"The individuals who devised such dark magic, including the Forest Witch, are truly despicable," Bart remarked, his voice trembling with anxiety. However, his words went unnoticed amidst the unfolding events.
Meanwhile, the Shadowbinder head continued his chilling whispers, recounting the grim details of the curse's origins.
"The curse is etched into the flesh of the Shadow's kin," he intoned, his voice filled with foreboding. "Upon their death, their souls are consigned to the embrace of the Cold God, the arbiter of mortal sins..."
"He is the harbinger of death, stalking the living with relentless hunger, feasting on their shadows..."
"His wrath can only be quenched by finding the token of the Lord of Light and returning it to his fallen servant."
The revelation seemed to light up Sam's face with anticipation as he eagerly inquired about the token needed to appease the curse's wrath.
"The token... My mask... Where is my mask?" the Shadowbinder's head suddenly erupted, his demeanor changing erratically as he fixated on the subject of the mask.
Understanding dawned on Rhaegar as he turned to address the group. "The Shadowbinder usually hides his identity behind a painted wooden mask, rarely revealing their true face."
"Sorrel, do you know where the mask might be?" he asked.
Sorrel nodded affirmatively. "The Shadowbinder's mask is usually kept in the personal quarters of the former lord. It was considered a prized possession."
Bart, eager to contribute, raised his hand. "My brother kept the mask in his private chamber. It was removed when the soldiers took his head as proof of their victory. He tucked it away in a secret compartment for safekeeping."
"He always had a penchant for collecting trophies," Sorrel remarked with a hint of disdain, urging Bart to retrieve the mask immediately.
Bart wasted no time in leaving the attic, seemingly relieved to escape the unsettling atmosphere.
Meanwhile, Rhaegar's gaze fell on Sam, who hovered around the Shadowbinder's head with a mixture of fascination and apprehension.
He persistently sought answers on how to defeat the shadow creature, while the skull's ramblings became increasingly erratic, alternating between mentions of the Light of Light and something about magical tides.
"Enough, at least I've gathered some clues," Rhaegar sighed, realizing the futility of further inquiry.
But Sam seemed oblivious, his gaze fixed on the spinning skull, his fervor growing with each passing moment.
"Something is wrong, Ser Sorrel!" Rhaegar's tone betrayed concern as he called to the knight for help.
Responding quickly, Sorrel charged into the circle of candles, stopping the head's erratic movements with a powerful stomp before delivering a resounding blow to Sam's face, rendering him unconscious.
As Sam lay sprawled on the ground, Sorrel quickly tied the head securely with a belt and fastened a dagger beside it.
With the task complete, Sorrel hoisted the unconscious Sam onto his shoulders and glanced back at Rhaegar.
Their shared look conveyed a sense of deep resignation.
Concerned for Sam's well-being, Rhaegar asked anxiously, "Will Lord Sam be all right?"
"Fear not, Prince. A mere magical trance, another blow will awaken him," Sorrel reassured, preparing to leave.
Realizing the potential embarrassment of leaving Sorrel to handle the situation alone, Rhaegar stepped in and suggested, "Let Sam rest undisturbed. We'll leave him in the care of his guards."
With a nod of agreement, Sorrel complied, and they quickly left the attic, leaving Sam and the subdued head of the Shadowbinder behind. Rhaegar could not shake the chill he felt at the sight of the head and hastened his departure.
...
The next day, a throng of people gathered outside the walls of Dyre Den, forming a formidable assembly. Among them were two hundred soldiers from the House of Brune, three hundred from the House of Crabb, and over two thousand free folk from the wildling army, each faction occupying its designated area.
Dominating the sky, a black dragon spread its wings, casting an ominous shadow over half of the castle and serving as a stark reminder of the looming threat.
Beneath the Cannibal's towering form stood Rhaegar, clad in gloves and clutching a red-painted mask. The mask, with its simple yet sinister design, held a great importance.
Turning his gaze to Bart, who waited with his head bowed, Rhaegar gave a decisive command: "Let us go."
Bart hesitated, voicing his concern, "Prince, are we really abandoning the defenses of the castle to face the shadow in the field?"
"Did the castle protect your brother from the shadow creature's wrath?" Rhaegar's answer hung heavy in the air, causing Bart to fall silent.
After a night of deliberation, Rhaegar had decided to take proactive measures. With each kill, the shadow creature grew stronger, leaving no room for delay. Armed with the Shadowbinder's head and the Red Mask Token, coupled with Cannibal's formidable Dragonflame, they had the means to confront it head on.
Sorrel agreed with Rhaegar's strategy. To him, the dragon embodied invincibility, capable of incinerating all manner of evil.
Sam, now fully conscious, also regained his composure. He found himself astride a horse, the Shadowbinder's head in his hand, his gaze averting from the macabre head.
Rhaegar's plan was to use the Shadowbinder's head as bait, a risky gambit, but one that might yield results.
"Let's move!" Rhaegar's command echoed as he mounted the Cannibal and hovered above the wildling army. His orders spurred the Crab Claws into action, their ranks cheering as they brandished an array of weapons.
For them, to fight alongside a dragon was an unparalleled honor.
With Sorrel and Sam leading the way, the procession moved forward, their destination neither near nor far. Their path led to the clearing where the two houses had clashed before, a vast expanse that provided ample room for the Cannibal's fiery breath to wreak havoc.
...
When they arrived at the clearing, the remnants of the recent battle were still there, evident in the bloodstains and the lingering scent of death. Sam's gaze swept the area, his eyes flashing with anger at Sorrel's contingent. These bloodstains represented the lives of House Crabb soldiers sacrificed in the conflict.
Sorrel, however, remained indifferent. What did the dispute between the Brunes and the Crabbs have to do with his branch, House Brune of Brownhollow? Were it not for the deaths within his fiefdom and the pleas of a distant relative, Bart, he would not have intervened at all.
As the cannibal descended upon the clearing, Rhaegar gave orders. "Surround the clearing with oil."
"Understood, Prince," came the reply as House Brune soldiers set to work unloading barrels of oil from wagons.
Shadow creatures feared fire, so Sorrel suggested surrounding the area with flames. Soldiers stood by, armed with flaming arrows to aid the effort.
Meanwhile, Sam sprang into action. He led several hooded prisoners forward, thrusting the skull into the arms of one and saying, "Survive and your sins will be forgiven."
"Mask... my mask..." The skull's incessant muttering sent shivers down the spines of the prisoners, one of whom collapsed in terror, soiling himself.
The head rolled to the ground, still muttering incoherently.
Sam's expression wavered between horror and dismay as he watched.
Rhaegar turned away from the scene, his thoughts on the skull's warning: the shadow creature would prey on the living. With nearly three thousand people present, the risk of attack was high. Essentially, all present were bait, but the prisoners were in greater danger.
Accepting the grim reality, offering the prisoners a chance at redemption through survival was a more humane alternative to execution.
With everything in place, Rhaegar gave Cannibal a reassuring pat and gave the order: " Take flight!"
Given the shadow creature's recent abnormal behavior, it was clear that something had disrupted its usual fear of the dragon's flame. Still, if Rhaegar and Cannibal left the clearing, it would be easier to draw the shadow out.
Instead of venturing far, they positioned themselves on a nearby mountain, ready to move in at the first sign of trouble below.
(Word count: 1,329)