"How long has it been?" asked Malick. He's grown tired of riding east, to where the timid Prince waits for them.
"Too long," replied Tom.
It had been a fortnight's ride too many for the Men of Silver and they were becoming weary. This whole excursion was a big hazard. They were not sure whether they were going to come out alive...or dead.
Each Man of Silver rode behind the one that came before him. Tom following Malick and Edward lagging behind Tom. Tom was the chatter box in this trio, always yapping about things that sounded important, but was really all nothing.
But now he was silent as they rode through the hills on a dusty, gravelly path, with a dark and ominous wood to their right. No one spoke as night began to dawn and the mist thickened around the woodland area.
Wind rustled through the trees from their right and swayed through the hills to their left. The crunching of gravel eased Malick's feeling of trepidation.
"Remind me why our squires were required to remain at Shiverstone... my Lord?" asked Tom with unease and a hint on insolence as he wearily peered through the dark thicket of wood to his right, as if something could jump out at him in a flash.
"Are you unmanned by the night, Tom?" Malick asked daringly. "What is it that invokes such a powerful sense of fear in you?" There was a smug smirk on his face and a curious gleam in his mahogany eyes.
Tom frowned. "Don't know where you got that idea from, my Lord. I'm just saying, a nice warm fire would do me real good right now. Maybe some smoked venison, too. And ale. Lots of ale."
"You're quite subdued back there, Edward. What's the matter?" Malick questioned, looking back at the Man of Silver. Edward was bathed in the pale light of the setting sun, his armour a gleaming testament to the power and labour that shaped him.
His plate armour, polished to a mirror shine, caught the light at every angle, it's curves and edges sculpted with a craftman's care. Each piece was fitted perfectly. as if it had been made for no other man but him.
The breastplate, etched with the sigil of the Men of Silver - a great longsword - glinted as though it were made of liquid silver, it's intricate detail telling a story of pride, of battles won, and of brothers helped.
Beneath the plate, the soft fold of a crimson surcoat draped over him like a flag of war, embroidered with silver thread, the edges trimmed with fur. When Malick looked at his brothers he felt pride, as they lived not as knights to a King, but as the Knight Kings themselves.
They could wear any garments they wished, whether it was made from the finest silk of Hesperia or from the hide of a bear they hunted outside their very own walls.
"It's nothing, m'lord. Just keeping a lookout," Edward said, his face carved from stone, with shadowed eyes and a mouth set in a hard, unforgiving line.
Malick said nothing as he averted his eyes to the front, mirroring Edwards vigilance. Malick saw himself as a leader, someone to rely on, but he couldn't help but envy Edwards maturity, no matter how young the boy may be.
He admired it and despised it at the same time.
Their black stallions snorted as they trotted through the gravelly path. "Just up ahead," Malick said, his voice suddenly an octave deeper. He galloped ahead of the two younger knights to a lake. Here he saw an opportunity for shelter and rest.
Edward and Tom exchanged an inquisitive glance between each other, before following. The lake looked gray and lifeless. It's waters were still and on the other side, the wood seemed foreboding.
"Here?" Tom asked. "Why here?"
"It's the best we'll get now," Malick said, hitching his horse to an oak tree. "No civilization for at least another few night's ride. Best to settle for what we have now."
Malick settled on the grass, his elbows on his knees as he looked over the waters. His horse nibbled on the grass at it's hooves as Edward stepped forward to unhitch it from the oak tree.
Malick gave him a curious glance. "What are you doing?"
"Best to let them roam for now," Edward replied. "They must be horribly thirsty after today's ride." Malicks stallion trotted over to the bank besides the other horses to get a drink, as soon as it's hitch came undone.
Malick said nothing and frowned instead as he saw the boy's reasoning, but couldn't bring himself to admit his defeat. "Well, I'll get to a fire," Malick said, jumping up.
"That might not be in our best interest," Edward advised, closely watching the woodland just beyond the opposite bank.
"And why would that be, Edward?" Malick asked with a sigh, his tone churlish and impetuous.
"It would attract unwanted attention."
"From who? There's no one here, there's probably never been," Malick said, peering over his shoulder to the wood.
"It could attract other things. Things that would make sense of why no one's ever been here. Things that would make you want to jump into the fire you yearn to build."
