The full moon rose to usurp the sun's throne in the sky. Pale moonlight covered Shepeste, curtained by only a few scattered clouds. The wind was still and quiet, the air cold but calm. But the Shepestian homes were quiet, and their beds empty. Under the cover of the dark, Shepestians trickled out of their home and made their way to the muster points.
Jobb arrived in the western muster point earlier than most. Showing great skill compared to his peers, Jobb was trusted with the position of squad leader. Naturally he was given better equipment. He now had a spear as his main weapon and a thick and warm gambeson for his armour. His sword was sheathed at his hip, ready to be used should the Magebane come into melee. He really hoped it wouldn't come to that, for he had seen how he thrived in the chaos of melee.
As Jobb watched the Shepestian militia trickling in, he saw the same emotions in a hundred different faces. Fear. They are infesting them. It spread in the air until it felt oppressive, like a great weight was crushing them.
The old farmer Gaskin was a part of his squad. He was standing on the side, his head straining as he stared somewhere in the distance. Jobb joined beside him and followed his gaze, towards the Old Hill looming in the distance. It was a black, void-like silhouette in the moonlight, completely bereft of a single light.
"We're going there," Gaskin muttered. "My God, we're going there."
"Easy, Gaskin," said Jobb, but he himself wanted nothing more than to turn his eyes away from that accursed rock.
Captain Horndall rode into the muster point on horseback. He was the best armoured, with his thick plate armour over a grey gambeson coat. His plumed helmet's visors were open, revealing his face and his brown moustache. The sword hanging on his hip bounced up and down as the horse walked up to the militia. It had a short, one handed hilt with a lengthy blade to reach enemies from atop his horse.
The militia quickly formed into neat tight squares, exactly as they practised, and gave the captain their full attention.
The captain nodded, satisfied, and addressed the militia. "Remember, once we arrive, we will start with a wide, sweeping formation and gradually tighten our formation as we climb the Old Hill. We will make sure we don't let the Magebane slip through our formation, so we can herd him up the hill. Our goal is not to kill him. Our goal is to make sure the Magebane is pushed up the Old Hill. Once we've finished that, we make sure he stays! The sappers will join us and barricade the western chokepoint fast and strong! Now, squad leaders, form up!"
Jobb raised his sword and barked his orders. His squad formed up behind him and followed him out of the mustering point. To his left and right, other squad leaders echoed the same orders, and soon a great unit was formed.
The heavier armoured guards made up the core of the unit, with their firm spears held at the ready. The more experienced or skilled militias joined the core, wielding borrowed gear of spear and armour, with some carrying their own swords at the chance of melee. Jobb and Boyd were among them. Towards the flanks were the less experienced militias, with their personally owned pitchforks and quarterstaffs. Gaskin was among them, serendipitously placed right beside Jobb. At the back of the melee unit was the ranged unit made up of Shepestian hunters with their bows and eyes like hawks.
"Forward!" cried the captain, and the order echoed left and right.
The unit marched forward, towards the Old Hill, towards that grave of Shepestian dead. The road towards the Old Hill was lit with torch fire and lanterns numbering in the hundreds, like brilliant fireflies fluttering in the night sky. The militia's shadows flickered and danced in the flickering light, and their weapons glinted in their hundreds. The ground shook with the trampling of their boots.
Jobb kept a close watch of his squad. Then he caught Gaskin looking over his shoulder.
"Focus, friend."
"Ah, nothing. But just look at that."
Jobb turned and saw what he meant. Guard captain Horndall was at the back of the unit on his horseback, watching the troops carefully. His posture was straight and firm, and his head turned mechanically as he watched the area.
Surrounding him were his bodyguards and more notably a few riders. The hoofs of their horses clattered steadily on the stone ground. The captain would whisper to them and the riders would race into the night, perhaps relaying a message to different squads or even to the other forces surrounding the Old Hill.
"Why isn't he down here with us?" grumbled Gaskin.
Boyd caught his complaining and said, "I'd rather he's high on top of that horse so he can keep a sharp eye on everything and everyone, instead of being down here squeezed with everyone."
"Well that's stupid. I prefer a leader that fights with his men."
Jobb offered no comment. They were both right.
The unit marched on. Jobb could feel his steps gradually growing heavier as the even ground made way to the slope of the Old Hill. The further they climb, the worst it gets, until they arrive in completely alien terrain.
