Last of the King's Men, Chapter 32

At first Krym Valdoorn thought it was the thunder that woke him. He lied in his bed still exhausted from the previous day’s work, watching as the rain poured down past his window.

He knew morning wasn’t far off. He was wondering if he should get up early and get started on the day’s work, or if he should try and eke out the last few moments of sleep, when there was once again a loud rap on his front door.

He stood, wrapping his worn robe around himself as he walked towards the front door of the tiny farmhouse. He pulled opened the door, hoping for but not expecting good news- the night before he was told to stay in his house until further notice. Something about skeletons in the river, or so he seemed not to care. Last time, he had slammed his door in Telstedler’s face a little too callously. But not this time.

When he opened the door, there was a man in a dark cloak- as the image before him cleared, he realized it was that trystborn… Tarrow. The one who makes the big speeches whenever some group of idiots kills a goblin or something.

“Yeah?”

A brief silence. This guy didn’t seem to know quite what to say. He looked like he had taken a beating, too- his face was swollen, and one arm sat in a sling.

“Look, if you have something to say, please say it before I slam the door in your bruised face.”

Tarrow glanced down at whatever it was he held in his hand, and then back towards Krym.

“I’m terribly sorry to wake you at this hour, Mr. Valdoorn. I have something important to tell you, if you don’t mind. May I come in?”

Krym grumbled something to himself, and gestured him in. He didn’t like this Tarrow fellow, and never will. He knew what he was. He was an adventurer. One of those people that sets off into the wilderness, leaving behind any family he had, in pursuit of gold and power and monsters to slay. Krym had learned the hard way that those kinds of people bring nothing but sorry to everyone around them.

Including themselves.

Krym’s mother, Aramyth, had also learned this lesson. She had been living here, back when Kellonville was merely a place where a few farmers decided to build houses. She had inherited her father’s farm, and though she did what work she could, most of the work had to be done by hired hands. Money was tight, and life wasn’t easy, but she made do. Until the traveler came into town.

“The traveler” was all that Krym knew his father by. He had come into town in search of riches, and dragons, and glory. He came in, captivated Aramyth with his stories of ancient dungeons and tombs full of traps, and told her of his undying love for her and his intention of abandoning his quest for glory and settling down with her. They shared a scant few intimate nights together, and then, like the wind, he was gone. Gone to search the world for riches and dragons and glory.

This “traveler” left Aramyth in her squalor and never returned, leaving her now with a child to raise in this harsh world, alone. The burgeoning town around them wanted nothing of harlots and bastard children, so Aramyth and her new son, Krym, were cast out, her land taken and home burned. They were forced to flee, find what little civilization they could come across, and live on whatever streets they were lucky enough to find. He grew up a tired, hungry, angry young boy.

As soon as he was old enough, he forced his mother to tell him about his father, though she was more ashamed of it than anything else. She told Krym everything she could, from what he looked like to how he talked. Everything but his name. Aramyth knew, from the moment she realized he was gone, that whatever name he had given her was false. Knowing a false name would do her no good, so she quickly forgot it to end her grief.

Krym set out, living off scraps and refuse and fending for his life in the wilderness, in search of the beast that refused to be his father. In order to find the wandering adventurer that begat him, Krym became one himself.

Years passed. He met up with a group of others, just as bloodthirsty as he was, and just as selfish and unconcerned for the lives of others that his “father” was. He searched and searched, all to no avail. The clues he had to find his father were simply not enough.

After reaching maturity among thieves and cowards, he returned to his mother, to tell her of his ultimate failure. He was spared, thankfully- for his mother had died shortly after his departure. He had become what he hated most to find the father he wanted to kill, only to fail. And now he had nothing.

And so, with nowhere else to turn, he found himself back at the entrance to Kellonville, now a quiet little town. Those responsible for forcing his mother and himself into the gutter were all dead or gone, and nobody even knew who he was. He took all that was left of his gains from his days wandering, and bought the tract of land his mother had once owned. He built a home on the foundation, all on his own. He met and married a woman in the community, and with her bore a daughter. His wife sadly died during the childbirth, leaving his beloved daughter in his care.

The days were hard, lonely, and tiring. He worked from morning till night every day to try and provide for his daughter. His old life, if it could be called a life, was left completely behind him. The only remnant of his life as a wanderer consists of an axe he keeps under his bed, still sharp from the day he found it.

“Mr. Valdoorn… may I call you Krym?”

Krym simply grunted. Apparently that meant yes.

“Krym… I have here, in my hand, a letter… for your daughter, Persephone. It was written by my squire, Artemis Redsleeves.”

He leapt to his feet, anger seeping through his eyes. Ever since the moment their group came to Kellonville, Krym hated them all. They came from the wilderness, most likely looking for a place to stop so they could use up the town’s resources and then move on to raid some temple. Sure, Ben Arons had predicted something or other, but Ben is a lunatic. And it wasn’t until they showed up that any monsters came to town. And besides- Ben’s last warning was “beware danger from the east”. They came from the east. He hated them, just like he hated all of their kind. And after they “saved Kellonville”, most likely from some danger they themselves brought, he caught that Redsleeves boy eyeing his precious Persephone, his one link to the only good person he ever met in his life. There was no way that boy would get his dirty little mitts on his daughter- no way, no how.

“Forgive my rudeness, Sir,” began Krym, slinging the word as an insult, “but your ‘squire’ has no business speaking with Persephone. If that boy wants anything to do with her whatsoever, he can talk to me himself. I don’t know where you come from, but I know enough about your kind to know that all you people do is take. You take our money, you take our homes, and the company you bring with you takes our lives. That boy will have nothing to do with me or my daughter or my town, if I have any say in the matter, until he gives something back.”

Seeing the man before him was clearly upset, Tarrow stood slowly, meeting the man’s gaze. His tone was forceful- but as level as possible. What he was about to say needed to be said.

“I am here, Mr. Valdoorn, because one day ago, Artemis Redsleeves was killed. He gave his life, as did another of my companions, to save your town. If he hadn’t saved me, I would have died as well. So, it is my obligation… no, my duty… to give you this letter. I found it with his things after he was killed. I believe it was his intention to give it to your daughter once he had earned your approval. Good day, and I hope that you will attend the funeral.”

He turned on his heel, opened the door, and left. After the door slammed, the only sound in the room was the soft noise of rain tapping against the roof.

The letter that Krym held in his hand was so small, worn, and unassuming. He had guessed that when this boy tried to steal his daughter, it would be something big and flashy like his mother’s stories of what his “father” did.

He looked at the parchment. Could this boy really be dead? Could he really have given his life to save the town? Could it be that someone from… out there… was actually willing to give something back? To give his life?

After reading the letter, Krym collapsed into his chair, and cried. His wet eyes stared at the page before him. Yesterday, he would have eagerly tossed the letter into the fire without a second thought.


But now… what was he supposed to do?

Last of the King's Men, Chapter 31

It was sunset. A knight and a squire were standing in the clearing, the knight’s face one of disappointment and pity. The squire, sunken to his knees with exhaustion, his face flushed and hair matted with sweat, clutched a sword in one hand. The knight held nothing, having tossed his sword aside long ago.

“Is that the best you can do?”

The squire stood back up, and clumsily swung his sword at the knight, who blocked the flow with his bare hand easily, sidestepping the squire and landing behind him.

The squire spun around to attack once more, but as he did, a carefully-placed boot came in contact with his face. He tried swinging yet again at the knight, but the horse-head pommel of a concealed dagger slammed into his stomach, knocking out what little breath he had.

“I see it was a mistake to bring you along. You couldn’t hurt a flea.”

The squire lifted his face, looking at the knight, the setting sun silhouetting his horned head. The knight turned to walk away, a thick tail flitting behind him.

“I… I hate you…” said the squire, his muscles aching as his numb fingers clutched the grip of the blade. “…You… you DEMON!”

The sword sang as it flew through the air, catching the knight the moment he dropped his guard. It barely had enough force behind it to cut through clothing, let alone cause real damage; the squire’s arm immediately went limp and he collapsed to the ground, panting for his life.

The knight noted the tear in his tunic, and the tiny line of scratched flesh behind it, nodding silently, breathing a sigh of relief. He extended a red hand down towards the squire.

“That’s what I was waiting for, Artemis.”
-----------------------------------------------
The two of them returned to the campfire, where the others already waited, making preparations for the next day’s travels. A fire was dancing merrily, the night’s meager meal cooking atop it. The squire collapsed near the fire, his muscles burning.

The knight pulled up a log, sitting down. “Listen to these words, Artemis,” he began, “and listen to them well. You cannot fail. On the battlefield, you must be a force to be reckoned with. You have to make every one of your opponents afraid to turn their back on you. You must have complete mastery of the battlefield. Anything less, and you’ll be dead. Do you understand?”

The squire wiped sweat from his brow, his bones screaming at him, threatening to break from the day’s exertion. He nodded.

The knight pulled out a lute, and began to play a soothing melody.

“Tarrow,” said the squire, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

The melody paused. The squire could feel his gaze.

“I’m really sorry about calling you a ‘demon’. I don’t even know what it means. I was just…” His voice trailed off.

“I know.”

The melody continued.
-------------------------------------------------
They all ate their meal, and some turned in for the night. The knight, the squire, and a priest remained awake, lying on the ground near the dying embers, their gaze directed up, at the stars.

After some time of silence, the squire spoke.

“What was life like back home? Where you’re from, I mean?”

Both of his companions thought about it, each waiting for the other to speak.

“Home for me was a place called Gilead,” said the knight after a long pause. “I lived with both of my parents in a house that was too big for any of us to spend time with each other.” He laughed, as did the others. “No, my parents treated me well. They made sure I got the best tutoring available, and I would ride horses along the lush green hills and swim in lakes and read from the best libraries. It was… beautiful, looking back. Some day I hope to call it my home once again.”

The priest, a smile across his red scaly snout, nodded. “My home was within the capital itself. I was born in a hatchery, among many others of my kind. We stayed in the city, with many brothers and sisters and many parents and grandparents. We were never without family, and never without friends. I wished to see the countryside for many years, and once I was able to join the king’s army, I was granted that wish.”

