Cold, all Conrad could feel was an immense coldness. There was no biting wind washing over him, the chill seemed to stem from within. He did not shiver, nor did his teeth chatter. It was a strange feeling indeed.
Without opening his eyes, Conrad could tell he was not alone. A short clearing of the throat, a sniffle. Someone else was there. There was also a sharp, monotonous scraping noise, like stone against stone.
These sounds kept Conrad from opening his eyes. He preferred the pitch darkness to whatever truth he would reveal unto himself by opening his eyes. Conrad's mind raced through all the possibilities of who he'd be sharing this room with. Perhaps a kind traveller had found him and dragged him to safety. Or perhaps it was the enemy, and after collecting their captives, they found him in a decent enough state to bring in for questioning, and torture.
That would've meant Drevon lost the battle. Shit. Well, by the time Conrad had lost consciousness it had looked like a losing scrap anyway.
Torture, now there's something Conrad knew he could avoid. He wasn't a man of any status, or any knowledge. Though a Zweihander, he was still just a sodding foot soldier. Anything he did know he'd spill straight away, no persuading required. He'd always known he'd rather be the coward who spoke and kept all his fingers than anyone else. No loyalty to Drevon could cause Conrad to part from anything. There was plenty of land around, why thousands of men decided they preferred one bit over the other because of a flag, some painted colours, Conrad could never understand.
The scraping stopped. Another short cough, then footsteps. At first, they moved toward Conrad. He did his best to hold his breath, keep himself still until eventually the steps echoed away from him. It was odd, a few footfalls sounded as if they landed on solid stone, yet others made little to no noise, as if whoever was nearby was walking on naked dirt. The smell of earth had surrounded Conrad since he'd been awake too. Perhaps he wasn't in the enemy's clutches, perhaps he hadn't even left the battlefield at all. He couldn't be dead, that much he knew. He could still feel things. Like the cold.
Conrad still didn't open his eyes; he wasn't quite ready yet. Instead, alongside his hearing and sense of smell he wished to test his touch. He tapped his forefinger to his thumb. First the left hand, then the right. Everything was in order, no fingers gone. Good, Conrad had heard far too many tales of looters taking a man's fingers to then steal his rings. Not that Conrad had any rings to steal, but it was good to know he'd still be able to swing a sword proper.
He took in a deep breath through the nose, then opened his eyes to a squint. Above him was a luminescent blue, brighter than a torch. Conrad couldn't make out much of his surroundings, but there were similar circular shapes all around him, glowing green, blue, even purple in places. He realised too that he was slightly elevated, with the floor a few feet below.
Oh shit, he thought, looking at the alien nature of his surroundings. Maybe I am dead.
Footsteps again. Conrad shut his eyes tightly, holding his breath. Before he went back into the dark, Conrad caught a glimpse of the approaching figure. He couldn't make out much, their body appeared to be entirely covered in a loose, billowing black cloak, their face appeared to be bone white.
"You know," a voice said, guttural and haunting. "You don't do a very good job at pretending to be asleep."
Something light, perhaps clothes, were thrown onto Conrad unceremoniously. He grunted as the bundle collided with his bollocks.
It was only now that Conrad realised he was naked. As he grasped the clothes, his fingers brushed against the coarse hairs of his thigh. He placed a cautious hand on his chest to feel more hair, thick and black. Quickly, ashamedly, he pushed the bundle of clothes to his groin, opening his eyes fully without thinking.
He yelped as he saw that the thing – whatever it was – had gotten much closer than he'd realised. Above Conrad's head the luminescent blue was blocked out by a mostly black, shapeless cloak. Wide, it moved in the strangest ways, even as the creature before Conrad stood still, the cloak billowed ever so slightly, ebbing, and flowing as the ocean would. Under the hood of the cloak was a skull. It might have been a wolf's. No, too big, too bulky. A bear's, then? Either way, it was a terrifying thing to wake up to. It was all Conrad could do to not push himself away.
The skull covered any possible living features of this creature's face. Perhaps that was its face? Again, no. Conrad had seen some odd sights in his life, but that would be much too far.
"Well?" the thing said. "How long are you going to stare? Can you even speak?" Its warm breath washing over Conrad's face. It smelled as earthy as the dirt beneath him, a faint scent of mushrooms hidden within, a hint of sweet berries.
Conrad gulped. "I can speak."
"Fascinating."
