-Chapter Two-
The Night Watch
"Did you hear that?" Cole asked, coming to a full stop in the centre of the snow-dusted pathway.
Gerard grunted at his partner and continued walking.
Cole glowered at the older, bearded man. "Tell me you did not hear that."
"I heard nu-fink." Gerard replied coldly.
The young guard sighed, his breath steaming in the winter air. Gerard motioned for him to follow, and he obeyed. There was no use in arguing with a man such as Gerard.
The guardsmen paced the length of road, turning north on their patrol. A soft wind eased past the men, gentle but no less chilling. Cole adjusted his fur cloak, hoping it would offer some sort of protection from the cold. The crispness of the air matched the clarity of the sky; not a single cloud hung above their heads.
The young guard had plans this night, with a beautiful girl he'd hoped to be bedding by now. He'd asked her for supper, but wound up being asked to do the midnight's rounds instead. Captain Ward asked him specifically, to keep a watch over Gerard, as a matter-of-fact.
He was informed of Gerard's most recent escapades on the night watch; apparently he'd broken into Mr. Bernard's shop on the west side of the village. He hadn't given an explanation for his sudden intrusion, but there were rumours about the two bickering over the price of a cow earlier that day.
The captain explicitly requested Cole to ensure that Gerard kept his nose out of other people's homes. He was offered a small bonus if he took the shift, which sealed the deal in the young guard's eyes. He figured it was likely his lady friend would forgive him if he came to her home bearing flowers the next day, so he took the shift.
The night had not been going exactly as he'd planned, however. He had forgotten his gloves, making for chilled hands. Gerard had been stubborn and dismissive the whole night. On top of it all, there had been a strange, unhuman sound in the distance, almost like the scream of a dying animal. Or, Cole thought there had been a sound. Clearly Gerard thought otherwise.
Blowing into his cupped hands for the umpteenth time tonight, Cole shivered and glanced around the area cautiously, nervous about that sound that he heard—or didn't hear.
"Cole, look." Gerard grumbled, gesturing at a house in the distance.
The younger guard glimpsed past his partner's shoulder, spotting a small house tucked far away from the street. It looked as though several candles were lit inside.
"It's the dead of night, what in the bloody gods' names are the sods doin' awake?" the older man wondered aloud, furrowing his brow.
"Perhaps they've forgotten to put out their lights," Cole suggested hopefully.
"Lazy sods, they'll burn the whole damned village down..." Gerard muttered angrily under his stinking breath.
Glancing at the older guard, Cole sighed and started towards the house. "Let's go..."
The two men trudged across the uneven ground, their feet chilled from the damp coldness. The yard before the house was cluttered with mounds of snow in different shapes, and the pair tried their hardest to avoid stumbling over some misplaced item. Several carefully placed steps later, the guards arrived at the front door of the lit house.
Cole began to move in close to the door to listen for noise, but instead found himself instantly pulling away from it.
"Ugh! What is that... Godsawful... Stench?" he cried out, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
"Wot stench? I smell no stench," the older man growled, crossing his arms.
Cole choked back a cough and took a step backwards. "Gerard, smell the door, it's... It's bloody awful!"
"Watch yer language lad, yer workin'!" Gerard hissed, leaning to the side in an attempt to peer inside a window. He had no such luck—curtains adorned every one.
The younger of the two stepped aside, allowing for Gerard to step up to the door. With a gloved fist, the bearded man began pounding on the wood.
"Oy! Whoever's in there, put out yer light, it's damned late out!"
With wide, tear-rimmed eyes, Cole stared at his partner. "Sir, I don't..."
"OY!" the man hollered again, "Get yer lazy arses up and put out yer damned light! Whose damned house is this, boy? I've half a mind to bust the door in!"
Cole stumbled on his memories of fellow villagers before replying. "It's Bertrand Darch's house, sir. Well, it's his grandson's. The old man died last week, sir."
"No damned excuse for puttin' the village at risk, I say." Gerard growled, giving the door another fierce beating before falling completely silent.
Several moments passed before they heard the sound of shuffling feet inside the small house. Smirking, Gerard chuckled triumphantly at his partner. It wasn't long before the door began to creak open. Cole managed to stand straight with much effort, and stepped over to the side of his partner.
However, the strange smell he'd experienced before seemed to return, and stronger than before. As the door opened further, the stench grew stronger and stronger. Seconds later, the door was fully ajar, and inside stood the silhouette of a man.