There was another pause, as the squire, the knight, and the priest stared again at the stars.

“What were… girls like,” said the squire, his face blushing slightly, “where you came from?”

Both the knight and the priest laughed, and the knight once again spoke first. “They were as plentiful as they were beautiful, lad. Few of my own kind, of course, but you can’t blame a man for admiring a girl, whether she be human or elf.”

The squire smiled. “What about Sanna? Did you ever… ‘admire’ her?”

More laughs from his companions. “I’d watch your tongue, boy. Don’t ever let Sanna hear you calling her a girl. I’ve known bearded men more feminine than she.”

After they had finished laughing, the squire turned to the priest. “What about you, Grash? Did you ever have any special girls in your life?”

The priest took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“I had a close friend- a girl named Korinne. She and I courted for some time… but in the end it simply was not to be. She and I remain close to this day.” His smile faltered. “Rather… we were friends for many years.”

There was a moment of silence. The priest slowly climbed to his feet, bid his companions goodnight, and retired to his tent.

Another long, deep pause. Somewhere off in the distance, an owl could be heard. The squire spoke.

“Tarrow, what are the stars?”

The knight pondered the question. “Nobody really knows. Some say they are the souls of lost loved ones, looking down from above. Others say they are the gods themselves, or the homes of the gods, or other worlds entirely.”

The squire paused. After a short silence, he asked, “What do you think they are? Do you think they’re… gods or lost souls?”

The knight shrugged. “I don’t know. Personally, I don’t put any faith in gods or souls. They could be far-away balls of fire as far as I’m concerned.”

The squire squinted, looking deeply into the canopy of pinpricks above.

“Do the stars have names?”

The knight nodded. “Some of them do. Others, groups of stars called constellations, are named after whatever they resemble. Some even have long stories and myths about those who they represent.”

The squire tried to sit up, but every joint ached. “They do? Like what?”

The knight pointed up into the darkness, aiming at one lone star in an empty patch of nothingness.

“That star is called ‘the Watcher’. Unlike most stars, that one moves around quite a bit. At different times of the year, it will be in different places- sometimes near other stars, sometimes on its own. It’s named after an old fable about an adventurer who had traveled the world, fought every monster, looted every treasure, and found he no longer got pleasure from rewards and gifts. Instead, he realized that life itself is the grand adventure, and that the pleasure of life comes from the journey, rather than the destination.”

The squire smiled, his eyes fixed on the lone star.

“And so,” continued the knight, “he spends all of his days traveling, on an endless journey for all of eternity.”

“Is that story true?”

The knight shrugged. “I doubt it. It’s likely just a story to encourage everyone to enjoy working instead of waiting for their time to rest. Most of these stories are just invented to explain something people don’t understand, or to encourage the listener to do something they otherwise wouldn’t.”

The squire nodded, still gazing skyward.

“Are there any others,” he began, “that talk about being becoming a knight? Or how to get better at swordfighting?”

The knight smiled. “Well, other there-“ he pointed at a huge mess of stars, spanning most of the sky, “-is a large constellation called ‘the Bloodless Battle of the Thousand Demon Brothers’. It was one of my favorite stories growing up in Gilead.”

The squire tried to see the constellation, but saw nothing but a jumble of dots. “Can you tell it to me?”

The knight thought back to his childhood, reciting from memory.

“Having wandered through a cherry blossom orchard, the swordsman happened upon on thousand demon brothers, who took up their weapons and fought him. Being unruly creatures, they did not attack each other in their turn, but set upon him all at once, blotting out the sun with their wings.

“After seven days and nights, the demons withdrew to look to their wounded, but not one had suffered even a single cut. Likewise, the swordsman remained untouched by demon blades. ‘What manner of battle do you bring us that you spill not a drop of blood?’ asked the demons of the swordsman, as none among them had ever before passed seven days without bloodshed. ‘I am a defender,’ replied the swordsman. ‘With no one to defend, there IS no battle.’

“The demons howled and fell upon one another to sate their bloodlust. At this, the swordsman leapt forwards and struck each demon down as it attacked its own brother, until, as the sun rose, there remained only one. ‘Will you not slay me too?’ asked the demon, to which the swordsman replied, ‘As long as you remain without enemy, my blade cannot harm you.’

“The swordsman and the last demon brother walked together as far as the sea, by which time they had gone without battle longer than anyone else alive. When at last they parted company, the swordsman regretted only that he had not yet been able to lay down his own life for his companion.”

Another long pause. The squire then asked, “Tarrow, what is a demon?”

“A demon,” said the knight after a short sigh, “is said to be the servant of a god- an evil god, in particular. They are supposed to be evil, ugly, conniving creatures who tempt you into committing sins. There are good versions, of course, that work for good deities, called angels. They are supposed to be beautiful beyond comparison, oft resembling perfect maidens with feathered wings and blonde hair.”

“But,” began the squire, “I’ve heard people call you a demon. In that town, a few days ago. A man spit at you and called you a demon, and told you to leave and never return.”

The knight had been expecting this. “Yes, yes. People have been using that name to refer to people of my race for some time. Long ago there was a war between my people and yours- it didn’t end well for either side. Since then, there’s always been a bit of… animosity towards my kind, especially in less… civilized areas. Because of the widespread prejudice against my kind that was so prevalent when most of these legends started, demons in tales of yore often have features that resemble my people- horns, tails, red skin, and so on.”

The squire nodded. He didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t continue the thought.

Another long pause. And then the squire spoke again.

“Tarrow,” he began.

“Yes?”

“What happens after you die?”

The knight shifted uneasily. “Well, Artemis… once again, nobody really knows. Most people say that you go on to another stage of life, in another form, to live and serve whatever god you worshipped when you were alive. Others say when you die, your soul goes on to be reborn again in a different body, and it just starts over and over again.”

“But,” continued the squire, “what do YOU think?”

The knight smiled at his pupil’s curiosity. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think anything happens. I know it’s not the easiest thing to accept, but in my opinion it’s better than just believing what you want to believe. And telling people they’ll go to a better place when they die makes them a lot more willing to give up their lives for a worthless cause.”

“But what about magic?” The squire turned to look at the knight. “Can’t magic bring people back?”

The knight shook his head. “No. There are limits on what even magic can do.”

There was one more long, long pause.

“Tarrow,” began the squire, gazing again into the infinite sky.

“Yes, Artemis?”

“I don’t ever want to die.”

The knight stared at the stars as well.


“Me neither.”

Last of the King's Men, Chapter 30

Artemis Redsleeves’ mouth hung open, his eyes transfixed on the boy in the doorway.

No, he thought. It can’t be.

“You seem surprised,” the boy said with a smirk. “This form was useful, you could say. I’ll bet you couldn’t resist aiding some… poor defenseless victim of wanton violence, could you?” He had pantomimed waving his childish arms in a gesture of helplessness, and then laughed audibly. “You foolish heroes are so easily manipulated.”

Grash was shaking his head, his grip loosening on his axe. “But,” he began, a look of disbelief on his draconic face, “you’re just a child. How could you-“

“Oh,” he interrupted. “Yes, this form served its purpose. Perhaps you would like a different one?”

His body grew dark, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, and suddenly in his place stood Grash, in his ceremonial robes, his tiny spectacles sitting on the end of his snout.

“H-how…” Grash stammered.

But Artemis watched the Grash standing in the doorway, who smirked again, speaking in a perfect recreation of the Horselord’s voice. “Maybe this one.”

Once again darkness passed over him, and he was now Fru’al, stroking his long grey beard. “Or maybe this.” Then he was Sanna striking a seductive pose, and then Sir Tarrow. “As I said, it doesn’t take much to fool ones such as yourselves.”

Artemis’ hands were shaking. His breath was coming in shallow, his eyes twitching. The horror that rebirthed the orc scourge- the monster who had kidnapped Sibyla and who killed Vrell and somehow allowed the dead to walk upon the earth- was beside him all this time, watching them and learning their secrets?

“HOW DARE YOU,” Artemis heard himself screaming, his sword pointed across the pit. “I… we… I TRUSTED YOU!”

He dug his feet into the ground, preparing to launch himself across the pit, when suddenly, Sir Tarrow threw himself first, landing gracefully on the other side of the pit, his falchion raised with both hands.

“FOR EODON!”

He brought his falchion down as he screamed, but the mirror-image of himself vanished, and Sir Tarrow’s blade struck the floor, cleaving a deep rend into the stone surface. His head jerked up, and Artemis could see through the doorway a squad of orcs, weapons at the ready, waiting for this moment. They began to charge, roaring in their guttural tongue, at the trystborn standing in the doorway.

Two of Sanna’s arrows flew past Sir Tarrow’s head, planting themselves firmly into the chests of two of the charging orcs, but only slowed them down. Artemis and Grash both ran and jumped across the gap, Artemis rolling as he landed. With his shield arm, he pushed Sir Tarrow out of the way of the opening, where he stumbled slightly, his face a visage of utter disappointment at what he had just learned.

Artemis tried to move into the doorway to meet the first wave of orcs, but before he could, he saw for a moment in the corner of his eye the Dark One, still in Sir Tarrow’s form, with his hands outstretched. Artemis barely had time to raise his shield as a bolt of crackling black eldritch force came at him.

His shield did nothing- the energy passed through his shield like it were nothing, and the darkness struck his chest, burning him at his very core and causing his entire body to go limp. He tried to raise his shield at the orcs descending upon him, but the pain was too great.

Grash, however, jumped into the way, swinging his axe in a wide arc, slicing clean through the first of the orcs. The second caught his axe on its shield, and the third stabbed with a jagged blade, piercing straight through a gap in the plates of his armor. Grash let out a howl, and Artemis could see blood pouring down his side as the orc pulled the blade out, causing more damage to Grash’s flesh in the process.

