Wagon

The Realm of Men

Chapter 10: The wait

"Trench here. Another one a hundred yards further south. Hurry them along, we don't have a lot of time." Leofric gestured to two separate locations. He had circled around to the southern walls of Lowburg with his knights, behind them followed near two hundred guardsmen from the town, carrying pickaxes and shovels for digging. A couple of knights turned on their heels and marched over to the gathered guards to inform them of the work, and they soon rushed off to their designated positions to start digging. Lowburg was lacking fortifications that the larger towns had, such as defensive artillery weapons and stone walls. Instead it had thick wooden palisades and its principal strength was the garrison itself. The Lowburg guard was better equipped and better trained than most other guard forces in the Northlands, their proximity to the Black Marsh required them to be above the normal standard, despite being protected by the series of forts along the border. But the protective line was gone. Lowburg was now the next line of defense.

As such, Leofric had ordered trenches to be dug along the southern fields, from where they expected Raylia's forces to attack. Ideally he would have had a protective ring around the town entire, but the ground was frozen solid, it would have taken time to complete such work. Time they did not have. Instead he had settled for a simpler method to protect the trenches' flanks. He wasn't satisfied with his options, but they had to make do.

Leofric frowned and leered skywards, the first morning light had just begun to penetrate the layer of clouds above, illuminating the dreary expansion south of Lowburg. For now it was empty, barring the few guardsmen who strayed out to find a suitable spot to hammer down their pickaxes in. But soon that field would host an army, significantly larger than the force present in Lowburg. The odds wasn't in Leofric's favor, but he was not going to abandon the town. They did not need to defeat the Raylian army - only hold out long enough for Sir Arthur to return with the collective might of the Northlands at his back. Then the table would turn, and Leofric was not going to give Raylia any respite.

"The men are digging now, sire. It will take time, but they will be ready before the enemy arrives." a voice spoke up not far from Leofric. He twisted on the spot to face the man who addressed it. It was one of his other knights, and he knew him as Sir Roland. A grizzled veteran. Leofric nodded and dismissed him with a brief gesture before turning completely. He gazed up to the walls, registering a mixed bunch of guardsmen and his own soldiers scurrying across the battlements, reinforcing what they could and placing out resupplies of arrows and crossbolts, as well as rocks to be thrown down at attackers, should they get close enough.

Leofric lowered his gaze as a cold breeze swept across the land, enclosing his black cloak around him. He looked westwards, toward the vast, bleak forest towering up in the distance, near four kilometers from Lowburg. The locals had dubbed it the Silent Woods, out of fact that the forest was almost completely quiet at all times of the year - only occasionally did a bird's chirp or wolf's howl sound from its depths. Leofric had never liked that forest, something was off about it. Tales of people going missing.

He was brought back to reality by another cold wind and he broke away his gaze from the Silent Woods. It had started to snow again and he heard an angry voice in the distance curse the biting cold. Leofric rolled a shoulder and huffed, he set his feet into motion and started to make his way back around the walls to the north end of town where the camp was raised.

All they had to do now was wait.

The Realm of Men

Chapter 9: Evacuation

Leofric stared down somberly at the war table with a large map covering almost its entirety. He had left Lowburg upon receiving concerning news and made his way into the army camp outside the walls. Around the table was a handful of other men, senior knights and army officers. They expectantly looked to their king for answers, yet they were silent and patient. Next to Leofric stood another soldier, a weary and elderly man with a greying beard and a bloodied bandage around his head, a crutch under his right arm to help him stand. Leofric clasped his right hand around his left wrist and twisted slightly on the spot, glancing to the wounded man. "Explain."

The battered man hobbled forth and looked around nervously as if he expected something to leap out at him, but eventually collected himself to speak up. "Erh.. 'twas the dead, my lords -- sirs, ah.. they attacked us in the night, came out of the darkness and stormed the walls, climbing them even. They slaughtered everyone, none was prepared for it, even though we were on alert. But they weren't..." the man trails off into an eerie silence, fearful eyes darting around the gathered, who looked back with anticipation.

