When the void within his eyes returned the gaze, only anger could be found.

    “Answer me.” The cloaked stranger demanded yet again, with a loud and raspy voice. How does one give that which he does not have? A question for better men, no doubt.

    The black mud beneath our feet was slippery, and massive roots wrapped around the trees made for an ill omen. There was nothing to be done but speak. “I can try to give you an answer, I suppose. Others are rarely pleased by my words, however.”

    Thunder roared across the night before the stranger spoke again. “Old man, do you take this for some jape?” The man opened and closed his gloved fist.

    “I do not remember laughing, so it is doubtful, to say the least.” Raindrops fell from the sky down into the wet earth. “I have never known jests that roast men alive, either.” Yet roast them it had. Neither rain nor dirt could hope to mask the stench coming out of the bodies, buried as they were. It smelled like pig.

    “I gave them a chance,” the man’s voice faltered, “and the others took it.” Oh, yes. That they surely did. They took it as quickly as I was left behind. And who could blame them, at a curious night such as this one? “You are beginning to annoy me, fool.” His hand went to the blades on his belt. “Give me what I want.”

    What a dullard. Truth be told, I don’t even remember what he asked, and this headache is not helping. Such a curious night indeed. And how did all it go again? Let me see.

    One had to wonder just how many days we spent on these wretched roads. Traveling had always been a burden, especially on the route we would have to take. Yet, when the ducan’s courier arrived bearing a letter addressed to his baromors, and sealed with the king’s sigil, I knew the message he carried would please me little.

    “Most esteemed and loyal Baromor Alaric Strongblood,

Our grace, King Redory II, Keeper of the Legacy of Theodore and Rowan, heir to Cerefen and the Throne of Rowanspour, blessed be his name, has summoned all his ducans and their baromors to the capital of our glorious nation. Unfortunately, I find myself ill and unable to answer his call personally. In this event, I will send my son and heir, Allen, in my stead. I expect all my subjects to treat your future liege as you would me. Should you wish to join him, his party will be waiting at a village called Fronterre, on the eastern frontier that Mossland shares with Cerefen. This is not a command, however. I care not how you make it to the capital, so long as you do so in a timely manner.

Signed, your liege and protector, Ducan Alastor Moslin.”

    Theodores’s corpse would rise from his grave before any illness stopped Alastor from doing his duty. No doubt he wanted his son to take up the mantle of ducan in a true council, to feel the weight of a monarch’s eyes upon him. Though it may not have been a direct command, it would be unwise not to do as the duc preferred. Allen was as fine an heir as one could ask for, at least. Brave and amicable, unlike others I might name.           

    The departure from the estate did not take long after that. At the next day’s first light, as my hastily built entourage passed through Strongblood Hold’s gates, a wicked hag came upon us. To wish us a safe journey, of course.

    A gaggle of handmaids trailed her steps. “I know your body has left you, but have your wits done the same?” Here we go.

    “Orianna, my love. Your sweet words bring me joy as always.” I replied.

    “It is wisdom you need, not joy, though some more men might do you good as well.”

    “I have no wish to leave my lands any longer than I need. It is swiftness I want, not safety.”

    “Do not speak like a fool.” Such sweet words indeed. An awkward pause took place after the insult.

    Captain Allant broke the silence. “Madam, there is nothing to fear. I have chosen men who have my trust, our best riders, and the best steel one could ever hope to wield as well.” The youngest horseman of the group opened his mouth to speak, only to shut it close in the blink of an eye. Allant continued his speech. “And besides, the swamp we will cross may be wild, but it shan’t too long to wade through it. Once we reach the Black Pool, we shall tread alongside it.”

    The woman did not seem convinced. She studied the other men in our group. Young and old, wise and foolhardy. When her eyes found the youngest of them, she pointed a slim finger and opened her mouth. “Your best, you say?” The boy went red with embarrassment.

    “Cameron is young, true, but he is as fine a rider as one could ask for. He will serve nobly, I swear on my honor.” Replied the captain.

    She did not care to argue any more. Instead, she turned to me and uttered: “I have said all I cared to. If you wish to risk death out of recklessness, so be it. At least I would be well rid of you.” As my ever so beloved wife returned to the inner castle with her handmaids, one of them blew a kiss to Allant before skipping after the others.      

    Thank Erthen for wine. An overwhelmingly sweet flavour filled my mouth. “Get this damned column moving already,” I shouted.

    “Aye, my charge. Robb and Cam, you two take the front.” The captain commanded.

    “I’m not sure if that is a–“ Before Cameron finished his protest, a piercing gaze from Allant shut his mouth once again.

    Ten men we were. Well, nine and Cameron, but ten horsemen all the same, armed with steel and mail. Only the bravest or the most foolish would challenge our group.  

