Chapter 1

For the first time in weeks, the dark mass of clouds dropped water instead of ash. The soft rain created a rhythmic tapping on rock, soil, and cloth, filling the otherwise quiet scenery. Rolling hills that had created a picturesque landscape of vibrant green grass were now well churned, leaving a sea of mud in its place. And the odd spattering of once tall pine trees were now chopped down to stumps. Their wood, harvested for palisades and homes in this remote countryside.

On the top of one of the many hills was a stretch of grass and a tree that had snapped in half long ago but had managed to avoid man’s ever-searching hands. Its wild spray of branches and withered trunk were saturated by a black rot that would keep any woodsman at bay. Its wood was twisted but the verdant red sap that had once leaked from it was long gone. Tied to the tree and two long poles pushed into the ground close by, was a stretch of cloth that made a makeshift shelter. Beneath the cloth sat a man, his back pressed against the stump, a smoldering fire just to the side, and a long-handled blade stabbed point first into the ground. Saddle bags were piled across from him, just under the tarp’s protection, and down the slope a pale gray horse cropped the grass that still grew. 

The man wore plain clothes, mostly of wool and cotton. His pants were dyed brown, his loose white shirt was stained by mud and blood, and his boots, far sturdier, were made of thick leather. Laid out in what space was left was a chainmail shirt and a leather garment his people called a turterk, which was made of thick, hardened leather and studded with iron. It was sleeveless and covered the chest and back before turning into a battle skirt that had a cutout on the front for more movement.

It was simple armaments and the man who bore them was much the same. He was young, in his mid-twenties, with tanned skin and light brown hair that hung down just past his shoulders. A scraggly beard was growing along his jawline but was a rather pitiful attempt at it, especially for his people who prized long thick beards. Or they did before everything fell apart and there were more important things to worry about.

The man’s eyes were closed but he wasn’t sleeping. He simply sat and relished his moment of peace, doing his best not to think about anything while keeping watch with his ears. It wasn’t hard to hear the sounds of an approaching rider through the light rainfall. He cracked an eye to see a man in soldier's livery, a deep blue with a black bull's head, which was relatively clean. He sighed and closed his eyes, more than likely the man wasn’t a threat, just another messenger with a job.

There was a rustling of paper as the rider dismounted then silence as he stood waiting. Cracking the eye again, he saw the man shifting nervously, scroll in hand. From the looks of him, the newcomer was younger than he was and didn’t seem all that comfortable outside the safety of a settlement. With a sigh he opened his eyes and lifted his gaze, giving the stranger his full attention. It took the rider a moment to notice he was being watched as his eyes were constantly flicking side to side scanning the horizon. 

Once the realization came he snapped into straight-backed attention and proffered the rolled paper in his hand. “I was sent to deliver an offer to the Easterner they call Aguerus Marus, are you him?”

Ag, only his mother and a few of the sellswords he used to run with called him Aguerus gave him a long look before replying. “Aye, though I doubt it matters that I’m from the East anymore. Haven’t you heard? the world ended.”

The younger man frowned, slightly confused. “Umm, yes, well, I’m supposed to give this to you.”

Ag contemplated staying where he was but he took pity on the poor boy and stood. “Alright hand it over, let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

He stood with a groan as he remembered the stiff back he’d had all day and took the rolled paper. It was short and to the point which Ag was glad for. Whatever lords were left were overly fond of waffling on about the years before everything had ended and their claims to whatever power they had just to make their jobs seem more legitimate. If only they’d realize no one cared who they were so long as they paid in food and steel.

The letter read:

Aguerus Marus, your services are required on a matter most urgent.

Your skills come highly recommended by a member of the Black Guild.

You are summoned to appear before his Lordship Andelmar Andel in Perouth.

Rewards for the job as well as the job details shall be provided on arrival.

“Andelmar Andel.” Ag mused. “Which high and mighty pain in the ass is this?”

The messenger bristled at the comment, his pale face flushing with anger on behalf of his lord. “His Lordship Andel is the finest lord to grace our land.” He snapped. “The First Hand of the King and Ruler of the Western March.”

Ag grunted. “Sounds insufferable.” He tossed the letter back to the boy and spun on his heel. He snatched up the chainmail shirt and put it on before buckling his belt and going for his turterk. “Well, mount up lad, you’d best show me where Perouth is in this god's forsaken land.”

The man hesitated a moment, his eyes locking onto the diseased trunk Ag had been leaning against. “What about that?” He asked.

Ag looked at it then back at the messenger. “What about it?”