“Grash, move! Sanna, Fru’al, FIRE!” Sir Tarrow pulled the draconian Paladin out of the doorway, pausing for a moment to let two more arrows and one of Fru’al’s fireballs to streak past him, taking down one of the orcs and setting another two alight. Sir Tarrow stepped in front of Grash, standing on top of one of the fallen orcs. “We have to create an opening! Artemis, get off the floor, already!”

Artemis could still feel the pain coursing through his body, his arms and legs aching like they did when Sir Tarrow first taught him to fight. But he pulled himself to his feet, and, his shield held out front, he charged into the space next to Sir Tarrow, stabbing through the orc that had injured Grash.

Grash held a hand to his side, and over the noise Artemis heard a prayer to his goddess. Two orcs swung their axes at the trystborn and the squire, but Artemis deflected one with his shield and stopped the other by stabbing its wielder in the stomach.

He saw the Dark One raise its hands again, its mouth twisted in a cruel grin, and let loose another arc of black lightning. Artemis dodged backwards to avoid it, but it wasn’t meant for him- it missed with a wide berth, and instead struck Sir Tarrow in the side, causing him to scream in pain. One of his arms went limp, and he narrowly avoided a blow from an orc by deflecting one-handed with his blade.

Suddenly, Sanna was standing on the other side of the orcs, having Stepped, as she called it, to the other side. She fired arrows at the Dark One, but he himself disappeared once again, immediately materializing behind the edhel, striking her with another blast of darkness at point-blank range.

Between parries, Artemis saw the force of the blast knock her backwards against a wooden door on the other side of the room, and he heard Grash scream in anger. The draconian pushed his way between him and the still-weakened Sir Tarrow, his axe glowing brighter than the sun, cleaving straight through another orc. He then charged through the crowd, getting stabbed by two swords in the process.

But he had made an opening.

“Go, Artemis,” called Sir Tarrow, trying desperately to avoid getting killed while his arm hung lifelessly at his side. “Forget about me!”

Artemis looked at him for the briefest of moments, trying to decide what to do, and taking his master’s advice, he rammed his shield into one of the orcs, knocking him back, and waded into the opening Grash had made. Blows came at him from every direction, he could feel his body shaking with fear and adrenaline, but he had to get to the Dark One. He took some blunt blows to the back, his shield got a deep gouge in it from a double-handed axe, and he stabbed one more orc through the chest, but-

He turned back for an instant, and saw one orc slam his axe into the trystborn, as hard as he could, knocking Sir Tarrow’s falchion out of his hand. A second blow hit him square in the side, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying backwards through the door where he landed, unmoving, at the edge of the pit.

Artemis stared in horror as one of the orcs, seeing its opportunity, advanced on him, ready to cleave Sir Tarrow’s body in two. Artemis pushed back the rest of the orcs surrounding him, and charged, stabbing straight through the brute’s neck. Its last breath gurgled before him, and with a swift kick from his boot, Artemis pulled his sword from the creature, and sent its body toppling over Sir Tarrow’s into the pit.

Across the gap, Fru’al was on his knees, holding his staff in front of him. “I am sorry, Artemis,” he said, shaking his head. “I have only one spell remaining. I can only-“

“Just do it,” said Artemis said, cutting him off. “Sir Tarrow is still breathing. Watch over him while I-“

A thrown axe struck Artemis in the back, slicing through the scales of his armor and almost knocking him into the pit. Keeping his balance, he spun around, raised his shield, and stabbed its user through the chest, dropping him to the ground. Only two more orcs, and the Dark One, remained.

Artemis heard Grash screaming. He swung his massive axe, still glowing with the holy rage of Detroia, at the Dark One, but with each swing the Sir Tarrow-doppelganger would simply vanish and reappear somewhere else.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR SINS,” screamed Grash, who swung like Artemis had never seen him swing. He cleaved straight through the space the Dark One had just occupied, his axe burying itself deep into the stone, stuck fast.

The Dark One, now standing a mere two paces to the side, grinned, his hands outstretched. He blasted the draconian Paladin, who stumbled back, his body wrapped with black energy. As he stumbled, one of the few remaining orcs charged, its sword piercing straight through Grash’s heart.

Artemis screamed, watching as Grash fell to his knees, and then to the floor. Artemis ran at the orc, his shield out ahead, his blade a wide arc of steel separating the orc’s head from its body. Its body fell beside the draconian’s, two pools of blood forming under them.

“YOU… I WILL KILL YOU!” Artemis charged at the Dark One, tensing the muscles in his arm to ready for a strike. The last orc tried to step in the way, but two arrows flew from across the room and planted themselves in the orc’s face, dropping it to the ground.

Sanna, bracing herself against the floor with her bow in hand still beside the closed wooden door, had blood dripping from her eyes, nose, and mouth. She had two more arrows in her hand in an instant.

We can do this, thought Artemis. Sanna and me. Just him. We can finish this. I have to finish this.

He slashed at the Dark One, who vanished and appeared just a few paces away, that ridiculous grin still on his disguised face. With barely a muscle moved, he threw another blast of eldritch darkness into Artemis Redsleeves, knocking him to his knees.

The pain was indescribable. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel anything but pain. Within an instant he could see again, but his vision was blurry.

I cannot fail, he thought. I cannot fail.

He fought against the pain and pulled himself to his feet. The Dark One, still grinning, shook his head and raised his hands to fire once more.

The tiniest of movement came from Sanna’s face- a nod. She fired her two arrows, which the Dark One avoided by vanishing.

Anticipating his arrival, Artemis stabbed into thin air.

Suddenly, the Dark One reappeared, Artemis’ sword stabbing straight through his stomach. For the briefest of moments, his image waivered, and he was no longer Sir Tarrow, but a different man, dressed in a long black robe, his features distorted by Artemis’ blurred vision. Artemis twisted the sword as he pulled it out, causing a gout of blood from the Dark One’s stomach and mouth.

Without a word, the Dark One vanished again, materializing behind Sanna. He kicked the back of her head hard with his foot, and grabbed the wooden door, pulling it open and throwing himself through it, closing the door behind him.

Artemis, his entire body still numb but for the pain, his hands and legs shaking, chased after him. Time slowed as the blurry door got closer and closer and closer with each excruciating step.

I cannot fail.

He saw himself brace his shield against his shoulder. He readied himself for the impact, his sword arm tight and ready to strike.

I cannot fail.

His weight collided with the door, sending wooden boards and splinters in every direction. Pain shot through his body, from his shoulder, from his feet on the floor, from his fingers gripping his sword.

I cannot fail.

The Dark One stood against the wall, his hands extended.

I cannot fail.

Artemis swung his sword. A flash of darkness.


I cannot

Last of the King's Men, Chapter 29

Tarrow Sharn was awoken to the ear-splitting blare of a siren. He hit his head with a jolt on the empty bunk above his, clutching a hand to his forehead. For a brief moment, he had a flash of a dream- something about being on a beach, maybe? But he pushed it out of his mind as the klaxon continued outside. He recognized that noise, and he knew Fru’al only created that noise with his magic if something terrible was happening, right now.

His bare feet hit the floor. He didn’t have time to get dressed. He grabbed a blanket and hastily tied it around his waist to cover his naked form, running out through the common room, grabbing his falchion in one hand from beside the front door. Seeing Artemis’ sword and shield as well, he grabbed them under the other arm as he sprinted onto the grassy hill.

In a quick cursory glance, he saw Fru’al and Sanna standing at the edge of the stream, Sanna firing arrows and Fru’al’s staff held high, still emitting the loud wail that was sure to wake up everyone in town. Grash was wading across the stream in his dressing gown, his axe glowing like the sun as he slashed at several humanoid assailants coming at him from upstream. On the other side, Artemis stood, a large stick held in both hands, frantically fighting off a crowd of the men coming at him from every direction.

“MEN,” shouted Tarrow, hoping to be heard over Fru’al’s siren, “REGROUP AND REINFORCE!”

He charged down the hill, feeling the first drops of rain on his bare red chest. He leapt as far as he could across the water, landing with a clumsy roll through the waist-deep water. Once he reoriented himself, Sanna had Stepped to the shore beside him, her bow constantly releasing volley after volley through the falling rain at the unknown attackers. Fru’al had begun trying to wade across the stream, and Grash, still having difficulty in connecting with his enemies, remained back to keep himself between them and the aged wizard.

“ARTEMIS,” yelled the trystborn, watching as the boy dodged and parried as the strange assailants continued to try and batter him with their… fists? Tarrow couldn’t quite see what they were attacking. “ARTEMIS, RETREAT!”

Acknowledging the order, Artemis deflected one more blow with his club, which splintered under the force of it, and he rammed his way past two of them as they eagerly attempted to grab him. He pushed through, but one managed to tear at the sleeve of his wet shirt, leaving most of his shield arm bare.

Tarrow tossed the shield to him, and Artemis caught it, wasting no time in affixing the wet leather straps to his arm, flexing his hand as he turned it towards the now-advancing creatures. The boy kept stepping back towards his companions, one hand outstretched towards them. Tarrow hurried to meet him, holding the sword out by the white dragonscale scabbard. Artemis’ hand found the grip, and he drew it, pointing it around his shield as he continued to back up towards Sanna and Tarrow.

Fru’al and Grash caught up with the rest of them, and they stood in an uneasy circle, their heads darting back and forth as a mob of these beings walked towards them with a slow, steady, uneven gait. One of the monsters that had assaulted Grash in the middle of the stream was gone, but the other still advanced, getting close.

“Fru’al, tell me what these things are,” Tarrow said as the old man’s staff began to quiet down. “And someone tell me how they got here.”

Fru’al shook his head, aiming his staff through the now-pouring rain at the oncoming mob.

“I don’t know, Tarrow. They look like bodies of dead men, given life beyond death.”

Artemis called back, his shield and sword still held out, still alert. “Is such a thing possible?”

“I didn’t think so,” began the wizard, sounding unsure of himself. “But the evidence seems to point otherwise.”

“Whatever they are,” interjected Sanna, “they aren’t going down. All of my arrows that manage to hit flesh don’t seem to be doing anything but slowing them down.”

