The Crimson Revelation

The afternoon sun blazed magnificently from the heavens, yet the weather below was far from pleasant. Ominous clouds gathered in strength and stature around the western mountains known as the White Teeth. A chill wind swept down from the high peaks, choking the air and biting everything in its path. Some clouds broke free and followed in its wake, briefly carpeting sleet and snow upon the valleys and fells. It added a spectral beauty to the bleak landscape but did little to lift the spirits of those poor souls journeying west.

The party left the bustling city of Tiraana in the early morning making solid progress. If the weather held and no misfortune befell them, they would arrive at their destination within two days. Leaving civilisation behind along the main highway, they passed farms with lush verdant pastures and flowering fields. As the land rose onto the great border moors, the picturesque scenes of the lowlands soon melted away to wild heather, rocky, rugged ground, and weather-blasted trees. Piles of broken walls, the occasional ruined building, or a shattered forgotten tower were the only indications of previous settlements. There were signs of conflict too, both ancient and modern. Broken and rusted armour and various weapons were scattered amongst the splintered earth, clumps of grass, or still adorned the bones of their owners.

Nature had slowly reclaimed this land. The wind became stronger and harsher the further they trekked. It hampered the party’s advance, but they had no choice but to keep moving until a suitable resting place was found. Several muttered sprayers of deliverance. They were answered with the piercing shrieks of a majestic eagle soaring overhead, the sounds echoing amongst the rolling valleys and jagged peaks. It was followed by mournful wolf howls in the distance, sending shudders down the spines of those unfamiliar with the music of the wilderness.

Franz felt at home in this environment. Despite its harshness, the wilderness whispered to him. The blood of northern men ran through his veins. Two weeks of life in the city had gnawed away at his soul. Two weeks of incessant noise, putrid smells, and compact space were overwhelming. He was like a rabid beast desperate to escape imprisonment. The safe and comforting routine of normal life was a grinding tortuous death. Once all this was over, Franz secretly promised himself that he would begin anew in this untamed paradise.

The sun dipped behind the westernmost peaks, casting great looming shadows across the wind blasted land. As the party traversed across the scarred moor, it gradually fell away into a small, secluded valley. They decided to make their camp upon a rocky plateau that jutted out from the trees. It provided a strong place for defence against wild animals and marauding bandits and offered shelter from the elements. Wood was quickly gathered, and tents raised. Before long, a blazing campfire brought much-needed warmth and light.

A young girl sat near to Franz kept gazing up at the mountains with fearful glances. She barely uttered a word throughout the whole journey. The older woman accompanying her out of sorrow or pity fared a little better. Franz kept forgetting her name but knew she was not the girl’s mother. Both had arrived only days before at the court of Duchess Anabella in Tiraana, exhausted and in shock with the young girl's father. The man was covered in wounds and blood and barely lived long enough to tell his tragic tale. Others with them were so frightened that despite being in better health, they barely spoke of their ordeal.

A snigger from the far side of the fire brought Franz back to the present. His companions were enjoying some ale and light conversation, which helped to ease the dark mood that seeped into their souls as they neared the mountains and their intended destination.

“The young girl certainly bears a strong resemblance to you, Franz! Have you been having your wicked way with one of the local milkmaids?!”

Drunken laughter followed. Franz chuckled despite being the butt of the joke.

“At least the milkmaids want to spend time with me, Karl.”

The laughter continued now at Karl’s expense. The burly warrior took the jest well. They had fought together for the best part of fifteen years and vanquished every type of beast, man, and everything in between. Karl was the closest thing to a brother Franz had ever had, and they shared a firm bond.

“What do you think we’ll face, Franz?”

The atmosphere became tense again as the last of the sun’s rays slipped behind the distant peaks. Franz sighed and breathed out.

“The Duchess and her captain seemed to think it was some sort of beast that had caused the wounds on the girl’s father. I am hoping it’s a rogue bear or mountain lion. That will be easy money for us all.”

A heavy silence descended. Those huddled around the campfire stared wearily into their beer mugs, their imaginations running riot amongst the flickering flames. Franz knew very well that the wounds were no bear or lion, as did Karl. His attempt at boosting morale had floundered.

Many legends emanated from those frozen peaks and frostbitten valleys. The people of the lowlands just laughed at the old stories and viewed them as fairy tales to frighten unruly children to sleep. Franz knew otherwise, and his encounters with the horrors of the haunted valleys sometimes stole precious sleep during the twilight hours. He had the ugly scars to prove it from such encounters. Franz suspected the menace to be a legendary beast such as a fearsome griffon or dreaded manticore and possibly more than one. If that was the truth, then he consoled himself with the notion that the party still had the numbers and weapons to deal with the threat. The real question was, did his men have the courage to fight creatures straight from their nightmares?

Franz cast his mind back to the audience with Duchess Annabella. Dealing with noblemen and women was a challenging endeavour, especially in front of their entourages. The duchess looked her sixty years now as lines of age attested to a long life full of sorrow and sacrifice. Her only son had died in the wars of succession, and her husband had succumbed to illness. Despite this, she managed to bring peace to the warring kingdoms that had held for the past two years. The previous duke had not achieved this in fifteen years of incompetent, corrupt rule and bloodshed.

“You are a mercenary in these lands. Why should I accept the service of a stranger and not one of my own knights? Do you have experience in fighting bandits and beasts?”

“Indeed, your grace. I spent five years in your army and another ten doing my current trade. I am also more expendable than one of your knights.”

“I see you are a hardened fighter and am indebted for your service to my cause.” The duchess was surprised at this rugged mercenary’s credentials. She softened her tone somewhat. “I hope you can rid my realm of yet another threat. Be they beasts or bandits.”

“I only seek reward your grace and to aid those more vulnerable than myself.”

“Well, my Lord of Coin, I think you are in danger of becoming a good man. I may increase your reward with some land or a title. May fortune favour you in your quest vanquishing this evil that plagues my citizens.” She smiled stiffly at her crude sarcasm. Beneath the regal veneer, Franz sensed a woman weary of conflict, politics, and possibly life itself.

Gazing up at the glistening stars one last time, Franz settled down to rest in his crude tent. The Duchess could keep her lands and titles. He just wanted his gold and the simple life that beckoned him. Within moments, he was fast asleep, unlike his companions, who would endure a troubled slumber beset with disturbing dreams. On the edge of the camp, unseen eyes continued their endless vigil, waiting for the opportunity to reveal itself.