Conrad hated the way this thing sounded. It was as if someone had taught a dog to speak. It pronounced everything perfectly, too perfectly. It was trying to compensate for its unnatural tone.
The creature stuck out the arms of its cloak. Unsurprisingly, they were loose, black and billowy like the rest of it. The cloth brushed against Conrad's still naked form, hovering over the muscle of his shoulders, his chest.
"All in order," it muttered to itself.
"What are you doing?" Conrad said. His voice trembled as he spoke. Great. He couldn't help but be afraid given the context, but he cursed himself for not being able to sound at least a bit more manly.
A familiar pinch grabbed hold of Conrad's flesh around the stomach. It was familiar in the sense that it was human, or at least seemed to be. The seemingly human hands continued their examination of Conrad's body. Coarse, rough fingers prodded and jabbed at every part of him. Most of Conrad was terrified at the strangeness of it all, some of him was perplexed, and the rest was downright embarrassed.
"Remarkable," the creature said after hovering a hand above Conrad's mouth. He got a good look at it. Dirty, withering, the hand was as ambiguous as most of this being, yet it was certainly human.
"What is?" Conrad asked, urging himself to speak, to seem less afeared. "What's remarkable?"
"You're alive," it said wondrously.
"I would like to think so."
"Most of us would, but considering this," the human hand pointed down, to Conrad's chest. "I'd expect you to be surprised."
Conrad looked down. A relatively small, but deep stab wound was in his chest, perhaps a few inches from the heart. Two more wounds like it were still open on his thigh. There had been little to no medical attention given to the wounds. By most accounts, they should still be seeping blood. Except they weren't, not really. An occasional drop of black ooze wept out, along with some white pus. Other than that, the wounds were nothing except three open holes in Conrad.
Shit. The battle. Massacre, more like. Conrad remembered it now, he remembered why he thought he might have been captured by the enemy.
He smiled to himself. They never would've caught him. They never would've bothered. A man falls into the Low Wood like that, arrows in him, he's not worth the effort. Conrad's smile withered. The fall. It was real.
"Am I…" Conrad could barely get the words out. He understood the cold now, the odd feeling his own body gave him. "Am I dead?"
The being cocked its bear skull head to one side. It was a horrible sight, like a predator eyeing its prey with hungry eyes.
"What an interesting question," it commented. "I suppose that is up to you."
"Right," Conrad said. He didn't ask what in the world that could mean. He wasn't sure he wanted any more answers about himself, they might be too much. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his zweihander. It was dirtied, bloodied, but still looked sharp enough to cut this robe, and whatever was under it, in two. It was only a few feet away if that. In a moment the blade could be in his hands.
Idiot, Conrad thought. Must've thought I'd be sleeping forever.
"And what are you?" Conrad asked. "What did you take me here for?"
"Oh?" it seemed genuinely surprised at that question. For some reason, a creature that seemed to only exist in nightmares was shocked to be asked what it was.
"I am," it continued. "You may call me…" it looked around. "Bearskull."
"Bearskull?"
"Yes."
"Not very imaginative," Conrad said. Every moment he spent here he became less and less afraid of this creature. Whatever it may be, it certainly wasn't as intimidating as it looked.
"You ought to be nicer to the one who brought you back," Bearskull said. Though its voice was unfamiliar, the way it spoke, the way it understood the nuance of language, gesture, Conrad knew underneath that robe there was a human hiding behind a monstrous illusion.
"And where exactly have you brought me back to?" Conrad said. He sat up, rubbing the aches from his head and legs. His body: it seemed paler than before. No, not pale. His skin tone was not lighter, it seemed almost a different colour, almost grey. His eyes must be tricking him, it must have been that damned blue light. He was as sun soaked as any citizen of Drevon. Kissed by the day, as his mother had said.
"Well," Bearskull said. "The land of the living, for a start."
"That would explain the skin," Conrad said, almost unconsciously. He'd not wanted to hear those words, though he had been expecting them. "And this," he poked at the wound in his chest.
"You don't seem shocked?"
Conrad sighed. He thought it was odd too. There had been some shock, but that was mostly in waking up in this place, wherever it was.
"You've seen the sword," he said finally. "The uniform. The possibility of death's crossed my mind enough times. I never thought it would happen, but I got used to the idea of it."
Red, emotionless eyes glowered through the hollow bear skull. Conrad's eyes glanced at his sword. Bearskull followed his eyes.
