Wandering Eastward - After the Empire

Wandering Eastward - After the Empire

                "The undead lost the war pretty badly, in the end," began Soff. "I guess... You were around until near the end, as the history I was taught says that this was one of the last regions to be cleared out. The death of the King left the Kingdom's forces in disarray for a while, and some holdouts lasted until Mechanis reached the coast.

                "It took another hundred years for the undead to be... cleared out completely. Over time, the forces that had come to our aid left for their homes. The area east of the mountains is still not safe for humans, but along the coast four countries emerged: The Republic of the Saved, Secondaire, Terryd, and Faron. We are in the republic at present, the largest and greatest of the countries."

                "Interesting," said Taoten, "I presume they are where the old provinces were, roughly?"

                "I have no idea," said Soff. "Look at a map sometime."

                "I'm sure we will have opportunity to do so. Please, continue."

                "Even up to the present undead still wander out from dark holes and hideaways, but the coastal countries are safe. Around the mountain, and reaching down to the coastal countries' borders, ten or so small countries were founded. The idea was to prevent the fall of one being the fall of the entire region around the mountains. Together, they would prevent a feared re-emergence of the undead.

                "Um, although the Empire was broken, there is - not the primary citadel, which was torn down and demolished, but there is an underground fortress, hidden in the mountains. None could ever enter it; and whoever was inside inflicted great harm on those who approached - even the greatest mages and Psionese. It was left alone, as there was much else to be done. After the war was over, as it was seemingly harmless unless provoked, none bothered with it.

                "Some feared that it was from there that the undead would re-emerge, but most suspected it would be from deeper in the mountains. One hundred and forty years later, sixty years ago now, the undead re-emerged."

                "Really?" asked Taoten, curious.

                Soff shot him a mean look, and continued. "Yes. It wasn't a valiant striding forth, or a dark army coming from nowhere. The countries were rotted from within, and all fell within months of each other. A simultaneous, slow attack on each. It quickly became widely known that the mastermind of the attack was whatever power lives in the fortress. Rumour says it is a master necromancer, but beyond that, none know.

                "The new undead lands surround the mountain, and keep to themselves. They call themselves the 'Undead Republic'. Supposedly they know the danger of taking on humanity again; and have made many overtures of peace. We are ever watchful for them, however, and undead are not welcome in any country that was once part of their Empire.

                "There is now an empty region between the Republic and the coastal countries, lawless and crawling with undead. We are heading towards it, although if we follow the road we will head into the empty region that has never been properly reclaimed. A similar place, but larger and emptier, especially as you head further out. I will not follow you to the Republic."

                They walked in silence for a while, Taoten mulling over what Soff had said. Eventually he spoke, "We'll follow the road. There were... secrets amongst the upper echelons of the Empire that I was never privy to. One I heard, a rumour, makes me cautious about being part of this 'republic'.

                "Heading east past the mountains, even all the way to the death blight, will be no issue for us. Our kind is unaffected by it. Truth be told, whatever causes uses a similar method as we; though none ever discovered its source. Thank you for telling me of what I have missed. I have two questions; firstly, I am curious as to how the Kingdom coped with the loss of its King?"

                "It's called 'the Duchies' now. The story is something like the Dukes couldn't agree and did not want to war, so they appointed no King. It's still the Duchies today, although there have been rumbles from time to time. And a new Duchy founded, and one lost, and Gracewood is run by the 'regent', who is the baron of Gracewood. 'Lesser yet greater in matters of all' or the like. There are... many who love the Duchies, who fielded the greatest army in our aid according to the stories," explained Soff.

                "Yet few love the Lady, whose army was the more effective than any other against us?" asked Taoten.

                "She is begrudgingly accepted, or feared," said Soff with a shrug. "She has an army of undead creatures. There is no love for them."

                Taoten smiled. "My second question is this; will you tell me about yourself? I have shared a summary of my life, will you share one of yours?"

                "So long as you don't complain of its mundanity, sure."

                "I am interested. My life has been long, but I doubt ever what you consider normal. Even my living days were likely completely different from anything you have experienced. So I will listen, intrigued."

                "Okay. My twentieth birthday was two months ago..."

Captive

Captive

                Tadyel was nearing the point of collapse when the fortress finally came into sight. If they hadn't been heading straight for it, she'd probably have dismissed it as a large rock formation half hidden by dunes. Possibly good shelter, but nothing more.

                As they drew closer, she realised that some of her initial impressions were wrong. A large portion of the 'dunes' covering the structure were just parts of the wall made of (or covered by) a sand coloured stone, rather than the far darker stone used for the rest. It was, truly, a fortress - walls standing several stories high, and the visible side was at least a kilometre long. Tiny slits dotted the wall, barely visible even as they drew close. It reminded Tadyel of the fortresses they had passed while leaving their homeland, but of far more exacting construction than those of the Thrath.

                The refugees were taken in through a tunnel that quite suddenly appeared before them. Both midway and at the far end stood mighty gates - the tunnel was wide enough for fifty of the refugees to stand side by side, and the column easily fit, even with the constructs encircling them.

                Each gate was defended by a contingent of the constructs, with a couple of mages (wearing less flashy robes than their captor) present as well. The sheer number of constructs around was very intimidating. Every last one was surrounded by an aura of might and violence - as if they might decide to crush the refugees at any moment.

                After entering the fortress proper, Tadyel had little time to look around the inside (a great open space with a very high roof, obviously intended as a rallying point - or killing ground) before she and the rest of the refugees were herded down another tunnel. They walked past several large, open rooms filled with wagons and other goods - what they have taken from others? - until they reached one that was mostly empty.

                There they were separated from their wagons and animals. Once the wagons had been guided inside, the animals were taken away. Some of the villagers murmured angrily, causing the mage to issue a short, unintelligible command. Acting as one, all nearby constructs - even the two standing outside the room as guards - slammed one foot into the floor. The shockwave knocked several of the tired captives over, and made the tunnel appear to shake dangerously. No-one murmured after that.

                The mage led them further into the tunnels, and eventually the empty, open rooms were replaced by locked cells of the same size. Most contained a handful of people, who seemed to be refugees as well. They stared at the far larger group almost sadly as they passed. A small group tightly surrounded by constructs passed them heading the other way. One cell was filled with a group of Thrath prisoners, armed to the teeth.

                Soon they arrived at an empty cell - far sooner than they had arrived at an empty storage room, despite each being filled to the brim. They were herded inside, and the door firmly locked behind them. "You'll be dealt with in the morning!" yelled the mage, before he left.

                The room was fairly cramped with all three hundred of the refugees inside, but everyone managed to find somewhere to lie down (or a patch of wall to lie against). They were a far larger group than those crammed into the other cells, though many worriedly muttered about how soon that might change.

                Tadyel had taken a spot near the door so she could get a closer look at the constructs. There were two just outside the cell door. Tadyel stared intently at them. Surely they won't get annoyed at my 'rudeness'. They certainly seem mindless, she thought.

                 Seeing them up close didn't give Tadyel many new insights into the constructs. They were completely covered in almost random plates of dark stone (very similar to that most of the fortress was made from); the only commonality between the two guards was cracks in the correct places to allow their bodies to bend. Apart from that, the plates and green filled gaps seemed completely random, varying in size significantly. Up close, she was able to see that the green filling seemed to be some sort of mortar - it looked like it had been squeezed into the cracks simply to hold the plates together.

                One particularly strange detail was the heads. They lacked cracks that would allow turning, and had no gaps whatsoever. One of the guards had a single solid place covering the entirety of their 'face'! Yet the constructs could definitely see, as Tadyel had observed them weaving around obstacles in the desert.

                Of all she observed, the only real new insight was something she almost missed. On one plate she noticed a - very, very faint - glow in the shape of a sigil. Careful watching let her spot similar sigils on the other plates which led her to quickly surmise that most (or all) plates were marked.

                Staring so hard made her notice how tired her eyes were. She could barely focus at all, and her eyes hurt. Time for sleep, I guess, she thought as she curled up and draped her tattered cloak over herself. Very quickly she drifted off, and soon after she was dreaming of walking (as she had for days).

                Tadyel slept for a long time - longer than she had in weeks. There was no need to get on the move as early as possible that day, nor was there a horribly bright sun to roast her. In fact, she managed to sleep soundly until she was poked awake with the blunt end of a spear.

                "Hurh?" she muttered, wondering why her feet were suddenly not walking for a brief moment. Her eyes shot open. Above her stood a construct. It looked as if it was leaning over her, spear in hand.

                Tadyel yelped and scrambled backwards, up and over a couple of other sleeping refugees. The construct didn't follow her as it was too busy poking someone else with its spear.

                "Sorry, sorry!" muttered Tadyel to those she had clambered over while panicked. They grumbled and muttered as they woke up as well. Tadyel resolved to play innocent if anyone was pissed and took the opportunity to look around.

                Most of the refugees were awake already, and seemed to be gathering up against the back wall loosely. Tadyel and the others who had still been asleep were being woken up by others, or poked awake by constructs. There were a few constructs in the cell, forming a semi-circle around the doorway as they entered and woke up sleeping refugees. From behind them came a deep but (probably) female voice calling out, "Yes, keep backing up. You'll all fit in the far end of the cell, move it!"

