Deathless Reign:

Deathless Reign

Chapter 15

By Noobwriter96

(*-*-*Author's Note: This is probably the longest chapter I ever wrote so far. This series was supposed to be a practice run. The purpose was for me to start and finish a serialized project. Instead, I got carried away and my own nitpickings and procrastination, once again got in the way. I know I said I'd try to keep a regular release schedule, hoping for once a week but ended up once a month. Anyway, thanks again for taking the time. Constructive feedback is most welcome. *-*-*)

Izora had long since wanted to see the forgotten forest. The place where all her stories and childhood tales have sprung forth. Now that she was here, all she could think of was to get out as fast as humanly possible. The slow howl of the winds drifting through the trees like that of a phantom moan. The grey mist was cold and unyielding, swirling about and unable to see far beyond the veil of their grip. Izora tucked close the bundle of fine silk beside her. Concealed within, perhaps her most prized possession as of now and eased her worries with its weight. And yet she did not look forward to the next occasion she might need of its use.

What remained of their house guard were tensed up in this unfamiliar, unfriendly place. They formed the vanguard of their motley band of refugees, some two-score people driven out of their homes. All clung close as the creaking of the wagons' hinges were all that emanated throughout their excursion within this blighted woodland. Whatever conversation was had in hushed tones as the sun's light could barely graze the land with its presence. They had hoped that the Undead Blight would have left the south largely untouched but that does not seem to be the case.

Gnarled trees that seemed to have twisted faces etched into the very trunks themselves, with branches as crooked fingers, grasping out to swallow anyone whole. Wherever you went, the shadows and the faces all followed suit as if......as if alive.

"M-Mother....," she reached out towards her mother, as if reduced back to a mewling child once again. The ever-present gloom of overcast that doesn't seem to fall, hung over the horizon as it gave the land beneath an omnipresent mist that had no intention of dispelling anytime soon.

"How far do you think, sergeant?" Inquired the lady Sibylla, "And please give it to me with no discourse for optimism. I need to plan carefully rather than follow delusional jauntiness."

"As you wish milady," nodded the grizzled house guard, his short white beard set atop a visage forever transfixed in a perpetual scowl. A veteran of thirty years, the last ten of which have been spent in the service of their household, "It seems that the rumors hold true. A great many people, a few hundred strong at least, passed through here......but it had been sometime."

"How long?"

"A few weeks at the most. Our only good fortune was that there were so many that even the weather has trouble ridding away their tracks. As to how long it is till we reach them......that I can't augur," he replied truthfully, scratching away at his salt white beard as he gave the hard news. "Could be tomorrow, could be a week from now......I am sorry, milady."

"Do not be sorry, Sergeant. You have ever done my hose both great service and honor far beyond than that your station required," Lady Sibylla enunciated.

He gave a slight tilt of the head but it was clear in those seemingly scowling eyes, at the sudden surge of brightness in them, that the praise meant a great deal to him, "My lady," he acknowledged.

"We keep pressing forward, following the tracks. Come high noon with no significant development, we make camp for the night. Same as always, Sergeant. A highly defensible site with a path for escape if need be," her mother ordained with the rote and efficiency of a battle commander. How her mother came to this skill, Izora knew not.

"As you command milady." The Sergeant set out once more as he and his men rode just a bit ahead of the fog to deal with any threat.

"Mother, how did you know to command troops?" Izora began, hoping to veer her mind away from the haunted grey mist and the agonized faces of the woods.

"It was easy, once you get the hang of it, I suppose," She appeared to reminisced those days as a far-off look settled on her visage, eyes almost smiling and away from this dreadful place. "Your grandfather had me apprenticed to both great and lesser houses." A little smile tugged on her red lips, "Among these lessons learned was to play pretend that you rein command, to feel in control of your fate even as the world falls on you. Any good leader can exude confidence despite feeling otherwise. Humans can be simple creatures after all, a bit of pretending and eventually you can fool even yourself."