"What else?" Leofric concisely inquired, and the wounded looked back, immediately and humbly bowing his head as much as he could muster. "They... they weren't alone, Sire. Someone sent the dead at us, like hounds... they even fired artillery on us - we saw how they ignited their boulders... they destroyed Moat Royal. Now they are marching this way." The elderly man coughs a few too many times, and Leofric nods for a nearby sentry to take him away. He watched them exit the tent before turning back to his officers, giving them all a long stare.

"It seems Raylia has launched their invasion a few days earlier than we expected - and they have found a way to control the undead as well." he eventually speaks up with a bitterness in his tone. The men around the table nodded slowly with evident concern. A knight shifts on the spot and take to words. "It must be magic! They must have signed a pact with that damn rock in the ocean!"

"Aye, we should have razed Valentus to the ground when had the chance." an army officer followed on. The men around the table all nodded in agreement on that. Leofric remained silent, but he had his suspicions. Only the most powerful of necromancy could control the dead, and such power could only be found on the island nation of Valentus - but he dismissed the thought. One problem at a time.

"It is irrelevant as of now. All that matters is that we have an army marching this way with an unknown number of abominations in tow, and we are the only force that stands between them and Lowburg. Captain Hal, did the surviving soldier tell you how far away the enemy army is?" Leofric then asked one of the officers. The one who was addressed as Hal raised his chin and nodded. "Yes, Sire. He estimated they were one league north of Moat Royal. They are moving slowly, what with having to trudge through the marsh with siege weaponry. They could be here within two to three days with their current speed."

"Make it two leagues by now. Captain Castor, how long would it take you to evacuate Lowburg with assistance from the local guard?" Leofric turned his attention to another officer. "Ah... five to ten hours, Sire, if everyone is to bring with what they need. But the people here are stubborn, I doubt they will all leave their homes willingly, regardless if they're under threat." Castor replied. Leofric scratched his chin in thought, he knew very well what the folks of Lowburg were like, and then nodded in conclusion. "Take a hundred men from the host and get as many as you can to safety. Captain Hal will assist you."

Leofric glanced at each of the officers around the table before nodding somewhat to himself. "That is all. We'll reconvene here once you have completed your tasks. Knights, you are with me."

The Realm of Men

Chapter 8: Moat Royal

Night had just begun to settle over the cold and vast landscape of the Black Marsh, the darkness rapidly enveloped the land into its domain, making it near impossible to see a thing. On top of the ramparts of Moat Royal, Heinrich stood and glanced out over the nothingness beyond the walls of his commission. Snowfall had become more and more frequent over the past days, and he couldn't help but curse the biting cold time and over again. He tugged in his worn cloak to encase himself further from the cold, while glancing down at a letter in his hand. It had been delivered the previous night by a rider. Heinrich had immediately recognised the royal seal upon the wax, and he could still feel his stomach turn in fear upon recollecting the missive. King Leofric had ordered not only his, but every fort along the border into the highest alert. They were to prepare themselves for an invasion - from Raylia.

Heinrich sighed and folded the missive in half before tucking it away. He was afraid, there was no denying it, but at the same time he felt confident. Moat Royal was the largest of the ten forts, with sturdy stone walls, a total garrison of four hundred men and even a few catapults located around the battlements to be used against any attackers. Heinrich knew they stood a fair chance against any who would assault Royal, even if they'd be outnumbered two or three to one.

Something moved in the corner of his eye and his attention shifted toward it. To his relief it was just one of his men, patrolling the wall with a torch in one hand and a spear in the other. The guardsman didn't notice his superior, he was too occupied gazing out over the walls. Normally Heinrich wouldn't pay it any attention, but he noticed how the guard kept looking out, and seemingly at the same location. Heinrich felt a certain unease creep in and he slowly turned his head to look out into the dark in effort to see whatever the guardsman saw. Alas, there was nothing but silence and darkness. Heinrich concluded to himself that the guard was simply keeping a close eye on the expanding land beyond the moat, and quickly felt his beating heart ease down. He left out a heavy sigh - all was well.

A voice suddenly cried out. It was close - too close, and Heinrich then realised that it came from the guardsman a short distance away from him. He had turned to lean out over the wall now, the torch held forth in attempt to light up the ground below.

