Chapter Seven

The watchman sighed, his warm breath rising slowly in the cold night air. He leaned back against the wall, the sharpened and buried tree trunks forming a tightly built, twenty foot tall palisade. A yawn escaped his mouth as he rolled his shoulder, the heavy hauberk of mail digging into his back. He stepped from foot to foot, shaking the excess mud from his greaves; it had rained heavily the past few days, and the dirt surrounding the small outpost had turned soggy. Using the butt end of his spear, he scraped off what he could, before returning his attention to the forest. The tree line was only a hundred feet from the north wall, dense and full of old growth. He leaned forward, standing up straight and twisting his back. Night watch was a droll duty, and sighed again, dreading the hours that remained in his shift. The outpost was a far stretch from Thurn, and the other men stationed with him agreed that it was one of the worst places to be stationed. Built a few decades ago, it served as mainly an observation and communications barracks between larger, more important keeps, but due to its tucked away location, none of the men had ever seen any action. The most interesting it got was once every two months, when the supply wagons would make their delivery trip. A smile found its way onto the soldier’s face as he remembered a dancer that had travelled with the caravan last summer.

The memory of fair skin and shoulder length red hair, her body moving in a mesmerizing fashion as he had watched, enthralled. His mind wandered only for a moment, before a faint noise drew him back to reality. Eyes straining, he focused into the distant brush, scanning the forest for movement. An animal? Silence settled his concern as he relaxed, leaning against the wall. Her body moved once again, her long hair flowing as she seemed to glide through his thoughts. He recalled her clothing to the smallest of detail: a full length dress, light tan with golden fringe; but what was her name? A second sound jarred him and instinctually he gripped the spear with both hands, leveling it defensively. It was movement, shuffling from western edge of the trees. A twisted branch caught his eye momentarily before his vision moved past it, passing over the gaps between trees carefully. A patch of indistinguishable darkness shifted to reveal a pair of dull illuminated eyes, reflected by the moon light, staring back at him before turning back to the woods. Just a wolf, he chuckled inaudibly, I should know by now that nothing interesting ever happens in this shit hole.

He was still smirking when a howl erupted from the north, the sound bleating out for a second before dying off. The watchman steadied his stance and dropped to a knee, looking toward the trees intently. He returned his gaze into the woods to the wolf that was now lying on its side, facing away. A dark void seemed to expand slowly from beneath the beast until it caught the moonlight, reflecting a grim crimson into the night. Dead? His eyes moved rapidly from shadow to shadow before freezing upon a large figure, partially visible by a small beam of light. He noticed it crouched in tree beside the wolf’s body, sitting as a man might, several feet up. Silhouetted by the moon, the figure had several large spikes covering its shoulders and arms, as if it were wearing a demonic set of armor, like a visage of terror perched in the branches. His eyes widened further as the creature descended from the tree in a flash, landing like a feather before melding away out of sight.

The guard’s heart accelerated tempo as he gathered his thoughts, What chooses a predator as its prey? A soft crunch of metal, barely audible, registered in his ears. His head turned toward the main gate, on the western wall of the outpost, Hobbs! His greaves moved swiftly, striding across the mud as he dashed along the wall, slowing as he approached the northwest corner. Slowing his steps, he took pause to exhale quietly before peaking quickly around the edge. The gate was only fifty feet or so away, a simple pair of reinforced wooden doors protected from above by a small palisade overhang. Hobbs’ spear rested contently against the wall, and his lantern was hanging from the hook, still lit to welcome in any late night travelers. What is going on? Where is he? A wide bell hung by the doors, the pull cord hanging down and dangling at about chest level. The alarm bell! He dipped back from around the corner, wiping the rapidly forming sweat from his forehead. He squeezed his hands, flexing them open and closed. I have to get to the bell and alert the guard. Setting the spear down, he reached along his belt, finding his helmet taking it out. He placed the rounded piece of metal onto his head, pulling it down tightly and securing it to his head with the leather straps on either side. The cap had always irritated his skin, but it seemed prudent to place his safety over comfort in this scenario. Recovering the spear, he took several more breaths before turning the corner and accelerating into a full sprint.

The greaves, arm and leg guards, and various other metal pieces of his uniform clattered loudly off one another as he raced to the gate. Thirty feet …Twenty…Ten… At about ten feet from the gate his pace slowed, coming to a full stop in front of the gate. The ground was a muddy mess, horse and wagon tracks carving into the soil and destroying the road. In one of the puddles was a hand, from the wrist up, covered in dirt and nearly impossible to notice from its surroundings. What had caught the watchman’s attention was a shining band of silver on the ring finger, a wedding ring – Hobbs’ wedding ring. The hand had been severed mid arm, white shards of bone extending out from the stump, as if gnawed on by a dog. A now easily visible blanket of red covered the ground beneath the guardsman’s feet, previously concealed by the glare of the candlelight. The blood trail grew thicker as he followed it up the wall, his stomach beginning to wrench as he found its origin. Hanging from one of the beams of the small overhang was the body of a man, missing part of his right arm and the lower half of his body. His head dangled lifelessly over the edge, mouth open and tongue distended. His face was twisted in a deathless expression of pain as both eyes seemed to meet the guardsman’s disgusted stare. Oh God, Hobbs. His repulsion was muted by horror as he looked further up.

Balanced on the wall beside the beam was the large creature from before, holding a pair of legs by the ankles as it ripped off a chunk of flesh with its teeth. Its jaw began to process the food, oversized fangs tearing through the raw meat with ease. The entire creature’s frame was covered in dark thick plates, between which was matted black fur. Dotting the surface of the plates were spikes and twin claws extended from each of the creatures hands, bladed protrusions that pierced through the mutilated remains. Turning its head sideways, the creature lunged forward a second time; filling its maw with another mouthful of leg and ripping it clean off the bone. Gawking, he watched as the process was repeated, the beast chewing with an open mouth as giblets fell to the ground. The watchman’s initial shock passed as he watched the beast continue its meal, his mind returned to the task at hand: I have to ring the bell. He shot a quick glance to his right; the bell was there - the cord just a few feet away. Keep eating, please keep eating… He took a cautious step closer while looking up at the monster, which had begun toying with the now flesh-bare legs; pulling them apart in twisted amusement. It was only inches away now and as his outstretched hand moved towards it, he looked back up at the beast. No!

His arm lunged for the rope, fingers passing through the air as he was thrown to the ground; head ringing within his helmet. Double vision aligned as he looked up, straining to lift himself out of the mud with both hands. Nine feet tall, the monster towered over him, blood stained across its chest and face. It crouched back on its hind legs, before springing forward and lifting the guard from the ground. He flew through the air, the cool night breeze a momentary comfort before he crashed into the ledge. Time seemed to stretch on forever as he fell, body broken, splinters of wood drifting with him into forever. Blood and tears rolled upwards and he closed his eyes one last time - picturing her in his mind. The dress was a vibrant red this time, to match her hair, and the dirt road had been replaced with the tiled floor of a grand hall. Her dance was graceful and beyond compare; a portrait of beauty in every way. Upon finishing, she turned on a single foot, pirouetting before giving a bow to him - only to him. She looked up and smiled, her gray eyes seeming to say what he never could as she blinked out a single tear, smile fading as she turned away; lamenting in his thoughts. Emily. Her name, was Emily…