Scratched Off

A long stretchy road coated with a simply marvelous dusting of gravel, excrement, and mud, slowly wound on for miles and miles through the lovely countryside as a small wagon crested a hilltop no higher than two average-sized men. A donkey with its head hung low and eyes nearly shut pulled the rickety little buggy. A half asleep half awake dunce ‘drove’ the rickety carriage. He held the reins lackadaisically in his gloved hands. 

Up above the lethargic duo, the sky looked rather tired as well. A few grey clouds had rolled along at around half past noon and given the sun a nice warm blanket. The temperature in the quaint countryside had remained relatively conducive to the gentleman’s relaxed attitude and the air was muggier than a swamp.

“Flip flomp, flip flomp, flip flomp, flip plop splash,” went the hooves of the equestrian beast as it slowly stepped into a small puddle in the road. The splash stirred the driver from his ‘eye resting’ with a resounding snort.

Uh oh… he hadn’t fallen asleep had he? Of course, he couldn’t have, why look, the sun it’s still… Oh dear. The sun hadn’t had that many puffballs covering it when he had last seen it, that was around ten o’clock. The sun wasn’t visible whatsoever, that meant time was relatively relative.

“Hmmmmm…” mused the somewhat weary traveler out loud. The clouds were far when I closed my eyes, soooo… The traveler had no exact idea how he was going to figure out what time it was. He hoped that if he just used up brainpower for long enough a solution might find its way into his frontal lobe.

He glanced around at his surroundings. Some mildly ominous woods to the left, a relatively empty field to the right, hills far and wide behind him, a bleak and destitute battlefield ahead of him. A bleak and destitute battlefield ahead of him? Yes, he was seeing right, although he did remove his cheaply made bronze spectacles for a moment just to wipe them with the power of astonishment, hoping that doing so may somehow alter reality itself and change what he perceived in front of him. It didn’t, and never really does, why do people do that all the time? 

Shit, that was the first word that popped into his tiny little brain and well shit was the only way to describe it really. His half-asleep donkey had somehow managed to carry the fatigued driver into a battlefield of some sort. Luckily the field was relatively desolate and empty, a few scavenger birds floated casually through the all-you-can-eat buffet of corpses, but apart from that, most everything there was dead.

Death, despite what some gothic brands of perfume might tell you, is not a particularly inviting smell-and neither is the perfume for that matter-. The cart driver’s nostrils rather suddenly became filled to the brim with the ever vomit-inducing scent of rotting corpses as his donkey further entrenched itself into the battlefield. 

Only then, when the smells of death had politely tickled the driver’s nose hairs, had the man decided that now might be a decent time to turn tail and get the hell out of doge. He pulled ferociously on the reins of his mount and began the relatively annoying process of turning a wagon around. He didn’t know what lay behind him, but he figured anything was better than a damn warzone.

Turning a wagon around is no simple task, and when the animal doing said turning is not only somewhat frightened by the corpses surrounding the path it’s trodding on, but also a lazy good for nothing jackass, that process is made similar to walking through honey.

“Alright, there we go just keep shifting right that way uh-huh yep.” encouraged the rider as the donkey slowly began to turn itself back around. The animal was likely rather pissed off, as most would probably be if one had just traveled for a multitude of miles in a relatively straightforward path, only to be told that you must rather suddenly turn yourself around and retrace all the steps you just damn well walked, this no doubt further hindered the turning process.

The animal had managed to turn the cart around fifteen degrees when the man in the driver seat began to get annoyed. “Come on you stupid ass! If you don’t hurry up I’ll have you roasted on a spit the next time we stop into town. I imagine the meat would be worth more than you’d be worth alive you stinking-”

The animal stopped quite suddenly at twenty degrees. Somehow despite all the full-scale devastation that had been inflicted upon the surrounding lands, a small daffodil had managed to survive unscathed. The flower had seemingly looked rather appetizing to the animal who was now enjoying a well-deserved snack.

“Oh for the love of-” The man glowered at the animal and pulled out a small wooden stick with a leather strip near the top of it. The stick came down hard on the side of the animal. “Move you lazy ass, move!”

The donkey lurched back into action after having been beaten, much of the daffodil had been eaten anyway. 

“Yes, that’s it!” the man smiled as twenty-five degrees was reached.

“Getting close now…” he continued as thirty degrees was reached.

“Now we are getting somewhere,” he commented as forty-five degrees was reached

“Almost there we just-”

“Whoa, there eh… slow up. Don’t wanna be going anywhere too fast eh now do we?” snickered a lightly armored gentleman as he laid a hand on the donkey’s neck. The horse stopped, some animals just have no loyalty these days.

Shit, yet again that was pretty much the only word capable of describing a moment like that. One minute you’re all alone with nobody but your horse just trying to leave, the next you have some soldier with a rather fine-looking short bow in their hand staring up at you from where your horse had been moving.

The man with the bow took a step towards the cart, the reins quite suddenly began to shake just a little bit. He took another step, the chair was shaking somewhat now. Two more steps, sweat was building up inside the driver’s gloves. A final step and the man was standing right next to the side of the wagon, smiling widely as he grabbed onto the small handle one used to climb into the seat.

“Mind if I eh come along, friend?” asked the smiling soldier with a somewhat terrifying tilt of his head. His accent was thin but existent he was southern, but not too southern, just southern enough.

“Y-y-you…” spluttered the driver as his mouth began to feel rather dry from the many raspy breaths he took in. 

The soldier put away the bow suddenly and just as quickly pulled a small dagger. “Take everything!” squawked the driver as he threw his hands up in surrender. He didn’t mean it but he figured he should at least act compliant. The soldier took a seat.

“How very generous of you eh, but I’m not in need of everything right now friend… I’m just in need of eh good company and transport.” the soldier conceded as he settled into the seat next to the driver.

“W-what?”

“I’m not eh trying to rob you, idiot, I just wanna get moving eh like you.”

“Oh… oh…” breathed the driver as he felt his shaking calm and his chest decompress. “Just a ride?”

“Yes!”

“Okay… ok… well uh…” this was awkward, the man wanted a ride. He wasn’t a damn taxi! He didn’t give rides, on top of that he didn’t even know where he was. What was he supposed to say ‘where do you wanna go’, no matter what the answer was he wouldn’t know how the hell to get there.