    The sun had begun to fall when the hag’s words turned into prophecy. A large man wearing a ragged cloak chanced upon us on the road, unmoved by our troupe. “Out of the way, fool. This is Baromor Alaric’s procession.” Shouted Robert.

    At the sound of my name, the stranger’s posture changed. “Is that so?” He seemed to twitch and shiver. “Then Chaswen has blessed me this day. I will give you, to all of you, one chance to leave him behind and flee with your life. If you make a stand here, you will die.”

    Robert and Cameron were at the head of our column, and so were the first to laugh as well. “Are you soft in the head or something, mad fool?” Robert began to speak, a smile on his face. “Move out of our way before we decide to take you seriously.”

    Gerard and Harald, the Grim Twins, were at the center. They struck a stance and drew their lances. “There is nothing to decide.” Said Harald. “This scoundrel has dared to threaten our charge. For that, he ought to lose his tongue, if not his head.” Added Gerard. The captain and the others stood awestruck behind our backs. The hermit we chanced upon remained still, his head now lowered.

    “You do not get to settle this yourselves.” Said Allant.

    “Fuck off, Allan. You don’t get a say in this either.” Said Ronald, rough and coarse as ever.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    “I will not deign to reply this time, Ron, but you would be wise to watch your tone with me.” Rebuked the captain in a tired manner. He turned to me and asked: “what shall we do, my charge?”

    “Ride the hermit out of the way.” Shouted Grant from our backs. “Seems like he is shitting himself as we speak.” The man remained still yet, removing his gloves under his cloak. Perhaps he is soft-headed, after all.

    “Never mind him.” Replied Marco. “We still have a long way to go and little time to waste with madmen.”

    Cameron did nothing but laugh awkwardly and stare. It was just as well, for he rarely had much to add.

    In truth, I could barely pay attention to any word they said. My head was throbbing with pain from yesterday’s wine. The day before that as well. Every single one since I wed that fat harpy. If not for her I would not drink so much. She could not even give me a worthy heir, only a slob who was caught doing ill acts in the stables. No gold in the world was enough to–

    Screaming echoed all around us before any more thoughts could be gathered. The bleeding heart emblazoned across Harald’s surcoat burst into flames as if he had been covered in oil. His mare flayed around recklessly while the other rides went into a frightened madness. “Ambush!” Gerard quickly dismounted and lunged at the mad hermit. The stranger lifted both of his arms and spread his palms open, the last thing I saw before my horse betrayed me with a sudden drop. “Our charge!” Someone shouted, unrecognizable in the chaos. It did not matter for long, seeing as my eyes shut away the dance of the living, only to deliver me into the dark of the dead…

    Or the sleepers, more like. They opened yet again, on a time in which only the wind and rain dared to speak, and the night loomed around us. Should I rise? Truth be told, the prospect of lying face down on the swamp’s mud was not as unpleasant as when I first crashed.

    “Up.” That was the only word the stranger had bothered to utter. Oh, he was a man indeed, but to call him a beast would not be a disservice to the truth. A ragged cloak covered a large man, with a lengthy mane of what seemed to be dark hair. Most of his features were not clear in this darkness, but the tangled beard that covered his face was obvious enough. His body was either wrapped by a blanket or by some heavy plate. Two daggers were strapped to a diagonal belt on his torso.

    “A moment, if you please.” This wretched tongue of mine has a life of its own.

    “No. Up. Now.” The stranger replied with a tone so sharp one ought to be careful not to be diced.

    “If I must.” Of all the ways I expected this journey could go astray, digging the graves of my blades somehow did not make it into my mind. Six holes needed to be made, with anything but a shovel I might add, one for each who fell to their slayer. The latter dug by himself, his eyes ever wandering to my side.

    “Since we are alone now, your companions might as well as reveal themselves.” Men are not like to burst into flames out of nothing, after all. Someone must have been hiding among the trees or in the muddy ground.

    “Keep your mouth shut and dig, or I might just show them to you.” The man drew and sheathed one of the daggers on his belt. Why not just reveal themselves? it made no sense. Perhaps there was no one else, and a trap had been sprung instead? But what trap could have done that, I could not tell.

    If anything, the Strangler’s wet soil made the work all the easier. The grim twins were the first to find their rest. Heads that once held crowns of oak and coal now hold only burnt mounds of flesh. The sigil of Strongblood could no longer be seen on their surcoats, yet the remains of cloaks on their backs were enough to distinguish them from the others, the symbol of my personal guardesons. No one was like to mourn their loss, their only friend dead with one another.

