A Sickle and Sword.

Chapter 1: Joseph.

Sickle and Sword.

Wake up! Wake the fuck up Joseph" a deep voice shouted from the end of the hall. "They’re attacking from the Southern wall!" The voice yelled before the man ran off to the next door. My eyes were still crusty from the rheum, but a good night's rest was far from the truth. I flashed up out of my creaking bed, grabbing for my trousers on the floor. I slid my pants up, black leather covered every crevice tightly before I zipped it up and clipped it on tight with my black leather belt. My eyes darted around the room as I was still trying to find my bearings. There wasn't a mirror around, but I knew they were bloodshot. On my bedside table, I picked up my revolver. It was still shining after the cleaning from last night. I might not be the best shooter, but my weapons will always be in the best condition. I dashed towards the door to grab my coat and shirt, both still freshly washed by the servants. I grabbed the red button-up shirt, skipping every second button as I buttoned it up. I threw my coat over my shoulders, the heavy black leather sagging around my bones. My small circular glasses laid on the desk in front of me, the red glass reflecting on the half written note it was laying on. I grabbed them before running out the door toward the screaming man. The smell of smoke was extreme, and I could hear men screaming and gunshots firing in the distance. I was running toward the Southern wall when Jameson fell in next to me, both of us going into a sprint when we heard the words, "Can we get some bloody help over here!" Jameson was a staunch man. His eyes were dark brown, and his hair was even darker. His jaw was sharp, and the ladies from all over swooned for him. He was roughly 6 feet tall with his boots, but just like I did today, he left them underneath his bed. He was skinny but strong with no muscles to be seen, but when he struck you while training, you would've felt it for a fortnight. "Well, don't you look lovely this morning?" he said. "I would've looked better if the commandant gave me a few seconds to touch up my makeup." Jameson let out a small laugh before focusing in front of him. "We better get a move on, it sounds rough out there." This was the fourth attack in two weeks by the bleeders and their kin. They just wouldn't let up, and if this was going to be a common occurrence, we'd have to move sooner rather than later. On the wall, we could see the commander, Lafelle De Pier, a Frenchman with no hair except for the twisted white whiskers underneath his nose. He raised his musket and shot a ball down at the swarming bleeders, and pushed another before it could reach the top off the wall. Its screeches were followed by the sound of more gunshots. Jameson and I rushed to his side. "Sir, what do you need from us?" Jameson asked calmly, in a tone only a seasoned fighter would've been able to say. "Nothing from that bad shot. He should pick up a sickle and sword and cut down any injured straglers or those on the wall. You, on the other hand, grab one of those Whit... Whit" he couldn't find the end of the name with his French accent, but Jameson finished it for him. "Whitworth, sir!" Lafelle gave a small nod, "Oui, grab the rifle and start shooting as many of these bleeders as you can." Without another word, we went to our posts. My hands were shaking, but Jameson was as sharp as he was in training. He was focused, and as I peered over the wall, I could see bleeder after bleeder falling. I grabbed a sword and a sickle from the crate at the end of the wall near the stoney turret where more men were shooting from. Behind me, I heard screeches of pain, and I saw bleeders falling off the wall just as they reached the top. With sword and sickle in hand, I started patrolling the wall and made sure no soul made it over, but with Jameson and many other sharpshooters on the wall, they couldn't even get close. I patrolled up and down for what felt like hours. The battle seemed to die down, and I heard fewer and fewer gunshots. The captain yelled from the other side of the 40-foot wide and 120-foot tall wall, "Their runnin." Let's get some beer in our bellies before this Frenchman next to me starts to cry for some wine." The captain, a fat, and short man with luscious hair, only on the side of his head, was so close to the commander, a tall and thin man, that while they looked like polar opposites, one might've thought they were brothers. The captain pointed at a few men before his dirty trigger finger came my way, "You, you, you and... you" stand guard until nightfall." I let out a sigh, and Jameson slapped me on the back of the head. "See you later, mate. I'll save a tankard of beer for you." I gave him a soft smile before turning to walk back to my post.