The man sitting in the passenger seat smiled widely then began to pick at his own teeth with the small knife. “Where we heading eh?”

“I uh… I was actually going to ask you that.”

“Ahh good, so you haven’t got anywhere eh you need to go?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, you should’ve answered eh with your destination rather than eh putting the spotlight on me!” grumbled the soldier as he removed the knife, along with a small piece of food, from his teeth. “There we go! It was eh bothering me for hours you see?”

“Sure, well I was heading for Birchdale, but it seems I’ve gotten myself quite lost.”

“Birchdale eh? You’re about a solid five leagues away from there friend.”

“Oh, so you know the way?” inquired the driver with a scratch of his eye as he adjusted his glasses.

“Somewhat eh yes,” started the southern soldier. “Problem is well, the clearest route to Birchdale is right through there,” he pointed with his dagger towards the death-filled stretch of land where the battle had taken place.

The driver’s face grew sullen. “But eh don’t worry my friend, I am not too unfamiliar with this land. I eh know a way around the warzone!”

“Excellent, well how long would it take to go that way?”

“Only about eh one month!” smiled the soldier.

“I don’t have a month!” snapped the driver as he threw his hands up.

“You know in my homeland eh they say beggars can’t be choosers. Though I’m not quite sure I understand that. I’ve seen beggars choose between where they want to eh beg before. Sometimes they choose the corner near my old home. Other times eh they beg at the fountains. occasionally they’ll beg on the benches eh you know? I eh imagine the benches must be a hotly contested spot.”

“How long would it take if we went through there?” sighed the driver as he pointed towards the corpse-littered road.

“Oh, only about half a day or so eh!”

“Well, I’ve got to deliver this wagon to Birchdale sometime today, any chance there’s a path that avoids the field but only takes a few hours?”

“The battlefield it is eh very large, you know? I’m afraid the only path I eh know around the war takes a month.”

The driver slammed his fist down on his knee. “Dammit!” he muttered.

“What?” asked the passenger.

“Huh?” questioned the driver.

“Damn eh what?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said eh damn it… what do you wish me to damn?”

“Nothing it’s a phrase dammit it’s not-”

“There you go again! Damnation is a most serious thing eh my friend you should not do it eh so lightly.”

The driver stared at the soldier like he had four heads. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The soldier suddenly moved the dagger close to the driver. The driver threw his hands up and croaked. “Do not speak of that eh place.”

“Are you mad? What do you mean? What place?”

“The cold pit my friend…” he touched his pointer finger to his lips suddenly. “It is a most eh unspeakable place.”

“Hell?”

“Shhh!” commanded the soldier, the knife sliding ever so slightly closer to the driver.

“Alright alright! I won’t say it anymore.”

“Good, you silly northerners eh don’t understand the weight of words.” prattled the southerner as he moved the dagger back to his lap.

“Whatever you say” panted the driver as he caught his breath for the second time. He looked up at the vast battlefield. “How long does this thing stretch on for anyway?”

“Very very far from eh what I remember the commanders saying. Far longer than eh they tell the papers.”

The driver whipped the donkey with his reins and turned the creature back around. “By the way eh friend. Do you maybe have any coat or something I could eh put on?”

“I’ve got a spare coat behind the seat if you need it, I don’t see why you would, it’s rather warm out.” responded the driver as he slapped the reins and pushed the donkey onward down the blood-soaked gravel pathway.

“I eh have often been told I am a cold person, you know?” laughed the southerner somewhat forcibly as he donned the black jacket.

“Are there any battles ongoing that we need to worry about?”

“Mostly stalemates eh at the moment.”

“How do you know all of this anyway?”

“Well eh…” stuttered the soldier “What do you mean by eh all this?”

“I mean all your knowledge on the battlefield we’re prancing about in.” The driver gazed at him sidelong as if the question was quite obvious since it was.

“Ahh, I see, well eh, how do you know I know all those things?”

“I know because you just told me.”

“I have eh, also often been called a liar my friend.” the southerner admitted with a casual shrug.

The driver suddenly whipped his head over to look at the brash soldier, he had a look of concealed laughter on his face. “I eh only joke friend!” he guffawed as he slapped his knee with the hand not holding the knife, the driver noticed he hadn’t taken his hand off the blade at all during the extent of their conversation.

“So are you going to answer my question or not?” coaxed the driver as he turned back to the road with an aggravated scowl on his face.

“Hmm?” the man vocalized after laughing for another moment.

“How do you know?” demanded the driver.

“In my homeland eh they say that ignorance is bliss, my friend, I eh suggest you subscribe to that eh philosophy.”

“Sure thing.” mumbled the driver more confused than before. “And uh… where is your homeland?”

“It is a far eh place, my friend,” grinned the soldier. “You likely eh have not heard of it.”

“I deliver packages to places on maps for a living, I’d say I know quite a lot.” shrugged the driver as the cart ran over a small bump in the road, it was the discarded shield of a rather dead fellow who had since become a tasty treat for a local rat.

“Well it is a place eh called-” he uttered some unintelligible word in a foreign tongue, “- but you eh might know it as Dustdale… that is what you northern fellows call it due to it’s eh reputation of being nothing but a pile of dust in the middle of the desert. It eh has changed since the name was given to it.”

“I have heard of it, but I can’t say I’m familiar with it, I’ve only ever heard rumors.”

“Good ones eh I imagine.” commented the soldier as he leaned back in the chair.

The first one the driver could remember was a rumor that the place had supposedly been temporarily taken over by cannibal savages; he’d heard that around a year ago though. “All good things, yes.” chirped the driver.

The two rode onward through the stinking stretch of murder and malice. Corpses gradually became more and more common the further they ventured into the warzone. The driver was a rather well-traveled fellow, but this much carnage? He’d never even dreamed it could be possible.

“Who is at war?” mumbled the driver as they passed a particularly gruesome pile of dead soldiers. 

They’d been silent for quite some time by then, the sudden speaking caused the talkative southerner to spring up. “Ahh, a most intriguing eh question you ask there my friend… if a straight answer existed I would give it to eh you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? How can you not know who’s at war with each other?”

“Well eh you see this place it is almost always like this. I assume you have not eh been here much before?”

“Can’t say I frequent it as a vacation spot.” quipped the driver as he clicked his tongue at the horse, it had slowed down due to a small fire that was still smoldering next to the road.

