Rilan had a rough night’s sleep. He was cursed with nightmares of mud, blood, and the distant echoes of screaming. In his He was running across a battlefield of black, surrounded by thousands of smoky shapes fighting one-another in a maelstrom of madness.

Rilan chased after Tomas, who was bolting away in terror. His hand was throbbing in pain. He tried to scream after his friend, but felt blood dripping his lips instead of words.

Rilan continued to run, sputtering and spitting blood with each gasp he took.

Tomas needed his help, but no matter how hard he willed his muscles to run, Rilan could not catch his fleeing friend.

Finally, with all his might, Rilan let out one last scream. “Tomas!” The words rung through the air like a bell, and Tomas stopped in his tracks, turning around to face Rilan.

Through the darkness and the shimmering spectres, Rilan saw Tomas. His face was a spiralling mess of hundreds of teeth and open flesh, like the horrifying mouth of a parasitic lamprey.

Rilan awoke from his rough sleep to an elbow in the ribs from Tomas.

“Curse you, Tomas,” Rilan complained. “I was sleeping.” Sweat was dripping down his face as he came to, remembering where he was, and the horrific visuals that were conjured in his subconscious.

“Rilan, the Captain is coming our way,” Tomas muttered. “He’s been talking to other recruits, now he’s coming over here to talk to us, I think.”

Rilan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and through the gap in their tent’s opening saw Captain Gharland making his way towards the pair’s campsite with a procession of bodyguards following him.

“We’re not in trouble, are we?” Tomas asked.

Rilan shrugged. “We’ve done nothing wrong, right?”

The boys raced to stand up out the front of their tent, tripping over themselves and their bedding in the process.

“Ser!” Rilan saluted with Tomas standing at attention beside him.

Gharland ignored the formalities. His moustache was neatly combed and he carried a riding helmet under his arm.

“What are your names, lads?” Gharland asked.

“I’m Rilan, this is Tomas.” Rilan swallowed a gulp of saliva to clear his throat.

“And which division are you with?”

“Vanguard, m’lord,” Tomas replied. Rilan could hear the nerves in his friend’s voice.

“Hm.” Gharland tapped the pommel of his sheathed longsword. “Where are you boys from?”

“Brittlepeak, m’lord. A small village in the Creator’s Fist.”

Gharland raised an eyebrow. “By chance is this village is near Mooncrest Mountain?”

The boys nodded. “Aye, m’lord. Right under its shadow, actually.”

Gharland rubbed his chin. “I am looking for men who know their way to Mooncrest Mountain. Men who can lead me to the Grand Repository.”

Rilan scoffed. “The Repository? You want to find the Magister’s Imperium? What do you want with those diseased old freaks?”

Gharland winced at Rilan’s unprofessional comment, but continued. “We received word from a rider during the night that the Imperium has come under attack by unknown assailants at the Grand Repository, possibly an Imperial attack. I’ve been ordered to form a small company to go and investigate.”

“They probably killed themselves on accident, doing some wicked experiment,” Rilan joked, but Gharland grimaced. He did not seem impressed. “Pardon, m’lord.”

“Hm,” Gharland sneered. “I take it the Magisters are not fondly thought of from where you are from.”

Tomas nodded. “They steal children, my lord. That’s what our parents told us growing up. And we hear that they spend all their time poisoning their own bodies.”

“Well from where I come from, the Magisters are renowned for their knowledge and teaching abilities. They are the memory of Alyria, the records of our kingdoms and help push the boundaries of medicine. I will not have them insulted,” Gharland spat.

The boys nodded nervously. Whoops.

“Alas, that does not matter right now,” Gharland said, shaking his head. “Have either of you ever actually been to the Repository?”

“Not quite, m’lord,” Rilan replied.

“But we know the way,” Tomas added.

“Good. As I said, I need guides to lead me to the Repository.”

“We can do that, m’lord,” Tomas said.

