Richard's ascended us into the air, going up and up until we were even above the trees. Then almost as if rearing the carpet, he rubbed it softly, and we shot forward. Flying, we were actually flying. The wind rushing against my face, the gentle breeze touching me, the sunlight warming my skin. So much assaulted my senses. A feeling of pure joy, happiness, swelled inside me. It was almost addicting, like a drug, nature's ecstasy. And just looking around, was like witnessing a moving picture. Everything blurred and beautiful. This must be what Sabre felt every day. I took a deep breath, the fresh air that entered my lungs, soft and gentle. It just caused me to dumbly smile, my head feeling light and weightless as it swayed.
"Your first time flying?" Richard asked, amused at my strange reaction.
"That easy to tell?" I girlishly giggled.
"No, but Bertolt had that same look on his face when I first took him flying. Except he suddenly stuck his tongue out like a mutt. Very similar to Sabre actually." His finger pointed to my black and white kitty. Who had, closed his eyes, but not his ears. He let out a growl, his tongue back in his mouth. With all the attention placed on him, took a dignified stance. Head held high as he pounced from between Richard and me, snuggling into my lap. His behind shaking at Richard before sitting down. Richard studied him befuddled.
"Your cat.....he's...an interesting fellow."
"He's just....-"
Sabre wouldn't meet Richard's eyes, his face profusely turned away from him.
"-.....A little sensitive,"
Clearly, he hadn't taken the mutt comparison very well. Richard was too oblivious to apologise, and Sabre was too petty to let it go. Rather than get between these two warring clans. I decided to change the subject.
"What do you keep in that little outhouse?" I asked.
Richard clicked back to our time.
"It's a mini version of my hut. I take it with me because it's light and mobile."
"And that's where you're keeping Bertolt and the elf."
He nodded. I lay back, relaxing. My mind in the clouds, drifting.
"So do we head straight to the elven kingdom from here?"
"Oh no, my carpet can't fly for long periods. We're meeting some people, on foot, to take us there. Every two years, a large group of humans go on an expedition. Tens of sick and dying, wanting to be healed by the elves. They call it 'the miracle path'."
Humans? Bertolt mentioned them every now and then in his stories. But said anything spectacular about them. He actually told me that most of the people in his village disliked humans, a few even hated them. They almost didn't like me until Madam Mopta explained that like her, despite the apparent resemblance, I wasn't human.
"How can they make the journey themselves?"
"They don't, many are taken by family and friends. Groups of soldiers also guard the trail. Though the journey itself is usually safe as they have the elf kingdom's permission. That being said, bandits have tried to attack and rob previous expeditions."
Ahead of us was a long path of the ground where there were no trees. Richard placed his palm on the carpet, turning it and going up the trail. We slowly began to descend downwards still following it. Eventually, we began to make out faint bodies of shapes in our view.
"We seemed to have caught up with them,"
There were groups upon groups of people from I could just see. A lot were travelling in the back of wagons, others solely on horseback. But none were moving. The people below looked just as confused about it as we were.
"They've stopped?" I think out loud.
Richard nodded, his face getting slightly serious.
"Or something has stopped them,"
The carpet finally lowered to the ground and came to a halt. At the end of the trail, many soldiers were huddled together talking. They noticed our landing, open-eyed and curious. Some seemed hardened with experience, their faces aged and worn. But many were young men, looking clueless and exuberant. One such young man noticed our arrival first and broke away from the rest. Waving Richard down, speeding towards us. He was dressed differently from the others. All had light armour, but his was newer, cleaner and more refined. A sigil of a deer etched on the chest plate, painted brass but outlined in silver. The sight of his armour bouncing up and down as he jogged towards us was quite comical.
We got off the carpet, and it began shrinking until it was nothing but a little piece of fabric. Richard picked it up and pocketed it away in his cloak. He then took out two rings, the bands midnight black.
"Here, take one of these. Its a magic tool. They have various uses, too many to explain now, but the main one is storage," he handed me a ring before wearing one himself. He pointed his at the outhouse, a vortex taking it inside. I put the ring on, glancing devilishly at Sabre. He flinched, sweating profusely.
"They can't store living things."
Sabre breathed out in relief, and I pouted disappointed.
"Aww, but how come it can store the outhouse? You said Bertolt and the elf are in there."
"The outhouse, in the most straightforward term, is like a pocket dimension. The rules with that are governed differently."
I nodded, pretending to understand. The young man finally caught up. The brown-haired youth and abruptly stopping before us.
"Richard, you've finally arrived," he wheezed, slightly out of breath. His hand went to his chest as he puffed it up to introduce himself.
"Captain Grey assigned me to your disposition, I am-"
"Why have you stopped?" Richard interrupted speedily walking past the young man. I said nothing following suit with Sabre. The man bewildered tried to keep up.