Artemis blocked a soggy blow from one of the creatures that managed to get close, immediately responding with a chop to the creature’s arm, without much visible effect. “My sword doesn’t seem to be much help, either.”

Grash brought his axe up in an upward slash, a halo of light illuminating the drops of rain around the blade as it cut into the creature’s exposed ribcage. Where Tarrow saw the light touch, its flesh and bone crumbled, but the creature continued to advance.

“My powers seem effective,” he said, following up with one more slash, which crushed its midsection to dust, causing its skeleton to collapse onto the soaking ground. “But not effective enough.”

“Knights, tactical repositioning is in order,” said Tarrow, and the knights backed up, watching as a wall of the creatures came at them. Artemis stabbed through their chests, with little effect. Sanna fired shots through their skulls, which resulted in at least one dead-beast walking around without a head. Grash seemed to be doing the most damage, but even that wasn’t enough to stop them.

The problem, Tarrow saw, was that these… un-dead just didn’t stop coming. A man, when struck, feels pain. He recoils. He changes tactics to avoid getting hurt or killed.

But these… things… weren’t men. They were like machines, built for a specific purpose. Tarrow didn’t understand what sort of foul magics could turn the corpse of a man into this disgusting mockery of life, like a puppet with no strings. But Tarrow began to suspect who the puppeteer might be- they had already learned of someone capable of reviving the dead.

Tarrow watched as Fru’al used his magic to create illusory duplicates of each of the knights, to distract the enemies. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work- whatever these creatures were, either they were too smart to be fooled by such a trick (which seemed unlikely to the trystborn), or they simply weren’t affected.

As if they didn’t have a mind to cloud.

Tarrow stepped up between Artemis and Grash, each of them getting battered by these beasts’ rotting fists. He caught one creature’s blow on the edge of his falchion, and Artemis, seeing the opening, slashed downward through the rain with his sword, snapping through the dead-beast’s arm, which fell lifeless to the wet ground. Tarrow felt a chill down his spine as he watched- where a man would cry in pain from losing limb, this beast simply switched arms and continued fighting.

Tarrow could hear Sanna crying out in frustration as most of her arrows simply passed through empty ribcages or glanced off of wet, slippery bones. Occasionally one would separate a lump of flesh from its owner, but all it seemed to do was expose more hideous rotting skeleton to the elements.

Fru’al began expending his spells in the form of bursts of fire and arcane energy, which certainly had an effect, and in fact caused more than one of them to break apart into piles of charred bones- but it was taking its toll on the wizard, and even with the three front-line fighters one managed to climb out of the stream, unnoticed in the deluge, and tear at Fru’al’s side with its filthy finger bones. Grash, realizing his old friend was in danger, rammed his shoulder into the skeleton closest to him, bringing his axe down with the weight of holy fury onto the mage’s attacker. It exploded in a sudden burst of white, leaving only bones and crumbled flesh in a wet puddle on the ground.

“Artemis, pick up the slack,” Tarrow called out, managing to break through an enemy’s spinal cord, watching as its bottom half crumbled and its top half, still fighting, pulled itself towards him through the mud. He then planted a swift kick into the creature’s skull, sending it flying, and causing the rest of its body to fall apart. Artemis used his shield to knock two of the beasts down to the ground and then leapt over a pile of bones to Grash, narrowly deflecting one of the skeletons from raking its sharp digits across the draconian’s back.

Sanna continued to keep up her pace of firing arrows as best as she could, stopping only to sweep her legs through the muck to trip any that managed to get close. With such an opening, Tarrow and Artemis took turns splitting skulls and severing limbs, whenever they could.

Grash continued to strike any that came near. He wasn’t always able to connect, but when he did, he could destroy one completely in only a few hits. Artemis wasn’t able to deal much damage with his sword, but he was at least able to keep several of them at a time from being able to land a blow. Fru’al was only able to help with minor spell effects, the rest having been sacrificed for a modicum of magical damage.

Tarrow helped wherever he could, directing them the best as he was able through the pouring rain. He had a few bloody scratches across his crimson chest, but if nothing else, the rain made his skin more slippery, causing more than one glancing blow. It was still no replacement for his armor, no matter how sexy he may look, he mused to himself.

With a loud draconic roar, Grash brought his glowing axe down upon the last skeleton as it lay squirming in the mud, causing it to burst in holy energy. The knights looked at one another through the downpour, all with scratches, bruises, and out of breath.

“We have to make sure everyone else in town is safe,” said Tarrow the moment he caught his breath. “Go door to door and tell everyone you can to stay inside until further notice. If you see any more of those things, or anything else suspicious, draw them away from civilians and make as much noise as you can. Artemis, you take the west. Sanna, you take the south. Grash, you take the east. After alerting whoever you can, return to the Rusted Drake. Fru’al, you head back to the lodge and grab any of our supplies you think we might need.” Everyone nodded. “And if you would, grab me some clothes,” he said with an embarrassed grin.

Before they parted, Sanna asked Tarrow, “What will you be doing?”

“Simple,” said the trystborn. “I’ll be making sure the Dark One hasn’t taken Sibyla.”
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Normally, he would have had all of them come with him, but an attack in the center of town like this meant the entire town was in danger. There simply wasn’t time to check for more monsters AND check on Sibyla. Tarrow was going to have to take his chances.

He got to Sibyla’s home, and he immediately knew something was wrong. The home was easily visible, as it had been since she returned from giving birth, but the door was broken, hanging off its hinges. Tarrow held his falchion and crept quickly to the door, calling inside.

“Sibyla or Vrell, this is Tarrow Sharn,” he shouted, trying to peer around the doorway. “If you are hurt, I need you to-“

The smell of blood assaulted his nose as he entered, and he was stopped in his tracks and averted his eyes from the carnage before him. Vrell, the bluescale draconian that had acted as Sibyla’s bodyguard for several weeks, was stuck to the wall by multiple wooden stakes, his chest sliced open and his entrails spilling out onto the floor. His blood had been used to write a message on the wall:

All Who Oppose The Dark One Shall Meet His End

Steeling himself against the horror that had been wrought, Tarrow looked for any clues, any signs of what had happened- specifically whether Sibyla or her baby had been hurt- and found none.

This was not good, Tarrow thought. This is very not good.
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After everyone returned from their mission, they met at the Rusted Drake, and Tarrow took a moment to get dressed before meeting with Telstedler. The half-elf was not happy for many reasons, the least of which was being woken up in the middle of the night. Tarrow did his best to explain what had happened to the man as everyone got suited up in their armor and supplies.

There were no more of those un-dead creatures spotted, but everyone was instructed to keep their doors and windows closed and not to open them until further notice from Charles or one of the Horselords. Tarrow explained what he had found in Sibyla’s home, and Fru’al relayed that Daggit the tanner, working late in his shop north of town, thought he had heard- though not seen- a horse galloping on the road away from the village proper. Fru’al had even taken a moment to check on the poor boy Kefir, but not only was he not at the temple of Azimuth, but Jael hadn’t seen him in over two days.

“Which means that we have no time to waste,” said the trystborn. “We must go, hoping that Daggit was right, and hoping (despite my wishes otherwise) that the Dark One has taken Sibyla where I suspect he has taken her.”

Telstedler nodded. “I am putting the safety of my town in your hands, then. Godspeed, men.”

The Horselords turned and left. They retrieved their horses from their stables, and without another pause, they galloped on north as fast as they could.
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In record time despite the still-pouring rain, the five Eodon horses arrived at what should have been the ruins of the old Witches’ cottage off the road north of town, but to their surprise, it appeared to be completely intact, exactly as they had first found it weeks ago. They dismounted, and Tarrow gave the horses the signal once again to flee back to their homes if the Horselords didn’t return soon enough. A bolt of lightning struck somewhere close, and the knights entered the small structure, their weapons at the ready.

As if inviting them inside, the illusion-hidden trap door was already open, a rope tied to one of the building’s load-bearing beams and lying in a coil beside the open passage. Artemis, without needing to be told what to do, sheathed his sword and took hold of the rope, descending quickly into the darkness. Sanna wasted no time in following him, and then Grash and Fru’al, and Tarrow came down last.

They were once again in a large room with a giant set of wooden double doors, lit by Fru’al’s magical floating lanterns. On the door was the same carved image they saw last time they were here- except, when they neared it, Tarrow realized for a brief moment that it was different. Where before it showed a stout man leading a crowd of people towards a light, it now showed a tall cloaked figure, and he wasn’t leading a crowd, but rather being paid tribute by the crowd. And the people themselves were no longer citizens of Kellonville- some were orcs, others were hideous creatures Tarrow couldn’t describe, and others were beings of various races with torn flesh, exposed bone, and ravenous looks on their faces. And behind the figure was not a light, but a strange symbol of three connected triangles that Tarrow didn’t recognize.

Nobody else seemed to notice the change, and since time was of the essence Tarrow didn’t draw attention to it. Placing the sole of his boot against the door, Tarrow gave it a firm push, swinging it open, weapons drawn.

Behind was a sight nobody was expecting to see. Three women, old and shriveled, stood in a triangle, each with filthy matted hair, tattered clothes, and devilish grins on their faces. The first had a huge scar on her neck, the second, a circular scar over her heart visible through a tear in her shirt. The third opened her mouth and, in a horrific gesture, seductively licked her lips, showing a tongue that was stitched on.

“Welcome to your death, Horselords of Eodon,” they said in unison, their hands beginning to crackle and pop with flame.

But Artemis was suddenly atop the first, knocking her to the ground and stabbing his sword through her chest, blood pouring out of the wound and her mouth. Sanna fired two arrows straight through the head of the second, her energy dissipating as her lifeless body slumped to the floor. Tarrow raced Grash to the third, the two of them slicing their heavy blades into her torso before she could complete her spell.

Due to the seriousness of the circumstances, Tarrow even refrained from making some sort of a joke as the three witches perished. He had some good ones lined up, too, but even he knew that now simply wasn’t the time.

“I don’t think I need to point out who they were,” spoke Fru’al as the other knights regrouped.

