At the same time.
On the other side of the town, under the incessant storm, heavy-footed steps could be heard on the cobblestones, followed by gruff mutterings, at the front side of a dark gothic alley. The moon mirrored its light on the six unknown men down the street as they trudged with sheathed swords around their waists. These men stood opulently like giants, as the heavy armor around their bodies shimmered in the rain. One of the men - the leader - ambled casually into the passageway, wherein the others came after.
At a distance, a quaky rumble thrashed. As if the heavens were in a rage, the rain imbued the land, not very hard and not very fast, but hauntingly. Carriages trod this path of the land, but none stopped, as the rain turned heavier. The street becoming as dark as a yawning grave.
Inside the alley, there stood the six men - each one of them in armor. One of the men referred to as Sir Robert, a man in his late twenties, shared "It's been the third hour without any response from the commander"
A man standing mightily and giantly at the right-hand side of Sir Robert clicked his tongue in ridicule as he was tactless to state "What commander! Ridiculous! It's like we have been responding to a statue all our lives. Hearsay, I'll not risk my life and that of my family under the doctrine of a child! Never again" The man looked peeved for some reason. His sword was stabbed into the cobblestones. Moonlight trickled down from the sky, ejecting betimes patches of light and shadows on the cobbles. And these shadows belonged to the men, each one of them holding some kind of grudge on something or perhaps - someone?
"I must say, I agree with Osias on this one" Reckoned another man, in his mid-twenties on the left-hand side of Sir Robert - who's surprised at their oblivion. The man continued anyway as he expressed his mind "The commander does nothing other than beheading people. It is more appropriate that he doesn't fit his title. He is being immature and villainy" He hissed, eyes incarcerated with guile and hate.
"Tsh. Tsh. I understand it is more befitting for your egos than your lives, but what worth is the life?" A third-party acclaimed, the young man leaning his broader back against the wall of the alley. The knights in the alley turned their attention to him as he felt like a ghost. They couldn't remember him as he faded into oblivion. The young man being lightheaded scoffed, his deep maroon eyes peering outside to the rain. Unlike them putting on heavy armor, he was wearing a brown buttoned arming doublet, with the same colored trouser and a pair of tall leather boots. Around the left side of his thigh was conjoined a thigh blade, sharper than the eyes of an eagle. He had no sword with him, more like being an assistant in war. But his keen and soured eyes were enough to steer the rest of the knights' novelty to its highest stage.
Raven-haired as dark as the devil's heart, cascaded to the mid-length of his shoulder as he listened attentively to their disputes. It brought him blissful pleasure. How tasteful!! He was certain to 'chat' about this with the commander. If luck is it.
"Young lad, only a warrior understands the essence of sacrifices and the weight of death that deploys" Sir Tobbes laughed, breathily. He paused and clenched his hands to the side, before speaking again "It's like selling one soul to the devil" His voice began to frail, but he resumed "War is inescapable, and so is death. You are just a child, what do you know?" The man chuckled, as he gave a bombastic side-eye to the younger man, who seemed to have been born the day before.
The raven-haired sighed. He said,
"What have I known? Let me say Sir, but I have seen the entire world better than you have. Being older is useless" The man provoked. This led to Sir Tobbes gritting his teeth as his pride had been tested.
"Immaturity and stubbornness is the attribute of your era, boy!! You know nothing about life. Why are we all gathered here, soaked by the murderous storm? For the commander's arrival and how long have we been waiting?" Sir Tobbes thundered. He refused to meet eyes with his colleagues as he continued to say to the man-child "Get into this shit, you have been stripped of your whole existence, I say. Do your duties, yet have your head decapitated? How does that sound? Horrible!"
"It's remarkable!" Exclaimed the young man, as he altered his posture to one more sarcastic. He knew what he was getting into when he appointed himself a knight, but for death to stop his ambitions?
"No? Not terrible, but remarkable?" Sir Tobbes questioned. The audacity of the kid. That crushed his pride. His brows arched deeply and his eyes qualms with anger. He could swear he was seeing red now and if he were to explode, no one would be able to stop him from harming the man-child.
For the betterment of everybody, he decided to become mute as the others had been doing. However, the man-child began again with his provocative words.
"Death isn't the question here, is it?" The young man raised his brows, a frown fixated on his forehead.