                The voice continued, repeating more or less the same order. Tadyel and the other refugees acquiesced without complaint. It was not long before the refugees were clumped up against the far wall opposite a line of constructs that stretched from one wall to the other. Two stepped aside, and from their midst a tall, aged woman in robes quite similar to their captors.

                "Greetings, refugees from the south. I am the Magus Ophelia, and I am tasked with organising and managing all prisoners. As you are likely aware, we have been capturing those like yourselves for use in the creation of our constructs," she said. The look of fear she saw crossing the faces of many of the refugees made her smirk.

                "As much as we need every last construct, we also have other needs. I have been ordered to make your group an offer. For each one of you that agrees to perform a certain duty for us, twenty of you will be spared - as chosen by the 'volunteers'. Should you succeed in your duty, they will be released. Should you fail, another must perform a duty. Should you betray us the chosen twenty will be used as construction materials." The Magus smiled wickedly.

                "The duty you must perform will be dangerous or dark. We will decide based upon what we think you are capable of. Understand that we would by far prefer that you succeed. Do not fear that we shall set you up to fail. We simply do not have the manpower to carry out these tasks ourselves. Those who volunteer, raise your hands."

                Tadyel's arm shot up immediately. She felt she had to - it was a way out, for all of them. She understood the direness of the situation. Yesterday she had been too tired from countless hours of walking to think properly. Today she had put it together moments after awakening.

                Proper sleep had really, really helped her brain. Behind and beside her, several others volunteered. She barely had time to think That's not enough before another hand went up. Then another, and another, until it was enough.

                "Oh, I should add, you can double up on someone if you want them to be extra safe. There's an exception for betrayal, of course," said the Magus.

                Another couple of hands went up, but that was all. The Magus waited a few minutes, perhaps hoping for more volunteers, before she spoke. "Well then. Volunteers come forwards. It seems there's enough of you to cover everyone, how lucky for you all. A couple of lesser Magii will be down shortly to take down your names so we know who the volunteers have picked," she said.

                Tadyel stepped forwards, along with the other volunteers. Mostly the mightier souls of the village. Those who had fought off beasts, taken the heaviest loads, and done as much as they could. Some of the rest were young grandparents, with large families to watch over, but a couple were brave, foolish youths.

                Thinking about it made Tadyel realise that she was probably a brave, foolish youth herself. She didn't often doubt herself, but she knew she wasn't the strongest. What if it was a task that required her to fight? She'd - she had no idea how to do that. She'd been a farm hand all her life, and not one with a broad base of farming knowledge. The only thing she could do was cut grain!

                She pushed worrying about it from her mind. It was done; better to worry about what came next. Who would she choose to save? She knew everyone - everyone knew everyone - but she wasn't close to anyone, really. Not since the last of her siblings fled. Her friends had fled even earlier than that, rather than face near starvation.

                I suppose whoever no-one else wishes to safeguard, she thought, and I know of a few who would be skipped. The villagers were close to one another, but not every refugee had come from the village. Some of those who joined them on the road were welcome, but others were seen almost as outsiders. Only welcome on the road as there was safety in numbers.

                Tadyel and the other volunteers followed the Magus from the cell and down more long corridors as she mulled over her choices.

                The inspection consisted of a brief five minute physical inspection and a few questions. What was Tadyel's profession? Grain farm-hand. Any special skills? No. Any training at all - especially fighting? No. Have you been inspected for magical talents? Yes, Thrath do so and kill or take those they detect. I see.

                It was carried out inside a medium sized chamber, with several 'Lesser Magii' assisting the Magus they had been brought to by Ophelia. His name was Oberon, and Ophelia had referred to him as 'the man who figures out what we need for each constructs - but don't worry, he's checking you out for other reasons'.

                Tadyel returned to the corridor outside once her inspection was completed, and the next volunteer headed in. She spent the next two hours (she had been the third volunteer to be inspected, so there were many more to follow) napping against a wall. One of the other volunteers asked her how she could be so calm, to which she replied, "I'm still tired from the walk."

                Once the inspections were completed, they were led by one of the lesser Magii through the corridors again. They entered a different part of the fortress, one that seemed more associated with paper work than prisoners (or constructs). Small offices lined the walls, most presently unoccupied but full of books and paperwork. The markings on the doors were in a script Tadyel had never seen - it used completely different characters to the ones she had seen in her village. It was possible it was just a messy script - Tadyel had never learnt to read.

                A Magus outside one of the offices waved at the group as they approached. "Thank you, Mortimer," she said, "Hurry back to Oberon, now." Mortimer nodded, and left.

                "Line up, and enter one at a time. Damien! Come out here and keep an eye on them!" hollered the Magus. A lesser Magus popped out of the Magus's office and nodded.

                "I am called Eden, by the by," said the Magus. She pointed at one of the volunteers. "You first."

                The chosen volunteer headed into the office, leaving the rest of them outside under Damien's watch (and in an orderly line, lest the ever-present constructs become agitated). Tadyel took the opportunity to get back to napping - she was last in line.

                "Wake up," came a voice, followed by a rough jab. Tadyel's eyes flared open and saw Damien standing over her - she must have fallen asleep. The other volunteers were nowhere to be found, though she was still in the corridor.

                "The rest of them have headed off already. Last goodbyes and that. You're lucky last - head in," said the lesser Magus. Tadyel nodded and did as asked.

                The inside of the office was little different from the ones she had passed on the way. Eden - a short, quite heavy-set gray-blonde - sat behind her desk in the middle of the room. In front of it sat another chair, that Tadyel was motioned to sit in.

                "You're Tadyel, then?" asked Eden. Tadyel nodded.

                "Do you know who you'll take responsibility for?" asked Eden. "The others left a few people out. A couple said you'd more than likely choose those as yet unchosen."

                Tadyel nodded, then said, "Yes. Everyone who is left. And then the children."

                "Very well. That's a few more than twenty - which of the children would you choose?" said Eden. She held a list out to Tadyel. "You know," she added, "The first time we did this we didn't count the children. But then we realised how protective people are of kids most of the time."

                Tadyel grimaced at the sight of the too-pleased smile Eden made. "I can't read it," said Tadyel.

                "Oh. Well, there are just enough kids with only one person responsible for them to get you to twenty - how about that?" asked Eden, taking back the list.

                "Okay," replied Tadyel.

                "That's that handled. Now, your task. A particular individual in one of the towns near the desert's edge is agitating against us. He's finding support amongst the refugees, but we are more concerned about his effect on the townspeople. Your task is to kill him," stated Eden solemnly.

                Tadyel was a little shocked, despite expecting something similar for a 'dark' duty. She also felt a surge of relief - killing someone wasn't that dangerous. If you did it carefully, you'd probably be able to flee safely. But... She felt her conscience wriggling all ready. Could she really kill someone?

                "You will have ten days after arriving at the town to kill him," continued Eden. "Additional details on the target will be provided by your contact in the town. You will also have a spell placed on you. This spell will kill you after seventeen days - enough time to get you to the town, and for you to have ten days to succeed. This spell will be removed by your contact upon your success. Failure to make an attempt on the life of the target within the ten days will be counted as a betrayal. Do you have any questions?"

                "I - can you tell me any more about what I have to do?" asked Tadyel.

                "Your contact will have more details than I. As will your driver, I think, as he is close to our agents within the town. You will spend six days in his company, in fact. Plenty of time to ask questions of your task. And, perhaps, other things," said Eden.

                There was a moment of silence, and then Tadyel said, "Thank you."

                Eden smiled. "I have a question for you, in turn. Why did you volunteer immediately? The notes paint you as quite unexceptional but for that."

                "I... wasn't quite thinking straight. I'd just been woken up," replied Tadyel.

                "Do you regret volunteering?"

                "No. Someone had to."

                Eden's smile broadened. "Well then. I'll have Damien escort you back, then we'll mark you and get you on your way. It's been a pleasure to deal with someone sure of what she's doing - you wouldn't believe how long your fellow volunteers took to make their choices. It's mid-evening, by the way," said Eden.

                "Oh," replied Tadyel. That did explain why she felt so rested. And also why she was so hungry - a thought that made her stomach rumble.

                "We'll get you fed before you leave, too," added Eden with a chuckle.

Wandering Eastward - The Undead Empire

Wandering Eastward - The Undead Empire

                "The Undead Empire began around fifteen hundred years ago, with the 'Emergence'. Ninety centuries had passed since the portals let so much into this world, little of it good. A temporarily accessible world made the perfect dumping ground for many, though it attracted its share of conquerors.

                "Amongst those dumped were many creatures of varying power and kinds. The greater fought one another for millennia, and eventually the world was relatively still. Surviving humans and lesser others emerged from hiding, and repopulated. So it was that the first of the undead lords, and their emperor, came out of hiding.

                "The emperor himself was a dread revenant; a creature of terrible strength and powerful magic. He could create lessers of his kind, and they lesser in turn. To the humans he immediately brought under his dominion, he was as a god.

                "The rest of that first council - I will detail them later, when I speak of the other kinds. Together, they took control of the region they had emerged from - the nascent countries surrounding the mountain range they had hidden within. Their numbers increased, and they quickly grew to be a true power. The nearby lands - barely organised rabble - quivered in fear.