“Many, many armies come here to fight, it is madness truly. Constant eh fighting year-round almost…”

“Fighting for what?”

“Honestly that’s the eh maddening aspect of it... no one seems to know. At one eh point this was a very fertile region, now it is eh mud as far as one’s eye can see. Still, eh there are almost always five or six armies who try to eh contest the area.”

“Strange.” muttered the driver, he’d seen war before it almost always was madness, but he’d never heard of such ridiculousness as this.

“The strangest. They eh call the place the scratch.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because eh this is the place they send people they wish to scratch off their eh census sheets.”

The driver felt sick. He stared around at the countless dead bodies, some were relatively fresh, some were half-decayed, others were nothing but bones, all were dead, one way or another. It was a most wet-pant-inducing scene. All of them had been sent here to die for a war with no cause? Then it clicked like the hooves of the donkey as it stepped over a stone.

Now the driver was not necessarily a man of high academics or mighty knowledge, but when a conspiracy such as this is laid out so clearly before you it becomes somewhat hard to ignore. The sickness he felt nearly showed itself as bile built up in his throat. People, they wish to scratch off… he was overcome with a sense of mounting anger. 

No, no they hadn’t sent him here on purpose. He just got lost right? As the cart ran over a small bump in the road the packages in the back of the wagon jostled themselves wildly. They’d been doing that for the whole ride, they said he was transporting important cargo, it sounded rather light for important cargo.

“Hey, friend, could you uh… open up one of those boxes back there, with your knife maybe?” the driver said suddenly. His voice was on the verge of cracking.

The soldier stared at him sidelong. His brow furrowed with confusion. “What eh for?”

“I’d like to confirm a suspicion I have.” the driver answered blankly, not taking his eyes off the road.

The foreign man shrugged, “Whatever eh you say.”

The southern soldier pulled a small crate forward from behind the seat of the cart, he set it on his lap and kept his eye on the driver as he wedged his knife between the lid of the box. After a few creaks and a sharp snap, the box was open.

“Ehh empty, my friend.”

Shit, here he was yet again with only one word capable of describing that very moment. He was rather deep in it now, not only was he in the middle of a goddamn warzone with a potentially murderous foreigner, he had just learned that he wasn’t supposed to come back.

“Th-th-those sons of whores!” cursed the driver loudly.

“Whoa there eh friend! Everything alright?”

“I cannot believe this! They sent me out here to die dammit!” the driver screamed, pretending the danger of being in a warzone had been scratched off along with the countless dead men around him.

“Careful with the language friend I eh already told you not to use such a word lightly.” advised the soldier, attempting to calm the fiery driver’s blood rage with upheld hands.

The driver ignored him. “I’m just another number to those damn greedy bastards!”

“Please friend eh calm down, this is not somewhere we want to make eh so much-”

The driver grabbed the southerner’s shoulders in a wave of crazed anger. Spit flew into the foreigner’s face as the driver bellowed. “Can’t you see what’s happened to me! Those goddamn whoresons have gone and ruined me! My own father for fuck sake! He sent me out here to die in this wretched hellhole.”

“Shh!” hissed the soldier holding the knife up to the driver’s neck. He held his free hand to his ear. His face turned as pale as a white rabbit. “Now you’ve eh done it! You fool, hide, run… they’ll eh be here any minute. Don’t tell them I’m here, I beg of you. I promise I’ll make it up to eh you.” The southerner suddenly threw himself into the back of the wagon and hid under some white canvas typically used to cover the cargo.

The driver stared around the area dumbfounded by the display of madness he was witnessing. Unfortunately, his vision, yet again, decided to cause him to make a double-take. He wiped his glasses with his shirt for a second time and when he put them back on he could rather distinctly see four mounted soldiers cresting a nearby hill.

The gentlemen urged their horses onward down the small hillock and quickly galloped towards the now still wagon. The driver felt the reins begin to shake. The men arrived beside the wagon and slowly cantered up to the side of the vehicle. Right on schedule, the sweat started to build up in his gloves. They formed a perimeter around the wagon ensuring escape was impossible without receiving at least one good blow from one of their unpleasantly sharp weapons. The man who appeared to be in charge, based on the rather obnoxious plumage upon his shiny helmet, which was likely not at all conducive for battle, slowly sauntered up to the side of the wagon on his horse. He looked the driver right in the eyes with a teaspoon of interest and two cups of arrogance.

He coughed obnoxiously, “Well, well, well, what have we here?” he bellowed looking over the ramshackle old carriage. His mustache flared as he spoke, almost as if he purposefully curled his lips upwards to show off his relatively unimpressive facial hair. “Who are you and why have you come here?”

Who am I? Well, I’m none other than the fucking Arch Mayor of Oakdale you dimwit? No scratch that I’m the emperor of the foothills, nah forget it I am your long-lost brother here to come check up on you!  The delivery driver, who despite having been intended to be a convenient tax write-off was in no way hoping to lose his life, decided against saying what was going through his mind. “Well uh… I’m a delivery man, sir...”

“Got any sort of name, boy?” The last word came along with an extra side of saliva that lodged itself on the driver’s pale face.

“Matthew Waganison, I’m with the Waganison delivery service.”

“Ahh, are you the uh... proprietor of this fine business?” questioned the man, his nose tilted beyond the point of being able to see his eyes clearly.

“That’d be my father sir.”

“I see, well Mr. Waganison…” he let the name roll around in his mouth for a moment, most everyone did. “That’s a rather interesting name, somewhat funny almost, what came first I wonder, the wagon or your family?” he asked as most everyone did.

“My father always said the wagon was named after our ancestors,” explained Matthew candidly. He had told many annoyingly talkative travelers that before. Matthew’s father, who had changed his last name from Smith to Waganison when he created the business, always insisted it was good marketing. Now it almost felt pointless since he pretty much didn’t work for the company anymore.

“I’m not sure if you recognize this Mr. Waganison, but you seem to have wandered into our battlefront.”

You know I didn’t notice that sir! Thank you so very much for pointing out the fact that this ten-mile-long stretch of devastated land and corpse fires is a battlefield. I thought it was my grandma’s garden, thought the driver as he stared at the man with a completely empty face. “Well, sir I’ve got a delivery to make in Birchdale.”