    Grant and Robert’s bodies stood clustered together, far from the others and unburnt as well. The open wounds on their bodies revealed the method by which they fell. It seemed that one’s horse crashed against the other’s during the chaos. Robert was little more than a jester, but he knew his way with a sword. Grant was a brave man with a mind made for glory, though perhaps a few thoughts would have served him well.

    The last of the dead, however, was unrecognizable. His flesh had melted and fused with his armor. Were I to guess, Allant was the most likely one, a loyal man to the last. Cameron fled, of that much, I am certain. That crook-nosed wretch. If not for his father’s bravery, he would still be feeding gruel to the pigs.

    Five out of my nine were gone. Perhaps I should be wroth with those who fled, but why bother. Ronald was strong, yes, and a brute as well, but such men are not always so when truly needed. Marco and Lorenzo were enigmas themselves, sworn shields put under my care at my hag wife’s request. “They are cousins from Cantancasa.” She had said. “Maybe they will teach you to be a man,” she added eagerly, that whore. If not for her I would not drink so much.

    A sudden neigh mercifully interrupted her visage. Not all mounts died during the ambush, it seemed. Even in this darkness, Gerard’s long-eared mare was visible enough. “Did any of the other rides survive?” Must I sew this tongue with needle and wool?

    Unexpectedly, my ambusher replied. “Some of them.” He spat out a mouthful. “The rest scattered across the marsh.”

    The Strangler was not likely to welcome them, seeing as it was never quite hospitable to their kind. Named for the massive roots that sprouted from the ground and often wrapped themselves around other trees, the swamp was home to various watery treats: from crabs and sardines to alligators and greatmaws. They should count themselves lucky not to risk facing serboues, at least if Baron Robart’s words are to be trusted, who claimed to have put their nests aflame to the last.

    Once all the work had been finished, it was time to face my captor. “Well, I suppose you mean to drag me by my feet, then.” This fucking tongue won’t shut itself in, will it now?

    The man took a long breath before answering. “What makes you think I’m taking you anywhere?”

    Is it not obvious? “My purse is rather light at the moment, and dead men make for poor ransoms, all things considered.”

    “Your tongue is all I need from you, for now.” A soft breeze blew around us. “And If you think to run or fight me, there are as many kinds of death are there are dead men. You had best remember that before doing anything stupid,” the stranger added.

    “I should thank you for not asking for my sword hand, at least. I’m afraid the sturdy youth who laid within me once has been gone for some time.” Saggy arms and saggy breasts were all that remained instead. Orianna’s fault, that was. If not for her, I would not have ended like this. “Unless you mean to it off, this tongue is as yours as it will ever be.” Losing it might even do me more good than harm, in truth.

    The stranger took another long breath before speaking again. “Tell me,” he began, now only a few feet away from myself. “Who gave-.” Another heavy pause stopped his words. “Who gave the order at Rowan’s Reach?” I remember it now. That was the question that led him here. That led us here. King Redory’s last whimper against the Gallian Empire.

    Another thunderous roar escaped the skies, strong enough for one to forget the past and return to the present. The rain began pouring even faster, as if a waterfall laid on top of the clouds.

    “Give me what I want, before I force it out of you.” Said the stranger, now back to our predicament.

    “It is not that I have no wish to give what you seek. I am merely admitting to some forgetfulness, you see.” Some of the foraging brought by our soldiers was Gallian prize vintage, back then. Wretched, sour, and powerful. Some merchant must have been saving it for a special occasion. Oh, it had no doubt been special, just not in the way he might have planned.

    My words seemed to have struck him through the heart. “How can you not remember?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

    “You must not have been doing this for long. I’ve been in more battles than I care to think of.” And why Rowan’s Reach, in particular? The fate of our grace’s campaign had long been sealed by then, and only a miracle could have saved us. Either that or an alliance with Lustana. “It was a council, you see, and those are quite a bore to go through. Once you see one of them you have seen them all,” and you learn to doze through them just as well. “So much shouting and whispering, while all I wanted was some more vintage.”

    The pain was as good a waking call as any. “Drunken lout.” Devilish fire ate at my flesh like rats in a larder, and the taste of mud returned to my mouth as I dived into the ground. By then, the beast had lowered his arms and drew one of his daggers. “That was a slaughter, not a battle.” He walked to me. “Tell me who gave the order.” This pain.

    The flames came from his arms. “I already told you–” The steel cut straight through my burning skin.

    “Tell me something!” The beast howled madly. Such pain. “Tell me!”

    “The ducans had the final word.” Gods have mercy. “Alastor, Louis, and Dalbert.” How can something hurt so much? “Mercy!”

    “Now you beg.” The beast unsheathed his dagger from my skin. “You deserve this.”

    Orianna, you hag.

    “You deserve this!” The beast howled.

    I loved you once.

    “You deserve this.” The beast cried.

    Tears fell.

    The end came.