~

The sun was almost down, and the soft rays of the sun touched my pale face ever lightly. The wind was picking up, it was whipping through my coat and it felt like the cold was going into my bones. Luckily, I had some time to go back to my room to grab my boots and my hat. The black boots helped a lot against the cold. They were laced up high-just below my calves and even though they sometimes made it difficult to run, they were a welcomed sight when the wind started to pick up or when the honor of the watch fell to me. My hat, on the other hand, a belled leather top hat with a raven feather tied neatly with a small piece of white rope, didn't do much against the cold. But it did help with the longing I felt as I stared off the wall, thinking of my mother and father. I carved the symbol of a flying raven onto the brim of the hat for my father. It was the symbol of his house before we were attacked by the bleeders. I wasn't born a king or prince, but my father was a lord of one of the smaller houses, pledged to the Ashashi clan before the bleeders wiped out our clan. I was now on my own, an orphan of the watchmen, a clan ruled by no one but those who were left for dead and abandoned with no place to go. My father would've strived in here. He was a strong, bulky man with the aim of 10 thousand sharpshooters and the hand to hand skills of 1000 master fighters. I was the complete opposite, I couldn't shoot for shit, and I wasn't good at fighting, I usually ran from conflict, and that earned me the nickname of craven. However, it sounded a lot like raven, so I added the feather to my hat and discarded the "c." The sun was almost completely gone when I finished my daydreaming, and I made my way to the door. Behind me, I heard a rustle close to the wall, a soft gurgle following soon after. I slowly turned around and saw long pale fingers grasping over the bailey. The nails on the tips of each of the fingers were at least 4 inches long, and black as the night. Another arm swung over, and I could see the muscles straining to pull up the body it belonged to. A head popped up, its ears were long, and white as snow, not a single hair could be seen, and its eyes were so sunken in that they were barely visible. The creature's teeth were too long for its mouth, and they protruded out, shining in the dimly lit moonlight. Each tooth is 3 inches or more, and each sharper than the last. "Fuck me, it's a bleeder." I said softly to myself. My hands started to shake, and I grabbed at my holster, "Where the fuck is it?" I left my pistol outside on the table. My hand slid to the shortsword that was hanging to my side, and my other hand reached for the sickle that was holstered to a clip on my back. The bleeder had a rotting stench coming off of it, its skin was blood red and covered in small scratches. The creature's eyes were dark and sunken so deep you could barely see them. It had no hair, nor any distinct facial features, but its nails were each a different shade of purple. One was lilac, another was amethyst, and his thumbs were the only ones that matched, a dark violet. I removed my sword from its sheath and in my left hand I took my sickle. The creature turned around and stared straight into my eyes, its glare was colder than the freezing wind, but I kept my gaze. Its pointed ears were at least 8 centimeters long and covered from lobe to tip in purple gemstones. The last rays of the Sun made them glisten and for a moment there was complete silence except for the sound of men drinking coming from the alehouse below. Even if I were to call out, I doubt any would hear, and if they did I'd be dead long before they made it to my side. My hands trembled as the bleeder was staring into my soul, with a quick dash it was in front of me and before I could react it twisted my arm letting my sword clatter to the ground. I swung my sickle toward its head but it swatted my arm away as if it was a fly trying to land on its food. The sickle fell to the floor and before me I only saw those black sunken eyes. The bleeder whipped its head back and revealed two long rows of sharp teeth, yellow like a freshly bloomed Sunflower. It bit into my shoulder and the fresh hot blood squirted out of the holes. I cried out in pain as I tried to push the creature off of me. The bleeder dug its teeth in deeper and pushed me to the ground. My sight started to darken and I felt the life draining out of me. I turned my head to the left and reached for my sickle, my fingers barely touching it. A screech from a far took the creature's attention away from me and it ripped its teeth out to peer over the wall and into the distance. With the last of my strength, I pushed my upper body closer to the sickle and grabbed it. I closed my eyes and lunged upward toward the beast. The screech in the distance vanished as both the beast and I yelled out in agony.

Chapter 2 : Jameson

Blood and Beer.