There were no more of the familiar Shepestian hovels and houses. Before them are the desolated remains of the Old Hill. The toppled remains of old structures covered the earth, creating an unsteady and hard road. Here the Shepestians used to live. Here they died. They were the graves of their own kin.
Boyd's eyes widened. "Do you see that?"
Jobb strained his eyes. "What? There's nothing."
"Exactly. Nothing. No trees, no vines, no grass, no moss. I haven't even heard a mosquito buzz or seen a spider's cobwebs. It's as if this whole hill is one giant void of nothing but dead rocks, bereft of life."
"Dark magic scars. It seeps into the earth and between the rocks, corrupting the land into its core. At least that's what my daughter taught me."
Perhaps that was why everything never went the same in Shepeste. A sickness grew out from the Old Hill and to the area, like a parasite that drained all life and joy.
Jobb shivered just imagining it. The grip on his sword turned clammy. But he wasn't alone. He looked to his left and right, and saw the same faces of fear and tension coming from the most grizzled veteran to the greenest young.
To make things worse, it got darker. Jobb looked up and saw evil clouds drawing around the moon, stealing its pale light, sending an oppressive darkness across the land. The night closes in fast around them. Even the hundred torches were not enough to stave off the abyssal night.
"Men, loose formation!" shouted Horndall.
The riders relayed the message, barking their orders while their horses thundered across one end of the militia to the other. It snapped some sense to the unit, and the men began to make great spaces between each other. Soon the unit spread itself loose and wide, covering a long stretch of ground.
"Forward!"
The militia began the slow crawl up the rocky slope of the Old Hill. They trudged through brick mounds, crested over toppled towers, and ducked low under sagging doorways. No stone was left unturned, and no nook and cranny was unaccounted for.
Some buildings still stood, miraculously surviving Trigan's wrath and the test of time. Some of the braver men rallied a couple of their comrades to venture inside, smartly making sure to bring enough light, never short of vigilance.
Jobb himself took a couple of his men and led them into a long, narrow alley squeezed by two dilapidated buildings.
He immediately regretted his decision. And he regretted accepting the role of squad leader. Because his men were now following his lead. He had no room to turn back or to show fear, yet he wanted nothing more than to do that.
He held his torch high, but its light didn't reach further than a few strides away. He strained his eyes and ears, desperately pushing his senses to the limit, but still the alley completely vanished ahead, its end nowhere in sight.
He feared that the Magebane would suddenly spring out of the darkness like a wolf and clamp his jaws on Jobb's neck, before dragging his bloodied body back to the darkness.
The fear was maddening. His entire body felt tense and his gambeson felt clammy with sweat. It's a miracle his men didn't hear him as he trembled like a leaf. Jobb felt like dropping his weapon and run blindly into the dark, hollering and cackling maniacally, calling the Magebane out so he'd kill Jobb just to end this mental torture as soon as possible.
Yet the Magebane never came. Jobb ploughed on through the dark, jumping at every noise. Yet he never came. Jobb came out of the alley and into the open, blinking at the milky moon that he never thought would see again. Yet he never came.
Instead, waiting for him was Gaskin. He was resting on his pitchfork, looking mighty anxious. His eyes lit up as he saw Jobb.
He said, "Oh, there you are. The unit is moving. I was worried so I waited."
Indeed, ahead the bulk of the unit is continuing onward. The last of the men who searched the buildings squirted out of them and ran after the unit hastily. Evidently, no one wanted to be left alone in this cursed rock.
Boyd came out of a dilapidated building with some sort of white powder covering his black hair. He blew air through his mouth to ward them off from his face.
"Nothing. Not even a single strand of cobweb." he said.
"What happened to you?" Gaskin grinned.
"Well, I didn't know that I walked into a mill. So I mistook a fat sack of flour for the Magebane."
Gaskin pressed his hand on his mouth and stifled a big laugh. Jobb shook his head and warily watched the unit going further away.
He said, "Then we should get a move on."
Gaskin stopped him. He gestured at the massive remains of a mansion, with gaping holes in its walls and a sagging roof. "Some folk went in there and haven't returned. They went about the same time you went into that alley."
"Big house. They probably didn't know we're finished."
"I'll go fetch them," said Boyd.
He turned on his heels and was ready to run when Jobb caught his shoulder. "I'm coming with you. Gaskin, we'll meet you back with the unit."