Chapter 9

  Kerion Vorna

  The hall had emptied rather quickly after Commander Leopold adjourned their meeting. It seemed that the men were rather eager to get to work. Rising from his chair, Kerion took his leave from the room. After rounding the corner, he found his way to the spiral staircase and went up. By the time he reached the door of his chambers, his legs were sore from climbing all of those steps. Relieved, he made his way inside and sat himself down at his desk.

  He had meant to write a letter back to his family in Koborund some weeks ago, but the perilous aftermath that followed Nova’s death had hindered his ability to do so. As another expedition loomed, he figured now would be a good time to finally write his letter before being sent off, potentially to his death.

  Laying down a piece of paper, he dipped his quill into ink and began writing. When the letter was finished, he allowed time for his words to dry before he rolled it up. Lighting a candle next, he held a stick of red wax over the flame to begin melting it. After keeping it there for a little while, he moved it away to let the molten wax drop onto the furled parchment. To seal it, he pressed down his ring to leave the mark of a sun.

  In order to deliver the letter, he had to go down to the postmaster’s office, which was located in Warhall’s second layer. Picking up the scroll, he made his way out of his room and back down. Fortunately, descending stairs was faster than ascending them.

  As he left the keep, he heard his name being called. Whoever it was, their voice lacked familiarity.

  “Captain Kerion!” a young lad cried out.

  Turning around, he recognized him as the squire he had observed with Ser Vance Otto earlier.

  “Hello,” he greeted. “That would be me.”

  The boy keeled over to catch his breath. “My master, Ser Vance—he would like to speak with you.”

  “Very well. Where is he?”

  “In the first layer, he’s helping the men with making camp.”

  Kerion scratched his beard. “Ah, I see. Will you take me to him?”

  “Of course,” the squire replied, bowing. “Right this way.”

  “Say, what’s your name?” Kerion walked alongside him as they made their way to Warhall’s outer layer.

  “Samuel Hollett, ser,” he said.

  “Hollett? Can’t say I’ve heard that name before.”

  The boy glanced away, tightening his lips. “My father was a blacksmith, ser.” He laughed awkwardly. “We’re not exactly the stuff of legend.”

  “Not yet, anyway.” Kerion smiled. “Out here, lineage doesn’t mean much. You earn your position through strength and wits.”

  Samuel chuckled. “My master says I’ve got neither.”

  “Does he?”

  “Aye, he does!”

  Kerion laughed. “My father used to think of me like that. Nowadays, I’m not so sure.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well…” He thought about it for a moment. “My father and I have not spoken for quite some time. It’s usually only my mother, or my sisters that write back to me.”

  “You don’t visit home?”

  The captain shook his head. “No,” he replied. “There aren’t many good opportunities for going back.”

  “Oh… I see.”

  “How about you? Where are you from?”

  “Helanor, ser.”

  Kerion’s eyebrows perked up. “Helanor? You’re from the Golden Rocks?”

  “I am, indeed, ser,” Samuel replied, smiling. “Land of the finest smiths.”

  “Mmm… debatable. Land of the men who shit gold, perhaps.”

  Samuel laughed. “I haven’t heard of that one before.”

  “You haven’t?” He frowned at the boy. “You must have been living under a rock all these years. Everyone says it.”

  “I swear, it’s the first time I’ve heard that joke.”

  He chuckled. “If you say so, Samuel.”

  Passing through the gates into the outer layer, Kerion saw that it had been transformed in its entirety. An army had set up camp, propping up hundreds of their own tents to settle in. Campfires were scattered about, brewing up the latest concoctions of stew to feast upon during mealtime.

  “Good… gracious, I didn’t expect so many of you here.”

  Samuel had a prideful smile. “The Emperor sends his finest.”

  “Fine as they are, men are still men.” Kerion made his way past a few soldiers who were getting lashings. For what, he did not know.

  The squire introduced him to his master, who was a rather fearsome looking man. Taller than the both of them, he was a burly figure, and had a beard to complement.

  “Ser Vance, this is Captain Kerion.”

  Turning around, the knight took a moment to look over him. He figured he must have been inspecting him.

  “Captain Kerion,” he greeted, at last. “I have heard much about your scouting mission. My condolences for your loss.”

  Your condolences? Kerion realized he meant Nova. “Oh… Thank you, good ser.”

  “Of course.” Ser Vance nodded. “Now, you must be wondering why I made you come all this way.”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  The knight smiled. “I have questions, regarding that scouting mission of yours, if you wouldn’t mind answering, of course.”

  Kerion shook his head. “Not at all.”

  Turning around, Ser Vance gestured into his tent. “Please, let’s take this conversation inside, then.”

  “Of course.”

  After going inside, the three of them sat around a small round table.