Everyone shook their heads. Tarrow knew what this meant: The Dark One was, indeed, capable of raising the dead- though the difference between these hags, who were clearly alive and capable of complex spellcasting, and the creatures earlier who were little more than animated bones and rotten flesh, still escaped him.

Taking no additional time to search the bodies- though noticing the absence of orc corpses from their previous time here- Tarrow ordered the knights to continue on. Sanna stepped in front of everyone as they neared the door to the connecting hallway, however, to once again direct them around the concealed pit traps that had been waiting last time.

She seemed to remember where all of them were, so avoiding them was a simple task. When the hallway split, Tarrow directed Sanna to continue to the left, down the hall that led to the jail cells where they had found Talarin. When they reached the chamber, it was noticeably empty- lacking even the giant orc corpse that had remained after the halfling’s rescue.

Satisfied with the room’s emptiness, they continued back to the fork in the hall, and Tarrow had a disturbing thought. What if this was simply a diversion? What if the Dark One had taken Sibyla somewhere else, and the revived witches were just there to keep them looking so he would be able to escape?

No. He had to be here. Tarrow could feel it.

They neared the door that led to the final section of the complex, where they had fought the hags the first time through with their contingent of orc bodyguards. The door to the next room was on the other side of a pit, which meant that they would need to take turns jumping across. As they approached the pit to begin their preparation, however, the door across the expanse swung open of its own volition.

Standing in the doorway was a small figure, cloaked in darkness.

“Hello, everyone,” spoke a familiar, childlike voice. The darkness began to fade, and the speaker was visible.


It was Kefir.

Last of the King's Men, Chapter 28

It was early morning. Artemis Redsleeves had woken up early, before even Sir Tarrow, and had gotten his chores and exercises done before the sun rose in preparation for the day. Artemis couldn’t help but feeling amused by the look on Sir Tarrow’s face when he rose from the barracks, ready to wake up the exhausted boy like he did every morning to give him his duties for the day, only to find Artemis’ bunk empty, and made, and the floors mopped and their weapons sharpened and their armor polished. When Sir Tarrow tried to open his mouth to give him some more duties to perform, Artemis shoved some fresh goods from the bakery in his arms and bolted out the door.

A warm roll in his hands as he pulled on a fresh red-sleeved shirt, Artemis hurried out the door past the new stables, making note of the finished roof, the repaired porch that wrapped around the lodge, and all of the cobblestones paving the path to town. He couldn’t think of anything else that needed to be done. This day was his, and he was going to put it to good use.

And so he found himself at the fence surrounding Persephone’s father’s homestead, before most of the town had arisen, ready to greet the beautiful girl and her father as they left the house for the morning. He could feel tingling in his stomach, his heart was pounding, and his hands were getting sweaty as he waited.

He greeted townsfolk as they passed by, smiling to them each- Sir Tarrow had done an amazing job of getting to know each and every one of them, so as many people as possible saw the Horselords as friendly newcomers, happy to have them protecting their town from whatever might come. Occasionally people Artemis hadn’t even met would come up and thank him for helping to kill the dragon, and rescuing that Sibyla girl from… whoever it was that took her.

Sibyla’s return to Kellonville had strange effects. From what Artemis understood, nobody really knew who she was, and before the Horselords arrived many people didn’t even know she existed- but now that she was back, with her baby son in tow, she was seen all around town, people greeted her, and the mystique around her seemed to have vanished. But at the same time, the mysterious abilities she was purported to have had were gone as well- she did nothing extraordinary anymore, and even her home, which Fru’al had claimed was covered in magical protections to keep it hidden, was visible, plain as day, next to the temple of Azimuth.

And the real question was- how was she still alive? According to the stories, every time the woman known as “Sibyla” reached eighteen years old, she would become pregnant, give birth to a girl, and die in the process. This time, she had a boy, and she was very much still alive. What was the cause of this?

Whatever the case, she didn’t seem to know, nor did anyone else- not even the learned Fru’al. Vrell, wanting to atone for his actions, pledged himself to her as her protector, and after some time Sibyla agreed to let him. So far, every time Artemis had seen her, walking around town with the little one (who, to Artemis’ knowledge, had no name as of yet), Vrell was nearby. Artemis found himself wondering whatever happened with him and Fondin, but it wasn’t his place to inquire.

And then Artemis heard a sound. He turned around, and saw the angelic girl he yearned for, with her rough-skinned father, leaving the homestead. He straightened himself up and stood near their gate, a flower held in one his hands behind his back. He waited, a friendly smile on his face, as the two of them left their small house and walked the long path towards the gate.

When they were about twenty paces away, Artemis heard her father mutter something to her. She stopped where she was, standing in a grey sundress, looking completely radiant under the overcast morning sky. Her father kept walking, his dark eyes fixed directly on Artemis.

“Get away from my property, boy,” he said, his voice gruff, scratchy, and full of spite. “And don’t ever come near my daughter again, do you understand?”

Artemis stared, his mouth slightly agape, one hand clutching the flower now at his side. His mouth moved a bit, trying to find some words, completely flabbergasted at the man’s reaction. He absentmindedly raised the flower to the aged man, somewhere in his mind hoping that it would warm his stony heart, but the man simply grabbed it, crumpled it in his hand and tossed it aside. He gestured for his daughter to follow, and she did so, her perfect face red with embarrassment, her eyes welling up with tears.

The two of them walked away, with her constantly looking back and her father pulling her along, away from the boy in the red sleeves.

Artemis sighed a deep sigh. He wasn’t expecting the man to welcome him with open arms, but what did he do to deserve such malice? He had spent the last month trying to introduce himself, trying to learn about the two of them, and try to make himself presentable for the man’s respect. And when he finally works up the courage to make an offering to the man’s daughter, at their home, the man treats him like this?

Artemis was disappointed, but he wouldn’t give up. If he was the kind of person who gives up so easily, he would have quit being Sir Tarrow’s squire two years ago. True, he tried to do that several times when their training sessions in the wilderness got too difficult, but Sir Tarrow always made sure he knew he was able to get back up and keep fighting. If nothing else, the trystborn’s stubbornness had worn off on him.

Artemis shook his head, and walked back towards the lodge.
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The atmosphere in the lodge was so much different now than when they had first arrived. Every day the knights woke up together, trained together, worked on whatever around the house that needed to be worked on, and by nighttime, they would end up sitting around in the common room, drinking and smoking pipes and telling stories and playing music. For the first time since Artemis had joined the Horselords- and, according to their own accounts, for the first time since they were all exiled- the group actually seemed, for lack of a better term, happy.

But, unlike when they first arrived, they hadn’t let up on their guard. Everyone took turns watching guard (though Sanna still took the graveyard shift every night), their training sessions were as brutal and tiring as ever, and every day they sharpened their weapons, polished armor, and repaired their tools of war whenever they needed it.

Also, they had a small windfall of money- after rescuing Sibyla and bringing Vrell to justice, Telstedler had insisted that the knights be rewarded. He gifted them a significant amount of silver coins, which they used to purchase various things they needed. Sir Tarrow purchased lumber from the mill to build a stable for their steeds and repair the porch. Artemis commissioned several more red-sleeved shirts from Talarin Needlemaker, the halfling they had saved from orcs their first day in Kellonville. Sanna had taken care of buying new weapons and armor from Darvan Grimes, the trystborn blacksmith (the only trystborn in town, that Artemis knew of) to replace anything that had been broken or lost over the last two years. They were also able to keep the lodge stocked with food, alcohol, bandages, and anything else they may need. Also, Sir Tarrow had hinted at some sort of a surprise he had arranged for everyone, but he wouldn’t say what.

When Artemis arrived, the rest of the knights were sparring in the yard, running through various battle formations, forming strike teams and practicing combat drills. Even though he had already done some solo training this morning, Artemis changed into his training clothes and joined in.

While they were training, it began to rain. Normally this would have put a damper on their training, but everyone’s spirits were so high that they kept on, even after the rain was pouring so hard that they were slipping around on the wet grass. Artemis tackled Sanna, who fell onto Fru’al, who slid into Grash, who roared with laughter and grabbed Sir Tarrow by the leg, dragging him into a puddle. By the time everyone was soaked and caked with mud, Sir Tarrow declared training to be finished and everyone headed inside to get dried off and cleaned up.

Inside, once everyone had changed into some dry clothes, Sir Tarrow called everyone into the common room. Each of them had their own chair around the large, polished ebony table that sat in the center of the room- they had taken some time to make their own chair unique (by covering it with whatever cushions and fabrics they could find) and, along with Grash’s minor adjustments, it brought the décor of the room together.

Once everyone was seated, Sir Tarrow passed out cups of warm cider to each of them, holding his up for a toast.

“Seeing as how things have finally quieted down around here,” he began, “I would like to propose a toast, and present some gifts of my own design.”

Everyone raised their cup, Artemis seeing everyone’s genuine smiles.

“To the Horselords,” he continued.

“To the Horselords,” everyone repeated, and took a drink.

Once everyone’s cups were drained and slammed loudly down on the table, Sir Tarrow pulled some objects from under the table, each wrapped up in a bright green cloth. He handed one to Tarrow, one to Fru’al, one to Sanna, and one to Artemis. He kept one, a long tube-shaped bundle, for himself. Artemis’ gift was long and slender, and by the size and shape he thought it might be a sword, though he couldn’t feel the grip or pommel through the wrapping cloth.

Sir Tarrow stared at everyone, who stared back. “Well,” he said, “what are you waiting for?”

Everyone began to unwrap their gifts. Sanna’s was a white quiver, made of a material that shined, Artemis didn’t recognize it. Fru’al opened his, and it was a thick tome, bound in the same white material. Grash’s was a mantle, to go over the shoulders of his armor, once again of the white, smooth leathery material. Unwrapping his own, Artemis realized it wasn’t a sword, but a scabbard. And when he looked closely at the leather, he realized it wasn’t simply leather- it was white dragon scale. It was beautiful- it was polished so that each scale gave off its own radiance, and just touching it made his hands feel cold, like he could feel the breath of that foul beast on him once again.