                "They were right to do so. After they were named an empire, the undead lands expanded rapidly. Over the next six hundred years the Empire took control of the lands all the way to the coast; stopping in the north at the borders of the forest, Merisomet and Dafer; to the south where the arid lands touched the coast. To the east, expansion stopped at the dead blight - its size was unknown, and humans were absent from the region.

                "With the easy targets conquered, the empire turned its focus inwards. Humans were forced into controlled settlements, to prevent rebellions and provide a constant supply of... That was the beginning of the 'retrievers' - those tasked with hunting down humans who had rebelled, or fled.

                "At the same time, the 'protectors' were founded. Tasked with hunting down the monsters that roamed the lands, they kept the Empire safe for undead and humans alike. Alongside the army and navy, these two groups made up the official military of the Empire. Up until it fell, I assume.

                "The Empire, during this period, put out a call to all undead - come, and be welcome. Many answered, including those served by mindless undead - lichs and the like. There were... More than two thousand unique creatures known to the empire. Perhaps a couple of hundred numbered more than a handful, and a few kinds made up most of the population.

                "After the four hundred year period of expansion and internal growth, things were calm for two centuries. Neighbouring countries became used to peace, and the Empire readied to strike. Yet, before they did, the great expedition into the Forest of the Caged was carried out.

                "Many undead had emerged from there, over the years, and information given to the Empire by another escapee (who had once seen the records of the imprisoned) indicated that there were many who were classified as the undead. The expedition's aim was simply to free all undead they could, and they freed many - as well as fighting countless creatures, and making notes on several powerful (and non-undead) creatures within the Forest. I've spoken of it a little already, but the important event within the forest was the freeing of the dread-wyrm, Garamjar.

                "Garamjar was a titanic, undead wyrm. Essentially a short, thick snake, but huge. It was thirty metres long, and five metres in diameter. Its body repaired itself, and it wielded great magic that could part any land before itself - and that, with time to prepare, it could level cities in one grand tearing of the earth.

                "It impressed those that freed it greatly, and was the greatest amongst those they free from the forest of the caged. As such, it had the 'honour' of meeting the emperor, after it had been inducted into the empire.

                "When it refused to bow, the Emperor insisted. This angered Garamjar, and it ate the Emperor. His closest took up arms, so he ate them as well. Their great magics had little effect on the dread-wyrm. It rampaged through them, and devoured the entire family of the Emperor - those who would inherit, should the worst happened.

                "After that event, the Empire wavered - especially when Garamjar refused to bow before any replacement Emperor. None were to be above it, yet it did not wish to be Emperor itself. The wisest in the Empire, those who emerged and those who joined them to advise the Emperor, devised a plan - turn the Empire into a republic.

                "This plan won the support of the many kinds - each desired a voice, and though there was much rumbling discontent enough compromises were eventually struck to please all. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, the Empire became a republic.

                "Despite the change in form, the Empire kept its name. I'm not sure why, but perhaps it was to not appear weak. Internally and facing outwards, the undead kinds maintained they were far superior to humanity. It was not integral to the collective undead identity before the death of the Emperor, but afterwards... It became one of the unifying forces for the Empire: the shared idea that the undead were better.

                "A hundred and fifty years after the death of the Emperor, once I had finished my tutelage, Garamjar went on an expedition underground. The official line was always that its exploration continued, but the truth is... Garamjar dug into the magma layer of this world (something that did not exist in any world it had been to before) and perish amidst the molten rock. It sent messages to myself and several others. Considering that it had been warned by many, including several undead who had once been amongst the original inhabitants of this world...

                "Garamjar's absence and had one important effect, especially amongst the leaders when they learnt of its death. They began jockeying for power, and within their own petty fiefs they became greedy. Humans were allowed to reach numbers far beyond those needed - the greatest vampire lords would feed on a thousand each year. A thousand! Efforts to prevent overpopulation of the Empire were taken to have no bearing on the number of humans. They merely cut back on the increase in numbers of the few kinds who needed nothing to live, ah.

                "All was quiet, for a while. The first signs of trouble began six hundred years ago. The Empire was full to bursting, and looked hungrily at its neighbours, causing them to fear. Alliances were forged, encircling the Empire with humanity bound together. Attacks on any would lead to retaliation by all. Small revolts began to occur amongst the human population. In many places, they were not only food - they were abused, or starving and hungry.

                "Three hundred years slowly brought it to boiling point - the few undead who despised the order, along with some brave humans, linked the human population together. Countries outside provided arms, magic, training where they could. The countries of humanity - and even the Lady of the Dead - came together in a grand alliance."

                "Actually, can you tell me about that? Isn't she a necromancer?" interjected Soff.

                "Yes, she is," said Taoten, "But she is not undead herself. She is... Some dread creature of shadow. We would've accepted her, had she asked to stand amongst us. But she has her own domain, her own people. And she is... Dedicated to their life. It is true that she slaughtered her distant descendants, but only when they attempted to destroy her out of fear, or so it is said. One thing she said was that her children’s' blood ran in all those of her Domain as strong, or stronger, than the royalty; and that she served the people before those of her eldest son's direct line.

                "Back to the Empire's end - we were not caught by surprise that there was an attack. We were surprised by the attack's extent and strength. All the settlements, with a handful of exceptions, revolted as one. They were armed, and ready. Almost all countries on the continent, and several from over the sea (including the Psionese!). It was too much, though several of the lords were confident.

                "From what I know, we fought well, and showed humanity the might of the dead. The king of the 'Kingdom' was slain in a great battle, along with all his family. A loss, but a very pyrrhic victory for humanity. Beyond that, I do not know much - I was fighting revolts for around a year before a mixed army of Kingdom and Sand-Given soldiers caught the unit I was fighting with. They wiped us out, but thankfully did not have enough mages to ensure we all died.

                "So, that is the history of the Empire until I fell in battle - at least, the important things. There were many great deeds, including many you have likely never heard of. Yet they are unimportant in comparison. I suspect what I have said was interesting to you, and that beyond rumour, hearsay and other foolishness little of the Empire's history is widely known."

                "Yes. I hadn't heard much of that before. Only legends," replied Soff.

                "As expected." Taoten paused. "My voice grows tired, and, I would like to know the history of the reason I do not. Will you tell me of what has happened since, and the end of the Empire?"

                Soff walked beside Taoten in silence, for a while, before she spoke. "Alright. Well, the undead lost the war pretty badly, in the end..."

AYS Strips 41 to 48

Yes, more. Beneath the break because big files (smaller this time since I decided to do jpgs for the shrunk versions) and eye-scarring.

Refugee

Another series, another schedule. Nine p.m. Fridays for this one.

This one has two more done, a fourth in progress, and two more planned out. (and as expected, I've yet to do another Wandering Eastward piece).

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Refugee

                What had been a trickle of refugees - a few hundred, perhaps a thousand, each year - had become a torrent. Each month more than ten thousand braved the journey across the desert, hundreds dying in the process. It was, unfortunately, their only choice.

                The small gap in the mountain range that split the desert in half was the safest route almost all had to escape their conquered homeland. Almost sixty years before, the Thrath - a terrible, warlike people with no love for any but their own - had come from across the sea and easily conquered all the lands of the peninsula - right up to the mountains, and the desert.

                They were cruel masters, and even long after the initial invasion many left for the north. Tens of thousands perished from starvation, overwork, or were killed for the amusement of the Thrath. Despite the horror, many remained. Some areas were better treated, and the people were not slaves.

                This changed fifty-eight years after the invasion. A policy of extermination began - all local leaders were replaced by Thrath. Trades unrelated to war were marginalised, then barred. It seemed that the Thrath, having ravaged the land, were preparing to move on - and planning to leave nothing behind. Stories of their former home, over the sea, confirmed this. A barren island, nothing left at all.

                And so, the surviving people of the southern peninsula fled north. Thrath patrols chased them, but rarely went far into the desert. Many assumed that the Thrath would follow, but by boat - around the mountains. Yet, there was a rumour that the Thrath had boats no longer...

                Tadyel sighed. Her life had been horrible, and hard, in the south - farming grain for the Thrath, like the rest of her family. It was a menial task, though at least until two years prior they had eaten well. Since then... They had eaten well, but at great risk. Hiding grain from the Thrath was enough to have them killed. Many had not been careful enough, and many others had not been willing to take the risk.

                One day, her family had gotten caught. Her grandparents were put to the sword, and her parents hauled off to work in a mine. Over time most of her siblings left, hoping to trek across the desert. Tadyel stayed on. Her stash hadn't been found - and it never was.

                Eventually the entire village - the farmers and the bakers, all that remained - gave up. As one large group - around two hundred strong - they left in the night and made for the desert, grain and livestock alongside them. Somehow they made it without being caught and then, along with stragglers they picked up along the way, they began their journey.

                The two week trip had not been easy even though they were well supplied. But the had made it through the uninhabitable parts, and were now in the 'lesser' desert again - inhabitable, though barely. An oasis saw their water supplies replenished, and their remaining animals fed. Soon, they would be in the southern most of the countries above the peninsula - a loose collection of large towns, that had no real name.