“You could’ve gotten sick from it. If the sap touched you…”

Ag scoffed. “There’s no sap left in the thing. Don’t think I don’t know how to stay away from the plague after I’ve lived this long. Now mount up.”

The man hesitated still but Ag shot him an angry and suspicious look, a common reaction to anyone seen near signs of the plague. Nevertheless, the younger man climbed into the saddle.

__________

It was hard to tell what time of day it was through all the clouds but if Ag had to guess he’d assume it was near midday. A slight wind had picked up, making what sparse grass there was sway in the breeze. Strapped to Ags’ back was Huk, from the hoop at the base of its nearly three-foot-long leather-bound hilt to the leather strap across his chest that kept its scabbard in place. The blade was a bit over two feet, slightly curved, and far thicker than most swords. Over the years Huk had become adorned with a few trinkets. Teeth from various animals, colorful feathers, a pair of bone dice he’d punched holes through for a string, and a myriad of other items he’d gathered from his travels.  

As they rode they had a good view of the vast stretches of what had once been thick grass but had, over the past decade, been trampled to mud by passing hordes. Off in the distance were the corpses of buildings and men, ripped apart. A parenting gift left by the world's new masters Just a few more signs of the world's new masters. The messenger was looking at all of it with wide-eyed horror.

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“Have you not seen all this before?” Ag asked

The man replied with a silent shake of the head and Ag nodded in confirmation. “Everything falls to the plague.” He muttered darkly. “The few that aren’t ripped apart are twisted and deformed, like that tree back there. Watch out for yourself, and you may avoid that fate, at least for a bit longer.”

The rain still fell, soft and light, but just enough to work its way through any opening in Ag’s clothes so within a few hours he was soaked to the skin. The weather only served to sour his mood and he hoped the lute strapped to the back of his saddle would be alright in its leather case. Any other part of his equipment he could replace but the lute? Every settlement had a dozen swordsmiths or armorers but it seemed the end of the world made for a poor selection of instrument makers.

“So, you’re from the East?”

The question almost made Ag jump. The soldier beside him had been silent since they’d left and he’d felt no urge to break it. “Yeah.” He replied after a moment. “Not far east but still East.”

“Your name doesn’t sound Eastern.”

Ag snorted. “It’s not. You can blame my da for that.” He chuckled to himself. “He was a Southerner, a fine upstanding citizen of the Empire.” He chuckled to himself. No one who’d ever met his da would have ever described him as a fine example of an imperial citizen. To the Easterners, he was a very cultured man, but to the Empire, he had been nearly a savage. Perhaps that was why he’d run off east and married his mom. He'd been as much an Easterner as anyone born there but he’d never quite left his roots behind. Ag wasn’t sorry about his name not being Eastern, he liked it well enough, and if his da had chosen an Easterner's name, it would’ve just been another set of grunts to add to his mother’s lineage.

 “So what’s your name?” Ag asked, not because he really cared but just to have something to do on the long ride.

“Martine.”

Ag smiled. “Now that’s a Western name for sure.”

His horse snorted as if in agreement and he patted the animal's neck. That snort seemed only the beginning though as both horses began fidgeting and snorting nervously. Ag’s gaze immediately snapped up to scan the area around. Humans didn’t make the horses act like this even if they weren’t familiar, but the plague-ridden…that was another story. 

“Eyes up.” Ag barked and instinctively reached for his weapon.

Martine looked around wildly, his fear rising with the struggle to keep his horse in check. “What is it?” He asked. To his credit, his voice didn’t have any tremble in it, which at least meant he probably wasn’t completely useless.

Ag didn’t reply; he instead spurred his horse to the top of the next rise and found the source of the animal's fear. Below them was the corpse of a deer, at least it looked like a deer. It was hard to tell with all the flesh that had been ripped off and the blood soaking what was left. The thing that had killed it was still there, crouching over the corpse, shoveling handfuls of raw meat into its mouth. The dull light and rain made it hard to see clearly but made its eyes pop out starkly as it turned to look at them.

“Gods above.” Martine hissed as he rode up beside Ag. “It’s one of them.”

“Yeah,” Ag grumbled as he slipped off his horse and drew his weapon. 

The plague-ridden creature stood, its body a twisted and deformed shadow of a man. What skin was unmarred by red veins and the creeping layer of black, stoney growths was pale gray. Its eyes shone with a red manic light, its hair had long ago fallen out and was being replaced by growths of what looked like stone. Through its tattered remnants of clothes, he could see more patches of it along with the new layer of skin. That was how they’d gotten the name Stone Skin, he guessed it was also because plague-ridden was too hard to say for some people. 