Good, Conrad thought. This thing can realise its mistake. Now there's nothing to be done about it.
"For the final time," Conrad said, readying to reach for his sword. "Where is this place?"
Bearskull pointed a bony hand at the greatsword. "Are you going to hit me with that?"
"I'm thinking about it."
"I wouldn't."
Conrad followed orders, he would always follow orders, but only from the army, only from his superiors. This being, this Bearskull, was certainly not one of them. He turned to grab his sword.
"Craeft teem."
The words echoed in the chamber, as if a thousand voices had spoken at once. Conrad's hand gripped nothing as he reached for his zweihander. He turned over to see it sink into a newly opened hole in the floor. Vines as thin as fingers pulled the blade down, dragging it beneath the earth.
"You're a magician," Conrad said.
"Be honest," Bearskull replied. "With all this, did you expect any less?"
Conrad sighed, lying back on the large stone he'd woken up on. "That was stupid of me," he admitted, pulling up the trousers he'd been so gracefully gifted. "My humble apologies."
"You weren't to know, though you should've expected it. How else was I to bring you back to life?"
"About this. Bringing me back, you keep saying it, but you haven't said what it means."
"I don't know what else there is to say," Bearskull paced towards the exit of the chamber – an archway of branches blue and red in colour – before pointing yet again. "I found you out there. You nearly fell on me, to be honest, one great big lump from the sky. Then I dragged you onto this stone and brought you back to life."
"Why?" the word escaped Conrad's mouth before he thought.
"You are not grateful?"
"No. Yes! Yes, I am, just, I am curious, what's the point?"
"Well," Bearskull began, once again standing over Conrad with their monstrous, amorphous figure. "In truth I am one of many hags living here. We need… your kind, for natural purposes." The red eyes glanced downwards.
Conrad recoiled.
Bearskull made a terrible noise. It sounded like something between a dying cat and a boiling kettle.
"That was a joke," Bearskull said.
"What part?" Conrad asked cautiously.
"Oh, all of it, though the real reason you are here, Conrad, is perhaps just as bad."
"I won't bother asking how you know my name," Conrad jibed.
"In reanimating you I had to step into your body, your mind, in a sense. I… saw things."
"I said I wouldn't ask and I get the explanation anyway," Conrad muttered. He sat up, instinctively cradling his arm around the wound in his chest. There was a sore stiffness as he moved but no stabbing pain from the wound itself. He prodded gingerly at the gash. Still nothing.
"You shouldn't feel pain," Bearskull interjected. Not really, anyway."
"Right," Conrad said. "As vague and as strange as the rest of it." He threw the plain brown shirt Bearskull had thrown at him over his head. It was massively oversized, having room enough for two men of Conrad's size if need. Also, more concerningly, there were some stains on the shirt. Large spatters of dried blood. He thought it best not to ask how they'd gotten there.
"I know this is a lot," Bearskull said. "But there is a reason I brought you back."
"Well," Conrad said, slapping his jaw. "Couldn't very well let this go to waste now, could we?"
He hopped off the stone he'd been lying on. He could still feel the ground beneath him. The dirt collapsed between his naked toes. He smiled, stamping on the squelching, damp ground like a child, exhilarated that he could at least still feel somethings.
"I want your help in killing the Patriarch."
Conrad froze. "Eh?"
The billowing black cloak nearly engulfed Conrad, flowing around him until Bearskull placed a rough, warm hand on Conrad's shoulder.
"How old were you when you started fighting?" asked the voice behind the skull. "Eighteen? Fifteen? Younger?"
"Sixteen." Conrad answered.
"Since then," Bearskull said, gently pushing Conrad forwards, away from the oppressive light of the blue plant. "You've been locked in the same fight. Stuck, with no way forwards. This is your chance to do something bigger."
There were three long wooden tables stretched out across the largest wall of the chamber. Unlike the rest of the chamber, which was of natural make, as though the woodlands had made a small hideout for itself, the hands of men had made these tables. They were simple, old, and on top of them sat countless books and papers full of symbols, drawings and words Conrad could not understand.
"Don't pretend to know me," Conrad said, shrugging off Bearskull's grip.
"I'm sorry, but I do. I've seen your home, your mother, your friends."
"Do you know," Conrad said, inspecting the papers further. "You're exactly what I expected a magician to be like. Endless texts, studying, living in some ridiculous place, wearing a ridiculous skull to hide your face. No wonder you're all dying out."