"Who goes there! State your name and business!" the guard bellowed, receiving no response. Heinrich shifted on his spot to glance down from the walls, yet he still saw nothing. All he heard outside of the safety of Royal was a few, distant croaks - which to his absolute terror all ceased to sound at the same time, followed by a splash. Something stirred the waters of the bog and Heinrich felt his heart take a leap. Did someone throw a rock? He glanced along the wall that had gradually increased in activity by additional guardsmen. No, he thought. Why would they do that. His conclusion was only enchanced by another splash in the distance, and then another. They were definitely no rocks being thrown by the guardsmen. They sounded like footsteps, only...

He could hear how the noise increased in intensity and frequency until it was incessant - and it came closer.

"You!" Heinrich shouts out and points to the guardsman with the torch. "Throw that out there! Might be we can see what in damnation is going on!"

The guardsman nods and heaves back his arm before swinging it forth, throwing the torch far out. Luckily it lands on a dry tuft of grass and its light immediately expands into broad sphere in the dark. What Heinrich saw made him want to shout out in terror, but someone else on the wall beat him to it. The torch revealed a dozen people, some carried armor and others were in simple clothes. A few were crawling through the water in a twisted, horrific way that Heinrich knew was not human by any means, but most were running - and they were fast. Before he knew it something hit the wall below him. He looked down, and saw two empty eye-sockets stare back up at him. The man, or woman, lacked a jaw, and its features were pale and hollow. Fingers with ruined nails scratched frantically against the stone fortifications in tireless effort to ascend the battlements. More and more of the undead abominations ran into the wall and begun to claw against it in dumb effort to climb up.

Heinrich repelled in horror and cried out. The world around him exploded, his men sprung to life and manned the walls, many carried bows or crossbows and they fired down at the increasing horde of monsters. He saw how one of his men on the far side of the wall violently retracted backwards as a spear pierced through his chin and exited through the back of the skull. The guardsman collapsed and plummeted off the wall.

Another cry to Heinrich's left caught his attention, and he witnessed in terror how a few of the undead had successfully found a way up the wall, and how they brutally cut down the soldier at his post. They did not stay for long, however, as they were rushed by a handful of new soldiers with brandished swords that made quick work of the beasts, but the dead were now crawling over the battlements all along the wall - and Heinrich could only watch in terror. In the darkness amongst flickering torches it was difficult to tell friend from foe, but he could hear the sound of battle and the agonized screams of his men as they were gradually overwhelmed by the undead around him. His heart was near pounding out of his chest, and he was frozen in fear. He was going to die here, in this fort, deep inside the Black Marsh - slaughtered by abominations. He felt how tears begun to well up in his eyes, and he slid down against the wall, unable to contain the tears. He did not notice that the fighting had died down, how his men had been completely overrun. He glanced out through a gap in the wall with blurry eyes, and saw how lights appeared in the distance, one after the other - only to then fling up into the air, straight in a trajectory for Moat Royal.

Heinrich sobbed endlessly while watching the lights approaching the fort. He never saw the rusty spear before it pierced him through the neck - and everything went black.

The Realm of Men

Chapter 7: Southern fools

"You are to deliver these to each fort along the border. None but the garrison commanders may view these." Leofric concluded as he pressed the royal sigil against the sealing wax on the letter infront of him on the table. He had prepared an additional nine of these letters and he extended them to the soldier standing on the opposite end of the table. The soldier grabs the letters and tucks them down into a courier satchel hanging by his side. He then salutes, and departs the king's quarters.

Next to the door stood Sir Arthur, leisurely leaning against the wall in patience. He pushes himself forward and shuffles across to Leofric's desk as soon the courier had closed the door behind him. The knight grabs a nearby chair and scoots it across to take a seat, under creaking protests. "Well?"

Leofric turned his attention to Arthur shortly, before he rose up from his own seat and turned to look out through the window. From his quarters he had a decent view of the town and the land stretching out beyond the walls. The weather had begun to clear, but at this time of the year the sky was almost perpetually grey. Fitting for the mood and situation he found himself in.

"If they intend to march on us then there is little point in negotiation now." Leofric frowned. Raylia was the southern nation bordering the Northlands. He had never fully understood why they started a war other than through sheer aggressiveness and will to expand. They had been at odds for years, and while skirmishes were common along the border, there had been no major advance from either side for quite some time, and Leofric had begun to grew tired of the persistant, smaller nation harassing his country. He turned on his heels again to face Arthur.