"Oy, wots that stench!?" Gerard cried out, waving his gloved hand in front of his face, "Is that you mate? By the gods and below, you need to bathe, man!"
The man didn't reply. Silently, he stood in the frame of the door, staring out at the two guards.
"S-Sorry if my partner's offended you, sir—" Cole broke in finally, "But if you wouldn't mind putting your lights out—"
"And takin' a bloody bath! Gods! Let me get a look at you, so as I can make sure yer not just a mound of shit on the floor!" Gerard hollered, forcing his way into the house. The man stumbled backward and into the light, looking pale and confused.
"Well yer not shit," the older guard laughed, "but yer damned ugly!"
Face burning with embarrassment, Cole hesitated to enter the house. He hadn't anticipated his night going this poorly.
"Now, what's yer name, mate? You know the 'lights out by ten tolls' rule. We don't ring that damned bell fer nufink."
The man stiffly turned his gaze to Cole, his neck popping several times as he did so. The younger guard smiled sheepishly, his face still hot and red.
"C'mon then, out with it! What's yer name?" Gerard prodded.
"Bhhhhh..." the man mumbled quietly.
"Wot? C'mon mate, speak up. You can't be that pissed."
"Bhhh...rh.hhhh...." he replied.
"Come on, Gerard, let the man sleep. He's tired," Cole muttered.
"Don't tell me wot to do, boy!" the older guard cried out angrily.
"He's my grandfather, and he's very tired," a young voice called out from an open bedroom door in the corner of the house.
Gerard turned his attention to the teenage boy standing a few feet away. His black hair was matted down awkwardly in places, as though it hadn't seen a brush in weeks. His legs, pale and hairless, were half covered by a long night gown.
Gerard scoffed at the sight of him and continued to lecture the two. But Cole's mouth had already lost all moisture. His tongue sat awkward and dry in his mouth, unable to conjure even the slightest amount of saliva. Fear ripped at his gut relentlessly as breaths stuttered in and out of his lungs. His hands trembled towards the hilt of his blade.
"Wh... What is that... that thing?" Cole suddenly demanded, terror shaking his voice.
His partner laughed loudly and replied, "Cole, you damned idiot—It's the kid's drunken grandpoppy. Don't be ru—"
"Gerard, shut up!" Col cried out suddenly, his voice cracking like a boy's. His partner shot him a burning glare.
"Wot do you think yer doin tellin me—"
"Are you thick in the head? Bertrand Darch is that boy's grandfather! Bertrand Darch is dead!"
"Well if Darch is dead, then who is that supposed to be, you git?" the older guard chuckled gesturing at the creaking man before them.
"You bloody idiot," Cole cussed, pulling his weapon from its sheath.
Bennet's eyes widened fearfully and suddenly his grandfather, Bertrand Darch, lurched forward. He held his arms out drunkenly at the guards, groaning hauntingly. Bloody claws protruded from the tips of his fingers. In one clumsy but effective movement, the creature leapt for Gerard, dragging him to the ground.
The guard cried out as the creature bit into his forearm, taking a chunk of him away with it. Cole swung his heel back and booted the monster square in the ribs, knocking it off of his partner. The creature hit the nearby wall with a wet-sounding thwack.
Swiftly, Cole scooped his partner's arm under his own and hauled the man out of the house and onto his feet.
"My arm!" screamed Gerard, "My bloody arm!"
"There's no time for that!" the younger of the two growled, pulling his partner along the pathway, "We must alert Captain Ward!"
Four houses away, Marcus Ward was hastily pulling a heavy leather jerkin over several other layers of clothes. His wife Maude stood silently next to him, balancing his bulky sword in her tiny hands.
"Take Luc to the basement," he said sternly, giving her a serious look.
"Of course, honey." She responded.
He finished tying his cloak around his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head.
"I love you," Marcus said gently, cupping his hands on her shoulders.
"Be careful," she whispered as he pulled the sword from her hands and rushed out the door, into the wintry darkness.
The cold burned down his throat and deep into his lungs as he worked his way through the deep snow. A million thoughts crossed his mind, all wondering what the shouting he'd heard just minutes ago had been about. Had the guards gotten into a scuffle between themselves, or had an animal just attacked a villager? Either way, he didn't want to risk not investigating for himself.
Just as his thoughts began to work out who had been on the night watch in this area of town, two figures began stumbling toward him on the pathway. One looked incredibly shaken, and the other seemed to be wounded.
"What's happened?" Marcus called as he reached the two guards before him. His gaze fell onto a bleeding hole in Gerard's arm, and instantly he turned his attention to Cole.