“Pardon me for asking, m’lord, but is there no one closer who could take on the task?” Rilan said. “We aren’t exactly near the Fist.”

“Lord Jonys Iaran has requested I lead the investigation on behalf of the king. Given the potential seriousness of the situation, and our recent success on the battlefield, I suspect. All our other battalions are preoccupied- setting up defences along the coast or engaging with the Akurai armies. We have reports of attacks at Port Denarim and Mesterkeep.”

Rilan and Tomas turned and looked at each other. This could be the opportunity they were looking for to escape this horrid place, and Rilan was sure that Tomas was thinking the same as he.

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” Gharland asked, glancing at the bloody bandage around Rilan’s injured hand.

“No, m’lord,” Rilan assured. “Just a little injury.”

“We can lead you, m’lord!” Tomas said.

“Very good.” That was the first time Rilan had seen the man smile. “We leave within the hour. Gather any necessary equipment and supplies you will need and meet us at the Barrowtown stables.”

Gharland left as speedily as he had arrived with his guards in tow.

Rilan and Tomas smirked at each other and began to pack up their belongings.

“Thank the Creator, a way out of this awful place!” Tomas said.

“Since when are you so keen to return homeward?” Rilan asked. “This job doesn’t sound all flowers and rainbows either, Tommy. Magisters are dangerous.”

Tomas shrugged. “I thought I wanted to run away all my life. Ever since mother passed, I wanted to run and never return. But now that I’m here…”

“Like home sickness?”

Tomas shrugged. “I don’t know. But this is not what I had imagined.”

Rilan appeared confused; Tomas looked away. “This doesn’t have to do with your father, does it?” Rilan asked directly. Tomas made sure to avoid eye contact.

“N-no.”

Rilan said nothing more about it after seeing his discomfort. He did not want to push Tomas on the matter. He knew he had a very complex relationship with his father. Sometimes he seemed to hate his father, other times he feared him.

Who can blame him?

“Maybe you’re right. This might be dangerous,” Tomas said nervously. “Mooncrest Mountain is a week’s ride away, and chances are we aren’t out of the thick of it, yet. The kingdom is at war. Not to mention that,” Tomas pointed at the bodies of the hanging traitors.

Clouds of black flies were engulfing the corpses. Wriggling maggots fell from the eye sockets, and crows pecked the flesh from their discoloured faces.

“We will be spending who knows how long with the man responsible for that.”

Rilan spotted the hanging men and could not take his eyes away from the bodies. It was almost ironic, he realised. Something so horrific, yet he was unable to avert his gaze in the slightest.

Rilan almost felt obliged to memorise each detail before him so that he would never forget. The stomach-churning scent wafting in the breeze, the blackening skin, the clouds of flies and their swollen tongues.

“Gharland said that Lord Jonys requested he lead the expedition, right?” Tomas said.

“Aye, what of it?”

Tomas thought for a moment. “Gharland and Jonys did not seem to be on the best of terms last night. After you passed out, I saw them quarrelling.”

“Maybe he just wants Gharland away from him, then? Sending him straight into the path of danger. Those Magisters can’t be trusted. You’ve heard the stories… But look, Tommy, wherever you go, I go,” Rilan said, patting his friend on the back. “We gotta stick together through all this.”

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No matter what lay ahead, the boys were still somewhat eager to leave as soon as possible. Rilan almost felt obliged to look out for Tomas. He was younger and smaller than Rilan and had always been an easy target all his life, by bullies and tormentors, but worst of all, by his father.

Rilan had always wondered why Tomas never stood up for himself. He didn’t exactly make it hard for those tormenting him.

Tomas was shy and would often cower at any instance of confrontation. But over the years, Rilan had suspected that this was Tomas’s way of defending himself. If anything, it was smart. The boy knew he would never be tough, tall, or good with words. As such, it was better to avoid the fight where he could.

They had had a bond for so long that Rilan thought of Tomas as his younger brother, in a way. He was always going to try and stay with Tomas, to protect him.