He looked up to thank Sir Tarrow, but, like the others appeared, he was speechless.

“And one last thing, for all of us,” said Sir Tarrow, unrolling the last bundle.

When Artemis watched him unroll it, he realized what it was- a banner. It was not any banner he had ever seen- he was familiar with drawings of Eodon’s banners from notes Sir Tarrow and Grash showed him during their travels, and this was not one of them. It was divided into three sections, two smaller near the top and one larger at the bottom. Artemis had been taught the significance of heraldry and symbolism the previous year; by looking at the different elements, and keeping in mind that all Eodon heraldry tries to look to the past as well as to the future, he was able to figure it out.

The top-left held two letters, which Artemis recognized as being in an old form of Draconic script- the initials standing for “Lainen’s Eodon”. Artemis had seen Sir Tarrow use the combination of letters in the past when leaving his mark on the walls of towns that refused them safe passage- it was like a subtle way to remind people of who its true ruler is. The two letters were placed on a background of red, representing the blood spilled to make it what it was in its prime, as well as the blood spilled when the false king stole the rule.

The top-right held a symbol of a horse’s head, representing the Horselords themselves- the might and figurehead of the kingdom of Eodon- atop a background of green, reminding of the lush green hills of the country the Horselords once called home, as well as a promise of what it might be once again.

The bottom, however, was Artemis’ favorite part. The banner was dominated below by a wide plane of silver, representing the willingness to accept that they are fallible and always striving to better themselves, and on it was a symbol of a dragon, representing the past and future accomplishments of the exiled Horselords (shown by the dragon that they killed upon their acceptance into Kellonville). Below this, the bottom edge of the banner was gilded by a fringe of golden tassels, symbolizing the ultimate perfection- the golden standard- that the knights were striving towards.

Artemis truly appreciated the main emphasis being on the dragon, since, not being an original member of the Horselords, it reminded him that his main goal, his reason for being here and doing everything he had done, was to carve out his own niche in the world- to define himself by his accomplishments.

Once again, everyone was speechless. As the knights looked at each other and smiled, Artemis could see a tear in everyone’s eye, and felt one in his own as well.

Everyone stood up, and wrapped their arms around Sir Tarrow and each other. None of them knew exactly what their plan was for dealing with Galex and returning to Eodon- but Artemis knew that, for once, they all felt at home once again.
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The Horselords remained in the common room until night, once again sharing stories and singing songs and prodding Artemis for details about this girl that he’s been chasing after. His face red and a grin on his face, he decided to step outside for some fresh air. It had stopped raining some time earlier, and the sky had cleared up, revealing a beautiful canopy of stars, so he decided to climb up onto the roof and gaze upward.

Thinking back, he recalled a few nights watching the stars with Sir Tarrow and Grash, back when they first began their travels together, when Artemis had learned the names of the constellations. He stared up at the tiny pinpoints of light for some time, unable to find any of them that he had learned. By the time he sat back up, it sounded like the partying inside the lodge had died down, but Artemis remained on the roof.

He couldn’t get Persephone out of his head. He wanted so bad to talk to her, to explain to her father that he didn’t mean any harm. But of course, Artemis figured if he had a daughter, especially one as beautiful and precious as she was, he would do everything in his power to protect her. He’d provide for her, and buy her every gift she wanted, and if some hooligan from out of town came he’d chase him away so fast-

Damn, Artemis though. I’m the hooligan, aren’t I?

Sighing loudly, he stared across town, tracing through the air with a finger until he located the house that she lived in, all the way on the other side of town. He wondered if maybe she was sitting at her window, looking out into the night sky, wondering about him. Maybe she was tracing her finger across the window looking for where he lived.

He shook his head. It was doubtful. Her father probably has all of the windows covered up or something.

Then, Artemis had an idea: A letter! He would write her a letter. Maybe he would deliver it, maybe not. If he didn’t, then at least it would help him put his feelings into words so that whenever he did get to talk to her, or to her father at least, he could explain what it was that made him want to be with her so badly.

He climbed back down, and crept inside the lodge, not wanting anyone to know what he was doing, lest he get grilled further on his love life (or lack thereof).

He slowly slid his feet over the floor towards their workshop, here he knew there was parchment and ink in with their supplies. He had almost reached the shelf when-

“If you’re trying to be sneaky,” said an edhel voice, “you’re not doing a very good job.”

Artemis froze, and turned back, Sanna stood, a smirk on her usually-stony face, a drink in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Tarrow’s already gone to bed. I won’t tell him you’re going to write a letter.”

She turned around and walked away, still smirking. Artemis shook his head with a smile, grabbed what he needed, and headed back outside. He climbed onto the roof once again, and- noticing that he could hear Fru’al and Grash talking on the porch below him- he quietly began to scratch out his first ever love letter.

Dear Persephone,

Hi. My name is Artemis Redsleeves. I don’t know if you know anything about me, but I’m one of the knights that came last month and killed that dragon in town. Well, I mean, I’m not really a knight- not yet- but I will be some day. I’ve always wanted to be a knight, ever since I was living as a servant for these people far away. Then I met Sir Tarrow- he’s sort of our leader- and he asked if I wanted to be his squire.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that… I think you’re beautiful. Ever since the first time I saw you I just can’t stop thinking about you. But I don’t just think you’re beautiful- I have this feeling like you’re a wonderful person and I just want to meet you, to get to know you, and to learn everything there is to know about you. I’ve never met anyone like you in my entire life, and I really hope that some day your dad will let me talk to you.

I don’t know why your dad seems to hate me so much. I really don’t. I don’t know what I did to make him feel that way- if I did, then I would apologize, and try to make up for it. I don’t know how you feel about him, or the way he keeps you hidden all the time, but I hope you don’t hate him for it. I know, deep down, that he’s trying to do what’s best for you. I’m sure he has his reasons for everything he does, so try to just give him some time. I guess I’ll have to do the same.

Anyway, I just really want to meet you. If nothing else, I wanted to say hello. I hope some day I can make you smile.

-Artemis Redsleeves

After writing the letter, he folded it up and held it close. He couldn’t ever really give it to her… could he? If he did, how would he even get it to her? Slide it under her door and hope that she finds it before her father does? He could go up to her house- right now, even- and knock on her window, but which one was hers? What if he knocked on her father’s window by mistake?

While his mind was trying to work out different ways to deliver this letter to her, he realized that he was already climbing down the ladder. And then that he was walking along the winding path that went past the mill, across the stream, and down back through the town towards her home.

Could he really do this? Was he really going to?

He had gotten a short distance past the Rusted Drake when he heard some splashing. He looked out into the stream that branched off the Kellon river and cut through town. It looked like someone was swimming in the stream- at this hour?

He paused mid-stride, squinting in the darkness. Was that… two people swimming? No, there were more of them. And they weren’t… they weren’t swimming, so what were they doing?

He started to walk towards the water, and he realized- they were walking out of the stream. Walking. As if they had just been walking through really thick air. Several of these people, maybe a dozen, were stepping out of the stream and advancing toward Artemis, towards the rest of the town. But they didn’t look like ordinary people. They were covered in mud and seaweed, but their bodies looked gaunt, emaciated, almost… like they were made of bones.

Except they were made of bones, with bits of flesh clinging in various places, reeking of the stench of the dead. Artemis’ jaw dropped in an expression of horror.

No, he thought. It isn’t possible, is it?


Somehow, the dead had risen and were advancing on Kellonville.

Last of the King's Men, Chapter 27

Talarin Needlemaker stood mopping up yet another spilled drink from the floor of the Rusted Drake. The tiny halfling was holding a mop twice her height, braced in her armpit for leverage, her head barely coming over the tabletops. The nighttime rush had just begun- all of the farmers and day laborers were ready to turn in for the night, but all of them wanted one last drink.

She had been working at the tavern for almost a month now since she was rescued from a jail cell by some knights from a city she’d never heard of. She had no way of knowing exactly how long she had been held captive, but she’d be willing to bet the better part of a year. All she saw were orcs, filthy hags demanding that she mend their garments, and her family… but one by one her family members were taken away, never to return. It would have only been a matter of time for her, if those knights hadn’t intervened.

And of course she had been fed, but just barely. She recalled having quite a pleasing, round figure when her family’s caravan was attacked… and now she was just skin and bones. Those hags called that slop “food”, but it tasted more like “death on a plate” if she knew any better. Now that she was able to get a job here at the Dragon, she was able to get something that didn’t make you want to cut your own tongue out, roast it up, and eat it because you hadn’t had a decent meal in a year. After carrying trays and drinks for the first week, she was even able to show the human barkeep that she knew a thing or two about cooking as well- it wasn’t long before the special of the day was changed to spiced beef, thanks to her Needlemaker knowhow. Not that the eel was bad, of course.

Tonight the tavern quickly filled with raucous men and a few loose women, the air got filled with smoke from a pipe or two, and the sound of glasses clinking and songs being sung off-key rang back and forth like they did every night. The atmosphere was never bad here, but Talarin knew she couldn’t be here forever.

After the main rush died down, she took off her apron (normally sized for human children) and walked around the bar into the back. Primm was standing by the pantry, checking on the stock of elven ale.

“Hey, Primm,” she said, a bit louder than she meant to, after being in the loud tavern hall. “Do you have a moment?”

He didn’t even turn around- he just kept marking some tics off on a slate within arm’s reach. “Of course, Talarin. What do you need?”

She sighed. She had been dreading this for some time now. “I need some time off.”

The barkeep turned around, swiveling on his wooden leg. “Sorry?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t stay here any longer. I’ve gotta go. Back home.”

He hobbled over to her, his leg making its signature “clunk” on the floor. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I have to leave,” she said, looking him up in the eye. “I can’t work here anymore. I’ve gotta leave town. Split.”

He cocked his head. “But you’re one of the best wenches I’ve ever had. The town seems to love your food. And you’re leaving? For good?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe for good, maybe not. I won’t know until I get there. But I know I have to go.”