"But this time I will end the war, Sir Arthur. I'll torch that entire wretched nation if I have to." the king snarled in bitter frustration and sat back down into the chair. The anger dissipated as quickly as it had arrived, and Leofric twitched a frown. "We won't ride for the capital now, there is no time. But I do have a task for you, Sir Arthur."

The knight nodded, calm as ever.

"I will keep my force here in case the border requires assistance, but five hundred men won't be enough to alleviate the pressure Raylia will bear down on the forts." Leofric paused, a few digits drumming against the table in thought. "I entrust you with this, Arthur. You will gather the army and rendezvous here when you are done. You'll leave immediately."

Arthur stood up from the chair and slammed a clenched fist over the heart in a salute. "Yes, Sire." the knight replies and turns around, though he is stopped briefly by the king's addition.

"Arthur. Every man that you can find."

The Realm of Men

Chapter 6: Undesirable news

The streets of Lowburg branched out in various directions, nooks and crannies, both dark and filthy. In addition to his king's guard, the town guard had filed in on the left and right of Leofric. An elderly guardsman with greying hair led the way through the streets, waving aside the townsfolk as they passed. The knights kept themselves close to Leofric, they had formed up in two columns of five each on his either side, their hands resting upon the grip of their weaponry. Leofric trudged on behind the lead guardsman - they were to make their way to the Lowburn mansion, and even though he knew the way himself, it was standard routine for the guard to escort him to its premises.

They arrive at the plaza after a few minutes of navigating around the streets. The guardsmen steered their lines away to reform into a rank a distance away from the mansion as soon the king and his men had passed. They then turned on their heels to face outwards, keeping a wary eye for any who would try to trespass into its grounds. Leofric gestures with a hand as they approach the main entrance of the building, a gesture that the knights were well aware of. Five of the knights break off, with three disappearing around a corner to keep an all-around vigil, and the final two take up position on either side of the doors. They bow as Leofric push open the mansion doors and steps inside with the remaining men.

A staff member of the mansion hurries forth to greet the royal visitor, a middle-aged woman which respectfully curtsies. "Your Grace. They have prepared your chambers." she speaks up, with a well-practised tone. Leofric gave her a quick nod and proceeded toward the stairs leading up and to the halls, followed by the knights. It did not take long until he stood by the doors leading into his personal room. He nods to his knights, which steps aside and begins to take up various posts nearby, before he push open the doors and steps inside. He tugs off his leather gloves and leers around the room, it had been prepared for his arrival, just as the servant had said. He makes his way over to a delicate wooden desk and takes a seat into an equally exquisite chair. A window behind him let in the dim light from the outside and he could hear the suppressed sound from the life within town. He prefered it that way - he was not fond of complete silence, the Black Marsh was enough for that.

He lays down his gloves on the table and buckles off his cloak to hang over the back of the chair. Concealed behind the cloak he had carried a leather cylinder hanging down across his back, used for safekeeping various documents and letters of delicate secrecy. He only kept one letter inside it now, and he opened up the cylinder to retrieve it. He adjusts in his seat and then folds out the letter infront of him on the table. The message was brief.

'They are mustering again. They have assembled near seven thousand men, and with their current preparations I suspect they will march within a week.'

The Realm of Men

Chapter 5: Family & Suspects

His boots hit the muddy ground with clattering armor, and a knight took the reins of the king's horse to lead it away. Leofric doffed his hood and swept his gaze along the gathering crowd of commoners, guardsmen and minor noblemen alike. Around him his men were in the process of dismounting as well, but several hundred still sat on horseback and tried to trot through the swarming locals. The king sighed and turned to one of his knights.

"Have the men set up camp outside the town, I don't want us overcrowding this place. Leave a few men here. The knights stay with me."

The soldier bowed his head and marched off. Leofric could hear a hollering command and the vast majority of his army turned to march out of the gates to raise their camp outside the town walls. As ordered, only the knights and a handful of soldiers remained - thirty or so men, all dismounted and grouped together not far from their king, their eyes were turned to the locals and adjacent rooftops. It was in their nature to remain vigilant, regardless of where they were. People were still flooding toward the crowd and Leofric put on a thin smile, his right hand raising to greet the excited commoners.