"Well, about that, we only stopped a few minutes ago. Which is why we're happy to see that you've arrived-" he awkwardly droned on.
"Oh? Happy to see me? Is there something wrong?"
"Ha...ha nothing gets past you. To put it bluntly, we've encountered a little bit of a roadblock. The captain put me here to receive you at the first possible moment. Although we were expecting you yester-"
"What is the problem?" Richard cut off.
"It's a little hard to explain, I suppose seeing is believing. They're asking for your presence at the front of the trail. I'd be happy to guide y-"
"No need. Would you kindly guide my niece to our wagon instead." Richard requested before retrieving the magic carpet from his pocket and growing it out. Its size increased until it was just big enough for him to step on. Taking off with it, flying to the front of the trail.
"you there....." the young man trailed off, eyes caught in wonder at Richard. I took this moment to pick up Sabre, placing him on my shoulder and continue walking. Gaining distance before the young man finally woke up from his trance.
"Wait, please," he said, running. Taking pity, I slowed down.
"Thank....you" he got out panting. "I'm Ch-"
I turned to face him, his words immediately got choked up. All of a sudden, getting nervous.
"C-Charles Valient Gilda." That was a name? Humans really are weird.
"Why is your name so long?" I asked, confused. His eyes were still fixed to my face, not registering my question for a few moments.
"Hm? Oh sorry, it is my first and last name."
"You need more than one?"
He took me through the group of men we saw earlier. Every single one stopping conversation, eating, drinking. Just to stare. It was making me a little uncomfortable walking past them.
"Well the other is the name I share with my family, do you not have a last name?"
"No,"
"I would have called it odd, but I suppose your uncle Richard doesn't have one either."
"How many people are on this trail?" I inquire, holding my laugh back. 'Uncle Richard? I didn't know wheater to cringe or crease, maybe both.
We began to see people as we left the outskirts of the trail. Dozens of them around. The sick, the healthy. The old, the young. Some slept, their snores loud, a few sat in their lonesome silent. Others were chatting and waiting in stained sheet-covered wagons. Children ran and chasing each other across the mudding ground. There were families sat around temporary campfires cooking food. It was all damp and dirty. The very air, like the trail, felt full of so many smells; meat, vegetables, smoke, burning etc. But harrowingly, underneath all of it was the stench of decay, rotting. It was like I could feel the encroaching death around me. The struggle of spirits, fighting to remain on this earth.
"Officially, around 500 have registered with us. However, a few stragglers join without payment, but most are alone and helpless. So we find it imprudent to kick them out. Counting them and its more around 600."
"They have to pay?"
"Yes, unfortunately. The soldiers here aren't free, just under half are mercenaries. The rest new recruits from the kingdom's army. But all need to be paid regardless. Worse yet still, the elves require payment as well."
His face slightly saddened as he explained.
"And that doesn't come cheap. Sometimes they don't even want to help at all, no matter how much money we have. It all depends on their mood. Luckily many nobles like my father help sponsor the trip, so these poor people don't have to pay much. And with Richard here, we might not have to at all."
"You've met Richard before?"
"My father has, I saw them together once when I was a child. He hasn't changed at all since then, the man doesn't age." he jokingly commented, but when I seriously agreed, he looked at me as if to say 'wow really?'
-
A few minutes earlier
One of the soldiers lay dead on the ground. It had happened so instantly none of the others could react. A black needle shot from the trees piercing into the soldier's heart immediately and killing him. His body fell off his horse, and all the other soldiers leading the trail stopped. They looked to the trees fearful of an ambush, thinking bandits or woodland raiders. High alert, remaining vigilant, ready for another attack. But none came. Some went into the woods to check but found them empty. No ambush, no trace of anyone. But that didn't change the fact that their brother lay dead on the dirt. A soldier checked his pulse to make sure, others gathering around. But grimly, he had no vital signs.
They wanted to doubt what they saw before. Chalk up the death, although tragic, to merely natural causes. A deadly heart attack perhaps. But the glaring hole in the soldier's armour made that impossible.
"Captain Grey, what should he do?" a young soldier asked the oldest looking one of them here.
The tall and skinny black man came to the forefront, a v-shaped grey bread graced him. A pointed helmet distinguishing him. His face, more aged than the rest, slightly baggy.
As he was about to respond an ominous aura started to emit from the dead soldier. Unbeknownst to any of them, the needle had left a black thread in the soldier's body. A thread that grew and grew, devouring the man's mana from the inside. It quickly wrapped around his bones, covering them completely. Before stitching itself through the inner workings of muscle. The ominous aura became darker and darker until the dead man began to twitch. The soldiers stepped back, fearful, weapons drawn. Chatter beginning amongst them.
The body rose. Like puppet pulled by strings, it stood disorientated. No one made a move, the atmosphere becoming tense. Its aura was as black as night, the corpse already releasing a putrid smell of rapid decay.