                The leaders of the village felt it would be unsafe to remain so close to the Thrath, as the towns would surely be easily taken when the time came. They intended to head much further north, to the safety of a 'real country'. It was an aim shared by most refugees, although they had heard that the hospitality of the towns was quite welcoming - with one exception.

                That exception was something the refugees had only heard rumours of. In the desert, likely somewhere in the part they had now entered, was a hidden fortress. An order of mages and their army were said to call it home. Their hatred for the Thrath was well-known; their army had engaged (and destroyed utterly) many Thrath patrols that forayed too far north.

                The fortress would have been a source of hope for the refugees if it were not for the nature of the army. The army consisted of the reanimated dead - not the undead, which were (though uncommon) occasionally encountered. No, the tales told of dead bodies maintained and supported by strange machinery within armour, a marriage of some terrible magic to the common sigils.

                Terrifyingly, the source of the bodies was often the refugees themselves. Though scarcely any compared to the sheer number of refugees heading north, more than a dozen large groups of fifty or so (and possibly countless smaller groups) had been captured and taken away by the mages.

                It had struck Tadyel as unusual that everyone knew the fate of the captured refugees - but someone who kept better track of rumours had told her something quite chilling: the source of that particular piece of knowledge was one of the mages themselves. He had been captured by some refugees while sneaking around, and had given his answer to secure his release. Horrified by the answer they were given, the refugees had killed him.

                Tadyel hoped the rumours were false, or exaggerated. Or, at the very least, that they wouldn't run into the army of the mages. They were so close to safety! A life free of the Thrath... And free of walking, for a while.

                She winced as the pain in her legs and feet jumped to the front of her mind. Tadyel was young, and strong, compared to many in the village. As such, she had walked the entire journey. The 'important' villagers rode the horses, and the old, sick or very young rode in or on the carts. Bastards didn't even give us a couple of days at that oasis to rest, she thought grumpily.

                Despite her tiredness grumpiness, Tadyel knew that they'd been very lucky. They had only lost three people on the journey - two of them to an accident, and one to heat stress. Even their animals had fared well. Compared to the trouble other groups had faced, they had enjoyed an easy ride.

                Her opinion on the matter rapidly reversed itself when the attack horn sounded up ahead. Shit! Thrath - no, not here - oh, fuck, she thought. Even before they unburied themselves from the dunes, Tadyel knew what was coming. The army of the mages.

                Dark shapes emerged from the sand, quickly resolving into heavily armed warriors. Though shaped like humans, each was fully encased in armour that resembled flat plates of dark stone. Filling in the gaps between each plate was eerily bright green material. It looked almost as if it had been placed to emphasise the 'cracks' between plates, yet had to be what held the armour together. Every last warrior was armed, most with axes and shields, though a few had swords or spears.

                A loud voice came from up ahead, saying, "WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED AND OUTNUMBERED. SURRENDER, OR FACE SLAUGHTER."

                Tadyel (and most of the other refugees) crowded towards the front of the column. Tadyel arrived in time to overhear one of the leaders of the village saying, "We surrender! We'll follow you, but spare us!"

                Cowards, thought Tadyel, glaring at the leaders. Most were clustered behind the woman who had been chosen to speak, though a couple of the 'most important' stood beside her. Admittedly we can't fight, but... At least ask for the children to go free!

                Further ahead stood a man with a strange device, flanked by a dozen of the warriors. Tadyel's eyes caught a smile appearing on the man's face after hearing the refugees' response. He brought the device to his mouth, and said, "EXCELLENT. PLEASE FOLLOW MY LEAD - WE WILL BE WALKING FOR ABOUT TEN HOURS!"

                The mage turned and began walking in a far more westerly direction than the refugees had been. With no choice, the refugees followed, surrounded on all sides by the terrible constructs. At least a hundred and fifty of the things walked alongside the refugees. It was not enough to outnumber them, but far more than enough to stop any escape.

                Most of the refugees were scared or angry. They had come so close to success, but now they were doomed. A few, like Tadyel, were too tired to truly grasp what had happened - beyond an (admittedly significant) feeling of dread, Tadyel's primary thought was simply ugh, more walking.

Wandering Eastward - Taoten

Wandering Eastward - Taoten

                "My own story begins a long time ago, in a different universe," began Taoten.

                "Really?" asked Soff. That meant Taoten was very, very ancient.

                "I am not one of those who survived the portal era. I am one of those released from the Forest of the Caged, along with the dread-wyrm and many others. The excursions made into the forest are probably not known to you? How much of that period is common knowledge?" asked Taoten.

                "A little. I've heard of the dread-wyrm, and how it gobbled up the emperor, empress, and all their cronies. It was a cataclysmic event in the empire, because it was afterwards an empire only in name. I knew he came from the forest, but I don't think it's known why he disappeared," replied Soff.

                "I'll tell you when my tale reaches that time. But good, good. Perhaps we can have some back and forth when I cover the history of the Empire. That aside I shall begin my story. My original world was one with many great and powerful gods; arrogant and proud. I was an ordinary man in my late twenties, working as an engineer on various civic works. We - all the people of the world - lived well, so long as we did not raise the ire of the gods. Since all had been as it was for an age, we were very prosperous.

                "One evening, while celebrating the construction of a temple, I got very drunk. Still, my companions were wise (and some not as drunk) so we did nothing too foolish. Nothing that we thought would raise the ire of the gods. Yet I, at one point, decided to urinate off the pub roof.

                "Somehow - through sheer chance - I pissed just as the water bearers were passing. I couldn't tell I'd hit their open vats, since I couldn't see where I was aiming. A few days later, the water was used to water the sacred plants. The plants all died; they needed the purest of pure water. The god in question - a minor god of life - was furious, and immediately used the 'trace of life' to track me down.

                "He was beyond reason, and didn't listen to my pleas for mercy (and questions of what I had done). He cursed me then - as I had taken life from the flowers I would forever take life from others. He turned my life into 'unlife', ensuring an eternal punishment. Then, with his 'justice' done, he disappeared.

                "I spent some time piecing together exactly what had happened, then fled that reality completely. My hunger, back then, was far greater; and I could not control my power. I made... others like myself; my unlife spreading. I moved between realities that supported my existence; unlike this one or many others, the one I am originally from and many linked to it are quite highly interconnected. Eventually I wound up at a peaceful, accepting nexus reality - a small, contained universe that connected to trillions of realities. It had - quite pleasantly - a source of inexhaustible life, from which I could feed without harming others.

                "There I spent a couple of hundred years studying. My primary focus was the strange effects moving from reality to reality - experiencing completely different rules of existence - had on various creatures. Through my understanding of those rules, I was eventually able to change my very existence to that I have today. I gained control over my life-draining, and then greatly lessened my hunger.

                "Doing this is why I was caged. The nexal realities frown upon such experiments; but they are especially angered when one does so to escape the curse of a powerful being. My research had proven that the gods of my home would be nigh powerless in the nexus I chose, yet... They did not know them, and they could not take the risk. So, to prevent news of my meddling spreading and to punish me in case it had, I was captured and locked up 'forever'.

                "Being caged was an unusual experience. It felt like nearly no time at all, yet I know it was at least ten thousand years. It may have been a lot longer - I have no information on how long I was still in the nexal reality. I... slept, and drifted. No dreams, just peace and inactivity. I possessed then no skills to limit the stasis I was put into. Others who were stronger have told me that the experience was torturous. Luckily, it was not so for I.

                "After what I remembered as moments but still felt like an age, I was awoken. The cage was not unlocked; it was torn apart with great magic. I was highly disoriented at first - the cage had acted as a bubble of the nexal reality, keeping my existence stable, but destruction of the cage and exposure to the world struck me hard. Yet, strangely, I have never found any difference between my capabilities before and after my release (beyond my later learning of magic).

                "I allowed myself to be tested and analysed. It was nine hundred years ago that the Empire sent the expedition to the forest to find and free all undead within it; or at least those it was safe to free. The greatest mages in the empire had been sent to break the cages and analyse those inside carefully. I was easy to uncage and classified as 'non-dangerous', they were unsure if I could make more of my kind (as was I, after my meddling) but the possibility and 'mission to free all caged undead' ensured my release.

                "I was thankful - very thankful. I expected to be woken when the nexal reality came under attack to defend my very existence, or for a terrified flash as reality was unwoven, or to be executed by or incorporated into some strange regime. Awakening to freedom in a world where I was an honoured guest (at least initially)? Beyond any expectation. I swore to protect the Empire then, until it or I fell, like most of the others. I... perhaps wouldn't have if I had understood it was optional, or had a better grasp on the details of how humanity was treated.

                "After the initial welcome, and return to the Empire (a triumphant return; Garamjar was released in the same expedition, and that is how it and I became acquainted), I spent some time travelling and learning. What I saw done to humans horrified me - as it did some others. But always ever so few; undead who feed but need not on humans are rare, and those who do not feed are often either mindless or greatly desire to increase their number. Most of those who objected left, and I... found my rationale.

                "The Empire had done great good as well as sickening evil, and I knew that though they claimed 'undead' were different in mind as well as body I saw no evidence of such. Great hungers, different desires, but the same actions driven by greed, cruelty or the views they espoused. For me, this understanding let me know that humans would be just as terrible in the reversed situation. The minor uprisings did little to quell my view.