A group of people stood out from the rest. They were dressed in more delicate garments, for Lowburn standards, and Leofric quickly registered them as the local nobility, amongst them the town mayor. At the head of the group was a familiar face, and Leofric set his feet into motion to make his way over. The commoners behind the highborn immediately bowed their heads as soon they saw the king walk their way, and the nobility soon after followed suit. Leofric stopped infront of a woman and extended a hand within her view, gesturing for her to raise her head, which she obediently did - the rest of the people soon did the same.

"Sire." Louisa finally spoke up in a formal address and displayed a smile that Leofric had seen a hundred times before, and he was still convinced that it was false. Regardless, he returned the gesture and gave his cousin a brief hug, as was their way of greeting one another.

"Cousin. All is well, I hope?" Leofric finally inquired.

"Perfectly so." Louisa replied concisely, her smile widening. "And you, Your Grace?"

Leofric delayed with his response, his eyes trailed past Louisa to study each of the people around her, though they linger upon a young woman standing close behind her - close enough to be a servant or relative, but Leofric would have recognized her if that was the case, and Louisa was the only in Lowburg. A servant then, he concluded. Though he wasn't sure what she required a servant for. She's never had one before. His gaze falls back upon his cousin, nodding.

"Of course. I'll have to make this short though, I have matters to attend to. It's good to see you again, cousin."

Louisa bows her head again and then turns on her heels to depart along with the noblemen and her servant. The local guardsmen also spring back to life and exhorts the smallfolk to return to their work and daily doings, and the people begin to scatter, many were occupied with intensive conversations about the event they just witnessed and Leofric found the cacophony near unbearable. A woman's yelling and a dog's barking and whining reached his ears and he twisted around vaguely to get a glimpse of where it came from, if anything it was a welcoming distraction from the enthusiastic peasantry. A few lingering soldiers near the gate were occupied with dragging away a woman, crying out for her faithful companion, forcefully being tugged away by another of his men. He witnessed as the female took a gauntlet to her stomach and he shook his head, trudging through the mud toward one of his knights.

"Sir Arthur. What are those men doing?"

The knight kicks to attention and then looks over to the commotion. "That's the accused witch, sire. Not sure why they're separating her from her dog, though."

"Beat some sense into them and give her back the dog, then keep her under your guard. Find out if she truly is a witch." Leofric commanded and then waved the knight off. Sir Arthur bowed his head and marched off with brisk steps to resolve the commotion. Leofric trailed the knight with his gaze for a short moment before spinning on his heels to march down one of the streets, flanked by the remaining knights.

The Realm of Men

Chapter 4: Return

The march continued onwards at a steady pace, the rain had begun to ease and soon enough subsided as a whole. Leofric renewed his grip around the reins with his right hand and leered skywards at the dark and threatening clouds which rumbled still on frequent occasion. A drenched rider appeared at his side, a solid steel barbuta helmet upon his head with its visor up. "The men found a resident within the house, Your Grace. A woman. They say she spoke into thin air, calling for someone named Walter. They apprehended her under the assumption of witchcraft."

Leofric turned in the saddle to look over his shoulder down the ranks of men marching behind him. He briefly caught sight of the raggedy, upset looking woman standing out from her guarded escort. He twitched a frown and turned his gaze back to the road infront of them. He was well aware that some of his men were almost too paranoid when it came to witchcraft and sorcery, but most of them had reason to be. He shook his head to himself. "Very well. Keep an eye on her."

The soldier raised a clenched fist to his heart in salute and then turned his horse around to gallop back down the lines. Leofric dragged a gloved hand through his soaked hair and then dragged the black hood of his cloak over the head. He turned his attention to the east, gazing out over the expansion of a gloomy landscape with clusters of leafless trees. They were relatively far away from the Black Marsh now, but its darkness and inhospitality stretched much further away than just the bog itself, and they were still many miles away from the greener pastures of the central Northlands.

His mind fell back upon the letter that he had read and he silently resented each step his army took on their march to the north-east, but it was necessary. Their destination was Monarch's Rise, the capital. Once he was back in the city he would rally his council and inform them of what has happened, and damn what they all thought - he had already made up his mind on the matter.

