The night the sun dawns, but fails to rise.
That is what we fear the most.
The night the old ones break free from their prison to enact a long coming revenge.
That is what we fear the most.
The night their lackeys run free.
That is what we fear the most.
The night when all but one lives, the one who is ready to sacrifice all.
Just to become one of them.
That is what we fear the most.
"Father, are we there yet?" A young voice squealed. The boy's mother smiled. "Thorley… You know that a young voice like that won't ever not be muffled by the horses…"
The boy sighed as he slowly stroked the long manes of his horse. "Oh Hanley, if only I ever could grow manes like you." He sighed again.
"Hair like this is reserved for men, boy." Berard felt no pity for the boy, waving his long flowing hair around mercilessly, digging further into the boy's mind. He was a man of great stature, towering over his fellows as his horse huffed louder than all the others put together. He wasn't just big, but muscular too. His biceps were bigger than the boy's head and his shoulders were like boulders you'd see at Rigorian cliff sides.
Blun snorted. "A man? Does a 'man' boast about the victories of others and accredits them to himself? Does a 'man' feed his ego more than he feeds himself? Does a 'm-" He suddenly stops. "Seize this at once!" Gerdrick's voice sounded loud as he tugged the ropes around his horse's neck. "Men, we have arrived"
The disgruntled servant threw the thick black hood of his cloak over his head, stepping off his horse as he tried to mask his fear. He had been by Gerdrick's side since the continental war, but he was a different man back then. And so was Gerdrick.
Four years, to think that everything could change in four years. That day Blun changed, and so did he. The fear in Blun's eyes was clear as day, the fear that was present since the day four years ago, the day when the Ravendal brother's changed. Gerdrick had thrown a piece of himself away for the kingdom.
When he rode into war, Blun could still remember the tears in his eyes, the regret, the sorrow. But when he returned, Gerdrick's eyes were empty. For that day he returned as a man.
And Blun became no Ravendal brother, but a servant.
Berard gripped his sword firmly, shivering as he sensed something in the brothers. You could taste it; a nervous tension that hung on a tightrope between anger and fear. "Set the steeds there." Gerdrick spoke as he painted his finger across the nearby forestline.
"But the tomb is miles from here, why dismount so soon?" Thorley jumped from his horse and swung the rope around a sturdy looking tree branch.
"Do not question Lord Ravend-" Blun spoke before getting interrupted by Gerdrick; "He's my son, Blun." Lord Ravendal glanced at the sky with disgust, barely hiding the distaste he had for his outcast brother. "From the forest line Koborn walk, our mounts would drive them to us no doubt" He pointed out.
Berard's head turned as he grinned. "They walk every forest in the defected lands. Do the butter goblins unnerve you, Lord Gerdrick?"
Thorley could see the crevices forming around his father's face, barely suppressing his anger for Berard. "We set up the horses here, not up for consultation."
Berard's lips formed into a wide grin again. He knew Gerdrick was a smart man, a dangerous man. Yet he also knew of his frail ego. Berard had experience in the words of commonfolk. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't erase the memories he had left of that forsaken city of commoners.
The worst of mankind could all be found there. Thieves, beggars, murderers, rapists, 't was all you could think of and someone down there had done it at least once.
The years he had spent in hiding there, away from Ravendal's army. The cold, soggy mud he slept in. The damp, bloodied streets of Vaxildonia.
But one thing was stuck in his head like no ordinary memory, breeding, growing like a tumor. The day Ravendal soldiers stormed into the city's sewers. Every last one of the deserters were either killed or handed off to the world's most infamous torturer there was. The Doc.
Berard could still feel the rough, wet bricks he hid behind scrape across his skin. The screams of his comrades, penetrating his ears.
And he watched it all. Witnessing the weeks of torture through a small crevice in the brick wall he hid behind. Once the war died out, he escaped. Returning to the Ravendal House, posing as a war captured soldier.
Berard shrugged, wiping away a tear as he too hid his head under a thick black hood.