Heading out with this company seemed like their best chance at survival.

※

Rilan and Tomas packed up their bedrolls, cooking tins, utensils, and belongings into their packs, making sure to dress appropriately with fur cloaks over their leather gambesons, as the road was likely to be freezing.

Rilan donned his father’s old helmet over his golden hair, and both wore their worn leather gloves. They wouldn’t do much against the cold, but it was better than nothing.

Rilan groaned as he attempted to fit the glove over his injured hand. It was aching worse than anything he had ever felt. He had broken his arm when he was young, and he remembered the dull thumping pain that came with such an injury.

Yet losing his finger was far worse. Not only was the familiar pounding ache present, but his flesh was tender, and his nerves brought on a fiery sensation.

Rilan tried his best to ignore it, but that was like trying to ignore a pig in a dress. Every thought was interrupted with bursts of sudden pain shooting through his hand.

The boys gathered some food from the canteen, including some bread and dried mutton for the road. Tomas took some dried fruits and nuts since he refused to eat any of the meat that was offered.

They would not have enough for the entire trip, but figured they’d be stopping at towns along the way to resupply.

Worse came to worst, they could always forage for fruits and berries, or even hunt.

Afterwards, Rilan and Tomas headed out to the armourers to get some new weapons. Both were issued new scabbards, swords and knives. Neither had any practice with a sword besides the few days of training they had received the prior week, and the battle they had managed to crawl away from.

Rilan and Tomas found their way through the maze of tents in the war camp, eventually reaching the stables of Barrowtown.

The town was bleak and grey. The stone buildings were hundreds of years old, constructed with shale, wattle strips and daub to keep the coastal storms out. Barrowtown had no roads, only tracks of dirt and mud connecting the residences.

The rough textures of the homes and structures of Barrowtown matched the temperaments of the people. Dreary-eyed, unwashed, and dressed in monotone colours. Their dead stranger eyes watched the boys as they found their way to the stables.

They met the fully kitted Captain Gharland who stood beside his black steed. The man wore chainmail over a leather vest, blue mantle atop a wolf-hide coat, and a longsword on his belt. His dented, bloodied armour from the previous day had been replaced, Rilan realised.

Lieutenant Britus was beside Gharland, strapping down the saddle on his sandy-coloured mare. The man had a thick brow and unshaved stubble. His square jaw gave him a cold, menacing appearance.

With Gharland was a squire, some personal officers, and a dozen other soldiers all preparing their saddles, ready for the long ride ahead. Rilan guessed these were the men accompanying the captain on the journey.

The stablemaster, an old, decrepit man, brought over two horses. “Yer mounts, lad,” the old man said in a thick accent as he shuffled over before turning right around to go back into the warmer stables.

Tomas gulped as he took the reins. “Um, excuse me, ser,” he called out after the stablemaster.

The old man raised an eyebrow and scrunched up his face as he turned back, looking unimpressed. “I’m no ‘ser’,” he hissed.

Gharland’s squire, the young man, overheard the comment and hid a chuckle behind his hand.

Tomas gazed into the dark eyes of the horse and back at the stablemaster with unease. “Sorry, I only meant-”

“What’d ye want, boy?”

“I’ve only ridden a horse once before,” Tomas explained. “I just wanted to ask if there was anything I should know.”

The frown on the stablemaster’s face eased and he nodded with a stiff neck. “He’s a good ‘orse, that one. Won’t give ye any trouble, no. Treat it right and he’ll do the same back. Got nothin’ t’worry about, boy.”

Tomas gently patted the horse’s muscular neck, looking at Rilan. “Didn’t think we’d be riding.”

Rilan shrugged. “How else were you thinking we’d be crossing the kingdom?”

The squire had overheard the conversation and could not help but smile as he strapped Gharland’s saddle to his horse. The boy looked to be about the same age as they were and wore a blue and silver vest over a white tunic, with riding boots and a leather skullcap covering his closely-shaved head.