The soldier’s face folded in on itself like a black hole upon hearing the mention of the city. “Supplying the enemy!” he grumbled violently, spit flying from his puffed-out lips.

Matthew sat frozen for a moment as the soldier eyed him with a strict glare. Nice one idiot, just what they wanted to hear! “You’re lucky you’re a neutral party, else we would have you skewered on the spot, some other fiends might do such things but that is not our way.” The other guards all stuck their fists out straight suddenly then sharply brought them to their hearts in some form of salute. Matthew deduced that these gentlemen must have been knights from the city of Honnordale. Honnordale always placed great emphasis on ‘patriotism’ whatever the hell that was. “We’ll need to search your wagon, citizen, to ensure it holds no contraband… if any is found you will be imprisoned for threatening the national security of our most righteous city.” The chest salute was repeated by all the soldiers.

“S-sure but uh well you’re not going to find anything in there.”

The brow of the head knight set a new height record. “We’ll be the judges of that sir.”

The man in charge as well as one other knight dismounted from their noble steeds and began to walk towards the back of the wagon to search it. Matthew felt something small nudge the back of his seat. He turned around to see the canvas-covered body of the southern man poking the seat of the wagon. Matthew took the hint.

“Really sir I’m telling you, you will literally find nothing back there you see all-”

“Please do not interfere with our investigation!” bellowed the head knight as he began to poke one of the crates with his sword as if testing it for booby traps.

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The men took a box off the cart right next to the canvas-covered southerner. “Err, friend please eh help,” whispered the stowaway from below the white sheet.

“There’s nothing in any of the crates! They’re all empty!” shouted Matthew at last, his voice crackling like a warm fire.

“Empty?” inquired the head knight as he picked up another light crate. His companion had been slowly prying open the crate they had already taken.

“Empty!” responded Matthew, two beads of sweat running a race against each other down his forehead.

The knight took his sword and pried open the medium-sized crate. Not a thing to be seen. This only seemed to worsen the state of things. The knight threw down the crate and drew his sword “What is the meaning of this tomfoolery?” he demanded moving up by the driver seat and waving his sword too close for comfort.

“I swear I meant no offense, sir!” Matthew shouted back, he didn’t know why he was shouting.

For some reason, the knight took Matthews shouting as a challenge and decided to shout louder. “Well, offense has been rightfully taken, boy. It’s clear that you’re some agent of espionage traveling through these lands to collect information on our glorious army!”

“What?” Matthew blinked in disbelief at the nonsense entering his ear canal.

“Silence! You’re coming with us!” roared the head knight, his helmet’s unwieldy plumage flailing about as he shook with commanding rage.

“What is the charge? Carrying empty packages!” Matthew retorted. The knight didn’t enjoy that one bit.

The face of the plumage-wearing knight turned tomato red with rage. “I needn’t explain my reasoning to the likes of you boy!” he spat, words slithering from his mouth like acid.

“But I swear I-”

The knight sliced his sword down into the cart right next to Matthew. This shut him up real quick. “You will follow us… if you get any ideas about running I’m sure the noble knight Frankenfurt will be more than willing to introduce you to his crossbow.” The head knight motioned towards one of the other mounted knights. Frankenfurt appeared preoccupied with watching the clouds for a moment before he realized that the head knight was pointing at him. Frankenfurt then menacingly aimed an astoundingly unintimidating crossbow at Matthew. Matthew solemnly nodded and agreed to follow the knights.

The knights led Matthew towards where their encampment supposedly was. The driver began to sweat nervously as he found himself slowly getting further and further away from the path, that blood-soaked gravel road was the only sense of direction he had at the time. Fortunately, the skies were beginning to clear up at least slightly, but Matthew doubted that the skies would ever be fully clear of cloud cover in a dreaded place like the scratch.

As they ventured further out into the warzone the smells only worsened. Along the path, the corpses had been repulsive but now they somehow seemed even worse. Matthew had never known what a half-decayed corpse smelt like, his nostrils wished he never had to learn. He hadn’t eaten at all that day, but still, he felt as though he could vomit at any moment. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his nose.

Something that in no small part likely contributed to Matthews’s nausea was the seemingly unbearable heat that decided to plant itself in the area. Although temperatures in the Dale region tended to remain relatively stable year-round, -with occasional sudden variance when it becomes convenient for the tone of an ongoing story- other less central regions tended to harbor far fiercer climates and weather patterns. Few knew why this was so. Although many rainologist -who study the weather and should not under any circumstances be confused with those who enjoy the study of meteors- attempted to reason it out, most of their conclusions always came down to ‘that’s just the way it is I guess’. Rainology was not known to be composed of very rigorous practitioners. This was mostly due to its stark lack of military application, which of course led to a stark lack of funding by any government who had gusto.

There were a few times that Matthew contemplated escaping, but each time he thought about it a small glimpse at the somehow ever-watchful knight Frankenfurt would quickly cause him to reconsider. I swear he doesn’t blink! thought the driver as he turned back around to face forward after glimpsing at Frankenfurt. The southerner didn’t move a muscle at any point during the journey. Matthew thought he might’ve slipped away. When he turned around, however, the sheet still covered something.

Matthew figured the situation couldn’t get any worse, so he decided to open his mouth like the idiot he was. “So uh… how far is it till we get to where we’re-”

“Silence prisoner!” snapped the head knight. He was clearly not in the mood for small talk. His face was shiny, coated in sweat. He was breathing heavily. Matthew was hot, but he figured he was pretty lucky compared to the knights who all wore some form of heavy metal armor. They likely felt like they were in an oven. 

Although the party couldn’t see the sun it was a few hours past noon by that time and the sun was ever so slowly slipping down towards the flat line of the horizon. At that time they came across what at one point must have been a forest. It was now a pocket of burned stick-like trees, bodies, and ash. In this forest, if you could call it that, the head knight suddenly found himself in quite the predicament.

“Sir…” began knight Frankentfurt, whose voice sounded incredibly high-pitched.

“What? What is it?” snorted the head knight who had seemingly passed out from the heat.

“Um… where exactly are we?” inquired Frankenfurt. All the knights had simply continued to follow the head knight's lead thinking oh don’t worry he’s gotta know what he was doing, they wouldn’t put him in charge if he didn’t… right? This thought turned out to be somewhat of a mistake.