Far in the distance he saw lights floating above ground. He studied them with an idle thought and blank expression. After all, he already knew what they were. The watchtowers dotted around Lowburg's walls kept a stern vigil on the lands around it. The people living there were of the rough stock and distrustful, at least toward foreigners and strangers. He frowned, recalling the grim task that he had assigned to a handful of knights dispatched to the town. They were to persecute any suspected magicians or walkers and carry out the ultimate punishment. Leofric wasn't certain how the people there would handle it. Executing the penalized in the middle of the street was bad for everyone, and Lowburg hardly required more reasons to dig themselves deeper into their unwelcoming and resentful nature - but the inhabitants were loyal, and he was positive the knights would carry out the deed on remote locations.

He could hear the angry muttering of men behind him, cursing the incessant storm above them. They were rapidly approaching the town and Leofric could just barely make out the silhouettes upon the walls and in the towers. From there it did not take long before the sound of a long horn blast echoed throughout the land, signalling the approaching army. A guardsman leans out over his post in a tower and cups a hand around his mouth.

"It's the king! The king is approaching! Open the gates!"

The Realm of Men

Chapter 3: March

"Mount up!" A voice shouted from down below the king's cliff. Leofric stood on the edge again and was in the process of buckling on his ebon cloak while eyeballing the commotion. The entire camp had been disassembled and a supply train of a few dozens of carts had been lined up on the flat expansion. His men were in a hurry to get into position, a three-man wide column was beginning to take shape next to the line of carts, separately looked after by near thirty men. The sound of horse neighs and shouts of men were near incessant, and had Leofric not watched them from above he'd near believe that they'd be under attack, or that a fire had broke out. Luckily it was neither of those.

The king finally reaches out for his delicate steel sword, stood resting against a stone. He throws the swordbelt around his waist and fastens it, then turning to descend the cliff. At its foot stood one of his men waiting, holding in the reins of Leofric's horse. The soldier bows his head as Leofric approaches and steps aside as the king heaves himself up into the saddle. Leofric collected the reins in his right hand and glanced over his shoulder briefly, ensuring that his men had formed up, and to his content they had. The cacophony from moments ago had silenced, and now only vague chatter and the clattering of equipment and armor was heard amongst the extending ranks. His gaze swept over to the carts and the horses that dragged them, they were to integrate into the rest of the force with steady intervals. A few men sat on top of the carts, whose tasks were to ensure nothing fell off.

Leofric turns his attention back to the front and spurs his horse into a trot. Behind him his men followed at a steady pace, their banners held high to display the royal sigil to signify them as an official force and deter any nay-well doers and possible brigands.

The road they followed led north, away from the Black Marsh and rocky landscape where they had made camp at. Above them the storm was relentlessly raging on, and the wind was viciously tearing in anything it crossed. The road was poorly maintained this far south, mainly because few dared to work so close to the wetlands, so pits in the road were common, and between those and the wind, the men upon the supply carts were struggling to keep the more loose items on, but so far nothing had come crashing down into the ground.

Theirs was a long march, but luckily the wind had begun to ease after an hour on the road. Occasionally they passed a lone house or mill, and Leofric figured that most of them were abandoned, judging by the lack of light and activity within them - or the residents were simply absent. He frowned. The few folks who still lived here had it rough and were forced to fend for themselves. Albeit often poor, they were prime targets for robbers and thieves. Few patrols ever came here, most were found around the forts in the Black Marsh or further north. He was going to make a change to that.

A few pedestrians came trudging around a bend in the road further ahead, hauling with them a covered wagon. Leofric counted up to ten and settled his gaze upon the cart as he and his men gradually approached closer. The smallfolks quickly shuffled to the side and bowed their heads as Leofric passed. He wasn't sure whether they did it out of respect, or if they recognized him. He did not carry a crown after all, not while in the field. He gave the commoners a nod in return and looked back ahead. Normally a search of the cart would have been conducted, but Leofric was not going to halt his army for a simple search, and instead concluded that the commoners had covered their cart to shelter its goods from the storm.