He sat down on an empty cask, stretching out his bad leg. “Well, I understand if you have to do what you have to do,” he said, rubbing his newly-shaven head. “But I hope you understand that I’ll miss having you here. You’re always welcome back. You know that.”

She nodded. “I’ll finish up until all of the stragglers are gone. Then I’ve got to head out. I’ve got a cart and everything. If I can, I’ll send word as soon as I get everything in order.”

Primm stood back up, and held a hand down to her. She shook it, and the two smiled. Then she headed back out, grabbed her apron, and listened to the patrons spinning yarns until the sun was almost up.
-----------------------------
By morning, she had gotten all of her things- which wasn’t much- packed up. She hadn’t been in town long, but she had managed to save almost every copper coin she had earned since she arrived. She had eaten scraps leftover from drunk townsfolk’s plates, she had slept in the shed of an abandoned house on the outskirts of town, and she wasn’t one to give in to many vices, so her days consisted of work and sleep. She had done a few tailoring jobs for some extra coin since she was saved, but after being forced to do it for so long she had grown a strong distaste for it, regardless her advanced skill.

After consulting some of the local maps, she was fairly certain she knew where she was going. She would travel back to her home, see what she could salvage, and decide what to do from there. It was going to be difficult seeing her home without any of her family around, but she was a proud Needlemaker. She would manage.

As she got her cart loaded up and her light horse (the two things she had spent her hard-earned money on, though not without a great deal of haggling) she was ready to go. She turned around to survey the town for possibly the last time, when she was startled by the boy staring at her eye-to-eye.

He was blonde haired and blue-eyed, and for a human he looked fairly normal. He had a pack slung over his shoulder, and the look on his face was one of quiet sadness. She felt like she knew the feeling well.

She stared at him for a brief moment before speaking. “Can I… help you with something?”

The boy chewed on his lip nervously. “You… you’re leaving town, right?”

She nodded, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” continued the boy, “I want to go too. I can pay you.”

The boy held out a handful of coins- mostly copper, a few silver, and one gold sitting squarely on top.

She wanted to refuse- she had no idea who he was, after all- but the gold reflected the morning’s rays so beautifully…

“Wait a moment,” she said. “What about your parents? I think they might realize you’re gone.”

The boy’s eyes began to water for a moment, but he took a deep breath, and said stoically, “My parents are dead. They were killed by orcs.”

She blinked- and suddenly felt terrible about what she had said. That’s why she knew the look in the kid’s eyes- he had been through exactly what she had.

She looked towards the cart- there wasn’t much room, but both of them were small. Maybe with someone else coming along, she could sleep while he was driving, instead of stopping and hoping she didn’t get eaten by monsters.

“You’re not going anywhere in particular,” she asked, “are you?”

He shook his head. “Anywhere but here.”

She gestured to the cart. “Come on. Let’s get going. You got a name, kid?”

“Kefir,” he said, throwing his satchel into the back.
---------------------------------------
The horse didn’t seem to mind the extra weight, which was a relief. They rode on out of town to the north, and after some time, they reached the point where the road diverged from its path of following the river. She shuddered, looking off into the distance- ahead, where the river cuts through the hills, was where she was held captive for so long. She wanted nothing more to pass it and never return.

As if he could sense her unease, Kefir spoke, for what seemed like the first time since they left town.

“You don’t like that place, do you?”

Her head whipped to the side to snap back at him in response, but she held her tongue and took a breath. “No,” she said evenly. “I don’t. Something very bad happened there.”

“I know,” he said. “I… I can tell.”

She looked at him incredulously, and shook it off, taking her gaze back to the road. “However that may be, you don’t know the half of it. My family… we were attacked on the road, somewhere north of here. Orcs came out of the woods around us and killed our horses, grabbed each of us, tied us up. The men- my brothers- were killed before my very eyes. My sisters, my mother, my… my dear grandmother, and I… we were all…”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She wouldn’t let herself relive it again. It had been far too cruel the first time, and every time she relived it in her head.

“…It doesn’t matter. We were beaten, and tortured, and… worse. And all of them were killed but me. I would have been killed too if it weren’t for those knights. Those… Horselords, they were called.”

Kefir had that ashen-faced look again. “The same happened to me,” he replied. “My family made ceramics. We left looking for a safe place to live and sell our wares. Our caravan was attacked. I hid, and they were all killed. The Horselords saved me too.”

Talarin wiped a tear from her eye, and smiled at him. “Well, it looks like we’re in the same position, then.” Then she added sarcastically, “We sure make a great team, don’t we?”

He nodded silently. After they had passed the hill where the lair was located, he spoke again.

“What did you do? Before you were attacked, I mean.”

She took a deep breath, feeling so much better to have that behind her. “My family and I were tailors by trade, and occasionally we’d go on big tours going to whatever towns we came across. We began to notice over the last few years that more and more towns were being abandoned across the countryside, so we had to go further and further to find work. I guess that’s why we venturing into unknown territory when we were attacked.”

“And your home,” asked Kefir, “Is that where we’re going?”

She nodded proudly. “I had a big family, and we owned a big home- bought from a down-on-his-luck noble a couple centuries ago, or so the story goes. We’d never been away this long, so I’m afraid it may have fallen apart, or some squatters may have moved in… but it’s my home. I have to go back, and see what I can do with it. But since the rest of my family is gone, I doubt I’ll end up living there by myself. Maybe I’ll sell it, maybe I’ll salvage it and sell pieces for scrap. I guess I won’t know until I get there. At least it might help me bring some closure to everything that’s happened to me.”

They rode along, once again in silence, save for the clip-clopping of hooves and the squeaking of an axle.

“What will you do,” asked Talarin after some time, “once we get there?”

Kefir shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess go on, on foot. Maybe see if you need any help doing whatever it is you’re doing. Maybe I’ll get off before that if you don’t mind.”

Talarin didn’t know what this kid expected to find before they reached her home, but she had enough on her own plate to feel responsible for that. Who knows- maybe she would need his help once they got there.
----------------------------------
So they rode on. They’d stop occasionally, to answer nature’s call or to give the horse a rest, but they seemed to be making good time. By the end of the first day, Talarin felt her eyes drooping, having not slept a wink since the previous morning.

“Hey, Kefir,” she said, stifling a yawn. “Are you tired at all?”

He sat on the seat next to her, as still as when he first sat down. He shook his head, staring on ahead past the lantern hung in front of the cart. Talarin wondered when this kid was going to sleep- but then again, she knew that she had trouble sleeping for a while after she was rescued. And when she did sleep, it was full of night terrors.

“Well, I’m going to go to sleep, then,” she continued. “If you get tired, or you need to stop or anything, wake me up, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, emotionless.

She climbed into the back, laid down with her head against one of her bags, and was asleep before her eyes could close.

When she awoke, the sun was peeking over the horizon. Taking a look around her, though- she realized that the surroundings looked familiar. In fact, it looked very familiar- like she was almost home. Kefir sat on the front of the cart, holding the reins, looking more tired than ever, but still alert.

“Kefir,” she said groggily, “how long was I asleep? It looks like we’ve traveled for days.”

He shrugged. “Just the one night. Is something wrong?”

She scratched her head, confused. She didn’t know how it was possible she could have traveled so far- Kellonville, wherever it was, couldn’t have been only a day’s travel from her home, or else she would have known about it… right? Was it possible that her time in captivity confused her, and that it was closer than she thought? Could there have been some other reason she didn’t know about a convenient town located only a day’s travel away?

“…No,” she replied, “I… I guess not…”

She didn’t understand, but the more she looked out over the countryside, the more she saw landmarks from near her home. By her estimate, they’d be there by nightfall- or sooner, if her distances were off in her head. She climbed back into the driver’s seat, and told Kefir to go ahead and rest- he looked exhausted, after all.

The horse looked exhausted as well, but she had to push it just a bit farther. If she could get home by the end of the day, she would be so relieved.

On the other hand, though, she was a bit disappointed. She wanted to stop where her family’s caravan had been attacked, to see if any of it remained. If there was anything she could remember her family by, or any supplies that may not have spoiled, then she would have liked that… but the boy didn’t know, and she hadn’t told him. So she shrugged, figuring it was better to have put another bad memory behind her.

Kefir joined her up front again after he had a short rest, and by the time the sun began to set again, she could see her family’s property up ahead. She was so excited- and yet deep down, she was scared of what her home would be like without her family. The horse’s mouth was foaming from exhaustion, and its pace had been gradually slowing, but she had to get just a little further. Just a little further. When they came around another bend and she saw her family’s mansion, even in its current state of disrepair, she felt her heart jump with bittersweet joy. She patted the horse’s mane. Just a few more steps, please. Just a few more steps.

When they reached the manse’s gate, she pulled the horse to a stop, and walked up to open the rusty gate. As she pulled, it practically fell off the hinges, but at least there was enough room for them to get through. She grabbed the reins and tried to pull it in.

The horse resisted, puffs of fatigued breath coming from its nostrils.

Talarin cocked her head at it, pulling once again. Even though this creature looked ready to pass out from exhaustion, it used every bit of strength it could muster to stay on the other side of the gate.

“Fine,” she said, giving up. “We have shelter for you up in there, but if you’re too tired, you can stay here for the night.”

She took the reins and tied them loosely around the slackly-hanging gate, shaking her head at the beast. Sighing, however, she took her last apple and handed it to the horse. The horse took the apple, and tried to back away a couple steps, but after hitting resistance from the reins, stayed where it was and swallowed the fruit in one bite.

Kefir hopped down, and with his help they carried Talarin’s few bags up to the building. The structure was tall, two stories plus an attic, and extended far in either direction- the east wing looked like part of the roof had fallen in, but the west wing looked fine, save for a few broken windows. The front doors, massive even for the humans that originally owned the home, stood slightly ajar, and from outside Talarin could see that months’ worth of wind and rain had taken its toll on the foyer.

Stepping inside, the setting sun meant that the only light they would have between now and morning was whatever light they brought with them. Talarin walked to a cabinet near the door that usually held candles- opening it, she found nothing. She cursed under her breath- that was a sign that someone may have come through and looted the building at some point. She took a flask of lamp oil from one of her packs, and added it to the lantern that had been hanging on front of the front of the cart. At least they would have some light.