Sir Tobbes couldn't believe the guts of the man. Wasn't he scared of death? At all.
"Hey, Child! You should know when to speak, how to speak, who to speak to, and who you ought not" Sir Robert dissolved the conversation between the knight and the squire, immediately because of the repercussions of muttering infidelity to the commander in his absence.
"Sir Robert, pardon my next words but I do not answer to anyone but myself and the commander" The young man deadpanned. His unexpected retort hushed the commotions inside the alley and the expression on each of their faces was flabbergasted.
"You must be an offspring of Thatcher? Aren't you, boy?" Sir Robert asked coldly. He read the straight facade on the young man's face. The lad must be a squire, barely above the age of eighteen. He was dressed like them, but his build was different. Sir Robert could feel the rut genes of the Thatcher reek from his statue, alone. The very same family he loathed and hungered every day for their extinction.
"Thatcher! He must have been enlisted to his graveyard by his family. Enlisting a child to pledge for a knight? Are they in their right senses?" Sir Tobbes snapped. No wonder he felt this familiar aura reek from the boy since the beginning of their assignment. He was the heir of Thatcher house? A vampire house? Becoming a knight? How foolish!
"Sir Robert, I believe anyone can be assigned a knight," The young man said.
A muscular man beside the young man screeched "Not a dirty vampire."
"Biased now! Are we? Didn't know they were racist in here" The young man needled with a smug look. He was the more thrilled after the release of their swords. Now this was fun. The boring streaming of the rain was too exhausting, that now he desired some action.
"You must satiate for my death. It is the sweetest revenge, right?" The young man persisted in teasing especially Sir Tobbes, who was very much enraged by the discourtesy of the child.
"NOT A WORD ANYMORE, YOU FOOLS!" The leader, a man shorter in comparison to the rest, declared sternly as he got annoyed with their rackets and pitied their heads. Not a second later after their arguments did they hear the hooves and clip-clop of a familiar horse.
The commander had paid heed to their letter. At long last.
With the galloping of the horse and its splashing of water into the alley, a man with an enigmatic aura was tugging the reins, sitting on the horseback in his silver armor - his face unseen - and he halted the horse in front of two knights, who were jiggling, chickenheartedly.
"Sir Dante, will you explain the letter?" The mysterious man proposed in his deep, husky voice. He tightened his fingers around the reins, besieging the rope reclusively, awaiting the explanation. As this man got closer to the moonlight, the silver helmet on his head illuminated, and behind it was his two eyes encased by the darkness. The golden-brown eyes were murky and cruel. The strong jaws of his face were clenched austerely like a knife ready to slice their heads. And there was this hidden picture sinister in his arrival as he scanned the appearances of the men around him. Reading their faces and the lack of enthusiasm that followed, the man chuckled darkly.
"Sir, he failed to retreat!!" The leader - a man towering six feet in height, dressed in golden-black armor and a white tunic, genuflected to the man on the raven war-horse hidden in the shadows of the alley. The youthful man was teetering in fear as he unfurled his lips to convey his message. He now feared for his head, totally forgotten about the knights.
"He committed suicide then?" The commander's suspenseful guttural voice was just enough to send deathly shivers down the knight's spine. He was fearful of what was to come after their first defeat in war - a simple one. As the right-hand man of the commander and second-in-command, Sir Dante wasn't oblivious to the cruel death his commander had given to the rest in occurrences such as this. He had one job - just one, but he blew it off, and now, he was going to get himself butchered.
Sir Dante with the mandate of the commander, filched himself upward from the wet ground. He then thrived a bundle of courage and answered "No sir, General Philip, and his troops did combat. On the battlefield, some of our men sided with the other opponents, and-"
"Commander, we lost" Sir Tobbes groaned as he interrupted the leader. He didn't like beating around the bush, and instead, revealed the truth to the commander who he was sure may or may not spare any of their lives.
He hadn't known it was his biggest mistake in speaking.
CLANG!!
THUD!!
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A/N
This chapter and the next were originally one with over 4000 words. As I am aware a lot do not favor longer chapters, so I decided to share them in half. What do you think?
Anyway, this is my first entry in a WSA contest as I am a newbie to Webnovel. Please review, vote, and support. I'll need that. Thank you.
You and my books are all I cherish, well, alongside my family.