die in battle. A warrior could keep the sharpest sword and the finest arrows, but time was undefeated.

“Garreth!” The swing of the door accompanied the voice. Garreth turned and smiled dryly. It was Silas, a fellow knight. Silas was the closest thing to a friend Garreth had. He didn’t make a habit out of befriending the other knights. The politics and intrigue of the realm meant loyalties were ever-changing, and plots were common.

Silas was a tall man who stood about six foot seven. Many called him “The Giant” behind his back, although it wasn’t the type of nickname that Silas would have minded. Garreth found Silas to be full of himself, but it was that confidence that made the man so formidable in battle.

“Hail, Silas,” Garreth answered. He looked at him. Large beads of sweat dripped off of the knight’s pale face and into a scraggly blonde beard that sat messily beneath his chin. His pudgy cheeks were red with exertion, and his otherwise yellow hair was dark and slick. The same grinning sun found on the squire’s tunic was found in the chest plate of Silas’s armor.

“Quite the battle today!” Silas said. There was no room for concern in his voice and nothing about his tone signified to Garreth that he was worried. That was just the way Silas was. He was not often concerned with the big picture. He lived purely in individual conquests and challenges. Garreth supposed there were advantages to compartmentalizing every day individually but this was different. This siege would not bode well for their kingdom and he had a suspicion that Silas was choosing to ignore this information.

“Indeed it was,” Garreth answered. “My squire was injured today, I hope the infection does not take him.”

“It only takes the weak, if he is your squire you should not worry,” Silas said.

Garreth nodded to acknowledge the compliment but said nothing in response. He knew it was not true. Just a day after the undead had been spotted and the first skirmish happened, Lord Haywood had succumbed. Haywood was known as a particularly demanding Lord who expected, and received, the most from his knights. Oftentimes it was Haywood’s guard that was used for the most dangerous battles. They lived and flourished at the front lines of attacks and as the last lines of defense.

“He will be back to fight tomorrow,” Garreth said.

Sensing his discontent, Silas took off the rest of his armor and engaged in a spirited discussion on gambling dice strategies with some knights who came in after him. Garreth continued in silence and soon found himself alone at the end of his bed with a bowl of stew. Tomorrow would be another hard-fought day.