“The more we learned of the land of the dead,

The more we were filled with endless dread.

We traversed a land of endless night,

To reach a castle with no hope in sight.”

The walk didn’t get any easier, the closer they got. Trees grew more sparse, and the ground got harder.

“Just what is going on here?” Garassk asked. “And how long has this been happening?”

“For as long as I can remember,” Arra said. “I was born here, and the land wasn’t any better when I was a child.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“War,” Arra said. “There was a war here long before even my grandparents were born. Mercenaries from across the world joined in. But when the war ended, they had nowhere to go. They, and their descendants have been fighting for control for years. The local kingdom fell apart under the fighting, but no one is willing to stop long enough to rebuild it. The land has been dying ever since.”

Garassk clenched his teeth. The land horrified him. The thought that it had been like this for years, and might be like this forever disgusted him. The thunderous growl of a stomach halted the walk. Given the sound, Garassk wondered if all three stomachs were responsible.

“It sounds like we’d best be getting some food now,” Rathorn said, stopping to lean next to a decrepit looking tree, and turning to look at Arra. “I’m guessing that the rivers will dry up eventually?”

“You guess right,” Arra said.

“Then we should stop a moment,” Rathorn said. “Garassk, go catch something.”

“On it,” the younger varanian said. Garassk tasted his way toward the scent of fish, finding a small valley with a shallow river not far from his friends. He took stock of the food he’d looted from the dead soldiers, selecting a loaf of bread, grabbed his net and spear, and moved closer to the river.

Let’s see if this works, Garassk thought, crushing the bread in his hand and sprinkling the crumbs into the water. When the fish flocked to the food, he lowered his net into the water, scooping up the mob. When the net was weighed down by the sheer numbers, Garassk put it over his shoulder, and speared a larger fish.

Perfect, he thought.

“Rather unorthodox,” Rathorn said, stepping into view. “How did you think to do that?”

“Remember when we were in Tarthas, and Thea got sick and vomited into that river?” Garassk asked.

“Yes. I remember.”

“I saw all of those fish swimming up after that. I’ve been wondering what else we could use as bait. I guessed that bread might work. Clearly, I was right.”

“Clever,” the older varanian said. “I’ll have to remember that trick.”

“I have wood for a fire,” Arra said. “We’d best be careful though. This land is dry, and it could spread.”

“We’ll do this fast,” Rathorn said, digging for a piece of flint in his backpack. After a few swipes, they had a small fire with which to cook the fish. The job was rushed, and the fish didn’t taste great, but Garassk was sure that none of them would get sick from the meal. Once the fish were gone, Garassk kicked dirt toward the fire until it stopped burning.

“I notice that your sword broke during the fight,” Rathorn said, turning to Garassk.

“Indeed it did,” Garassk said. “I suppose that messer wouldn’t last forever.”

“You’ll be needing a new one, then,” Rathorn said, offering his up. “Take mine.”

Garassk took the sword reluctantly. It was far more elegant than his had been. A knightly sword in design, but with a blade short enough to fit in one hand, and a silver pommel. He swung it around a few times.

“The blade’s not the only weapon on that thing,” Rathorn said. Taking the hint, Garassk reversed his grip so that he held his sword by the blade. He swung it like a hammer a few times before switching it back.

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“What the hell are you doing?” Arra asked.

“What?” Garassk asked back, turning to her.

“That thing you just did with your sword,” she said. “Holding it by the blade.”

“Oh. That’s what you do when you’re up against an armored opponent.”

“Won’t you cut off your fingers?” Arra asked.

“You’ve never used a sword before, have you?” Garassk asked.

“No. Not many people around here use them.”

“You don’t cut your fingers unless they slide across the blade,” Garassk explained. “And they shouldn’t.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ve been using it that way for years. I’m not missing any fingers,” Garassk insisted, holding out his own hand as proof. “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

“Very well,” Arra said. Her face suggested that she was not entirely convinced by the claim.

“You can also hold it like a spear and thrust it into weak spots in the armor.” Rathorn said, taking the sword from Garassk and demonstrating.

“That’s right,” Garassk added. It was a move he had seen Rathorn do many times. Arra observed intently.

“If things get really desperate, you can unscrew the pommel, and throw it at your opponent,” Rathorn said, and he proceeded to do exactly that.

“Indeed you ca… wait what?” Garassk said, turning his head. He’d never seen Rathorn do that.

“Yes, really,” Rathorn said. “But I doubt you’ll have to worry about that. It’s not a common tactic.”

“No kidding,” Garassk said.

“You know an awful lot about weapons,” Arra said. “What war have you fought in?”

“What makes you think we fought in one?” Garassk asked.

“You’re armed,” Arra said bluntly. “And nobody else would come here and live.”

“Fair enough,” Garassk said. “You’re right. We’ve seen our share of war.”

“Quite the understatement, hatchling,” Rathorn snarled.

Garassk groaned. He knew what was coming next.

“I was a soldier once,” Rathorn began. “One of the best. It was a good job, but a dangerous one.”

“I imagine any job involving swords and people who hate each other would be,” Garassk said.

“I’ve seen my share of battles,” Rathorn continued, ignoring Garassk. “The War for Valois? I was there. You’ve heard stories of King Roland Brass. Everyone talks about how he rallied men to fight for his cause. No one ever talks about the men themselves. I was one of them. I gave everything for the crown. It was the least I could have done. The least anyone could have done.”

He sighed. Garassk felt his attention wandering.

“Then those craven bastards ruined everything!” Rathorn shouted, slamming his club down and jolting everyone awake. “Oh, he got his throne, all right. Many died to get it for him. Me? Some bastard with a crossbow saw to it that my soldiering days ended young! And what did the king do for me? Nothing! He didn’t even acknowledge all the years of fighting I did for him. Just left me to die!”

The old varanian fell back and sighed. Garassk knew the rest. Rathorn limped all across Noldra until he finally met up with a circulus of other varanians who took him in. He was assigned to train the younger varanians, which included Garassk. When summoned to take part in a new Campaign the elders jumped at it, and sent them over. They’d almost participated in the Fourth Campaign, but a brief detour resulted in Garassk and Rathorn getting involved in an unrelated war in Tarthas. Luckily, Rathorn was discreet enough not to say too much about that.

“Right then,” Arra said. “Perhaps we should get going?”

“Agreed,” Garassk added, eager to do anything that prevented Rathorn from adding more to the story.

And get going they did. The entire forest around them was screaming “Turn back,” as they pressed forward in defiance. The trees went from white to black, likely from rot, and the bleak grey sky got darker as they walked. The shrill howl of the wind was the dead cherry on the rotted corpse cake, as far as Garassk was concerned.

But none of that compared to the village just in front of the castle walls. Garassk had seen villages caught in the middle of a battle. This one looked like it had been in the middle of every possible disaster that peasants feared. The ground looked like it had experienced some ungodly combination of burning, blight, warfare, drought, and probably a few others Garassk couldn’t think of off the top of his head, all within a short span of time. The huts and local temple looked like they’d been abandoned for years. If that wasn’t unsettling enough, the complete lack of people was.

“Good gods above,” Rathorn’s scratchy voice rasped next to him. “No land should be this dead.”

“I’m starting to think that there might be something to this haunting,” Garassk said. “War doesn’t do this. Not all of it. I’m not sure if we should even be here.”

“I’ve got some bad news, then,” Arra said. “The castle’s just beyond that gate.”