                "My travels, and the knowledge I had amassed, led to me being one of those called when Garamjar ate the emperor. The dread-wyrm refused the crown, having no interest in it; though it threatened to eat any who dare claimed the crown of emperor. A compromise was drafted by the greatest minds of the empire: a republic bearing the empire's name. Those with knowledge of the many kinds and ways of the undead within the empire were called and consulted with.

                "I was of... little use, compared to many, but I helped where I could. Few had spent much time amongst the blackwings, for example. During this time, Garamjar found itself impressed by some amongst us, and offered them the wyrm-gift. They died, bar two. I was... not informed of the risks before I was 'selected' due to my similarity to those who had survived the giving so far. In truth, I was given the wyrm-gift as an experiment.

                "Luckily I survived - and, unlike the rest, unscathed. Later on, they learnt that the gift could be fully given only to those who bore both true 'unlife' when they or their forebears came to this world, and that only those who came from the same nexal reality as Garamjar could be given it without harm. After the success, I somehow impressed Garamjar (and several other mighty undead).

                "It took me on as an apprentice, teaching me how to use the wyrm-gift. As Garamjar's only apprentice (though he gave others the wyrm-gift) I gained significant respect. I used it to acquire tutelage in the shared magic of the undead lords, and to get myself appointed as a lesser roaming-lord. After Garamjar's teaching ended, I continued to adapt the power it had given me to varying uses - though the wyrm used it to tunnel, I use it to fight. During the time up until Garamjar's death I was asked to make more of my kind, so they could be given the wyrm-gift. This is how the inheritance was discovered.

                "After Garamjar's death, and following reforms to prevent the numerous roaming-lords from draining the coffers and resources of the empire, I settled down in the fifth province as a lord-protector. I hope the stories of our bravery, and the slaying of countless monsters including rogue undead have survived to this age. We did not have the job of... Dealing with humans. That was the lord-retrievers (and the more prominent retrievers).

                "Up until the great revolt began, I held to my duty. Then, one day, the revolts began. Well armed humans, in large numbers, everywhere. Greedy desires for more to consume, policies to curb the great population growth of some undead kinds that affected all, and the fears of the many other countries on this continent combined to create a war that would have given the portal era a run for its money.

                "The machines of Mekanis, knights from the Kingdom, the fearful kingdoms of Merisomet and Dafer, the dread armies of the Lady of the Dead and even soldiers from the far off Star Led and Sand Given Empires came. Over the sea came the psionise, united for once to see the empire ended.

                "It was hoped that we could fight them off, turn their dead into our own, and to an extent we did. But it was not enough. We were lost in the east, Mekanis' force small but far more than the forces there could handle. The psionise were trouble, but the worst was the Lady. Her army could not be turned, answered to none but her, and had limitless stamina.

                "I don't know how it ended, but when the battle was fought near the Graveyard of the Lost and Brave it was already well known that we had lost. I fell in that battle, but luckily the means of detecting our kind's death in that damnable manual expect our aura to never cease. So I tricked them, became lumped in with the countless truly dead, and was buried in a pit. I think it was a nod to our bravery, and a lack of full blown hatred towards us - we were a force of lord-protectors and protectors, not retrievers or even the common undead.

                "I think it took me a few decades, but I eventually regained enough strength from the little deaths I caused to claw my way free. Only three times in my life have I felt as relieved as I felt when I reached the surface; the other two being when I lost my great hunger, and when I was uncaged. Once on the surface, I fully drained any small creature I could get my hands on. The plants had all long since died, and my aura had prevented new life from taking hold. Keeping myself from draining too far beyond the edge of the graveyard was a chore - but I believed it would draw far too much attention.

                "Through the years since I have slowly healed myself. Until very recently, I have not had the strength to even consider attacking one of the very rare visitors. You likely remember my condition when I grabbed your ankle - until twenty years ago, even that much would have been beyond me.

                "With the worst of the damage mostly healed, draining you allowed me to reach a state where I can walk. But my body is still a mess. If I was not wearing these clothes, I would be impossible to mistake me for one of the living, I'm afraid. There is some power left in me, but it is what I need to move, and to fight if I need to.

                "And that brings us up to the present, at least so far as my life is concerned. Do you have any questions? I feel like detailing the exploits of the undead empire, before and during my time."

                "I - would prefer it if you simply said that you killed me," Soff said.

                "Oh," said Taoten. "Perhaps. Perhaps I should have ended the story with my escape from the damn burial pit. I am sorry."

                They continued to walk in silence for a while, then Soff said, "It's getting dark."

                "We shouldn't stop. You aren't feeling tired, are you?" asked Taoten.

                "No." Soff sighed. "Just tell me about the undead empire."

                Taoten nodded. "Well, the Undead Empire began around fifteen hundred years ago..."

Courtly Knights

Courtly Knights

                "Alright," said the big, beefy knight. Compared to the armour of the others present, he was dreadfully out of fashion - but Beatrice was more interested in his muscles.

                "You're all here to get a taste of hunting a monster. The creature we're hunting has been weakened, but it can still kill you. Pay attention at all times - most especially, don't do anything Vicky or I don't tell you to!" hollered the knight. "If you want your group to find the creature first, remember the tracking basics my associate went over with you this morning."

                Beatrice barely kept herself from giggling. She'd missed half of the tracking talk having a conversation with her friends (sometimes enemies). It didn't matter anyway - the knight in each group would lead them to the creature, and the 'signs' to look for were obviously faked. Unlike Miriam I'm not dumb enough to think they'd actually let something properly loose. The operation is a bit ramshackle, sure, but really, Beatrice thought to herself.

                Beatrice wasn't dumb - or she figured she wasn't, at least. She hadn't come along on the hunt just because it was in vogue; she also thought it was all pretty cool. Knights were awesome, and brave, and she and the others were knights too! Without training, but she was sure if they had to everyone would be brave - at least a bit, anyway. They were 'courtly' knights, rather than... Normal knights. They didn't fight as much, and they had a lot of others stuff to do (being part of the court took up too much time). Beyond that, the main distinction was that they were appointed by lords directly, rather than trained and then vouched for by other knights - who had to work with the 'knight registry' of the Duchies.

                Along with the nine other courtly knights Beatrice was taking part in a controlled 'hunt' for a monster. Being a knight in name - and mimicking some of the trappings - was the current epitome of fashion. As well as lacking fighting training their armour was thin and made of a weak metal (so it could be worn easily). Beatrice's - and most of the others' - included touches such as heels, intricate engravings, and useless additional crests and features. It was all very fashionable.

                The knight giving the speech was Miles, a real knight (trained from around ten years of age, skilled in various weapons, made a knight by another knight's vouched request to the registry, the usual). His armour was made of proper steel, though only half plate (the rest being chainmail). It looked heavy, and kind of brutish. Beatrice was happy that she could see the size of his muscles beneath the chainmail on his arms, though. She glanced down at her own armour - a beautiful pattern of roses and vines, with coloured inlays. It made her smile, then realise that she'd stopped paying attention to what the knight was saying (again).

                "No questions? Good," said Miles. "Groups are as follows: Beatrice, Miriam, Odelle, Liam and Ben, you're with Vicky. Mick, Theadora, Eustace, Vincent and Else - you're with me. Let's head out!"

                "I still don't see why we can't have horses," muttered Miriam as the groups split up.

                "It's a forest - can you ride a horse through a forest?" asked Odelle, pointing at the trees and roots.

                "Well, no, but someone could," replied Miriam, "I'm sure Mick could handle it."

                Beatrice tittered. "I know you like how he looks, but he's the opposite of the type you like, Miriam. Maybe you should court Ben?" she asked.

                "He only likes men," retorted Miriam sulkily.

                "Okay!" called out Victoria, from the front of the group and stopping. Beatrice, Odelle and Miriam had been lagging behind quickly caught up. "You guys get to pick which direction we head in first, any suggestions?"

                "Vaguely in the direction we need to go," said Liam. Out of them all, he was the only one weak enough to be unable to wear the light knight armour the rest wore. Instead, he wore 'wizardly' robes and claimed to be a mage-knight. It was all kind of - but barely - a joke; Liam usually implied he could correctly scribe a couple of sigils but he had never done it in public. His 'wand' was completely useless, though he enjoyed bopping people with it.

                "A smart a- one. Fine. You lot are my second group today. We're going to head roughly for the river, and if you see anything of note point it out," replied Victoria.

                "That's what I was going to suggest!" exclaimed Ben proudly. Ben was quite happy to spout off about how he had what it took to be a 'real knight'. His pride had led to him wearing thicker armour than the rest - about twice as thick, although it was still far lighter (and less useful) than proper plate.

                Vicky sighed, and started walking. The group followed her, talking amongst themselves in two groups - Ben and Liam a little in front of Beatrice, Odelle and Miriam.

                "She doesn't seem very happy to be here," said Odelle, pointing at Victoria. Odelle was flighty, and prone to changing her mind quickly - she had been into knights first, then no longer enthused when it started to become stylish, and now she was into it again. She, Miriam and Beatrice bickered sometimes, but were usually quite close. It was why they were attending the hunt together. Odelle's armour was patterned with butterflies and ribbons, rather than the roses and vines of the rest. She was always either at the edge of fashion - or behind. She was behind this time - butterflies were so last season.

