Riding a horse felt good after three years of saddling beasts for others. Radviken almost felt noble again sitting atop one of his own. It wasn’t a war horse of course, only a mare and certainly no trained destrier. But, for the first time since his parents’ deaths, the young squire commanded something lower than himself. His mood was further brightened by the colors he wore as part of the king’s livery. He rode with back straight and a broad smile upon his face.
The other squires made certain to keep their distance but he didn’t mind. Just as when he served pikemen, he never needed the attention of commoners. If the penance imposed by King Cian had taught him anything at all, it was that he did not need anything from these bowers and scrapers. He served Prince Rashmere who would someday restore him as Lord of Norgaard.
He looked first at the trailing camp followers, then up at the host of knights riding alongside their prince. A small city followed, as each aristocrat brought friends, admirers, and even entertainment along. Those nobles galled him with whispered rumors and stifled laughter, and he couldn’t help but return their disapproving glances with arrogant winks and nods. Each turned quickly away and whispered their true feelings when out of reach of the prince’s ears.
Damn them, he thought. Damn their eyes and impudent tongues!
Prince Rashmere must have tired of their bootlicking and slowed his horse to ride alongside his squire. “How’s the view from back here?” he asked.
“Full of horses’ asses and their droppings,” Radviken replied.
“I know exactly what you mean,” the prince said of his nobles, stifling laughter with a smile.
“Do you really need such a parade?” the squire asked.
“I can’t really shoo them off,” Rashmere frowned. “Once word got out of our expedition, everyone in the palace wanted to see it for themselves. How much further till we reach the spot where you saw the rift?” he asked.
“Not far, just up a ways on the left.” It felt strange, returning to the site where his parents had died, but he was eager to see it just the same.
The prince looked around as if sniffing the air but watched the sun make its journey overhead. “The lunar cycle matches exactly today, just as the evening when it happened before.”
Radviken nodded. “Even the weather is the same today as then.”
“Radviken,” the prince almost sounded apologetic, “are you sure you can handle this? Emotionally, I mean. I don’t want you to re-experience anything you don’t want to.”
“I’m fine, sire. I mean it.” And he did mean it, even if he privately doubted his own mental toughness. It had been hard, dealing with the loss of his parents, especially his mother. It took three months of absolute aloneness to adjust. But part of him also craved any chance to kill more Shadow Beasts.
“Even so, you can turn back if you need to. It won’t change my opinion of you.”
That was a gift his new friend had, to read and understand people better than they did themselves. Rashmere was a good man, one Radviken truly respected.
“No. These knights and their squires would paint me a craven to the entire kingdom before I ever made it back to Midlandis.”
“I understand. Just be ready, though you aren’t my sworn thegn or housecarl, I will rely upon you for my defense. We may not see anything at all, much less the Síth, but be ready in case we do.”
“I will.” Radviken promised and reached to pat his side. In addition to riding a horse, this was the first time in three months he had worn a sword.
The party reached the spot just as they passed the ninth hour. They had plenty of time to make camp and prepare an early dinner.
It was a ludicrous site, this expedition, unnecessary in its pomp and circumstance for a mere investigation. In addition to cooks, bards and musicians set up makeshift stages, singing songs to motivate the soldiers milling about. Rashmere had brought along twenty fighting men in all. With their squires and all the extra civilians, the camp numbered at least seventy-five in total. Everyone in attendance doubted the squire’s story, that which he told the king so many months earlier, and this had become like a picnic or a holiday.
They should be afraid, worried that rift would appear again in broad daylight and treat it like a place where they faced imminent danger.
Radviken found he could not tear his eyes off one particular line of trees.
Stolen story; please report.
“Is that where it formed?” the prince asked, following his friend’s eyes.
“Yes. It was like a tear in the air itself, flapping on the breeze of time and space.”
“What was beyond it?”
“Nothing,” the squire whispered. “Nothing at all!”
The sound of a lute reached their ears, accompanied by a drunk voice singing a ballad of deceit.
“The great and wondrous Radviken,
with no place to stick his stick in,
took a bath, delayed the path,
and smacked his mother’s complexion!”
The verse was bad enough, but the chorus is what really got under the squire’s skin. It attacked not only him but also his mother. Worse, after the first round, the assemblage repeated it as if they all rehearsed.
“He brought his charm but meant them harm,
this son of a bitch named Radviken!”
It was too much to bear, this song, after putting up with their insults and sneers for three straight months. The squire drew his sword and took a step toward the singer.