With Kefir close behind, she walked around and just did a brief survey of the house’s condition. The dining room was ruined since a tree branch had fallen through the picture windows, letting rain warp the wooden floor and tables. What few dishes and silverware they had left so long ago was gone, likely from looters. There was some hard tack still preserved in the larder, but everything else had either been taken or had rotten, leaving the entire kitchen smelling foul. The hallway leading to the east wing was almost impassable, so Talarin decided to leave it until the next day. The west wing was in fairly good condition, but all of the rooms were empty. At this point she couldn’t even remember what her family had taken and what they had left.

Feeling fairly exhausted by the experience, Talarin wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. There was still the second floor to explore, but she was afraid that seeing more of the building would trigger painful memories of her family. So when they got back to the front hall, she dragged two of her family’s wooden benches- too big and difficult to maneuver to be easily stolen, she guessed- and took a couple blankets out of her bags. She tossed one to Kefir, and laid down to sleep, suggesting he try and do the same. Once again, she was asleep before she could think about how tired she was.
---------------------------------
In the middle of the night, she was awoken by a scream. A scream? No, it couldn’t have been a scream. Over her pounding heart, she heard the pitter-patter of rain, both hitting the walls of the mansion, and hitting the floor in the dining room just a room over. It must have been thunder, that’s all.

She tried to lay her head down again, when it happened again: Another blood-curdling scream: that of a woman. Talarin sat bolt upright, looking upwards. Whatever it was, it had come from upstairs. She reached for the lantern, but the light was out, and when she picked it up, she could tell by its weight that it was out of oil.

“Kefir,” she called out in a loud whisper. “Kefir! Are you awake?”

There was no answer. A small amount of moonlight was showing through the open door leading into the hallway, and she was able to find the other bench where she had assumed the boy was sleeping. But when she got there, it was empty, and undisturbed.

She tried looking around in the dark, looking for the boy. Where could he have gotten off to? And what was that noise?

She reached for her bags, found her lamp oil, and lit the lantern. It illuminated the room well, but provided no clue as to where Kefir had gone. She had no idea how long she had been asleep- he could be anywhere in the house by now.

Reaching once again into her bag, she fished out another item- a crossbow, taken from one of the orcs the Horselords had killed. She set the lantern down, loaded a bolt into it, pulled back the lever, grabbed a few extra for later, and picked the lantern back up in her free hand. She had gotten quite good with the weapon in the past month, and she wanted some protection in case the manor wasn’t as empty as she had expected.

Walking towards the stairs, she gingerly took each step, unsure of their structural strength, and continued, crossbow at the ready, until she reached the top. She heard another noise- another female voice, this time moaning in pain- coming from the rear of the home.

She pushed open another large set of double doors leading into a long music room, the tall windows on either side still miraculously intact, where she and her family had spent many hours talking, and dancing, and enjoying each other’s company. She lowered the crossbow and choked back a tear, feeling overcome by a wave of grief, feeling herself wishing beyond hope that she would turn around and her family would be there, waiting for her, ready to tell her it was all a bad dream.

She crossed the room slowly, but before she reached the other end, she heard a sound- a musical note, like a harp. The hair rose on the back of her neck, and she spun around. There, in the middle of the room, was a tall harp, taller than Talarin herself, sitting where there was not a harp moments again. It sat, motionless, as Talarin stared at it, her eyes wide like saucers.

Then, she saw one string twitch, as if an invisible hand were plucking it, and another note struck. And another. Before her eyes, this harp began playing a song on itself- a sad song, one she knew deep in her heart was one of regret and lost love.

Listening to the song, she felt tears rolling down her cheeks, and before she knew it, the lantern was sitting on the floor, and she was dancing a waltz, back and forth in front of his phantom harp, feeling nothing but grief filling her heart.

And suddenly, the harp stopped. She stopped dancing, feeling like she was in a daze, and she heard a crash as the harp was thrown down onto the ground, its strings snapping.

And a human man, in nobles’ attire, a look of pure malice in his eyes, was staring straight at her.

“I know where you’ve been,” he spoke, a slight accent Talarin couldn’t place.

She stared at him, her mouth agape. “I… I don’t-“

He began to walk towards her, each step more firm and deliberate than the one before.

“I know you’ve been with… with him,” he said, saying the last word like it was poison in his mouth.

“Sir, I think you have me mistaken,” she began, frozen in her tracks.

His steps planted him directly in front of her, his words biting. “You think I don’t know? You think I haven’t seen you two, in the servants’ quarters? Do you think I don’t have eyes and ears all over these grounds?”

He reached down and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her up into the air with both hands. In the light of the lantern, she realized she could see straight through this man, as if he weren’t there. He gripped her throat, choking the life out of her, and began carrying her to one of the tall, perfect windows.

She tried kicking and screaming, but her legs were too short and she couldn’t get a single breath under the vice grip of his hands. She felt her back press against the cold glass of the window, and she knew what he was about to do.

Calling on strength she didn’t know she had, she grabbed at his fingers, and pried them apart, wriggling herself free of her grip. She fell to the floor, gasping for air, and looked up- the man still stood, his hands outstretched, holding onto the neck of a human woman, her feet dangling just above the floor, her face one of terror and sorrow. The woman tried to gasp out an apology, a proclamation of love, a single word, but she couldn’t.

The man let out a scream a fury, and slammed the woman against the window. It shattered- all of the windows in the room shattered- and she fell to her death below.

Talarin blinked, and the man was gone. The harp was gone. The windows were all broken, and the entire room’s floor was already ruined from countless rainy days. She sat, staring at the middle of the room, terrified and bewildered at what had just transpired.

Once she had a moment to catch her breath, her throat still aching from the mystery man’s grip, she scrambled to her feet and ran to the lantern, holding it close to her. She had to get out of this room.

She exited the door opposite where the entered, where a pair of halls led to her family’s bedrooms, and a ladder up against the wall led up to the attic. She whispered Kefir’s name again loudly, not really expecting him to respond, but hoping for at least something. She slowly crept along towards what was once her bedroom. She didn’t know what she wanted to be waiting for her there.

She reached her room, and knocked on the door, gently, once again not really expecting any response. But, to her shock, the knock elicited an identical knock, from the other side. After hearing the response, her hand hovered, shaking, not knowing what that was supposed to signify. So she tried knocking again, this time in a specific rhythm, once again getting an identical response. Her breathing rapid and her heart pounding in her chest, she pushed the door open.

In the middle of the room was a halfling body, hanging from a noose, a sheet wrapped around its head. Talarin stared up at it, her mouth open in terror, and dropped to her knees, her lantern clanging on the floor. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to beg for someone to save her, but she just couldn’t find the words. When she was able to gather the strength to move, she grabbed a bed frame from against the wall, dragged it to the middle of the room, and climbed onto it, intent on trying to get the body down from its place. But against her better judgment, she first pulled the sheet off its face, and felt a sudden relief- as morbid as that may be- in realizing that it was not a halfling’s body, but rather a human child’s body. That relief was short lived, however, when she turned around towards the door, and saw a man- the human noble from earlier- standing in the doorway, his hands covered in blood, his shirt torn and disheveled, holding a knife in one bloody hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, choking back tears. “I’m sorry I did this to you all… but it had to be done.”

He began to walk forward, looking straight at Talarin, a wild look in his eyes. He raised the knife, his own hand shaking.

“It has to be finished… I have to finish it…”

He rushed at Talarin, who dove out of the way onto the floor. The man lunged for her, but she was out of reach. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, tears flowing, and fell to his knees. He raised the knife, not towards her but to his own throat, and slashed a wide arc across his neck.

Talarin huddled in the corner, crying and screaming into her sleeve, as blood poured from the man’s self-inflicted wound. His body slumped to one side and fell over, a pool of red forming on the floor.

And then, it was gone. He was gone, the body was gone- all that was left was the few bed frames up against the walls, and the one Talarin moved into the center.

She could barely move, she was so terrified. But she couldn’t stay where she was, out of fear that whatever just happened would happen again. The storm outside raged, and a clap of thunder spurred her to motion, so she jumped to her feet and grabbed her lantern.

Creeping back to the junction that led to the music room and the other bedroom, she noticed that the trapdoor leading to the attic, up above, was slightly ajar. She didn’t know why she was willing to even think about investigating, but before she could object to her own actions she hung the lantern from her belt and began climbing the ladder.

When she got to the top, she noticed first that there was a small amount of light coming from the attic- possibly candlelight, but definitely not moonlight. She pushed the trapdoor open slowly so as not to make a sound, and she heard voices.

“-Wouldn’t have been an issue if the circle had been finished sooner,” said the first, a deep, cold voice.

The second, a dry, high-pitched voice, responded. “Yes, master, I humbly apologize. The servants you have provided me with have performed poorly despite my best guidance-“

“DO YOU DARE BLAME ME FOR YOUR INCOMPETENCE?”

Talarin could hear the second voice sputtering an apology. She slowly raised the door again ever so slightly, peering into the dimly lit attic.

To her surprise, the attic to be in perfect repair- and stocked with all sorts of books, bottles, scrolls, and charts. On one end of the room, in front of a gem that gave off light like a torch, floated a tiny, orange winged creature. Talarin could see the profile of another figure, tall like a Human, with a long black cloak wrapped around him. The winged creature held its hands in front of its face, averting its eyes from the cloaked figure, apologizing profusely in its high-pitched tone.

“Now,” said the deep-voiced cloaked figure, “the real question is what to do about the halfling who is listening in on us as we speak.”

Talarin’s eyes shot open, and in her surprise, her hands slipped from the ladder. She fell to the floor, feeling something in her leg snap as she hit the hard surface.

She tried to get up, but the pain in her leg overcame all of her senses. She looked around, and began to see more transparent figures, from every direction, advancing on her slowly. They had their arms outstretched, their expressions hungry.


Talarin’s screams filled the manor, and then they were silenced.