“Oh! Well, my brethren we uh…” the head knight looked around searching for something familiar, he didn’t find much. He stopped his horse and turned to his men. “Men… are we not honorable?”

The men seemed as though they knew what to say.  Like it was a recitable passage in first grade they all responded with “Indeed commander!” They also did the little fist salute they had done before.

“Well men,” the head knight started. “Part of being honorable is being honest… is it not?”

The guards repeated their song and dance

“Well man, I will be honest with you… because I am an honorable commander am I not?” 

“Indeed you are commander!” they all bellowed rather loudly with their salute. Matthew remembered what happened the last time he was that loud and decided it may be best to duck a bit.

The head knight harrumphed and said, “Well men, I am obliged to honestly tell you that we are lost.”

The men all shouted “Indeed comman-” but caught themselves about halfway through the salute and stared dumbfounded at the head knight.

“Now don’t give me that look! Not all hope is lost… we uh… we merely need to make our way through this patch of woods then we shall find a nice vantage point and relocate our position,” he reassured them with a confident grin.

 Their faces became hopeful and they all shouted at the top of their lungs “Hurrah for your brilliance commander!”

You know how they say, if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, did it really fall? Well here’s a new conundrum for you, if a small squadron of knights shout obnoxiously in the woods and a brigade of enemy soldiers is there to hear them, did the knights really stand a chance? In Matthews’s opinion, the answer was most definitely no.

As the knight’s finished celebrating their commander’s honorable leadership they quite suddenly found themselves with more than one arrow in the chinks of their armor, and many fountains of blood spurting forth from their flesh. The commander quite quickly turned tail and ran. “It’s called honorable relocation men! Honorable relocation!” he shouted as he fled the scene, his horse galloping madly.

In about five minutes what was at one point a proud squadron of Honnordale knights, had in essence become a few more scratched-off numbers.

Luckily Matthew didn’t join them, his strategic ducking had saved him from a number of arrows that happened to fly right above his cranium. Once the knights became a part of the scenery, around ten skinny men in cloaks emerged from behind the previously lively trees. They held bows and most were pointed right at Matthew’s nose.

Matthew immediately threw his hands upwards as a sign of surrender. One gentleman who appeared to be the man in charge emerged from the group of bow-wielding men and walked up to the crat his relatively blank eyes fixed on Matthew. 

“Well well… no visible weapon… traveling with a convoy of Honnordale knights... who are you?” The man in charge of the bowmen looked Matthew up and down as if he were a museum piece.

“J-just a delivery man,” stammered Matthew who was still somewhat shocked at how quickly the knights had been dispatched.

“Hmm… and just where too and what are you delivering?” pondered the skinny soldier as he casually roamed around the sides of the cart trying to see what was inside it.

“Absolutely nothing,” stated Matthew bluntly.

The soldier was somewhat taken aback by the sudden admission. “Nothing?”

“The last guy asked the same question… yes nothing!” explained the frustrated Matthew as he made a gesture towards where the head knight had run off too.

“Well then… what’s under the white sheet?” asked the soldier. Unlike the relatively unobservant knights, these men seemed far more keen-eyed and alert.

Matthew stumbled for a moment not knowing what to say. After some thought, he went with a last-ditch effort. “More sheets,” he stammered unconvincingly while the man in charge stared at him with dark eyes. Well, you did it now… congratulations idiot. More sheets! The stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. That dumbass southerner is gonna be found and your both gonna die, you stupid stupid idiot! More sheets? What the hell is wrong with-

 “Alright,” the soldier in charge said with a shrug. Although observant he appeared adequately satisfied with the stupid answer. “But, you still didn’t answer half of my first question.”

Matthew felt so relieved about the fact that the man had bought his bullshit that he almost didn’t hear what he said. “Oh um… Birchdale,” he said with an unconvincing smile, his fingers crossed behind his back, hopeful that the men were in some way friendly to the town of Birchdale.

“Ahh… you see that’s an issue,” explained the man in charge. He rounded the cart, came back around, and stood directly in front of Matthew. “Unfortunately, we’ve been instructed to terminate anyone transporting anything to any one of the cities that Slimdale is at war with… that includes Birchdale, you see my predicament friend?” The soldier in charge made a gesture to his men. The Slimdale rangers drew their bows and began to nock their arrows.

“Wait wait!” stammered Matthew, his hands waving frantically about. “You said that you are supposed to terminate anyone who is transporting anything to any one of the cities, correct?”

The chief ranger lowered his bow for a moment and stared at the driver with a confused glare. “Yes, I just said those words exactly. What are you getting at?”

“Well, I’m not transporting anything!”

The chief ranger scratched his chin in confusion for a moment. He looked to his men who all also seemed confused and had paused the aiming of their bows. “No, you are! You’re transporting nothing!” declared the ranger as he pointed defiantly towards the man in the cart. The others nodded in agreement, re-aligned their bows, and began to draw back the strings.

“Nothing is not anything!” responded Matthew frantically. Yet again the men paused their bows and turned to their leader for guidance. Yet again the chief ranger scratched his chin.

“Of course it is… w-well hold on now…” he huffed to himself and turned to his men. “Who here believes that nothing is anything?” About four men raised their hands along with the chief ranger. “Who here believes nothing is not anything?” The remaining five raised their hands. “What on earth has gotten into you?” he questioned one of the five who had said nothing was not anything.

“Y-ya see sir, I-I mean how can nothing be anything if well… it’s nothing? If there’s not a thing there how can it be anything?” argued the man who the chief had singled out, the others nodded with him. He sounded rather confused by the whole situation.

“Well because anything is anything!” shouted the chief ranger. “Anything includes everything… which includes nothing!” The other men who had said that nothing was not anything, acted as though they were weighing something in their hands and pursed their lips in thought.

The ranger who had been singled out shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure if I buy it. Who says anything includes everything?”

“It’s in the definition of the word dammit!” answered the chief ranger.

“I’m not sure it is with all due respect sir,” declared the singled out man as he raised his palms.

“Alright fine I’ll prove it!” shouted the chief ranger. “Does anyone here have a small pocket dictionary?” he asked the men at large. All of them shook their heads except one.