Bearskull didn't like that. The black cloak loomed over Conrad with ease, expanding both in width and length to eclipse him in size. A showy mist escaped from the cloak, filling and darkening the chamber. The red eyes behind the skull burned with an angered fervour.
"I have been patient. But I shall not be made mockery of! I am the last hag of the Low Wood, the most powerful magician on this plane and I am trying to save this world's magic from the depths it has fallen into."
"Right," Conrad swallowed. "Well, you best get telling me how I'm involved otherwise all I'm going to be able to do is take the piss."
The form shrank slightly, retaining the its superiority of size. "The Patriarch, the Countess of Uttoll too. They both must die. You will help me deliver that fate, from the inside."
"Hold on with that," Conrad said. "Hold on for just a pissing moment, would you? Do you realise how mad that sounds? I'm an infantryman."
"I am not mad, Conrad. I am simply tired. You have been fighting Drevon's wars for so long, I bet you believe everything they've told you."
Conrad didn't really know if 'they' had told him anything. He knew he was expected to praise Atoth, worship the Patriach and all that, but he'd never really done it. For the other men, the more zealous ones, they'd do it without even being asked.
"In truth," Bearskull continued. "The Patriarch and his ilk might even be fighting merely for land, conquest, religion, but they are killing magic as a biproduct. With powder, with their own thunder."
Bearskull, the being Conrad had either only seen as terrifying or mad, now assumed a form of sadness the foot soldier didn't think capable of a creature that wore dead bones over its face. Its shoulders slumped, and even in the terrifying redness of its eyes, there was an unmistakable sorrow.
"I'm sorry," Conrad said. "But that's progression. Sometimes things are left behind."
"Sod off," Bearskull scolded. "Sod off. There is no reason magic cannot exist in the world, none at all. It is humanity's history, our progression and we can't afford to lose it. It has done the impossible long before the impossible was even considered so."
"You care about humanity's history. So, you're human then?" Conrad asked.
"Of course I'm a human you dullard."
"Well," Conrad said. "If you're so concerned with it, and the last hag of the Low Wood, all powerful mage, why can't you just go kill the Patriarch and come home?"
Their anger subsided, Bearskull's cloak deflated back to its usual size. They floated over to the stone Conrad had awoken on, sitting on it while kicking unseen legs back and forth in the empty air.
"That's a simple one really," Bearskull said. "Think about it this way. Let's say you don't like knights."
"I could take them or leave them," Conrad interjected.
"Either way," Bearskull huffed. "Let's say you and your friends are sitting at a local free house. You're laughing, drinking, then a knight comes and kills your friend and pisses in your drink."
"Bit extreme."
"You wouldn't exactly have the highest opinion of knights after that. It is the same as if I walked up to your country's leader, killed him, and walked out. I'd doom all magicians, even beyond Drevon. There's also no guarantee I could kill the Patriarch."
"Tough fucker, by all accounts."
"Hmm," agreed Bearskull.
Quiet filled the chamber, the only sound saving the two strangers from silence was a dull hum and the distant twittering of birds. Conrad pulled at his shirt. He counted four patches of blood. That seemed like a lot. More than enough needed to kill the old wearer, though none had told Conrad the blood belonged to the same person that owned the shirt.
"You don't seem bothered," Bearskull said. They didn't look at Conrad, rather they kept twiddling pale thumbs that just about stuck out under the wide sleeves of the cloak. "Well, you called it madness, but you don't seem to care that I aim to kill the Patriarch."
"I don't know him," Conrad said bluntly. "I don't care who owns the place, I just think it's suicide, this."
"Well, I'm sorry, but your only choices are to listen and help me, or I send you back from where I pulled you. Do you remember anything about dying?"
"No."
"Oh, that's a shame," Bearskull said playfully. "Either there really is nothing beyond this life, or you saw something so horrible that your mind destroyed the memory."
Conrad didn't like the sound of either of those things. Thinking about them sent a shudder across his body.
"Alright," Conrad sighed. "I suppose there isn't really a choice in this, but I do hope you've got something at least resembling a plan?"
Bearskull didn't say anything; they didn't move either. Behind that awful mask, the hollow eyes and pointed teeth, Conrad knew there was a face smiling. A wicked, plotting grin.
What in Atoth's name have I got myself into?