  “I would offer you wine,” Ser Vance said, laughing. “But we seem to have run out.”

  Kerion smiled. “Ah, no need to fret, ser. I have… already had my fair share of drinking lately.”

  “Haven’t we all.” Ser Vance gave a coarse, wheezy laugh.

  After giving him a moment to recover, the captain proceeded with their conversation.

  “What sort of questions did you have for me?”

  “Right, of course.” The knight put on a more serious looking face, clearing his throat. “Can you tell me more about what you encountered? These… so-called monsters. What did they look like?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Well… They looked human, just like us. But their skin was pale, and their bodies were rotting. Their eyes…” Kerion shuddered as he thought back to their first encounter, closing his eyes for a moment. “…cloudy, as if shrouded in some sort of fog. And when you looked at their teeth, they were rotten as well, blackened and yellow. On some, you could see their bones sticking out, too, like bumps on their skin. And the smell of their rotting flesh was... sickening.”

  Holding a small book, the squire jotted down what he had said. When he was done, he nodded to Ser Vance for him to continue.

  “...I remember that you said they were bloodthirsty. What were they like? How did they act?”

  Kerion took another breath, adjusting himself to a more preferable position on his chair. “They were extremely violent. When engaging them in battle, I had to be careful to avoid their sharp claws and their teeth… It was as if they craved your flesh.”

  “…Could you reason with them?”

  “No. They could not speak coherently. They would either whisper something that we did not understand, or growl at you like a feral dog.”

  Ser Vance exchanged side-glances with his squire. They looked horrified, yet intrigued.

  “You swear that what you speak is the truth, captain?”

  “I swear,” Kerion said. He wanted to feel angry that they could even have a speck of doubt about his story, but how could he? After all, how could they believe something that sounded so insane?

  But the things that he had seen in Ingrid were no falsehood. Question it as he might, there was no denying the truth. The monsters were real.

  Leaning back in his chair, the knight took a moment to ponder over it. When he waved his hand, Samuel set his quill down and closed the book.

  “Well, there’s no use claiming what you say is a lie,” Ser Vance said, sighing. “I must admit I was skeptical at first, and even ridiculed your story before coming here, but…”

  “It’s alright. I would not hold you accountable for it. After all, who would believe a story as wild as this?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Not many,” the knight replied, rising to his feet. “My doubts still linger yet… But I’m willing to believe the story that you have told us. Please, allow us to accompany you on your scouting expedition, so that we may see with our own eyes, and witness what you have.”

  Kerion’s gaze turned toward Samuel, a stark look of hesitancy on his face. He did not wish for another young soul such as him to perish in such a horrific manner, in the same way that Nova had. At the very least, he could prevent another boy from dying.

  “I would accept your company, Ser Vance,” he said. “But your squire must stay behind.”

  The boy frowned at him, protesting. “I want to go with you. I want to find out what’s happening out there.”

  “…I’m sorry, Samuel. But I won’t allow it.” Kerion looked to the ground, unwilling to face him.

  “Why not?”

  “A young lad such as yourself has no place on the field,” he answered.

  “The boy needs experience.” Ser Vance sat himself back down. “If he’s going to be a knight and lead men into battle one day, he needs to learn firsthand. Sitting around is not going to do him any good. You know that as well as I do.”

  Tightening his lips, Kerion sighed in frustration. “…You don’t know how we lost one of our own in Ingrid, do you?”

  Ser Vance met the ranger’s eyes with his own. “I do.”

  “…Then you know why I’m reluctant.”

  “I’m not afraid.” Samuel stood up, a fiery look about him. “Ser Vance is right, captain. I’m not going back to Hildan, so I might as well spend my time getting experience, instead of sitting here and doing nothing. I want to help!”

  “Either way, the boy is coming with me,” the knight said. “Hiding him from the world’s horrors won’t make him learn anything.”

  Kerion glanced at Samuel, whose face grimly reminded him of Nova’s. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists beneath the table. The last thing he needed was another youngling dying under his command. But, then again… would it be much of a difference if it were a grown man dying because of him, instead?

  Ser Vance was right in saying that the boy needed experience. He was training to become a knight, after all, and he would need to grow in order to do that. To hold him back would be to his detriment. However, what they were fighting now was unlike anything a knight would typically face. It was far more perilous, facing a monster instead of a person.

  He wanted to keep Samuel out of harm’s way, but alas, as the knight had already told him, there wasn’t much he could do to stop them. Closing his eyes, he could only accept defeat in this matter.

  “…Fine,” he said, sighing.

  The young lad rejoiced upon hearing him, pumping his fist in excitement. A misplaced celebration, perhaps, for Kerion knew that joy was likely to be short-lived.