“I does chief!'' exclaimed one of the men who seemed as though he could’ve used a few extra vocab lessons. His voice seemed to fill the air with stupidity, it was alarmingly deep and dumb sounding. His head was misshapen, oddly tumorous. “My ma gave it ta me fore’ I left! She says ‘always pr-prac-practice’ … yea practice… ‘yer words!’”

“That’s marvelous private Jimson but please may I see the dictionary.”

“Ok,” Jimson said cheerfully as he handed the small dictionary over to the chief ranger.

“Why is there a bite out of the front cover?”

“Brain food,” responded Jimson with a toothy smile.

The chief ranger flipped through the small booklet until he located the word anything. He placed his finger on the page then read out loud “Anything: a common word used to describe any such thing or any thing whatsoever!” he declared triumphantly.

“Ha! So it doesn’t include everything!” responded the man who had been singled out, with a clap and a point.

The chief ranger blinked his eyes then reread the passage, mumbling it to himself. “Hmm… no I suppose it doesn’t.”

“So does that mean I get to leave?” asked Matthew hopefully.

The chief ranger played around with the thought in his head. “I suppose so… well…” he sat deep in thought for a moment contemplating just what the word, anything meant.

“Sir if I might interrupt,” butted in one of the men as the chief ranger was thinking.

“What is it, can’t you see I’m thinking?”

“Well, of course, sir but I just had a thought you see…” started the interrupting ranger. “You see sir while you were thinking I was thinking right, and well I was looking at the cart and quite suddenly it hit me. He isn’t transporting nothing, he’s transporting boxes, he may also be moving white canvas sheets across the border for all we know!” remarked the man confidently pointing towards the sky with brilliance.

“You’re absolutely right!” The chief ranger turned back towards Matthew and nocked an arrow in his bow. “Sorry traveler… we simply cannot afford to let those boxes of nothing and white canvas sheets fall into enemy hands,” he explained as he drew the bow back and aimed it at Matthew’s head. “Understand that it’s nothing personal. If we didn’t do this we’d be hanged for treason you see. So really we don’t mean any offense by it but well unfortunately we gotta kill you so hopefully you’ve made peace with that and well have a lovely afterlife and-”

The man was interrupted quite suddenly by a rather sudden hissing sound. He looked down at his feet to see a small black ball with a lit fuse. “Son of a bit-” 

“Bang, flash, neigh.” Were the sounds Matthew heard as the ranger brigade was decimated by some other force. His donkey had reared upwards quite suddenly in fear. This fear was potentially due to the small grenade that just turned the, once whole, chief ranger, into tiny bite-sized pieces, or maybe it was due to something else? The world will likely never know the true inner workings of that donkey’s mind.

As Matthew’s eyes adjusted and his sight, which had been scared by the blast, crept back, he saw a handful of the rangers running. He also witnessed one of them, who had failed to flee, be decapitated by an axe-wielding footman who wore white medium armor. By this point, the delivery man wasn’t even that surprised.

“Alright sir…” commented the axe-wielding footman. “I think we got ‘em all!”

The twenty or thirty-odd men, all of whom wore some form of light or medium armor painted white, began to cheer for their decisively unfair and imbalanced victory. “Quite! All of you!” snapped their commander who wore black painted cloth armor and rode a horse. He walked up to the wagon and looked over it suspiciously. “So…” he murmured to himself as he looked over Matthew. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here?”

Matthew blinked at him dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”

“We have been expecting your shipment of Invisa Cloaks™ from Pelldale for hours! How the hell did you manage to get this lost. Were you even trying to travel in the right direction?” he shouted furiously as he stretched out his hands indicating the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere.

“In-Invisa Cloaks™?” asked Matthew, his mouth agape.

“Yes! Are they all still here? Or did you manage to lose them along with your directions?” the commander snapped.

Matthew shook his head and began to laugh hysterically. The commander didn’t see what was so funny and quietly asked one of his men if he had anything on his face since he had eaten a meatball sub not too long ago, the man said no. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes, they’re here!” Matthew shouted happily after laughing.

“Quiet! You’ll draw more enemies. Now if you have the cloaks it’s high time we bring you back home. We’ve been tracking you for a few hours now. You went past the city a good while ago. It shouldn’t take more than a day to get back to Birchdale… hopefully, we can make it alright.”

“Yes please let’s go! I can’t wait to get the hell out of this shithole!” exclaimed the excited Matthew as he repositioned himself at the front of his wagon. He didn’t pay attention to what the men had said; he simply wanted to get to some semblance of civilization. He whipped the reins on his horse and followed the men out of the burned woods towards Birchdale.

After the men had left the woods the sun fell low and turned the sky from blue to pink. Night would arrive shortly, and in the Dale, the moon was never a certainty. The celestial body tended to come and go as it pleased. 

Matthew had been feeling pretty good. He’d managed to escape certain death at least two or three times by that point and was fairly certain he hadn’t simply been set up to fail by his father. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve been more than happy. But he wasn’t. No, Matthew's good mood was quite suddenly stolen from him by a little jab in the back. “Hey eh friend!” whispered that damned southerner. Matthew had been so caught up in realizing that he hadn’t been sent out to the scratch to die that he forgot about the little weird talking thorn in his side.

Matthew glanced around ensuring none of the Birchdale soldiers were watching, then he bent over somewhat suspiciously. “What?” he muttered annoyedly to the stowaway.

“Well eh, I heard what is in these eh boxes friend and well I was eh thinking…”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Come on eh friend I’d only take a couple,” responded the southerner causally.

“That couple of cloaks could be the difference between me getting fired or killed for theft, you ungrateful ass!” exclaimed Matthew quietly. One of the guards glanced at him and Matthew suddenly shot up from his bent-over position. The guard shook his head and stopped looking at the driver.

“No one will miss eh one cloak friend… and who says I wasn’t grateful huh? Who was it that told you where to go eh?”

“That’s the only nice thing you ever did for me! Apart from that all you ever did was threaten me with your damned knife and blabber on about stupid stories!”

“Well eh, I never!” loudly whispered the southerner offended. “I can’t eh believe you! I thought we were friends!”

“We were never friends! I only tolerated you because I had to. Now I can finally be rid of you. You’re lucky I haven’t told the soldiers about you yet.”

“So what’s going to eh happen then huh? Once we get to Birchdale you just eh throw me under the bus? Say you never knew your eh good friend Artano?”

