The horses screamed, and Ser Kestral did not blame them. Very few people could, when faced with charging full well through the hordes of the undead. Bloody scratches and putrid bile coated the once shining armor of their steed, as did it coat their armor, and that of the other members of the retinue as they all breathed hard. Five horses galloped well and hard into the night, their path barely lit by mangled lanterns, as the horrors of the evening left the surviving riders either silent or swearing oaths under their breath as they rode on.
"Kess... what do we do now?" a small quiet voice murmured from Ser Kestrals lap, broke the silence of panting horses and clattering armor as the cold night air rushed through my visor. I did not respond, the battle was still in my eyes, flashes of ghouls climbing over one another, zombies risen from the common villager, and the tide of the unholy masses as good men and woman died around us flit through my mind. The screamed order of the duke to take his daughter somewhere safe before he too was overwhelmed by gnashing teeth and the magic of death wore heavier than any burden. Said daughter asked again, "Kess?" cutting through the mans haze.
"I..." Sir Kestrals voice was rough, and his response paused again as he swallowed, still breathless as the horses from the rough ride and fight for their lives. One hand pulled on the bridle, causing the horse to slow, from its desperate gallop to a canter as the aging knight took the moment to gather himself and look around.
Six knights, five horses, and their charge slowed to a stop, the survivors of the twenty that had rode out away from the castle as the barony had fallen. The distant shape of Castle Stormchester obscured by the heavy snow ladened fir trees of the forest. It was a small miracle anyone had made it out at all. Between the legions of the dead, the foul stamina sapping mists of death magic, and some profane ritual that had been in full swing by the time they had left, each of Stormchesters five towers alit like a beacon to the foul black magic sorceries...
Sir Kestral grimly realized he was the highest ranking knight among the survivors, as the others similarly took stock before looking towards him as well for guidance. The three others ahead of him were gone, each having gone down a hero in their own right wielding halberd, sword, and magic against the teeming hordes. The only thing stopping Sir Kestral from swearing profanities was the reminder of the other inhabitant of his saddle and his duty.
"We ride to Eltaquail for aid." he determined, not from his own judgement but from the judgement of his now deceased officer, "If we reach the city, we can requistion aid to contain the outbreak of the undead, and push to reclaim the castle and get our vengence upon those traitors."
"Or at the very least, contain the spread of death magic," One similarly battered knight responded, Lady Elina, if Kess identified her from her voice and slender armored physique, her halberd had broken on the shaft, leaving her with an axe like length of shattered wood for the handle, which now rested in her lap. One strand of ginger hair was barely visible from her visor, as Kestral turned to face her, "The Izots may be an immediate neighbor, but they won't be able to mobilize an invasion force to retake the castle, They, like us, have had their main forces conscripted for the southern wars."
A moody silence consumed the survivors there, the Izots were the noble family in charge of the port city of Eltaquail, a rather merchantile one at that. But the knights had to admit, that the immediate mobilization might not be possible, and another knight swore quite loudly under his breathe. The shortest by far of the remaining knights, his steed had fallen but thankfully another had managed to drag him away atop their own mount. Short and stocky, the dwarf was easily identifable as Ser Humler, whose rough black beard was as wild as the fur of a wolf and easily spotted coming out from the bottom of his own modified helmet, "Stones damn those insufferable bastards." The dwarf cursed, "What gave them the gall to defile our countrymen and betray our lord?! If I ever see one of those piss potted snakes again I'll-"
A rough bonk of a closed plated fist resounded off the top of the dwarfs head, his rescuer, causing him to bite his tongue and glare as another masculine voice joined in, "Enough of that, Hulnerem, our Honorable-..." they paused, before correcting themselves sadly, "Our Baroness is still amongst us, please contain your choice of language for her sake, if not ours."
The dwarf grumbled, but agreed, with a short apology. And seeing his chance, Ser Kestral took command of the conversation, "Thank you Ser Ferran. and believe me, Huln, I think we are all in the same boat of anger over the events of the night, but swearing isn't going to get us anywhere. With our ladies permission, I say we should move to the city regardless, as it is part of our duties to deliver our Baroness to the safety of the city, from there we can take hold of our situation in full. Elina, I would ask you after a moments more rest, to act as our scout for the path head, please see to it if the roads are clear or if they're blockaded by the damned, or any other associates of the traitors."
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
The cause of what was quickly being dubbed the 'Night of the Damned' had been a group of five mages now revealed necromancers that had been taken in by their now deceased Baron. A former adventuring party, the mages in question had been recruited months prior when they were searching for a place to settle down, having lost many of their members supposedly to the neighboring city's dungeon. A common enough story, if not for the uncommon amount of mages among them which had drawn the Barons eye.
The fact they gleefully revealed they were on the way to ascending into lichdom, and began to slaughter the castle inhabitants had been horrifying beyond belief. Ser Kestral still remembered the shock of the knights as the former baroness collapsed, poisoned in the celebratory meal, and was risen as a ghoul, her flesh turning deathly pale, and lunging for her own son's throat within moments. Kess's mind shook the stupor though, when the remaining knight, a Lady Alistein, who had yet to speak so far, placed her hand on his shoulder, rousing him from the memory.
"Shall I take over for Master Remmil?" the quiet knight asked, after his gaze focused on her. Kestral paused. Remmil was the children's caretaker, given the former master was now a ghoul or zombie somewhere still in the castle... He inhaled sharply, then nodded, as his fellow knight nodded back, and slowly moved their horse closer to take the young girl from his saddle.
A brief glow of green magic suffused her grip, the soft power of nature, as she took the young now-baronness onto her saddle, and Ser Kestral paused, lamenting again the loss of family the child before him would have to deal with in the coming days, months, and years. The youngest child had been the only survivor, just nine years of age, the newly titled baronness was going to have a rough life ahead of her. It would be a hard burden to bear, and it was with a heavy heart that Ser Kestral lay his eyes on the child proper as the horses began to move forward away even further now from the home the child once knew.
Confused, tired amber eyes poked out a mane of bedraggled black hair, a cute button nose, and slightly pale skin indicated her somewhat fragile health, slowly turning pink under the cold weather. She was still wearing her courtly dress, with her father's fur cloak wrapped around her like a blanket. The slightest signs of Freckles hidden beneath frozen tears, the knight felt as if he wouldn't be what he is if he didn't say what he was about to, "Baroness Rosamond, of the honorable House of Firguard," The other knights stiffened with the address, but he continued, steel slowly working into the resolve of his voice, "I, Ser Kestral Warrence, of Stormchester, hereby swear my fealty to you, to be your shield, and to never abandon you."
The child stared at him, gaze still not comprehending, but that was fine, she'd understand in time, he hoped, and he continued, "I hereby vow, to you, unless you wish it otherwise, to do my utmost to pave the way to your future, and to bear any burdens of which may find themselves upon your shoulders. I shall always pursue an opportunity to take vengence for you and yours, save if this vow would put you at risk."
There were magic in those words, an oath wasn't lightly spoken. And the knights paused, watching the words in respect as witness, as a knight bound themselves to their liege's child. Before, to a bit more startlement of each other and themselves, one after the other the knights began to swear themselves too.
Rosamond, for her part, did not stir from the oaths. Her own gaze, was at the treetops, where between the branches of the fir trees, she could spot the darkened tops of the distant towers of her home. For she was taking a quiet oath of her own, an oath to take back her home. Even as the strange spiralling purple energies around the towers dispersed, and as darkness took the towers and the hordes of the dead became aimless and uncontrolled. The only thought on her mind, was that she wanted to hug her parents once more.