Tom glanced between the two men as they went back and forth, their garrulousness strange to him. He traipsed to the horses by the bank, gently stroking their manes as the contending faded.
The hair felt soft in his calloused hands. He glanced over the lake, to the woods where darkness lay dormant, and no eyes watched him. But he felt something. Like something was watching him.
Something that cursed his birth and blessed his death and suffering. Something that wasn't solid or fluid, but rather a mist. Something that could pass through him like a breeze.
He squinted his eyes, perceiving something, though unsure of whether it was unfeigned or fraudulent. What did he see? Not even he could say? What was it he thought he saw?
Oh, now that was something else entirely, the kind of the thing that would give wet nurses a fright. It would frighten them so that they would fear even repeating the tales to the children they looked after.
It's was the kind of thing that would stand at the foot of your bed when everyone else fell asleep. The kind of thing that wasn't eager to cause death. All it wanted was fear, and suffering and pain.
It leeched off it, thrived. It stood on two abnormally long legs. Legs that bent in crooked ways. It's arms bony and tenuous and ashy. It had no face but the one you gave in your subconscious.
Was it real? Tom thought long and hard, but brushed it off as nothing. After all that's all it could've been, a thought, a trick of light, or something else entirely.
Tom chuckled to lighten his mood and patted his horse on it's withers.
"Are you two done bickering?" Tom asked as he turned round again to face his friends.
"Only once this fools agrees to making a fire," Malick said, stymied.
"Aren't you the one who leads us?" Tom asked. "Why do you seek our endorsement when you claim to have authority over us?"
Malick gave Tom a hard long look, one Tom couldn't read. "You make a fine point, Thomas," Malick replied in resolve. "The fire will be made and nothing else will be said about it. Now, go fetch me some wood."
Tom did not want to fetch wood, but honour bound him to obey. Many mistook Tom's excessive amount of chatter for ignorance or stupidity. Others thought the opposite and that he knew everything.
They did not know how little he felt he knew about the things that matter. And he himself did not know what mattered. He was born and raised in the Men of Silver. He had no friends, but he had brothers to look after, and his brothers looked after him.
They weren't his brothers by blood, but instead the brothers he chose. Like Edward. Tom strolled down the way they had come, followed by Edward, leaving Malick to himself.
The old brooding man, well past forty, was controlling and stoic. He was someone Tom strived to elude. But when the person you're attempting to elude is your Lord Commander, it gets tricky.
Tom turned to make sure Edward was following before speeding up. He'd been detested to the dark of the night for as long as he could remember. He endeavored to fall asleep before everyone else, so that he wouldn't have to be left to suffer in the darkness alone.
"Why did you do that?" Edward asked, coming up beside Tom. "Why did you feed his vanity?"
"It's an illusion, Edward," Tom replied. They were now beyond sight of the Lord Commander. "There's nothing Malick enjoys more than words of affirmation. Especially when it comes from those he holds dear."
Edward remained silent and for a moment, the hills and the wood, the lifeless sky and the ranges beyond, seemed to come to life. The wind howled and it seemed as if everything were swaying in it's breeze.
Then it all stopped, suddenly.
But Edward didn't seem to notice. Tom casually placed his hand on his leather scabbard, just in case. He had a feeling of apprehension. He's had it all day, but it felt most potent now.
"What is your opinion on the Noxarion boy?" Edward inquired out of the blue, shattering the silence.
"The Prince we ride for?" Tom replied, thankful for the reprieve from his fearful confusion. "Don't they call him the Susceptible Prince?"
"I thought it was the Timid Prince," Edward replied. "Nevertheless, why is it, that he was given that title?"
"Many say it to be because he is overshadowed by his older brother, Eryx Noxarion. They call him the Shrewd Prince. They say Eryz, the Susceptible, is often beat and bullied by his brother, Eryx."
"For what?" Edward queried.
"No one knows," Tom said with a shrug. "But they say whenever the Susceptible Prince is seen in public with his older brother, Eryx, the Shrewd Prince, he looks as if he fears for his life and is submissive of everything around him."
"The poor boy. I have heard that his beauty exceeds that of man or woman, that his features are unmatched."
"I've heard the same thing. I'm not one to fancy another man, but I'd take a chance with him," Tom said.