Jameson was having another beer with the captain and the commander, both were equally impressed by his shooting skills on the battlefield today. “It might be better to have someone of your skill training the new ones, don't you think Jameson?” The commander asked before he downed the last of the beer in his tankard. “I must agree, I wouldn't mind having an army with the skills you have le fils” Lafelle added as he wiped the beer off of his mustache. Jameson knew he was good on the battlefield, but after his loss at The Forked Tongue, he lost his appetite to train and to lead. Jameson was well versed in the art of war, he trained with his father since he was old enough to walk and by his 15th name day he was twice the shooter and rider than any man was in his father's army. When Jameson's 17th name day came, his father gave him an army of 300 men. The best soldiers of The Eagar were under his command, and he was tasked with marching on the old king's kingdom and taking it for The Eagar. Jameson wore his armor with the flying trout sigil plated onto it. The dark gray armor plated with the orange, green, pink, and white of the Rainbow Trout. Jameson wore the symbol of his house proudly, but when he saw a trout now, he wretched. Jameson made his way from The Eagar to Kings Perch, a castle nestled on the cliff with only one way in and one way out. The journey of the young soldier ended almost as fast as it began, the king's soldiers were waiting for them, only a day's ride from The Eagar. A thousand men were waiting for them on the cliffs of The Forked Tongue, five hundred of them standing ready with bow and arrow or musket and ball. The battle lasted an hour, and one thousand one hundred and twenty four of the king's soldiers made it out alive. King Reivegar gave the soldiers of The Eagar a choice, bring back the head of one of your fellow soldiers or perish by the blade of the king. Brother turned against brother and three hundred men quickly became one hundred and twenty four, excluding Jameson. Jameson refused to lift up his weapons, he sat on his horse and surrendered himself over to the king. He was shackled and the king marched on The Eagar, red with anger and heartbroken by the betrayal of Jameson's father. The king did not even look into the eyes of his once brother when he gave the command to behead him. Jameson was never the same after his uncle killed his father, he was taken to King's Perch and given a home with his uncle for the five Winters that he stayed there. King Reivegar held nothing against his nephew and loved him like he loved his own sons. When Jameson asked to join the watch, the king allowed him without any quarrel and sent him on his way with a new set of armour and a freshly crafted broadsword. His new armour was lightweight and white as snow-the colour of the king's house-it had the king's three headed dove painted on the back, and sparsely you could see the king's favourite flower painted on it, the blue blossom. When the bleeders came out of hiding and the other terrors followed, Jameson was stranded at The Eye and here he met Joseph, a small fellow who didn't know how to shoot a pistol let alone kill something that hasn't been seen in centuries. Jameson quickly made friends with Joseph and he slowly taught everything he knew about war and fighting to his new friend. Jameson stood up from his chair and slowly made his way to the door, when the cold air hit his face he felt the beer biting at the back of his head. He walked towards the ladder, a tankard of beer in hand. His friend had nothing to drink and while beer won't warm Joseph up, he knew it would bring a smile to his face. With the tankard held to the side of the ladder in his right hand, he slowly made his way upward. Step after step he spilled drops of beer to the floor below. When Jameson made it to the top he moved the tankard to his left hand and shook off the excess liquid from his right hand. He turned his head toward the wall when he pushed the door open and as the words “my friend I know it's cold up he…” were leaving his mouth he saw Joseph on the floor in a pool of blood with a bleeder on top of him. His hand let go of the tankard and the beer mixed with the pool of blood slowly creeping toward the door. Jameson leaned over the wall and yelled “doctor!

Chapter 3: Lafelle.

Bandages and Soft Skin

“Cover that wound! Can someone bring me more bandages!?” The doctor yelled, his white overcoat was covered in Joseph's blood. Jameson lifted Joseph over his shoulder and carried him down that ladder. No one realized what happened as he marched past them toward the monastery. He slammed the door open and yelled for the doctor. A small and boney man emerged from a door, he was covered from head to toe in white silk only his mask was as dark as the night and you could not see a single expression on his face, but Jameson knew that underneath that mask, the doctor was in shock. It took the doctor a few seconds to comprehend what was going on before he started yelling at a few sisters to assist him. They placed Joseph on a nearby bed and pushed Jameson out of the room. Jameson’s back was sodden with blood and his arms were as red as the mountains of Abarashi. Lafelle came as quick as his legs could carry him and he took a seat next to Jameson on the cold steps outside of the dark monastery. “What did you see?” Were the words that broke the silence between the two. Jameson looked to his right side and straight into Lafelle’s brown eyes. “He killed a fucking elder bleeder. I saw it dead with my own eyes.” Lafelle already knew about the dead bleeder as little happened without the commander being one of the first to know. “It matters petit, he was bitten, he is going to die, or well you know what is going to happen son.” Jameson's face sank into his bloodied hands, his skin warmed his soft cheeks and as he wiped his brows, he realized Joseph's fate was sealed. He was going to turn into one of these creatures sooner or later. Lafelle stood up, gave a small nod to a soldier that he considered a friend, and entered the monastery behind him. He walked toward Joseph's bed, he pulled out his revolver and spun it open. He removed five of his rounds and spun the cylinder back into its place. The single round was ready to be fired. Lafelle raised his weapon and pointed at a sleeping Joseph's head. “I'm sorry this happened to you son.” As Lafelle’s finger crept to the trigger the doctor gave him a shove. “Lafelle you stupid bastard, I told you no shooting in the monastery.” The doctor might've taken on the white and served in the name of the four faced God, but he wasn't one to shy away from a drink or a woman from the brothel, an unbecoming word in the church was the least of his worries. “You know what must be done doc, we can't let the boy live. He'll be one of them in a fortnight.” The doctor glanced at Lafelle. “Not this one, not this time. I gave him the Blood of the Godsend.” Lafelle was appalled, he only heard about the blood of the man who couldn't be turned. “Do you believe it's real? I thought it an old tale to make the dumb believe we could win this war.” Lafelle said with a faint disdain in his voice. The doctor smiled at him before he showed him the vial. “Look at the blood Lafelle, it is lilac, with hints of other purple in between. I took the sample myself from the God when I went to Keer Valin to study a new herb. This is as real as you and I, and it will save this boy.” Lafelle placed his pistol back into its holster and walked to the door. He turned his head one last time toward the doctor. “If he wakes up as one of those things, you best kill him before he kills all of us. If you don't I'll make sure they skin your daughter back home alive.” He said in a low hushed voice, before he shut the door behind him. The doctor called for a nurse and told her to tie Joseph up with the strongest chain she could find. Lafelle walked to his quarters beneath the rookery and grabbed a dove. He wrote a simple note that he had sent to Keer Valin. Slice off the soft skin from Doctor Leary’s daughter; if I do not send a dove by fortnight.