"Captain," Cole panted, his face red and sweaty, "At the Darch house—there's something wrong!"
Gritting his teeth, Marcus shoved through the pair of guards and sprinted for the Darch household. Right away, he recognized the unpleasant stench emanating from the dwelling—it was the smell that only death magic could bring.
With a grunt, the door swung open and banged against the wooden wall behind it. Weeping and curled over a corpse, Bennet Darch refused to acknowledge Marcus' presence.
In three huge strides, Marcus was at Bennet's side. His heavy hand landed on the top of the child's head, grasping his hair and pulling him to his feet. Something dark flashed in the boy's eyes as the guard captain threw him stumbling away from the corpse.
Marcus paused, staring at the unmoving body beneath him. Cautiously, he unsheathed his weapon and drove it through the thing's chest, expecting movement. There was none. Satisfied, he turned to the boy.
"I thought we had an understanding," Marcus said in a flat voice. "You weren't to dabble in this black magic, Ben. Why didn't you listen to me?"
Bennet stood with wobbling knees just a few feet away from the towering captain. Pale skin stretched thinly over his bony frame, and he very closely resembled that which he had raised earlier that night.
"I asked you a question, boy." Marcus growled.
"I missed him." Ben's eyes flickered back and forth between the captain and his grandfather nervously. "I just wanted to see him again."
Marcus felt like his stomach was made of stone. He'd spoken to Bertrand years ago about what his grandson had been experimenting in; the old man had assured him that he'd speak to the boy about where he'd learned such things. Clearly he'd been lied to; otherwise he wouldn't be in this situation.
It was time for a decision. Being the captain of the guard, Marcus couldn't simply let this child continue to put the village at risk with his dark magic. On the other hand, the boy was his son's best friend, and the child wasn't doing these things out of anger or spite. If he could only find the source of his knowledge, then maybe things would be alright.
Marcus gave Bennet a cautious, measuring look. "Where did you learn these things, boy? I might be able to help you if you tell me."
Bennet's face darkened and his eyes locked onto the captain's.. "I can't tell you that."
"And why not? I can help you, boy. Please, let me."
"No," Ben snapped back, "I don't need your help. Now leave, I don't want you here anymore."
Marcus hesitated, then nodded slowly. "So that's it."
"Leave!" the boy screamed.
As the word left the boy's lips, the windows burst inward, glass spraying over the wooden floorboards like a blizzard. Freezing air cut into the exposed house, bleeding all the warmth from it like a wounded animal.
Seeing the rage alight in the boy's eyes, Marcus stepped back, his hand groping for his weapon. Power radiated from Bennet like heat from an open flame. Wave after wave of dark energy crashed against the captain, pushing him further and further away.
Then there was pressure.
Something cold wrapped itself around his shins, pulling his legs out from under him. He hit the floor—hard. His teeth snapped together like a bear trap.
Cold blades—or were they claws—ripped through his clothes and tore into his flesh.
He'd felt the bite of a blade before; this was nothing like it. With the sword, there had been no pain at all initially. But here, the wounds burned and froze him all at once.
Kicking his legs frantically, Marcus managed to get a look at his attacker. It was Bertrand Darch, once more.
"Captain!" a familiar voice cried out suddenly. Marcus' eyes never left the creature at his feet, the monster now gnawing into his leg with jagged fangs.
A guard skidded to his knees just near the captain's waist, brandishing a cold steel blade. "Quick—get it off him!" His knife went for the risen monstrosity's fingers, cutting them ferociously.
Two other guards joined the other, one pulling Marcus away from the beast while the other brought his sword to the creature's throat. With one smooth motion, the seasoned sentry sent the monster's head tumbling across the floor.
The wounds continued to ache; sharp throbbing waves of pain radiated across the whole of his body relentlessly. Marcus groaned. Every tiny movement brought excruciating pain to him. Blood seeped from the gashes in his legs, staining the wood deep crimson.
"It'll be alright, Captain," one of the men near him reassured unconvincingly, "They're not so deep, you'll be fine."
Marcus bit back his screams and stared the man closest to him in the eye. "The boy... Where's the boy?"
The man's eyes flicked across the room then returned to meet the captain's gaze. "He's gone, sir! He's safe! But you've got to hold on! We're finding Sister Lorica. You'll be alright, captain!"
Blood leapt from Marcus Ward's lips, spraying like scarlet rain. Slowly, the world began to collapse around him. All sound ceased. The people around him blurred.
And then there was darkness.