It felt nice to be talking like this, especially walking in this thrice damned forest. It put Izora at ease as her mother reined in the horses of their wagon through the muddied path. Large pools of mudwater formed in certain parts which made them perilous for wagons to pass through. There was something eerie about the forest that Izora didn't like staying for one place too long. Having a stuck wagon now was the last she needed.

Her mother, the Lady Sibylla, possessed a steadfastness that inspires calm and reason to those around her. Even despite her edging close to her fortieth decade, there was not a single strand of gray in her golden blonde hair that Izora herself inherited. Still, she could not hold a candle to her dear mother for beauty alone could only go so far. Actions speak louder than words and through action that her mother was boasted as amongst the greatest in the Northern Frontier. Bridges built and granaries filled, all under her purview and guidance. Even if it meant taking loses, all in the line of duty to lead and safeguard the realm appointed to their family. Lady Sibylla raised their family's already stellar repute to further heights.

A flurry of motions and Izora was taken out of her musings to see that her mother had gotten down and trodden the muds as she stretched her limbs. The lower hem of her skirt splattered by a cascade of mud.

"Mother, why aren't you riding?" Izora asked.

"It's good for my legs, staves off the cramps, dear. Besides, Bessie here could certainly use some weight off her industrious shoulders," Lady Sybilla replied with a playful grin and mischievous twinkle in her eye. Odd to think that this was the same woman that garnered the command of hardened veterans just a mere moment ago.

"You don't weigh

that

heavy," Izora teased, playing along with her mother's teasing.

"A simple walk every now and then helps, dear. Works up a sweat and keeps the mind keen. Much less I can say for you however."

"Mother!"

"Ha!" They both laughed heartily, but still remembered they were in unknown territory and had to stop it short. Izora followed her mother's jaunt and walked alongside her. They talked for some length about the life they had before they had to flee with what they could carry. It was a welcome distraction.

Izora was in the middle of recounting her tale of how she and a few other ladies her age wanted to go hunting for quail and rabbits when the familiar figure of the Sergeant sauntering in their direction through the mists.

"What is it captain?" asked Lady Sibylla, gone was the persona of the playful mother and was replaced by the stern Baroness Silverwell. The snap-like change was a skill Izora admired. It was amazing to think that her mother could change demeanor at a snap of her fingers like that.

"I saw movement milady. Atop the ridges to the west. A cloaked figure by the looks of it," the Sergeant replied straight to the point. His fingers played around the grip of his mace, which in and of itself a legend amongst the residents of their holdings for it might as well have been just as old as the Sergeant himself and as worn in appearance.

"Friend or foe?"

"Best be prudent and assume foe till proven otherwise. Could never be too careful in these days Milady."

Baroness Sibylla of House Silverwell had a ponderous look in her eyes, like the quiet calm before a storm and afterwards issued her commands to her house guards. Izora took great pains never to find herself in the receiving end of those grey stormcloud-like eyes. The Sergeant certainly was a veteran of a score of battles to be able to coolly stand before her mother without the slightest apprehension. After the orders were given and the captain set out to straighten his men, it was back to Sybilla and Izora.

They walked in silence for a little while until Izora just had to alleviate the tension brought by the lurking stranger in the mists.

"Mother have you ever seen a knight before?"

"What are you talking about? Ser Oatwright was a knight," her mother replied but still her eyes were as grave when assuming the role of the Baroness.

"Ser Oatwright was sixty and two-years old mother. And he last was in armor some twenty years ago. What I mean is a proper knight, like the one in the stories," Izora added with an almost too dreamy lilt in her voice. Even now as a young lady, she still finds herself enamored by those flights of fancy. And much to her surprise and joy, many among her peers have such adoration for similar literature.

A wry look appeared on mother's features. Not the expression Izora hoped to see, but at least mother's thoughts were away from worry and stress. She could just see a glimmer of that mischievous lilt back in her eyes.

"Those are just stories child, gleaming armor and all," Sibylla stated as a matter of fact, "But to answer your question, I have met knights. Those that fight in the frontlines. And those that fight with sticks. And I tell you, they are both magnificent and horrendous."

"How do you mean, mother?"