A sudden, cold breeze swept through the landscape, and a few moments after it began to rain. They had marched north-east for a few kilometers and the storm was still harassing them. Leofric shook his head and swept his cloak around him further. They ascended a long, but thankfully not too steep rise in the road, and a lonely, abandoned house raised itself up further ahead on the left side of the road. Leofric narrowed his eyes toward it with the wind beating in his face, and although he was positive the place had indeed been abandoned for long, he was certain that he saw a silhouette through one of the windows as he and his army got closer...

The Realm of Men

Chapter 2: A letter

Leofric stepped out of his tent and tugged on the black leather gloves before lowering his hands to his sides, concealing them behind his ebon cloak draping down over his shoulder. Night had settled since a few hours passed and darkness now surrounded him on all sides. His tent had been raised on top of a small cliff and he stopped just by its edge to narrow his gaze to the northern horizon and the storm that was brewing. He saw frequent flashes light up the darkened clouds but the sound of thunder never reached his ears. He idly worked his jaw to either side in thought, though his attention was stolen by a hoarse laugh coming from below, followed by a collection of angry clamour. Hundreds of grey tents spanned out to the left and right at the bottom of the cliff, campfires and braziers had been lit up around the vast camp and men sat huddled around the fires, some occupied themselves with idle chatter and others had brought out dice and cards for a friendly set of games. The king smirked as a certain group of men stood out from the rest - the shouting that he had heard came from them, and what from he could gather it was related to money betting over a game of dice.

Still, he was pleased that they were able to entertain themselves after the bloody day that had passed. Not that they had reason to not celebrate in their own ways, they had not lost a single man when they rode down the undead horde earlier that day. Leofric turned his gaze south and stared out into the darkness, knowing that the Black Marsh was out there. He could see its mist, and a handful of dim, flickering lights within it, coming from the stubborn fires that were still burning the piled up corpses of the dead.

The sound of heavy footsteps and clattering armor sprung the king out of thought and he twisted slightly on the spot to look to his left. Sir Arthur, one of his officers, came trudging up a thin road leading to the top of the cliff. The knight walked up next to his liege and bowed respectfully. “Your Grace.”

“Sir Arthur.” Leofric replied, his gaze had shifted back to the camp below and the mirthful banter and conversations sounding from it. “They appear to be in good spirits.”

“Yes, Sire. Morale is high in the camp, the men rejoice over their decisive victory against the dead. Well, excluding a few, pale young lads, but they’ll come around. Told a few men to bring out the ale, see if that can’t get their humours up.” Arthur said with a grin, the knight was evidently in a good mood himself.

“Good. Just make sure they don’t fall into a drunken stupor, I need them ready at first light for our march northwards. Give the order, Sir Arthur.”

The knight bowed once again and spun on his heels, soon disappearing down the cliff. Leofric huffed out a breath of cold air and turned around to walk back into his tent. A table stood in the center with a small lantern by its edge, illuminating a map of the Northlands rolled out across it, as well as a small bundle of letters. A single chair clad in various pelts stood next to the table and Leofric circled around it to take a seat. He had not told Sir Arthur why they were to march back north. He could not risk telling anyone while in the field, not even his own trusted knights. He reached out for a specific letter and reclined into the back of his chair to look through it. It had been delivered by a rider in the night, and even though he had read it a few times already, a deep frown etched upon his features as he reviewed the message again.

The Realm of Men

Chapter 1: The Black Marsh

It was a cloudy and cold evening, a strong breeze tore in every bush and dead tree. Only a few rays of the last sunlight slipped through the dark clouds from high above, settling upon the grim fields below. Grim. That was a mild word to use for this place, a dark bog with burned out trees and vegetation, a perpetual mist that hugged itself close to the ground, and the first frost of the winter encrusting the landscape all around. As with all other days, it was eerily silent in the bog. Not a cricket or chirp to be heard, not a living thing to be found. Only the howling wind and the laments of the dead. Hidden in the low mist were countless of bodies of both men and horses, banners carrying the seal of various lords and nations were stuck in the mud, their torn heraldry flying in the wind. For the southern marshes of the Northlands were a site of seemingly endless war, untold lives had been lost in a struggle that had gone nowhere. Except today. Today was quiet, the dead had been left at peace to rest within the dubbed Black Marsh until their bodies could be recovered and granted an honorable burial - at least that's how any man would wish it. Throughout the vast bog and mist men seemingly arose from where they lay, some with their weapons still in hand, others without. They were not organized, nor did they speak to one another. They did not regroup or support those that may have been worse off with their injuries. They were clad in various type of armour, some in plate and mail, others in boiled leathers. Some still carried a shield of which sigil professed their allegiance to a lord - once.