“Rad, don’t,” urged the prince, reading the anger on his friend’s face.
All the other nobles had joined in by now, even the knights who should be watching the wood for Shadow.
“The great and wondrous Radviken,
his grand ol’ plan not mistaken,
laid out his pa, laid down his ma,
and stared with wonder perplexin’!
He brought his charm but meant them harm,
this son of a bitch named Radviken!”
“I’m going to kill them all,” he growled, the prince now holding him back with all his strength.
“Don’t fuel their mockery,” Rashmere hissed. “You’re falling right into their trap!”
His friend was right. Radviken relaxed his stance and slid the sword back into its sheath. “I swear, after we seal off the realms, and you make me a nobleman, I won’t tolerate this from any of them!”
“I won’t make you,” Rashmere promised.
Then a lovely young woman took the stage. Radviken groaned when he realized it was Molly, the daughter of the Duke of Enat, that one who had humiliated him so badly before. She led the final verse, ad-libbed on the spot.
“The great and wondrous Radviken,
his sword quite limp if not shaken,
stared at the law, afraid that they saw,
and shouted out, ‘Twas Shadow men!’”
This time only the women sang the chorus, belting it loud and lifting up their skirts for the men. This resulted in a whooping delight filled with laughter.
“He brought his charm but meant them harm,
this son of a bitch named Radviken!”
“That does it,” Radviken said, drawing his sword and wrenching his body free of the prince’s hold. “I’m killing them all, every single last one of them!”
Abruptly, a flash of light lit the clearing with a brilliance that forced every person in the camp to cover their eyes. As they cowered, only the prince and his squire turned their eyes to the tree line.
The rift appeared just as before, like the air had been ripped instead of sliced apart, revealing perpetual darkness lurking beyond the jagged edges of reality.
“It’s beautiful,” whispered Rashmere.
“No,” Radviken corrected, his sword now pointed toward the gap between the trees. “It’s terrifying.”
A guttural howl drowned out his warning.
One by one the partygoers turned to the source, the shimmering darkness reflected in their wide, staring eyes.
“Get behind me, your highness,” Radviken urged, raising his blade and taking a defensive stance.
The squad of knights between the camp and the fluttering tear did the same, ready to meet whatever danger wandered into their world.
“Hold!” their captain commanded, as fifty Draugars raced through as a charging line.
“They nearly outnumber us three to one!” the prince exclaimed, worried his knights would not be enough.
“Get on your horse,” Radviken urged the prince, “and flee to Midlandis. Send reinforcements.”
As Rashmere turned to find his mount, both living and dead crashed together amid the sound of ringing steel. Though well armored, the Draugar easily fell, and the knights became emboldened by each they slew, stepping over the bodies and pushing the others toward the rift.
“No!” Radviken shouted. “They rise again! They come back to life! Don’t turn your backs on them!” But it was too late. Those which had been cut down stirred, climbing to their feet and surrounding the row of knights. So captivated by the thrill of battle, the men never noticed the trap until they were encircled and cut down from behind. Soon, even those loyal knights had risen to fight against their living allies.
As if harkened by the death of the front line, a dozen hellhounds emerged from the shimmering tear between worlds, racing forward and leaping over the carnage. The beasts did not hesitate as they rushed into the partygoers, each frozen in place by fear. Molly never left the stage, staring wide-eyed with mouth agape in a silent scream. A hellhound scooped her up in its teeth, shook, then snapped her back like a dried branch.
Rashmere had one foot in the stirrup when his steed, startled by the foul beasts flooding into the camp, reared and sent the young man toppling backward. Stunned, the prince stared up at Radviken, his eyes silently pleading for help as his mount fled with the other horses.
“Come,” the squire commanded his liege, reaching down a helping hand to lift him up, “there’s too many of them! You must get to safety!”
Rashmere eagerly grabbed the waiting hand of his squire and let him pull him to his feet. With sad eyes he watched the carnage. “I…” he stammered, “I always knew I’d send men into battle, to their deaths even, but nothing prepared me for this.”
Radviken abruptly snapped the prince’s attention away from the battle. “Exactly!” he growled. “No one is prepared for this! I was condemned as a squire by your father because of this!”
Rashmere briefly turned to watch as hellhounds devoured the camp followers. He saw also that the Draugars had finished off all twenty of his knights. Set apart from the celebrations of the others, none of the Shadow Creatures had yet noticed the prince and his squire. Radviken dragged him away, making for the cover of the forest.
The sky overhead darkened, signaling dusk had officially arrived.