  Truthfully, he wanted to lash out against them, to tell them of the real horrors of facing such horrid creatures, and of how pointless it was to send boys to war. But he chose not to, believing it would be a fruitless endeavor, and a waste of valuable energy.

  No longer in much of a mood to talk, he stood up from his chair to leave.

  “…If you will excuse me, I must go.”

  Walking past the knight and his squire, and without so much as another word, he was gone, the tent’s flap waving behind him.

  Brows furrowed in concentration; he paused a few feet away from Ser Vance’s tent. How many more would die under his command? Would the young Samuel join that list of fatalities? Did Nova look upon him now, in disappointment of sending another boy to war?

  Gritting his teeth in frustration, he straightened his back and forced his legs to move, weaving his way through the noisy encampment. He needed time to think for himself in peace and quiet, locked alone inside of his chambers.

  Johan

  “Right, you witless apes! Form up, move it!”

  Hurriedly running about, a column of men established a line as quickly as they could, standing shoulder to shoulder.

  Baelis was there beside Johan, doing his best to remain as erect as possible. Failure to maintain proper posture would incur punishment.

  In front of them stood the beloved Old Brute, their drillmaster. Every man hated him, and every man loved him. A longtime veteran of the Sworn Brotherhood, he officially held the rank of captain, however had been reduced to the role of an instructor after crippling his right leg some seven years ago.

  Now, instead of fighting on the frontline, he remained in the rear, beating undisciplined fools senseless until they adhered to his expectations.

  Hobbling around them, Old Brute briefly inspected their line before going back to the front.

  “Good, you’re about as straight as my cane! Now, listen up. From here on, we will be conducting joint trainings with the Imperial Army. Instead of getting to beat your worthless arses myself, I’ll get to watch proper soldiers do it for me!”

  The drillmaster wheezed as he laughed, erupting into a coughing fit. They could only stand there in silence as he keeled over. When it was done, Old Brute stood back up as if nothing had happened, wiping his lips dry.

  “As I was saying… This marks the first day of joint training sessions. These lads are the ones who will be accompanying us into that shithole of a forest, so we’re going to have to teach them a thing or two about navigating through it, and we’re going to have to all get used to working together.”

  Behind Old Brute, the gates leading into the training yard were opened. Led by an officer wearing a plumed helmet, a column of armored soldiers marched inside and formed up opposite of where the Greencloaks were.

  “Pretty little things, aren’t they?” Baelis muttered.

  Old Brute whipped around, his face red with fury. “Shut your fucking trap, before I shove a boot inside of it, Baelis.”

  No more was said after that. Turning back to face the Imperial officer, Old Brute and him had a conversation. When they were finished, the drillmaster returned to address the line.

  “Alright, we’ve got a plan,” he announced. “You lot will be splitting up into teams, and you’ll be joined by another team of Imperial soldiers. The purpose of this exercise will be to test your mettle in teamwork and navigation. Remember, we will be going into uncharted territories, so you’ll need to be ready for that. I’m confident you lot are capable of navigating just fine; however, we need to get our comrades in the army up to task. Do you understand?”

  The men shouted in unison. “Yes, captain!”

  “Glad to hear!” Old Brute had a grin on his face. “I won’t have to repeat it for you bastards. Now, here’s how the exercise will work. We’ve marked the boundaries of the zone that you will be operating within. Two teams will be sent out at once, designated as red and blue. In order to win, you must capture the other team’s leader and bring them back to Warhall before the deadline, which will be five hours from when we start. The signal to begin and end the exercise will be a green firework. If there are any dangerous situations that arise, such as an attack, we will shoot a red one from Warhall. You are to return at once if indeed there is a red firework. Now, are there any further questions?”

  When silence followed, the drillmaster clapped his hands. “Excellent. Johan, you will lead our first red team. Arnon, you will lead the other. Select four men here, and you’ll be joined by five others from the Imperials. Johan, you pick first. Get a move on.”

  Stepping out and then turning around, Johan pointed to his four men: Baelis, Masdir, Yue Ler, and Ehmar. He only really knew Baelis and Ehmar well, but he felt confident in all of their abilities regardless.

  Arnon went next, selecting Graham, Mickel, Ian, and Kirgan.

  Inspecting the other team, Johan figured their Greencloak members were about even in comparison. After all, as first picks, they had chosen whoever they thought was among the best in the company.

  On the opposite side, two teams of five Imperials came forward. After greeting the soldiers who were joining him, he learned their names were Smildan, Peter, Gordon, Jess, and… Bones.

  “Bones?” Johan raised a brow as he shook his hand.

  “Aye, that’s the name they gave me.”

  “Your parents?”

  He smiled, a hint of pride on his face. “No, the other lads.”