“Something funny?” Rilan said.

“Sorry, I’m Landry Heradin, the Captain’s squire,” said the boy, shaking his head. He spoke firmly, and judging by his accent, sounded of noble birth.

Landry held out a hand to shake, and Rilan dropped the tough act. “I’m Rilan, this here is Tomas.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tomas said. Landry shook their hands with a firm grip.

“I’m sorry, Rilan and Tomas who?” Landry asked.

The boys looked at each other, unsure of what the squire was asking.

“Um…?” Tomas mumbled.

“Your family names?” Landry raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Rilan said. “Yeah, we don’t really do that from where we come from. I’m Rilan, son of Barda, and Tomas is the son of Evin.”

Landry appeared confused yet intrigued, as if he had never heard of such a thing.

“My father is a butcher,” Tomas said. “I’m the butcher’s boy.”

“And my family are all masons,” Rilan said.

“Oh,” Landry replied. “So, no family names?”

They boys shook their heads.

Tomas’s horse let out a loud whinny, causing him to jolt.

Landry chuckled. “You’ve got nothing to worry about with riding, so long as you use your legs to keep balance and respect your mount. He won’t hurt you, if you don’t hurt him.”

Tomas nodded, moving closer to the animal, and gently stroking it. “Alright, thanks.”

Landry peered behind him suspiciously at the other soldiers and his Captain, before turning back to face the boys. “So…why are you here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Captain Gharland requested a guide to the Grand Repository. Tomas and I live close by, so we know the way. We are the guides,” Rilan replied.

“No,” Landry said, “why are you here?” He gestured to their surroundings. “You can’t be much older than I am? What are you doing on a battlefield?”

“King Ulmer’s recruiters came to our village, said that an invasion was happening. Said that all able-bodied men and boys had the responsibility to answer the king’s call to war.”

Landry looked shocked. “But you are so young. I didn’t think the king took on levies so young.”

“Not young enough, apparently.”

“What about you?” Tomas asked Landry.

“I volunteered to squire for Captain Gharland, back in Shadowshore when word of the invasion first arrived to us. My father is Lord Harolt Heradin.”

Rilan and Tomas shook their heads. They had not heard of him. Landry again looked stunned, talking as though it was common knowledge.

“The Royal Shipmaster of the Broken Coast?”

“I’m a mason,” Rilan said. “Tomas here is a butcher’s son.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Landry smirked.

Landry seemed to understand, despite Rilan seeing in his expression that the boy was unaccustomed to being in the presence of lowborns.

Then again, Tomas and I have never spoken to a highborn until this morning!

“So, you volunteered to come?” Rilan asked, puzzled.

“I volunteered to squire. I have no intention of fighting; I am far too young. My father would never allow that. So, I prepare the Captain’s meals, clean his armour, saddle his horse.”

“Well, where we are going is a dangerous place,” Tomas said.

“The Magisters are crazy old child-stealers,” Rilan added.

“Nonsense!” Landry laughed. “Those are just old stories told to make children soil their clothes!”

“I wouldn’t stake my life on that,” Rilan joked. “We are only going because we want out of this shithole.”

“That’s understandable.” Landry peered around at the war camp. So much noise and commotion. Armourers hammering. Men laughing. Cooks chopping. The injured wailing.

“You’re lucky you get a choice. Pray to the Creator that you maintain that luck.” Rilan said.

Landry nodded without saying a word. The silence between the boys said enough.

“Just a heads up,” Landry whispered, “on our journey, be wary of those two.”

Landry glared at a pair of soldiers standing by Gharland who were laughing and carrying on. One had a crooked smile with missing teeth, the other had a large scar on his hairline that looked like scratch marks. Both had dirty faces, greasy hair and looked unkempt. A pair of brutes.

“Ref and Styna, their names are. They’re not exactly the Captain’s most chivalrous soldiers. Word of warning- stay out of their way.”