"John? Is that you?" a fellow asked.
Maybe this was a joke, a sick way of being funny. None of them had ever seen dark magic like this before, didn't want to accept it. The undead only existed in stories they told kids, none were supposed to be real. Seconds had passed in all, but it felt like hours. The tensest thing being that it just stood there unmoving, still.
The captain's face hardened, already signalling to his experienced men, overcoming their base fear. The younger ones lagged a little late, their training eventually kicking in. They began surrounding it. Multiple archers had bows locked on it. One, however, had been sweating. His hands covered in the liquid. That was all it took for him to slip and accidentally fire. The arrow penetrated the skin on the corpse's forehead then bounced off when reaching the bone. Black thread over it like an armour. It moved as if alive, like living worms borrowed underneath the skin. Magic coursed through the threads, making it look almost metallic.
The creature stumbled back from the arrow, trying to steady itself then screeched. Some of the soldiers covered their ears, unable to bear. It bulleted forward. Terror gripped some of the men, unprepared for the sudden charge, dread filling their bodies. The formation cracked.
"Hold the line," - Captain Grey ordered, attempting to salvage the situation.
His words were like jolts to those who were wavering. Snapped them back from their nightmare. Swinging all at once, they attacked the creature. Cutting through the skin just like the arrow but stopping at the bone. Barely any dents were left, the worm-like thread unharmed. All it did was enrage the corpse more, and it pushed through their weapons. Lunging onto one of them, forcing him to the ground, snarling and biting. The man screamed, the side of his sword in its mouth, just barely keeping it away from his neck. It took five men to hold it back and more than that to pull it off the soldier. It struggled viciously as they tried to hold it down.
The captain took the lead, grabbing a sturdy rope. With the help of his men, they tied it up. Throwing the end of the rope over a high tree branch and pulling the undead up, off the ground. The creature wrestled violently, trying to get free. But the rope held firm. The rest of it tied securely around the wrist of another tree.
"What do we do now, captain?" A soldier asked.
They all stared at the creature with confusion, shock, trepidation. The thing seemed near invulnerable, arrows and swords couldn't stop it. Captain Grey was in silence, not able to answer. No one was sure what was going through his mind.
"Does anyone even know what that thing is? And what turned...turned John into it?" a soldier cried. His head in his palms, knees trembling.
"How do we know we're not next? We can't kill something like that."
"Enough!" the captain finally spoke, silencing the man. The last thing he needed was for all his soldiers to be demoralised.
"Right now, we have it restrained. That means that these things can be overpowered. We have a wizard joining our expedition, granted we don't know his current location. But I have decided we will halt here until his arrival."
A wave of calm fell upon the soldiers, their captain taking control added some normalcy to the madness. Although talks of a wizard caused frowns to appear on some faces. Magic was distrusted among them, believing it only brought trouble in the long run.
"Henry, Charles," Grey called out, the two young men calling to attention.
"Henry take up your horses and tell the entire expedition to stop. Charles, as the Earls son I will make receiving the wizard your responsibility. Go," he ordered, and the two, more boys than men, rode off respectfully.
"Now, before anything else, does anyone have any idea how to deal with that thing,"
Many men of different walks of life were here, he's was not one to pry, but right now he could use any help he could get. There was no way to tell when the wizard would arrive or even if he was still coming. Even with all of his experience, his clasping at straws on how to move forward.
"With magic," a voice called out to them.
A green hooded man walked towards their camp, drawn by the commotion. A bow with a brown leather quiver on his back, a dagger to his side.
"With magic?" The captain confusingly repeated.
"You were asking how to kill it, and I answered,"
"And you are?" the captain questioned suspiciously, the soldiers ready to act.
"My name is Percival," he removed his hood and underneath was an older man with bright blue hair. Half of his face filled with burn scars, the other half was quite handsome. His left eye was blind, the pupil grey, the right eye, hazelnut. He looked in his fourths but good for that age, well at least half of him was. Still, no one looked at that, their eyes staring at his ears. Which were long and pointed.
"An elf?" the captain thought out loud.
"The elves have come to save us," a soldier exclaimed rejoicefully. The lightened for a second.
"No. I recognise him, he's one of the last-minute hunters we hired," another explained. And it dampened back.
"You know how to kill that thing?" the captain asked. He stared at the elf suspiciously.
"I know how to damage it," Percival slowly pulled an arrow from his quiver.
"Bows won't work genius," a soldier said spitefully dismissing him.
Percival looked unbothered, he primed his bow and fired. The arrow didn't aim for the creature. It shot through its ropes, cutting it free.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"He's with them,"
"Arrest that man,"
Soldiers swarmed at Percival. He took the dagger from his side and threw it at a tree. Just as the soldiers were to reach him, the blade stabbed into the tree, and he teleported. Appearing just above it, balancing on the handle. The creature wrangled itself up, the ropes loosening as it ran at Percival. He fired another arrow, splitting through the air and penetrating into the creature's skull. It fell, dropping to the ground, unmoving.