Now they had no allegiance, no nationality. They shuffled and moved through the marsh in silence, some in groups, others alone. Some stood still and simply stared into the cloudy sky above, the rest swayed on the spot with their heads lowered toward the ground. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, and the mist kept them hidden, it showed no signs of dissipating.

A sharp clank echoed throughout the dead fields, but the risen soldiers gave it little attention. Another clank, loud but brief. Some of the dead had begun to twist on the spot to face the same direction. North. The sound of a rumbling thunder had finally caught their care. The clanks grew more frequent, closer, and soon voices were heard in the distance, but these were no voices of a greedy looter who exclaimed in joy upon finding something valuable. The thunder increased, but it did not come from above. It came from the north. Voices cried out again from the mist, and the voices turned into a unanimous warcry.

Emerging from the mist came a row of riders, sitting ontop of their destriers. They were clad in dark mail and steel, an ebon cloak flowing behind each man. Lances and swords were the weapons of choice, nearly every rider carried a grey heater shield along with a gilded rearing lion as a sigil. Some held in banners, their sigil and colour the same as the shields. For a marsh, the row of mounted troops rode forth with tremendous speed, and behind them came another row, and another behind them. Hundreds of men and horses erupted from seemingly thin air, riding in a wide rank formation, straight for the rising corpses. The undead, bereft of fear, turned to face the living and let out blood-chilling shrieks before they surged forward with the same speed as a living person. The clash that followed could've been made into a tale alone to frighten rowdy children during their bedtime. The warcry of the mounted host culminated as the first rank rode down the living dead with ease, limbs and weapons were separated from the bodies as a hail of swords came crashing down upon them. Lances were driven through skulls and some even broke upon impact, and horses trampled the corpses as if they were made of air.

"Kill the wretches! Ride them down!"

The mounted army continued on with little resistance, leaving a bloodbath and fresh corpses in their wake as they cut down the dead by the hundreds. At the front of the army rode a single man, clad in similar armor as the rest, other than his longsword and greathelm - nor did he carry a shield.

"Leave none standing!"

On the flanks, the riders broke off into two columns and steered away from the main host. They swiftly picked up the pace and gained distance from the rest of the army, disappearing off into the mist to hunt down any stragglers that they may have missed. The rest of the army proceeded forward, cutting down the few dozen of undead that still stood in their way before the rider at the front shouted out an order, and the formation started to dissipate. Riders branched off into various directions, most set off after the columns in their hunt for any remnants, while the rest sought themselves to higher ground further ahead. The rider who had been at the head of the army held in the reins to stop, and turned in the saddle to glance backwards. Silhouettes of men upon horses were visible all over. Some had dismounted and walked the marsh, executing any still living dead with a thrust to the skull with their steel swords.

The rider kept his longsword by his right side, the tip pointing downward. He wasn't sure how long he had stood and watched his comrades in arms searching the wetlands for surviving abominations, but the next thing he knew was that another rider stood a distance away from him.

"Sire! We have stripped the marsh clean of the undead. Not a single one remains."

He reached for his helmet to lift it off and tuck it under his left arm. He recognized the voice of the man who had addressed him.

"Very well, Sir Arthur. Give the order to have the dead collected and burned."

The knight replied with a firm nod and then pulled in the reins to turn his warhorse around, riding off to execute the order.

Leofric twitched a frown and let out a silent sigh. He had been king for a decade, but it never got any easier to put his own countrymen to the sword, even if they had been undead. He shakes his head to dismiss the thought and sheathes his sword. He heard incoherent yells from around the marsh and soon saw lights flicker to life, his men had begun to torch the corpses spread throughout the blood-soaked bog. The king nodded to himself and spurred his destrier onward, back toward the direction he had led the charge from.