The thing stared at him, a clicking coming from deep in its throat, its talon-like fingers clenching and unclenching. It stiffened for a moment, becoming, perfectly, unnaturally still then it screamed. It was a guttural sound and the act of doing it seemed to spur the creature forward. It charged him, its hand swiping horizontally in a wild strike. 

Ag ducked the blow swiping his blade across its stomach as he did. An overly bright red stream oozed from it, too thick for blood. The beast screamed and twisted around seemingly unaffected by the gushing red liquid spilling out of it. It charged again and Ag had to backpedal quickly to avoid the swipes from its claws. It managed to scrape the front of his leather armor but the strike left it exposed and he took the opportunity to jab his blade into its neck. He twisted around behind it and grabbed the stoney growths on its head, pulling back as he ripped the blade out, leaving a gash down to the spine.

It stumbled on, still flailing, as its head sagged and lolled from either side with no muscles to support it. A gurgling sound came from it as it twisted around to face him. Ag didn’t give it the chance at a last charge, gripping the hilt of his blade with both hands he swung a powerful blow that took the thing's head off. It fell backward, hitting the ground with a spray of blood from the stump of its neck.

Ag looked down on the creature dispassionately before turning on his heel and walking back to the horse. Martine had sat motionless on his horse through the short fight and finally stirred as Ag joined him.

“Thanks for the help.” He said.

“Sorry.” He muttered. “You seemed to have it handled. I didn’t want to get in your way.”

Ag sighed. “No matter. Let's move off, where there’s one there’s more and I’m not keen to meet his friends.” He looked down at himself, noting the spray of already drying blood that coated the front of his armor. “And now I've got to wash this again.” He spat at the corpse as they rode past then laughed. “What a way to start the day.”

__________

Two days of riding had brought them across the hills towards the coast. The sky had cleared somewhat but the rainy season had only just started and there’d be more to come. The wind had picked up the closer they got to the inland sea. Most called it the Teardrop Lake but it was far too large to be a lake in Ag’s opinion. It was at least shaped roughly like a teardrop and there were legends aplenty as to why it was called that, most so far-fetched it was impossible to even begin to believe them. 

On the shores of the sea was a decent-sized town surrounded by a wooden wall with a dirt embankment behind it and a short but fairly thick-looking keep near the center. “Is that it?” Ag asked. “Perouth or whatever it was called.”

“Aye,” Martine replied. The boy’s spirits seemed to have lifted the closer they’d gotten and he was nearly giddy with excitement to return to the safety of a walled town. 

“Well, we best get a move on. From my experience, the high and mighty don’t like to be kept waiting.” With that, Ag spurred his horse forward and Martine was not long in following.

The approach to the town was more empty than the hills save for the bodies. The mud must have stretched for nearly a mile around and hundreds of feet had turned the ground into an uneven mess. Craters were marked from either a sort of catapult or rock-throwing ballista and the nearer you got to the walls the thicker the corpses littered the ground. A great many were old and decaying yet their stone markings betrayed what they were. The newer ones were far fewer and most were piled by the wooden wall. A path had been cleared to the gate with piles of corpses walling it in nearly as high as their horses.

“Your countrymen don’t seem to be too kind to their neighbors,” Ag remarked, scanning the many bodies. 

Martine shot him a look as if to check if he was serious. “No, we don’t and I doubt yours are any more kindly.” He didn’t speak for a long moment then said, “There shouldn’t be this many. The burn piles would have already started.”

“Seems your little slice of paradise is becoming more and more popular with the locals. Some of these fellas don’t look more than a day old.”

“We’ve been seeing more of late,” Martine whispered, riding close to Ag as if he were imparting a great secret. “The hordes, I mean. We used to see them once a month if that, and they weren’t usually very large. Now it's twice a month and they just keep coming with more.”

“Fascinating,” Ag replied, leaning closer to Martine. “Why are we whispering?”

The younger man glanced up at the guards at the gate before replying. “His Lordship doesn’t want the soldiers talking about it. Bad for morale, the officers say.”

Ag nodded as the gates creaked open, the thick, solid wood doors pulled from behind by two men each. Ag kicked his horse forward, mulling over what Martine had said. More and more every month. That wasn’t good for anyone. It seemed the West might not be as safe as he’d thought. 

“Where’s this lord of yours.” He asked. “I wouldn't mind getting through with this job as quickly as I can.”