"You killed it?" the captain was shaken.
Percival retrieved his dagger from the tree, sheathing it. He strode to the body, yanking his arrow back from its head.
"Within these forests is a plant called 'Willow's Tears'. Finding one isn't difficult. They glow a neon blue and are usually by themselves, surrounded by a small body of water. However, isn't made up of water, its a resin they excrete from sucking up all the mana around them. That substance is the closest thing to liquid magic. Coat your weapons in it, and you'll be able to hurt those things."
The captain contemplated what Percival advised. He tacitly agreed, telling his soldiers to stand down. Whether they could trust this man aside, he had shown results. More of these could be out there, and the 'Willow Tear' coating would give them a fighting chance. Or at the very least provide some peace of mind to his men. They weren't going to be the same after this, and he needed to minimise the potential trauma.
"Assign some soldiers to form a gathering party," he commanded one of his men. "Follow this man's instructions to the letter, I won't allow any mishaps."
A soldier nodded, directing a few others as they went off to prepare. Percival ignored all of that, couched over the corpse. He'd witnessed the whole thing. He had never seen necromancy like this before, he wasn't even sure it was necromancy. The change was too instantaneous compared to the techniques he'd seen in the past. But all of those required the use of a soul crystal and not a needle or black thread. Still, the undead it created had the same features of normal remnants. Hardened bones, dead and decaying body. Yet, something felt off to Percival.
"Would someone pass me a knife?" he spoke out.
No one responded. The captain watched the elf curiously, he walked up to himself, handing him a small silver blade. Percival took it and stabbed it into the corpse's skull without much difficulty. The captain looked confused.
"Those blacks threads that protected the bone.....they seem to have left-" Percival began, thinking out loud.
He placed his hand on the body, feeling that it still contained mana. Although not a huge amount, it clearly wasn't spent. Normal undead had no mana what so ever. His eyes darted at the trees, looking for something, someone.
"-Or have gone dormant for some reason."
'Could they still be here? Or did the threads disappearing mean they've left?'
"So what?" the captain inquired.
"Whatever happened to your soldier, it wasn't necromancy. Clearly, someone is putting a lot of effort into trying to make us think it was....."
'The hardened bones were just thread covering, and the smell of decay was most likely from a rapid drain of mana from the corpse. Aside from the smell, the man's body is fine. It doesn't look rotted, just lifeless. And if those threads just need mana to operate. Then even the man having to die before they took control could be an act-'
"Why?" the captain interrupted Percival's sudden silence. But before he could answer a familiar voice joined their conversation.
"The blue-haired miscreant brat lives?"
Percival stood up from the body slowly turning around laughing recognising who it was immediately.
"Only one man dares call me a miscreant brat and lives......" he locked eyes with the owner of the voice,
"Richard, don't tell me you're surprised to see me alive?".
"I had heard rumours of your death," Richard explained as he landed in between Percival and Grey, his back to the corpse.
"That you fought with a dragon occultist. Likely the man I warned you against fighting,"
It twitched
"..." Percival was choked for a moment before defiantly saying "I beat him regardless,"
Slowly-
Richard nodded sadly, his eyes focused on Percival's chest.
"But at what cost?" he rhetorically asked already knowing the answer.
Percival instinctively gripped his chest, it suddenly starting to flare with pain, burning up.
-rising.
"Would either of you care to fill me in on what's going on." Grey walked forward, tapping Richard's back.
Percival looked up from his chest, hearing the captain talk. That was when he saw it, the corpse. It had gotten back up, and as he tried to let out a warning, it attacked. Gunning for Richard specifically. He couldn't dodge in time, the creature's teeth aiming for him. The captain stepped in, defending Richard with his forearm. He screamed in pain as he was bit with full force. A black thread seeped into his body through the wound. Percival moved first, drawing his dagger and slicing off the creature's head. It stumbled back but didn't fall, even its teeth continuing to dig into the captain.
"These things don't die,"
Percival stood ready to slash the creature, but suddenly it collapsed. The head released its bite, freeing Grey's arm. His soldiers ran to his aid to help stop the bleeding.
"Someone heat a sword,"
Percival kept his guard approaching the dead body, his hand resting on it. All the mana that was left had been drained out completely, it was truly beaten this time. Richard picked the head of the corpse, studying it.
"This isn't-"
"I know. I figured out a few things."
"You said it was dead," the captain angrily shouted at Percival. His men kept him still as they wrapped cloth to pressure the wound, whilst one soldier brought a red hot sword. He screeched as they used it to close the bite.
"We'll need to deal that first," Percival pointed out, and Richard nodded. He took both the body and the head into his ring before going to help the captain.