  “Oh… I see.”

  Looking him over, Johan could see why. The soldier was skinny, his arms lean and thin. His armor was worn awkwardly, as if he were a size too small to properly fit. Skin and bones, he thought. Hopefully he could at least run fast without the plate weighing him down.

  “Take off your armor, all of you,” he ordered. “We will need stealth, and your armor may give away our positions in the forest. Too shiny, too loud.”

  “Hold it.” Old Brute limped his way over to Johan. “You can change your equipment in the armory. We will be using blunted weapons, as well, so you can switch in there.”

  Nodding, Johan turned back to his men. “Let’s get to the armory, move out!”

  Baelis made his way beside him as they walked. “Do you think we’ll beat Arnon?”

  “Let’s not set our expectations too high,” Johan replied. “But we should at least retain a semblance of confidence in the abilities of our team.”

  “Of course.” The brute smiled. “But I’ll have you know, I want to be the one dragging that bastard back to Warhall.”

  Johan laughed at him. “By all means. But we need to actually get him first.”

  “Have you got a plan?”

  “We’ll talk about that later, once we’re away from the enemy.”

  Samuel Hollett

  Samuel looked on as Kerion stormed out of the tent, his smile fading. He turned to Ser Vance. “Did we do something wrong?”

  The knight glanced at him. “Aye, I reckon we cut a string or two.”

  “Has it got something to do with Nova Engel?”

  “Likely.” Ser Vance stood up from his chair with a sigh. “…Must’ve been traumatizing to see the boy go like that.”

  Samuel turned to his master, his palms beginning to sweat. “…Is it really that dangerous out there?”

  “If what the captain says is true… yes.”

  A heavy weight of dread sank within the boy. If that harrowing story was true, then… would he share such a fate, as well? A horrible, painful death? He was beginning to regret coming here.

  Ser Vance saw the doubt in his eyes. A firm, solemn look on his face, he gently grabbed him by the shoulders. “Look at me,” he said.

  Silent, Samuel turned his gaze upward.

  “You want to be a knight, do you not?”

  He nodded.

  “You want to protect the realm, do you not?”

  Samuel nodded again. “…Yes.”

  “Well, look around you, boy. This is what you signed up for. Being a knight takes more than wearing fancy armor and being half-decent with a sword. It takes heart, it takes courage. You have to be brave and face your foes head-on.”

  “But what if I’m not fit?” Samuel lowered his head. “…What if I’m too afraid?”

  “Look at me,” Ser Vance said again, his voice stern.

  The boy met his eyes once more.

  “Look at my hands.”

  As he turned his gaze downward, he saw that they were trembling.

  “I’m just as afraid as you,” the knight explained. “But does that make me a coward?”

  Samuel shook his head. “…No.”

  “Bravery isn’t about being fearless, lad. It’s about having courage, and having courage means facing your fears head-on, even if you’re afraid.”

  Tightening his lips, Samuel sat himself down. Although his master’s words made him feel better, his fiery display of “courage” from earlier seemed to be nothing more than a farce now. He felt like a cheat.

  Ser Vance stepped back to give him some distance. Making his way around the table, he took a seat on the other side.

  “Well… If you do not wish to stay then, I won’t force you. I can arrange for you to be sent back to Hildan, perhaps find you a new knight to train under, if you so wish.”

  Samuel sat in silence, mindlessly staring at the ground beneath him. He felt conflicted, with the fear of a terrible death gnawing away at him. Perhaps he wasn’t ready yet. But, would he ever be? In fact, was even he fit to become a knight at all? To leave now would be desertion, the abandonment of his duties. If he left now, what sort of knight would he be?

  A cowardly one… he thought.

  When his squire didn’t give him a response, Ser Vance spoke up again. “There’s no shame in leaving, Samuel. Perhaps you’re simply not ready yet.”

  He looked at the knight, meeting his gaze. “…May I have time to think about it?”

  “Of course." Ser Vance got up from his chair. "When you have your answer, come and find me later.”

  Samuel nodded. “Yes, ser.”

  “Don’t rush your decision,” the knight said. “Trust your heart, trust your instincts. Only you can know what’s right for yourself, in the end.”

  “I’ll try, ser.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Now, I’ll be off to find some more wine. If you need anything while I’m gone, talk to Captain Gardner, he’s in charge of watching our camp.”

  “Understood.” The boy nodded again. “T-thank you, ser.”

  “Don’t think too hard, Samuel. And remember—” He raised a finger. “Follow your heart.”

  Gently patting his head, Ser Vance parted the tent’s flap and left, disappearing into the sunlight.

  Left alone with only his thoughts now, Samuel closed his eyes, weighing his options carefully.

  To stay… or to go?