                "If she has to deal with people like those two all day, I'm not surprised," said Miriam. She bickered more often with Beatrice - sometimes she was outright malicious - but she held a great respect for authority and expertise. She'd do exactly what Victoria said for the entire hunt, and speak to her with the utmost respect. Unless Victoria pissed her off. Then she'd be... Politely mean.

                "She seems nice enough, looking past how we've all wound her up a bit," said Beatrice. "Though it might just be politeness." Beatrice knew the lack of attention on the part of her and her friends had wound both of the knights up quite a bit. Both had been stalwart in putting up with it - they were being well paid, after all.

                Hunting experiences went in and out of fashion, but when they (or some other part of the work of a knight) was in lordless knights could make a fair living off them alone. Most used them to fund other activities, however, such as hunting trips in areas unable to generously reward or even feed knights. Victoria's armour showed that she had fallen into hard times quite explicitly - innumerable half-piercing tears and deep scratches covered most pieces; the newer pieces seeming to be replacements for those lost to wear.

                Despite the damage to her armour, her face only had a couple of noticeable scars. Beatrice was quite sure a bit of makeup would make the knight pretty, but without Victoria's face still possessed a sort of tough, experienced gruffness that was quite appealing. Beatrice had no idea how Victoria was built under her armour, but she had enjoyed thinking about it earlier. Lithe, supple muscle? Tough bulk? Both would be quite delectable.

                "Stop perving with your imagination, B," said Miriam, "It's rude to stare."

                "Oh, ah," said Beatrice, flushing red at being caught in a reverie. "The walk is giving my thoughts time to wander."

                Miriam and Odelle giggled, and Beatrice joined in awkwardly. "Remember when we called you beetroot?" asked Miriam. "If you weren't so damn cute when you flushed, the nickname would have stuck." Miriam was - much like Ben - only interested in men, but Beatrice's embarrassed flushes were simply that adorable.

                "I did have convince you to stop," replied Beatrice, "Should I call you M-"

                "No, no, I'll stop," said Miriam immediately. It made Beatrice grin - 'Mirry' wasn't a bad nickname, but it was also the name of someone's dog.

                Odelle chuckled, and said, "Save bickering for after the hunt. Let's talk about what I should get on my new armour instead."

                Beatrice, relieved, nodded; and the trio continued on, hanging behind the rest.

                Over the next couple of hours, the group walked and chatted. Ben and Liam chatted with each other for a while, then Ben started hassling Victoria and Liam joined the three girls. Victoria mostly ignored Ben, and focused on leading the way through the forest (though she pointed out interesting or beautiful things).

                Ben wound up abandoning his armour - the double thickness was too much for him to carry (he had only bought it a week ago and was still unused to its weight). The rest of them continued on without trouble, having been used to wearing their light armour for months.

                They reached the river without incident, and after a little discussion (mostly Ben being gently guided towards the right answer by Victoria) they headed in the 'right' direction - the one marked by some obvious 'tracks'. Everyone managed to spot them before Ben did, even Miriam. Liam spent most of the time snickering.

                Victoria guided them in a fairly straight line away from the river. Beatrice assumed that they were heading straight for wherever the monster would be so the knight could save herself from Ben's incessant enthusiasm. She was right, although Victoria was also put off by the lack of much kind of enthusiasm from the rest of the group.

                "Are we close yet? Any more walking and I'll need to be carried!" complained Liam. It was the fourth time he had complained since the group left the river.

                "If you need to be carried, get your friends to do it. We're about half an hour away," replied Victoria. It was the first time that she'd mentioned exactly how much more walking was left.

                "Aww what," muttered Liam. He groaned, but didn't stop moving. Beatrice smiled and Odelle giggled.

                Miriam elbowed him. "Quit it," she said. "She's put up with enough from you already."

                "I'm sure Ben has wound her up more than I have," replied Liam. "But fiiiiine."

                Miriam smiled. "Good," she said.

                A very loud scream suddenly tore through the air. Ben's endless stream of chatter ceased, and the group stopped moving. Soon shouts joined the scream, and other sounds. Beatrice didn't really want to figure out what those sounds were.

                Victoria immediately became very, very serious. "Stay here. I'll be back in five. If you need to run, stay together," she ordered, then took off into the woods.

                "Uh, what?" asked Odelle, confused. "Shouldn't we just get the hell out of here?"

                "Do you even know which way to go?" asked Miriam critically. "We stay put."

                "Yeah, we should do what she says," added Ben. Liam nodded.

                Beatrice noticed that everyone looked petrified. She was scared herself, but also... That was weird. She was hoping for a real fight. She'd never thought she was the type to. It was hard to resist the urge to pull her sword out, despite knowing that it was too flimsy to use in battle. Her hand went her pommel anyway.

                The noises hadn't stopped, and another couple of screams echoed through the woodland. "I'm pretty sure that was -" began Liam, head cocked to one side as he listened.

                "Don't," interjected Miriam immediately. She glared at Liam.

                Beatrice turned away from the group, deciding that it was probably a better idea to keep an eye on the woods. As she turned she noticed that Odelle was breathing really heavily - she was starting to panic. Beatrice took her arm and said, "Don't panic."

                Shortly after Beatrice finished her turn Ben yelled, "Behind you!" Beatrice whirled back around - Ben was standing to her left - and then she saw it.

                The creature stood on four legs, and looked like it was about as tall as Beatrice's knees, or a little more. The front quarter of its body was dominated by a huge mouth filled with large, jagged teeth; and in shape it was like an elongated toad, long back legs folded up beneath it. Its skin looked tough and was a mix of green and brown that made the creature look at home in the forest.

                Odelle screamed. Miriam and Liam immediately took off in completely different directions (Liam vaguely towards where Victoria had gone, Miriam directly away from the creature). Ben drew his sword and started moving towards the beast; Beatrice grabbed Odelle by the arm and dragged her as she took off after Miriam.

                Luckily Odelle came quickly; her feet finding the ground without stumbling as she ran alongside and soon outpaced Beatrice. Miriam was some distance ahead already - Beatrice had no idea how she had managed to get that far. From behind them came a loud yelp that quickly became a scream. When the scream cut off suddenly, Beatrice couldn't help but think It got Ben already.

                Beatrice caught up with Odelle a few moments later. They had to be barely a hundred metres from the monster, yet both had already slowed to a breathless run. Beatrice spared a glance back - the way they had come was already lost behind them by the dense forest trees. Ahead of them, Miriam was already out of sight.

                "Do you think it followed us?" wheezed out Beatrice between breaths.

                "Of course it did!" said Odelle, picking up the pace a little as her panic returned.

                Beatrice began to lag behind Odelle (she was so tired). Then she tripped - her heel slipped off a rock, throwing her balance off completely.

                "Oof!" she grunted, sitting up and noticing that Odelle had disappeared amongst the trees. Crap, Beatrice thought. She stood up and turned around.

                The monster was standing a few metres behind her. It was hard to tell, but she could swear the thing was... grinning?

                Beatrice drew her sword - why didn't I get a real sword shit shit shit - and held it between her and the monster. Her blade gleamed beautifully in the small beams of sunlight that made it through the trees, and its edge was razor sharp - yet despite these qualities, it was far too thin for use in battle. "Back off!" she yelled at the creature, swinging the sword at it.

                The creature leapt into the path of the sword, and took the blow sideways on its rough hide. The blade snapped immediately, an almost perfectly clear note ringing out from the top half as it delicately fell to the ground. It felt like an age. The beast finished its leap with a roll, then stood up unharmed.

                It sauntered towards Beatrice, who slowly backed up. She knew it was backing her towards a tree - but what the hell can I do? Why is it playing with me? The creature opened its mouth and ran its tongue over its jagged teeth. What the hell is it?

                Beatrice felt herself bump into the tree. It's over, she thought. She felt the beginning of tears in her eyes, but instead of despairing completely she brought her arms up. Fuck it, she thought, I'm going to punch the fucker.

                The creature ground its teeth, bent its legs, tensed and -

                Got slammed into by Miles, who came out of nowhere as far as Beatrice was concerned. The creature let out a shriek of surprise, but barely had time to move before Victoria was there as well, embedding her blade deep into the creature with a powerful thrust. With a soft, half-hearted grunt, it died.

                Victoria pulled out her blade and Miles tossed the creature aside. Once he was on his feet, he asked, "Where are the other two?"

                "I - I don't know. They ran ahead. I tripped," said Beatrice, indicating her heels.

                "Rot it," muttered Miles. Then he yelled "Odelle! Miriam!" out into the woods.

                Two people from the other party came into the clearing - one supporting the other. Theadora and Mick; the rather large Mick leaning heavily on the average-sized Theadora. Theadora's armour - the only actual armour amongst the courtly knights - seemed to have survived a bite from one of the creatures. It was thick studded leather and it made her look tough - Beatrice really liked the boots.

                And I'm still thinking about shit like that, she thought to herself. She walked over to the pair and took Mick's other arm over her shoulder. "I'll help," she said.