Edward looked at him in disbelief and laughed, the sound was low and hollow, the kind that seemed to be more like an echo of something long lost. It was like a crack in the mask of his brooding silence.
"Ah, over there," Tom said, breaking the disconcerting silence that followed. "Finally, wood."
Just up ahead, on the edge of the forest, lies small branches, big enough to start a small fire and keep it going for a couple hours. This should keep the Lord Commander happy, for now.
Tom hunched over to collect some of the branches, the duff crunching beneath his leather boots. His black wool tunic suddenly seemed too little for the prevailing weather. A coldness gripped him in it's fist, shaking him.
Tom shivered.
He lifted his gaze from the forest floor to the vast wood ahead. Darkness surrounded them, but it wasn't sudden. No, it had been there this whole time. It had always been there, even before them.
But Tom imagined he saw it again. The thing with crooked legs, and no face other than the one you gave it. This time it looked at him as if it desired his attention. It stepped into the dawning moonlight and Tom froze, his heart leapt into his throat and his eyes bulged from his head.
He couldn't speak or breathe or even think clearly. All he could do was see. It titled it's head at him and suddenly, the world grew more dim. Tom no longer felt Edward's presence or even his own.
All he felt was Death and Despair. The saying came from House Noxarion, the House of the Susceptible Prince and the Shrewd Prince, the last members of the ancient and powerful dynasty.
Death was there to pick you up once despair's taken you over. A rivulet of sweat traced Tom's face and without warning the thing was before him, face to face. It knelt down to observe him from even closer up. Or rather, to disparage him.
Tom's breathing accelerated as panic began to set in. "Tom!" he heard from a distance, like the voice was being subdued.. "TOM!" the voice repeated, louder and sharper than before, like the person was right next to him.
Tom was pulled back in an instant, like ripped from a vast and profound body of water. Tom now sat on the gravelly path once again, the one they had come through.
Edward knelt beside Tom, to ensure he was safe and unharmed. Tom's chest heaved rapidly as he worked to control himself and to quiet his intense emotions.
He looked back into the thicket of wood before him, and there it was again. But it was no longer faceless. It had a face this time. A face that laughed at him, mocked him, gave him an eerie feeling of trepidation.
A face that allured him to come closer, with it's reminiscent features that seemed disproportionate in the pale moonlight and the long shadows that were cast from the bony branches above it's head.
Tom hastily averted his eyes from the horrid scene and instead planted his face in Edwards reassuring arms. Tom's breathing was rapid as tears streamed down his face and his sobs pierced Edward's heart as he could not bear to see his brother in arms so devastated.
"What did you see, Thomas?" Edward questioned, his voice soft and calm but reassuring. "Tell me what you saw."
"Why weren't you there?" Tom sniffled. "You left me."
Edward frowned, his heart splintered, yet stronger than ever. He shared Tom's unease. Tom, no matter how young or small or talkative, was an intrepid knight, a proficient knight.
And to see him be so unmanned by something Edward couldn't even see or discern, it horrified him. A grown man, sobbing in his arms over something that made no sense to Edward.
"What did you see?" Edward repeated.
Tom sniffled and sat upright, with his back to the dark wood. The sun was completely gone now, leaving the moon for it's nightly shift. The hills were covered in celestial light and the leaves from the trees rustled, as if suddenly alive.
"I don't know," Tom replied. "It had no face..." Tom gasped as his eyes started to fill with tears once again.
"It's okay," Edward said. "Say no more if you do not wish to."
Tom sat for a moment and then nodded. Edward helped him to his feet and dusted him off, and they went back the way they had come. The two knights strolled in silence as the night crooned in the abyss of the twilit sky.
"You were in there for hours," Edward said, shattering the night's tranquility. Tom wasn't in the mood to answer, but Edward didn't need him to. He merely required his ears. "I came out looking for you, but you were gone. It was as if you were erased from existence."
Tom kept his gaze to the gravelly path before him.
"But I heard you-"
"Heard me?" Tom questioned. "I didn't scream."
"Well, I heard screaming," Edward said, his tone solemn. "And when I did I ran. I ran into the forest and almost to it's edge and that's where I found you, on your knees, sobbing."
"The edge? But we were only at the start of it's borders," Tom contemplated. "I never could have..."
"What is it?" Edward asked. "Tell me, Tom."