Rilan and Tomas focused on Landry’s words suspiciously, taking note of his warning, but said nothing to each other about them. The group then came together with the Captain.

Gharland mounted his huge steed and cleared his throat. Ref and Styna stood at his flanks like two guard dogs.

“Hurry up men, we should be on our way. The road is going to be long and cold. Be ready for anything. It is a time of war, meaning we may run into anything from Imperial soldiers to highwaymen. I have been charged with this expedition. Follow my word and you will make it out alive. Disobey me, and you will hang. We reach Winterglade within three days, and from there we ride for the Magister’s Imperium.”

Some of the soldiers in the group appeared unsure. Rilan spotted confusion and misunderstanding on their faces.

Gharland continued, “Despite what dark rumours you have heard of the Magisters, they play a vital role in our kingdom. As such, this mission is of the utmost importance given the circumstances surrounding it. The king himself has sanctioned this operation. Now, mount up.”

Tomas was nervous but did as he was ordered. He climbed up on the saddle, despite it taking a few attempts to lock his foot correctly into the stirrup.

Rilan whacked Tomas’s arm, trying to crack a joke to lighten the tension. “He’s great at making speeches to boost the morale, isn’t he?”

Tomas ignored him, holding on to the horse’s reins with a firm grip. The company took off down the dirt track that led out of Barrowtown, riding around supply wagons and through units of soldiers and defensive perimeters.

Landry rode behind Gharland, Britus, and their officers, while Rilan and Tomas kept behind him, hanging back at the end of the company, away from the others.

Tomas tensed his thighs to lock himself into place correctly upon his steed. Before long, it was feeling rather natural as he comfortably settled.

Rilan saw his friend’s hand tucked into the neck hole of his shirt, as if feeling for something. He gave him a smile upon seeing his tension ease with the horse.

“You got this, see?”

The road followed the edge of the forest surrounding the town, eventually curving around, and leading the company towards the battle site from the previous day.

Gharland slowed his horse, and the company did the same as they reached a group of soldiers with carts who were looking out over the hills and plains of the battlefield.

“Soldiers, why do you block the road?” Gharland barked.

Lieutenant Britus tried impressing his superior by jumping off his horse and shoving the soldiers aside. “Out of the way!” he barked. “Let the Captain through!”

One of the soldiers, while stumbling from the push, promptly bowed to the captain, and offered an answer. “My lord, I apologise!” Rilan could see the fear in his eyes for offending a captain. “We were sent to begin collecting the dead for burial,” he explained nervously.

“Then why aren’t you doing so?” Britus shouted.

“My lord…” the soldier began.

Rilan and Tomas looked ahead to see what all the fuss was about. Rilan noticed how nervous the soldier was. Not because of Gharland, though.

“Well?” Gharland asked.

“My lord, look for yourself.”

The soldiers blocking the rode parted, letting Gharland and Britus through to view the battlefield ahead. The rest of the company led their horses onwards to see what was happening. All were stopped in their tracks by a strange sight.

The battlefield was empty.

Not of mud, weapons, flags, shields, or broken armour, though.

The fields were empty of corpses.

Not a single body lay before them upon the grounds which, only a day earlier, had been a sea of dead.

“How can this be?” Gharland said.

“My lord, we were just about to return to camp and ask the same thing,” the nervous soldier said.

“No other corpse collectors have come through yet,” Gharland stated.

“No, my lord.”

“And it wasn’t the Imperials?”

“No, my lord. Our scouts tell us the Imperials we fought with yesterday fled back onto their ships.”

Rilan and Tomas were in awe…and shock.

The hundreds of corpses that had littered the fields the day before had vanished. Broken Coast soldiers and Akurai soldiers. All gone.

All that remained was the blood-stained grass, the thick, churned-up mud, and the man-made leftovers of the fight.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tomas whispered to Rilan.

“I said it yesterday, and I’ll say it again today,” Rilan said. “This doesn’t bode well.”