                Theadora looked at her approvingly. "Thank you," she said, then coughed. "Have you seen Vincent?" Victoria and Miles, having finished chatting about something, split up - Miles running on ahead, Victoria inspecting the creature.

                "No," replied Beatrice. "Did you guys see Liam? And where's- um-"

                "Eustace is fine. He got asked to run back to the town and warn them - we aren't actually that far. We haven't run into Liam. Else is dead, Vincent freaked and ran off. We found Ben's corpse back there," said Theadora rapidly. She was the owner of a merchant company - it was a skill she had picked up as part of her work. The same went for her armour. Her husband, Eustace, was a minor landless noble (fourth son of a baron).

                "Shit," muttered Victoria as they drew close. The knight stood up and said, "The markings on this one don't match, so there are multiple spawnings."

                "Wh - what?" muttered Beatrice. Theadora blanched, and Mick seemed to get more nervous (although he was already deathly pale).

                "Ah, you don't know. There's more than one of these things. Two attacked the other group and were dispatched by Miles and I. These things have markings based upon the clutch they belong to - somewhere between three and six in each. So there are more - almost certainly a lot more," said Victoria.

                As if on cue, a scream came from the woods. "That sounded like -" began Theadora, stopping when she saw the grim look on Beatrice's face.

                "It was Miriam," said Beatrice.

                "We're going to head back to town," said Victoria. "Theadora, you can manage Mick alone, correct?" Theadora nodded. "Alright. Beatrice, take this."

                Victoria unsheathed and held out a steel dagger to Beatrice, who unhooked Mick's arm and took it. "It's enough to get through their hide," continued Victoria. "And take off those kingforsaken heels!"

                Beatrice did as ordered, slicing the heels off her boots with the dagger and then flattening out the ends enough to be comfortable. Apart from the sole, the metal was thin enough even for her to bend with little effort.

                Victoria nodded, satisfied. "Keep behind me. Keep an eye out. Beatrice, take up the rear and look behind you frequently. If one of the creatures lunges at you grapple it - the legs are weaker than they look and as long as you stay out of its mouth you'll be fine. Mick, be ready to be dropped to the ground," she ordered.

                The three courtly knights nodded, and followed Victoria's lead.

                They travelled in almost the exact opposite of the direction Beatrice had been running. Some more noises echoed through the forest - including another scream from Miriam, which Beatrice was relieved to hear. Though almost immediately her mind assumed the worst again.

                She shook her head. Worrying about her friends was pointless. She had to keep an eye out for more of the creatures. If she missed one she'd be the one screaming.

                "Hold up!" came Victoria's voice from up ahead. "None of you have weak stomachs, right?"

                "No!" said Theadora, and Beatrice was pretty sure Mick shook his head weakly.

                "I should be okay!" yelled out Beatrice.

                "Alright. Keep following," came Victoria's voice. She must've ended up a bit ahead; Theadora and Mick hadn't stopped moving, nor had Beatrice behind them.

                Soon they came to a clearing. Victoria stood in the middle, obscuring what looked like a body. Beatrice jumped a little when she saw a monster in the clearing - but it was already dead, and nothing like the creatures chasing them.

                This creature was about waist height, bipedal and missing a leg (for a long time - the stump had healed over). Its open mouth was toothless, and its claws were stubs. If it had once been a mighty threat, it had been hobbled. That's what we were meant to hunt, thought Beatrice.

                The creature had its gut torn open, spilling out strange silvery innards. It looked like a large monkey - like the ones occasionally kept as pets, but larger. Its colour was light green with dark green fur; similar to the grass of the forest. A small pile of what looked like vomit was nearby. The guts didn't agree with the other creatures' stomachs.

                After a quick check around the clearing - nothing ­- Beatrice walked up to Victoria, who was still crouched over the corpse. Beatrice noticed that she held her hand to her chest, and was muttering something.

                The corpse was a mess. The monsters had torn apart the light leather armour the individual was wearing, then spent some time trying to tear off as much meat from the bones as possible. In some places, they hadn't bothered - one of the hands was relatively untouched, as were the knees and parts of the face. The rib cage had been cracked open, and most of the inside cleared out.

                It was the most disgusting thing Beatrice had ever seen by a very, very, very wide margin. "Rot and," said Beatrice, turning away. The image stuck with her. "Who was it?" she asked, hoping to get the image out of her head.

                "A cousin of mine," said Victoria, standing up. "He was a king-follower, so I said the appropriate prayer. He wasn't a knight - he just lives nearby and helps out."

                Victoria pointed around the clearing - "See the blood? He wasn't caught by surprise, but there were too many of the creatures. It looks like he got one pretty bad - it might be dead somewhere nearby. They probably spawned close to here, so it's unlikely they'll be any left around," she said.

                Beatrice finally got the image out of her mind and nodded. "How much further to town?"

                "Not far. If Eustace made it, we'll run into militia pretty soon," replied Victoria, "Let's go!"

                Victoria took the lead again. Theadora and Mick, who had been keeping their distance, shuffled past the corpse without looking, and Beatrice slipped back into the rear. She glanced at the body again, then brought a hand to her face and shook her head. This time, she was trying to shake the image of Miriam and Odelle, torn to shreds and lying side by side.

                Beatrice looked back about three times a minute. There was nothing, every time; and it was always a relief. It wasn't a bad feeling, her adrenaline spiking and then a flood of relief, but it paled compared to the stress and horror she had felt so far. Just get to town, she thought, then you can think about it.

                The brisk walking pace was starting to tire her. Each step caused almost every muscle in her legs to hurt - the feeling you get when you push a stiff and sore muscle onwards anyway. She avoided focusing on it, instead slipping further into the routine of look backwards, check, look forwards again, check just in case, and then start again.

                Fifteen minutes later (though it felt like twice as long to Beatrice) shouts and other noises began coming from up ahead. "Follow as quickly as you can!" came Victoria's voice from up ahead, spurring Beatrice to catch up to Theadora and Mick.

                "Great," muttered Theadora, anger plain in her voice. Beatrice could see Victoria disappearing amongst the trees up ahead - she was heading straight to the battle. A squeal came amidst the other sounds; one of the creatures was dead already.

                "It must be the militiamen," said Beatrice. "Let's hurry!"

                She took Mick's other arm over her shoulder again, then she and Theadora lifted Mick up and began to run as fast as they could while carrying him. He seemed to be enjoying it a lot, which Beatrice found quite strange. Then again, he had always wanted to be rescued (something that didn't match his physique. Of all the courtly knights, Mick was the most naturally fit - and almost the fittest despite his attempts to sabotage his strength).

                They reached a spot from which they could see the battle a minute later, just in time to catch sight of Victoria tearing through one of the creatures with her sword. Yellow blood sprayed from the wound, almost comically, and the creature collapsed on the ground.

                The rest of the 'battle' was going well. There were around eight of the creatures alive, circling or engaging a group of ten militia. The militia had already dispatched some of the creatures (Beatrice could see three slain beyond the one Victoria hit) and only two seemed to have any injuries. As she watched a militiawoman take advantage of the creatures attacks and animal nature to spear one deeply, Beatrice felt embarrassed.

                Ten courtly knights, and we couldn't do anything; yet a bunch of militia with minimal training can easily dispatch these beasts? She closed her eyes for a moment, then remembered to check around. She saw nothing, and turned back just in time to see the creatures start to flee.

                Each of the creatures took off in a different direction - all four that were alive an uninjured. The militia caught one as it fled, and several of their number took off in pairs after the other three. Victoria wiped the blood of an apparent second kill off her blade, and started conversing with the militia's leader.

                Theadora, Beatrice and Mick hobbled up in time to overhear. "Thank you for your help. The courtly fo- knight you sent gave us Miles' warning. Looks like Miles was right about there being a lot. Where is he?" asked the militia leader. She was an older woman - at least in her early fifties, though very fit. Beatrice suspected she had seen the woman before, somewhere.

                "Trying to find the rest of the courtly knights. A few ran off too far to catch up with easily. Miles will be fine on his own, though," said Victoria.

                "I don't doubt it. How many spawnings do you think we're looking at? I haven't told my people yet," said the militia leader. "We haven't seen them here for generations."

                "At least five," said Victoria, "Including the ones here. I'll come back to inspect the bodies, but I need to get these three to town first."

                "Understandable," said the militia leader. "Thanks for your warning - we're pretty sure no-one from town has been hurt yet, apart from those hurt in this scuffle."

                Victoria nodded. "Some money wouldn't go astray," she said. Beatrice was shocked for a moment - it was a knight's duty to do such things! - but quickly remembered that Victoria was apparently unable to pay for proper armour repairs.

                "I'll see what we can do," said the militia leader. "If your plate is as beat up as what you're wearing I'll do some work for you myself!"

                She's the blacksmith, thought Beatrice. The one who... snorted at our armour earlier. It had been quite embarrassing for Beatrice. It was the height of fashion! Now she felt a little differently - she was going to get some thicker armour, even if it was a tiring pain to wear. And a proper sword.

                The militia leader and Victoria exchanged nodded goodbyes, then started off on their separate ways. Victoria beckoned for the courtly knights to follow her so they did so.