“I didn’t even know your name until right now you punk! And yes I’m going to pretend I never knew you once we get to that city because you’re nothing but a damned thief!”

The voice of Artano suddenly seemed to imply he wasn’t fucking around. “You eh know what… fine… fine Matthew Waganison… I wanted to do this eh the easy way but apparently eh one cloak is just too much!” His voice sounded menacing almost, and it was far louder than it should’ve been.

Matthew tried to stop him. “Keep your damn voice down-”

“If you misuse that eh word one more time I’ll gut you like the rat you are Waganison!” Matthew jumped as he felt a prick in his back, Artano was bordering on a shout now.

“Ok… ok I won’t say the word just listen please keep your voice down or the-”

“No! I will talk eh as loud as I want! Let them eh hear me for all I care soon enough-”

“What is going on back there?” asked the commander who was riding not far ahead of Matthew.

“Oh, nothing really sir, just silly old me I was-” Matthew was suddenly interrupted by a knife jab in his back.

“Tell them I’m eh here! And stop eh the cart!” growled Artano from under the sheet, his knife dangerously close to Matthew’s large intestine.

“Um… you know how I said nothing was going on back here.” whimpered Matthew as he stopped the cart.

“Yes?” responded the commander with a somewhat agitated look on his face. He assumed the man had to take a piss. He was correct Matthew was on the verge of pissing himself, but that of course was not why he stopped the cart.

“Well uh… there is something going on now.”

“And what would that something be?”

“It’s uh more of a someone really,” said Matthew as he raised his hands in surrender. Artano suddenly emerged from underneath the white cloth and brought the knife right up to Matthew’s neck.

“Eh nobody move!” shouted the thief with his grin.

The commander drew his sword. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Well eh friends,” he addressed the soldiers. “You see, all I wanted was to permanently borrow eh one of your fine Inviseh Cloaks™, understand?”

The men nodded their heads in understanding.

“Well, your friend here had to go ahead and get uppity about me taking eh one little cloak.”

“As he should have!” bellowed the commander defiantly. “Those cloaks are property of the proud city of Birchdale, stealing them would be high treason.”

“Well I’m not eh high, but I most certainly am eh treasonous you see?”

The commander’s brow furrowed. “What are you getting at, fool?”

“Well underneath this eh coat is light armor of the Oakdale militia,” declared Artano, Matthew didn’t see how this was helping the southerners’ case.

“Alright so do you want to be killed or something?” asked the commander with a confused shrug. His crossbowmen readied their weapons and aimed at the southerner.

“No! I eh betrayed Oakdale fools, I am eh practically on your side, you can eh trust me you see?”

“I don’t see. Explain to me how you being a cowardly rat makes you trustworthy?”

Artano scowled momentarily then the sly grin returned. “Look, friends, I eh think we got off on the wrong foot-”

“Stop wasting our time with your prattling, you damn idiot! What do you want?”

“Firstly!” he tightened his knife around Matthew’s neck. “I eh want you not to say that word!”

“What word dammit?” questioned the confused commander.

“That one!” screamed Artano, he was uncomfortably close to Matthew, the southerners screaming hurt the delivery man’s ear but he decided against complaining.

“Damn?”

“Yes, you eh stupid northerner!”

“Alright fine I’ll stop saying the word. Now, what do you want?”

“I eh thought I might have a fair trade for you, you see, when I realized that eh our mutual friend-” he jabbed at Matthew who whimpered. “-wasn’t going to eh be so compliant with giving me a cloak I decided eh you know what? Why not eh take all the cloaks?” Artano remarked with a grin. “So, I’ll make you a deal. You give me this wagon of eh fine Inviseh Cloaks™ and in eh return I let you all live.”

The commander and his men laughed out loud.

“Ha! Let us all live!”

“Whoo boy, that’s a funny one if I ever heard it!”

“Thirty to one haha!”

The men all laughed callously and repeated phrases until the southerner’s face looked more than aggravated. “What eh is your decision?” he demanded rather pissed off.

The commander calmed down from laughing so hard and in between chuckles spoke. “Hell no… not in a million years!” he declared. “Alright men fire!”

“Suit yourself,” whispered Artano with a grimace. Matthew felt the knife loosen around his neck and he ducked instinctively.

The bolts whizzed past where he had been and kept flying far far away. The southerner was gone. He’d disappeared. The commander’s face suddenly became rather white. “Find that damned thief! He’s wearing one of the cloaks, dammit! Find him and slaughter him like the dog he-” 

“I thought I told you not to say that word!” came a voice in the commander’s ear.

A knife emerged from nowhere and suddenly sliced the commander’s throat. The blood bubbled up in his mouth for a moment as though he was using it to rinse his teeth clean. He then fell to his knees struggling to plug the gaping stab wound in his neck with his free hands. He failed and keeled over on his side dead.

After watching their commander die, the rest of the Birchdale men flew into a frenzied state of disorder. They wildly ran about as the sun disappeared on the horizon and night fell. One by one the knife would emerge from the shadows and slit their throats or slice their backs, one by one they fell like dominoes. Matthew decided against becoming the last domino.

The driver stopped just blankly watching the carnage and decided to make a run for it. In the far distance, he could just barely see the glow of a settlement. He whipped the reins with a resounding crack and began to speed off into the distance. A fleeing soldier jumped onto the side of the cart and joined him.

“Who are you?” screamed Matthew worried the soldier may try to take over the wagon.

“Oh well the name’s Gerold I wasn’t very fond of getting my neck split in two so I decided I’d hop on with you and get the hell out of there. I don’t know who that southerner is but he was damn effective with one of those cloaks.” the soldier rambled suddenly. Despite the situation, he seemed rather calm now that he was on the wagon. 

Matthew stared at him sidelong wondering how someone could talk so quickly. “Yea you see I got this wonderful woman waiting for me back home… We were supposed to get married a month ago... but well you know duty calls. I figured you were gonna go towards Birchdale so I hopped on and well now hopefully I can get to see her. Wait you don’t think they’ll kill me for treason if I flee do you? I mean that would really mess up the whole-” Suddenly Gerold found a nice dagger stuck through his skinny chest. Right in the heart, a precise slice. He looked down at the blade then looked over at Matthew, blinked twice, said “Shit,” then slumped over dead.