Lady Sibylla was about to reply when her eyes broke off from the conversation and snapped towards the misty outlines of the hill to the trail's left. Her mother's gaze hardened on the small hills to their side, her crystal grey eyes scanning from one end to the other of the mist encrusted ridges. "What is it mother?"

"Sergeant......," an almost whisper that could easily drown in the spaces between but the seasoned warrior heard it nonetheless and came trotting close to her mistress, "I saw him too, milady. He's gotten closer."

"Who?" Izora hated the feeling of being left out, much more so in the duties of her station as heir-apparent, duties that could ensure their House' survival. Where others had a tight grasp of their roles, she on the other hand, find herself lacking.

"Our cloaked friend. He's been following us."

Her eyes too followed suit amongst the ridges but Izora saw no such figure. A chill ran across her spine and her hands found themselves on the wagon seat where she left it last.

"Mother......," Izora almost whimpered, regretting the fact she sounded feeble and pathetic for an heir of House Silverwell.

"There, there Izora," Sibylla was beside her daughter but her eyes never left the misty hills. "Don't fret love, It's just a lone man. We have the sergeant and a dozen of his men with us."

"Sergeant, send word down the line. Hands at the ready and eyes open. Everyone knows what to do"

"Aye milady."

Word travelled down the line and with the preciseness honed in after weeks on the road and being assailed by the dead as they made their escape south, the common men and women under the protection of House Silverwell, from simple peasants to house servant, all bore arms taken from the arsenal of the House. Most bore polearms, long reaching weapons ideal for dealing one powerful blow to an ambling corpse that should have no business walking. Others had the more ordinary issued axes and swords should the dead get too close to use a polearm. Any undead force would find them not easy pickings.

The problems therein lie in their always overwhelming numbers. And with the blasted fog obscuring vision as close as fifteen yards out, it was more than worrying not knowing how many could lay hidden not a stone's throw away.

The caravan proceeded to follow the trail made by those who came before. More and more signs of there passing were made apparent as Izora's group made their way by. Several pieces of wood that used to form a wagon, along with some discarded pieces of furniture now strewn about with reckless abandon. People always try to take as much as they can carry and almost all are so attached to their homes and possession, they refuse to abandon it altogether even with an encroaching horde of undead.

More possessions lay scattered, thrown or dropped in the haste they made to flee down south. A luggage clearly containing a noble woman's apparels with the vibrant colors and fabrics. More littered furniture half sunken into the mud. Izora spotted a little doll off to the side of the path, a bit similar to one she had when she was but a child.

As they pressed further inland, so too did the mist grow thicker. Little by little they had not noticed that that their field of vision grew smaller and smaller. Izora's apprehension grew as the fog grew stronger and even her mother was visible troubled by the obstruction. It got so bad to the point that if one were to reach their arms out, they won't be so much as see the mole at the back of their hand.

"Mother.....," Izora started, not caring if she was perceived as mad, ".....this fog is unnatural. It's scaring the animals," old Bessie refused to go further, rearing her head and kicking up the mud beneath her heels no matter how hard Izora tried to rein her.

"Easy, girl, easy," soothed lady Sibylla stroking the animal's mane and making crooning sounds with her lips. It seemed to be working but the creature was shaking and refused to budge forward. "Izzy love, help me and walk beside her."

Izora disliked the mud, each step would send a splash against her skirt and she would be the one responsible to clean them out. But the encroaching fog set these quibbles aside and the yearning to get out of here as fast as possible was paramount. It took some pulling for the horse to walk forward but with two people beside her, she gained some measure of courage to proceed onward, however slow it may be.

Lady Sibylla did not utter a word, simply set her lips in a grim line. Izora could barely see an arm's reach away from her. She nearly hugged close to Bessie, being unable to see what was coming had set her nerves afire.

"Gah!"

"Heavens!" The familiar tinkling of chainmail and the surprised look of one of the guards nearly made Izzy's heart jump out of her throat.

"Donnely? What in damnation are you doing here? Where's the Sergeant?" the Baroness Demanded.

"I lost them in the fog milady," replied the anxious guardsman, accent thick with the country drawl, eyes wide and frantic, "There's something ain't right about this fog, ladyship."