"I don't know, that's the thing. But we must leave, Edward. Whatever is in these woods, don't want us in their business."
Edward gravely nodded.
They came up to the tree where Malick stood with his back to them, gazing at the still waters of the lake, the mist thick on it's flawless surface. The horses nibbled at the grass at their hooves, distraught.
"We don't have any wood for fire," Tom said.
"We won't be needing it," Edward replied. "And if he tries to give us any trouble about it, I say you and I leave him here. You with me?"
Tom simply nodded and ran the rest of the way to Malick. Tom smiled, excited to leave, to have his brothers with him. But when he placed his hand on Malick's shoulder, he felt nothing but utter dread.
Tom pulled his hand back, he gripped it, his fingers stiff and cold, as though the very touch of it would freeze his soul. "Malick?"
Tom went round to face him. Tom bit down on the scream that threatened to rip from his throat, fear clawing at him with it's ravenous claws, but he swallowed it whole.
Edward saw Tom's alarmed expression and darted toward him. "What is it?" Edward began to ask but froze once he saw Malick's petrified face. His face was a mask of sickness and dread, drained of colour, frozen in terror.
His mouth hung open, and his eyes - milky and wide - seemed to bulge from their sockets, staring into some horror only he could see. His face, frozen in terror, jerked toward the two young knights, and for a moment, a smile twisted his lip - unnatural, cold, as if it were not his own.
He laughed then, but the sound was hollow, a breathless rasp that carried no warmth, only the echo of something long dead.
The two young knights fled, their faces pale, their courage forgotten. They scrambled onto their horses, spurred them hard, and vanished into the night. But Edward reined in his mount, wheeled around, and dismounted with grim purpose.
Steel hissed as he drew his sword, the edge gleaming cruelly in the dim light. With a cry, he brought it down on the Lord Commander. The blade me no resistance, slicing through the flesh and bones as though they were no more than softened butter.
Malick's body fell in halves, steaming on the cold earth, yet the ghastly smile lingered on his face. Then, impossibly, the halves moved - dragging themselves forward, his innards trailing behind him, stinking of rot and decay.
Malick crawled toward them, his milky eyes fixed and unyielding, as if death itself had no claim on him. Edward's eyes widened in horror, and without second thought, he turned and ran for his horse.
He mounted in a frantic rush, barely gripping the reins, as he rushed back to where Tom awaited him. Neither man looked back at their Lord Commander, their courage shattered, replaced by a raw unrelenting fear.
The wind howled around them, like some unseen predator was at their heels, and the night seemed alive with shadows that moved where no light could cast them. Edward risked a glance back over his shoulder.
Malick was still there, dragging himself forward, his broken body clawing at the earth in vain as the horses outpaced him with ease. Edward's sword lay discarded in the dirt beside the crawling figure, gleaming faintly in the moonlight, streaked with milky blood.
He tore his gaze away and fixed his eyes on the gravelly path ahead. "Look," he muttered to Tom. "So when we go back we can say we both saw him."
Tom obeyed without question, his head turning with reluctant curiosity. What he saw turned his face as pale as a corpse."Ride faster!" he shouted, his voice cracking with panic.
Confusion clawed at Edward's mind as he looked back once more, his pulse pounding in his ears. And then he saw them. A curse slipped from his lips, a bitter lament for the day he'd been born.
Three figures stood beside Malick now - unnatural things with limbs too long and bent at grotesque angles. Their skin was as pale as bone, and where their faces should've been, there was nothing, only a blank void that seemed to stare back at him nonetheless, as if cursing him and his entire line.
They did not move, but the very sight of them sent a cold dread slithering through Edward's soul, deeper than any sword could cut.
One word rose unbidden in Edward's mind, whispered like a curse on the wind: Vermyrr, Death's servants. Ancient and unyielding, their very name a harbinger of despair.
They were born in shadow, their existence entwined with the ancient Noxarion dynasty - a House steeped in Death and Despair. It was said the Vermyrr first emerged in the days of Ozias Noxarion, the Vindictive, a conqueror cursed by his own tyranny, his name forever linked with ruin.
And now, centuries later, on this very night, the knights rode for the same House, for one of the last members of the ancient dynasty of Death and Despair. They rode for Eryz the Susceptible, who belonged to the same doomed bloodline of House Noxarion.