“Ahh,” came the smooth voice of Artano from right behind Matthew’s ears. The body of Gerold was quite suddenly hoisted over the back of the seat and placed in the back of the wagon. The floating knife moved around as this happened then it flew right next to Matthew’s neck. Matthew felt a sudden rocking of the seat as the invisible Artano sat down. “You and me eh friend… back at the driver seat again eh?”

“What do you want, Artano?”

“Oh, so you do eh remember my name?”

“It’s hard not to when you trying to kill me dam-” the knife closed the tiny gap between it and the flesh of Matthew’s neck, he could feel the blade lightly pressed against his stubbly chin. He swallowed and felt his Adam’s apple get caught on the blade then shrink and go past it.

“Now friend… I am eh… simple man no? I want simple things eh you see?” Artano removed the head of the Invisa Cloak™ to reveal his grizzled smile.

“If you want the wagon I can’t let you have it,” explained Matthew. “I’d be fired and end up starving if I don’t get this delivered.”

“I believe we are at an eh impasse then, friend. I also eh need money so I can live, unlike you, I don’t have the eh luxury of employment, you see?”

Cause you’re a damned dirty thief? Yea I see! thought Matthew as he watched the man carefully out of the side of his eyes. The wagon was still moving towards Birchdale. He remained silent. “These eh boxes of cloaks you have eh friend… do you know how much they are worth?”

“I don’t make the purchases, I only deliver,” responded Matthew, his voice cold as frost. His mind raced at a mile a minute. The night was dark, no moon tonight, like usual.

“Ahh I see… well let me tell you eh friend, each of these cloaks is worth at least eh one hundred spots.”

“Your point?” asked Matthew, focused on the slowly growing light of Birchdale in the distance.

“How much are you eh paid to deliver these huh?”

Matthew paused for a moment. “Fifty spots… fifty per job.”

Artano laughed. “Hehe, you are worse off than I was eh friend! I was a slave hehe, and even eh I was given a better life than eh fifty spots could afford! Ha!”

Matthew knew he had been cheated in some way. He’d never asked his father any questions about the business, all he ever cared about was getting the job done and getting paid. It hadn’t always been this hard, but less than slave wages?

“So what now Artano? Kill me then take the stupid cloaks and sell them yourself?”

“Eh, something like that except I’m not eh sure I’ll kill you,” hope flashed into Matthews mind, mayhaps the southerner wasn’t so bad after all? “At least not eh quickly… no… nobody insults me and gets away unscathed… no I’ll keep you nice and alive for now… then I’ll slowly let you-”

“Freeze in hell damn you!” shouted Matthew as he kicked hard into what he hoped was the side of the southerner. The head of Artano suddenly flew backward and off the cart. The Invisa Cloak™ was flung off the southerner to reveal his whole body. He dipped beneath the cart and nothing more was seen of him. For a moment Matthew won. Then Artano’s hand emerged grabbing onto the side of the cart. His face followed suit and emerged fiery red with rage.

Matthew had left the driver’s seat though. The young driver had leaped into the back of the cart and swiped the sword off of Gerold’s corpse. He then bent over to pick up an Invisa Cloak™. Just as he was about to grab one he felt something shove him to the ground. He turned around to see Artano towering over him. 

“Damn you eh stupid northerner!” the southern man shouted, knife in his hand. He swiped downward with the blade just as Matthew rolled to the side. The knife stuck itself in the wood of the cart. Matthew drew up Gerold’s blade and went to swing down on the bent-over Artano. The southerner let go of the knife and threw himself into Matthew. The two tumbled over the edge of the cart and began to grapple with each other on the muddy ground of the scratch.

The southerner pinned Matthew onto the ground and gripped his arms around the man’s stubbly neck. The delivery man’s eyes began to widen like balloons. He felt as though something was whispering in his ear, death! He thought to himself with a sudden surge of adrenaline. He looked the southerner in the eyes and spit. His spit eye coordination must have been good because the saliva landed right in Artanos pupil, burning it momentarily and causing him to go blind. 

As Artano moved one hand to his eyes Matthew seized his weakness and kneed the thief in the gut. The impact caused Artano to keel over in the mud clutching his side. Matthew caught his breath for a moment.

As Matthew rubbed his damaged windpipe Artano began to crawl over towards the blade which sat not far from him. Just as his fingers clasped around the hilt of Gerold’s sword a boot pressed down on the blade of the weapon. Artano looked up to see a tired Matthew staring down at him.

“Stupid eh fool!” Artano shouted as he used his other hand to throw mud up at Matthew. Matthew fell on the man and pinned him to the ground on his stomach. The two grappled for a moment and Artano managed to spin around and lie on his back. He tried to force the blade into Matthew's chest but somehow the delivery man was stronger. One by one Matthew pulled the southerners’ fingers off the blade. Then, when the blade was freed, he raised it high and plunged it hard into Artanos chest.

Artano let out an exhale of breath as his lungs were pierced. He struggled for a moment trying desperately to breathe, then at last he relaxed, accepting death. Matthew fell to the side of the southerner and kept a firm hold on the blade. Artano looked at the delivery man with disgust. “You st-s-”

“Shh,” murmured Matthew interrupting the southerner.

The thief looked up at Matthew. “Fuck you eh stupid nor-” He exhaled before he finished finally dying. Matthew took a few deep breaths and looked down at his palms in disgust. A few small polka dots of blood had splattered onto them, how unfortunate. He shook his head then buried it in his palms. He cried for a second not exactly knowing what the hell else to do.

Then he stood up and looked down at the hate-filled face of Artano the Southern Thief. He shook his head and walked off following the tracks of the wagon which had continued for a little while before the horse had stopped.

When he finally arrived at the wagon the horse was busy eating a dandelion. Matthew closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. The horse just kept munching. Matthew laid the sword down under his chair and hauled himself into the driver’s seat. 

It was the middle of the night, he could tell without the moon. The temperature had cooled significantly and the stars shone brightly above him. He looked up at them for a moment, shaking slightly with the remembrance of what all he had been put through that day. He looked down from the stars at the not-so-distant light of Birchdale.

Fifty spots? He thought over and over in his head. His face turned to a scowl, then a grin. He looked up at the stars and located Franin’s sword, a constellation that always pointed east. He turned his wagon to the southeast and set off away from Birchdale, towards greener pastures and wealthier futures.