"Breathe Soldier, breathe."

And Donnelly did breathe, his pupils regaining some measure of composure before going further.

"We was in standard formation, ladyship. Five man out, three men in. Fanned forward. Then the fog got real thick, real fast. One moment we was talking with un' another and then.... nothing. I tried calling out to them but got no answer," for a moment, his eyes seemed to have been transported back within the fog before he shook himself awake, and continued on, "I-I thought I lost them or they lost me and well.... that's when you found me."

Izora was frozen stiff at what Donnely recounted. She was no astute student of the mysterious forces of the world, despite having lived all her life at the Northern Frontier, itself bordered the Deadnorth. She had no such wanting to experience hauntings and the like. The forces of the undead holds too many unknown forces and powers, one of the reasons they sought the Knight Order for protection. For the longer they journeyed, perchance they might face an enemy too powerful for them to prevail over.

Her mother had assumed the mask of the Baroness once more, but the slight twitching behind her jaw, told Izora she was as unnerved as she was. They proceeded cautiously and slowly. Wagons were ordered to link up closer and never lose sight of the other. The people at the end and middle were commanded to be at their utmost vigilant. Lamps were lit and torches handed out from their precious store of oil.

They continued ever onwards.

Hinges creaked.

Winds howled.

And the fifty-strong procession of refugees proceeded in their journey through the foreboding mists, wary and subdued.

"Halt!" came the sudden command.

Izora jumped out of her seat, eyes on her mother.

And all eyes focused on the sudden appearance of a shadow in the mists. The seconds stretched unto eternity. All weapons trailed at the shadow. Waiting. Anticipating. Ready. Sweat rolled on a servant's brow. And Izora clung her bundle of silks.

At the sudden shout, the figure turned and rushed out of the fog.

To reveal but another house guard.

And just like Donnelly, he too heard voices and felt movement within the fog. He rejoined the main group. Izora felt uneasy for the men out in the fog. One by one, the forward point of the guard was recovered and rejoined the main group. All spoke about something in the mists with them.

Moving.

Unseen.

The mist moved as if something had been there only for them to turn and find no one.

All had been found with one exception. The sergeant himself was nowhere to be found.

They walked through the fog but even then, Izora's apprehension died down as they kept on moving forward. Perhaps she had just been paranoid? Certainly, the Sergeant was out here, seeing as his men had all returned unharmed. Perhaps he had just gotten lost and was waiting for them rather than seek them out in the mists. The forest and its visage and the toil of the past weeks had taken to playing her minds and doubts. How long she wished to bathe in hot water. It had almost seemed like a different lifetime ago and the idea of coming face to face with a proper gentleman in this manner is made her feel abashed.

The burst of creaking wood suddenly lurched the wagon to a stop. Izora soul was upended at the sudden stop. Lady Sibylla immediately recouped her balance and glanced back as to what had stalled them. She and along with some of the guard inspected the snag, leaving Izora holding the reigns up front. One of the wheels got wedged in the murky debris of mud and wood, entangled at some pieces of old root that got stuck in the sludge. It was twisting and encrusted with muck that the guardsmen must get on their knees and pull away at the filth.

"What is it?" muttered one of the men. It looked silly from where Izora sat with her mother, as several grown men scratched their heads at the dilemma of the stuck wheel. She sighed and drummed her fingers against the wood of her seat.

It seems they would be here for a little while as they tried to hack off the entangling.

A flicker of swirling mist-clouds at the corner of her vision pried Izora's attention from the ensnared wheel. Her eyes went wide as the familiar outline of a man was coherent amidst the haze. She set aside her bundle of silks at her seat and strode out to guide the Sergeant out of the fog.

"Sergeant?! Is that you?" she called out.

"Izora, what are you - -" Lady Sybilla heard her daughter's raised voice and lifted her gaze away from the wheel.

"Mother! it's the sergeant he's over there!" Izora replied, kept moving forward. Perhaps the Sergeant couldn't hear her well? The guardsmen said the mist had a strange way with sounds.

"What the - -? What

is

that?" exclaimed the guardsman and Lady Sybilla's attention snapped back to the wheel.