                "Miles will bring anyone he finds alive back to town. We'll collect the dead once we've hunted down the creatures, so that that can be dealt with. If you wish to leave town you can probably hire a guard or two to travel with your carriages; or try your luck without," said Victoria, "One of you should remain behind so we know what to do with the dead."

                "I'll stay, along with Eustace," said Theadora. "We were planning to stay a few more days anyway, and go on the cave tour."

                "I'll keep Mick company on the journey home," said Beatrice.

                "I don't really want to leave, yet," said Mick.

                "There's no doctor or surgeon in town. If you want to recover from that wound without risk, you'll take a carriage home," said Victoria sternly.

                "Okay," said Mick. He was meek, as usual. It usually contrasted bizarrely with his stature, but with his injured it seemed sensible instead.

                "Ha," said Theadora softly, with a grin.

                They trudged in silence for a short while before Beatrice said, "Victoria, why didn't you ask one of the militia to guide us back?"

                "Because if anything happened to you three before you got back to town Miles and I would be looking at more shit than we already are. Multiple deaths on a 'safe' tour? We won't hang, at least, but we're not going to be taking tours anymore," she said. "If you three died we might hang. No survivors looks bad to certain types. We'd be struck from the registry, minimum."

                "So you really can be struck from the registry by some dickhead's angry family?" asked Theadora, somewhat incredulously.

                "It happens from time to time. Never to someone with a reputation. Usually someone like me who fucks up big time, or has luck shit all over them like today," replied Victoria. "We should be seeing town... There."

                Victoria pointed forwards. Beatrice rounded a large tree, and saw the town in the direction Victoria was pointing. It wasn't far - maybe a kilometre away. It lay on the edge of the true 'forest' as beyond the town the trees were much sparser (though notably still what Beatrice thought of as a forest).

                "King's blessings," muttered Theadora. The group could see people moving about the town - it seemed everyone was on high alert. Small groups of militia seemed to be keeping a keen eye out, and others were guarding those carrying out necessary activities (such as getting water from the well).

                "We'll pick up the pace a bit now. We don't need to worry about attracting those critters this close to help," said Victoria, continuing on at a swift pace.

                What? I thought we were going as fast as we could! thought Beatrice, as she and Theadora struggled to carry Mick at the pace Victoria set. They managed, but only barely. Beatrice was pretty sure Victoria slowed herself a little, too.

                Soon enough they were back in town, walking through the streets. A local healer - a barely trained militia medic - joined their group and inspected Mick's wound. "Miles handled it out in the woods," said Victoria as the man took a look.

                Beatrice caught a glimpse of the wound underneath the bandages. It was pretty bad - a long, bloody gash from Micks knee all the way up to just above his waste. It didn't look fatal, and was barely bleeding. Some kind of dark powder had been applied to it. Beatrice was pretty sure that it was a coagulant produced elsewhere in the duchies, used to clot large wounds.

                "Well, there's nothing I can do that hasn't already been done," said the healer. "You'll want to get him to a proper doctor, though - I'm not sure if that wound will close without a clear out and some stiches. I could try, but I don't have the time and I might be wrong."

                "Thank you for taking a look," said Victoria. The three courtly knights echoed her thanks, and the healer left with a short, polite nod to Victoria.

                They continued on their way, heading directly to the inn the courtly knights had been staying at. It was quite a fancy inn - a favourite for courtly knights to start whatever 'adventure' was in fashion. The group arrived outside it quickly; just in time to hear a group of courtly knights (had to be, given their 'armour') arguing with a militia captain. Beatrice recognised only a couple of them - many had probably arrived that day.

                "Why can we not join the hunt!" yelled one of the courtly knights. She was tall and graceful, and wore partial plate mail (a few major parts, with the in-between only covered by cloth).

                Beatrice caught the look of incredibly intense irritation on the face of the militia captain as her group slipped inside the inn. There were a few courtly knights inside - some seemed a little scared, others calm. Normal reactions. The ones who felt the urge to go save the day were outside arguing with the militia captain, Beatrice guessed. She and the others stopped beside a table, Beatrice and Theadora gently lowering Mick onto a seat.

                "As is my duty, I have brought you back to town and safety. The payments made to me and Miles will be refunded by courier (including those of the deceased)," said Victoria. "Would you like me to organise a carriage as I head out of town?"

                "Yes, please," said Beatrice. "And keep my fee."

                "And mine," stammered out Mick nervously.

                "Keep mine and Eustace's as well," said Theadora. Seeing Victoria about to say something, she added, "I don't think the money means much to any of us, especially since you got us out of those woods alive. But I can't speak for the dead."

                "Thank you. I must go," said Victoria. "May the luck of the first king be with you."

                "With you as well," responded the three courtly knights.

                Victoria quickly slipped out of the inn. Moments later they heard her yell, "Do whatever Manny here says!" outside. Beatrice didn't quite catch what one of the courtly knights hollered in response, but she did catch Victoria's swearing in return.

                "We should head upstairs, get you and Mick ready for travel," said Theadora. "Eustace will be up there already. If I'm lucky, he'll have kept it together enough and won't be crying for once." Theadora sighed. "Though today's one of the days I can't fault him for it."

                Beatrice nodded. She hoped Miriam and Odelle were still alive, but...

                She felt tears begin to swell in her eyes. "I might - I might head up to my room and take a moment," she said.

                Theadora nodded. Getting Mick up the stairs and lying down, then heading over to her room was a blur for Beatrice - both in memory and sight. She sat down on her bed, looked over at Odelle's and Miriam's, and then cried. Stress, fear, horror, relief, grief; and finally worry for her friends. She hoped they were safe. She wished she had been able to do something instead of running away.

                The carriage didn't arrive until mid-evening, long after Beatrice had calmed herself and packed. The four of them - Theadora, Eustace, Mick and Beatrice - ate at the inn, although none of them said much. News about what was going on was sparse, at best.

                The militia, along with Miles and Victoria, returned to town while the carriage was being loaded. With them they brought Liam, Odelle, and news of more death. Vincent was dead - run down and devoured in the forest. Miriam hadn't been found, but was almost certainly dead - parts of her armour, bloodied and chewed up, had been found. A couple of townspeople had been found dead, as well.

                Liam was completely fine (as he had climbed a tree after realising that the creatures, while deadly, were short and probably unable to climb as well as a human). His guess was right, although a pair of the creatures had staked him out until the militia had wandered by.

                Odelle was severely injured. She had been rescued by Miles at the last possible moment, and he had stayed with her until militia arrived to ensure she could be moved safely. Her left arm was a mess of cuts, and the pinky and middle fingers of her left hand had been bitten off. The creature had also sliced her torso extensively and seemingly randomly, and taken a chunk out of her right arm. Odelle had fallen unconscious shortly after Miles arrived, and she had not woken since.

                Strangely, the immediacy of Odelle's presence let Beatrice focus on her, and getting her in the carriage. She barely listened as Miles detailed what had happened while and after they fled the forest to Theadora, though Miriam's fate did send a wave of sadness through her. Yet with her focus on getting Odelle moving (she needed a surgeon) it didn't affect her immediately.

                It wasn't until the carriage began moving, Beatrice, Liam, Odelle and Mick all inside, that it hit her properly. Miriam was dead, barring a miracle. Beatrice - she wasn't dumb enough to hope against odds like that.

                When Beatrice (and Mick, who had also become emotional) recovered, Liam said "On the bright side; we're alive, aren't we?"

                Beatrice looked at Liam angrily. The four courtly knights were jammed into the carriage - Mick and Liam opposite Beatrice and the still unconscious Odelle. "We're alive. But Else, Vincent and Ben are all dead, Mick's hurt, Odelle's hurt bad, and Miriam's..." Beatrice retorted angrily. She felt the beginning of tears in her eyes again.

                Liam gaped for a moment, then said, "Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood."

                "Not the time for it," said Mick, glaring and shifting in his seat. "Just be quiet and let me get some rest."

                "Fine," said Liam, with a sigh, "I'll get some rest too."

                Beatrice tried to drift off herself, but couldn't. The stress and horror of the day made it hard; her worry for Odelle made it impossible. Beatrice's eyes wandered over to Odelle. They'd propped her up against the edge of the carriage so she'd be less likely to fall over during the journey. There hadn't been any close calls yet, but the roads weren't cobbled and the occasional pothole jolted her about.

                Right then, however, the road was smooth, and Odelle looked peaceful despite the bandages covering much of her body. If we anything about fighting, at all, we would have been fine, she thought, avoiding thoughts about the fresh blood staining Odelle's bandages.

                The militia were fine - and they can't be that well trained, Beatrice thought. Her mind wandered back to the militia - many of them had been wearing clothes that marked their trade under whatever armour they had - often nothing marked them beyond the cloth they tied over one shoulder to show their membership of the militia. If we had training and proper weapons... Maybe none of us would be dead.

                No. If even just I had training, we'd have been fine. We all just play at being knights without really being knights at all. That's just stupid. But too obvious for me to realise. I don't - I can't give it up, I'll still have the knighthood even if I pretend not to. Asking it to be stripped of it would... Ruin my reputation too much.

                Beatrice sighed. That's it then. I'll learn how to be a knight. A bit, at least. Enough. Training, a proper weapon, thicker armour... And no more heels.