Chapter 4: Joseph.

Fall.

My eyes slowly opened and all I could see was a pair of blue monolid eyes staring at me–not even 8 centimeters away. A female's voice called out, “Doctor he is awake!” I tried to sit up but my hands were fastened to the bed frame, one hand to the left and the other to the right, the rope chafed the flesh of my wrists into a piggish pink color. The tall wooden door of the church swung open and Jameson alongside the captain and commander rushed in, they all had their pistols in hand. For a man almost as big as a boar, captain Sherrigar was fast. Faster than both Jameson and Lafelle. His red hair was pointing in all directions when he put his hand on my shoulder, his body was covered in his nightgown and his bare cheeks were as white as the moon when he ran through the door. “My boy, are you alive?” My ears couldn't believe what they were hearing and it took me a few seconds to answer. “No?” The captain stared at me in disbelief, “The boy is alive! And still a Goddamn idiot!” Jameson let out a sigh of relief and the men holstered their pistols. “What happened to me?” I asked as Jameson walked closer. He threw a necklace onto the bed, four sharp canines were wrapped and knotted to a black rope with a small knot to tie the ends together. “That happened.” Jameson said. “You're a man now my friend, you've killed an Elder, most men here haven't even seen one let alone kill one.” Lafelle gave a nod of agreement from the side of the bed, he was in uniform, he wore his blue trench coat with his wine red undershirt–it was buttoned to the top. The pin of the commander was pinned onto his undercoat and next to it he had a photo of his daughter embroidered onto the cotton that covered his heart. The doctor slowly walked out of the door to the right of me, it led to the top of the church where he slept in a small room opposite to the confessor’s. “You're awake I see.” The doctor stepped closer and placed his fingers to my neck. “And you're not trying to bite my hand, that is a relief. Let's get you out of these restraints.” He loosened the knots and my hands slipped out, I rubbed over my wrists to ease the pain of the chafe. “He'll need to rest a few days before he can go out again.” The doctor said before he took his leave. His white robe dragged on the floor as he left and the blue eyed nurse followed in his footsteps, their steps faded to soft clacks as they made their way up the stairs. I reached to the table next to me and grabbed a glass filled with room temperature water. My tongue was as dry as the dunes of Rabbatzar, and twice as sandy. A silence filled the room and all I could hear was the sound of my gulps as the water went down my throat. Droplets fell down my chin when a screech came from outside. “There!” A voice yelled before a scream followed. The glass fell out of my hand and shattered on the floor. “Sirs, they've made it over the wall; they outnumber us 10 to.” A quick slice cut the man in half, his entrails fell to the floor and he was dead before his top half even hit the floor. At the door stood an eight foot bleeder, its ears pierced with golden gemstones. “That is a fucking Apostle”. The captain said what was running through all of our minds, but it still felt unreal. The beast slowly walked forward, its hairless body glinting in the moonlight that pierced through the windows of the church. Each of its hands were 30 centimeters long and every finger had a 10 centimeter nail that was as strong as steel. With dark sunken eyes the creature stared at me and pointed one pale finger, “brother killer.”

Chapter 5: Sherrigar.

Weapons Before Pants.

The creature's face was flat except for the small nose exactly in the middle. Its head was pulled back and it seemed as if it had three brains crammed into its skull. The creature slid left then right as it ran toward Joseph, hurling its hands from side to side. Sherrigar pointed his pistol at the beast and fired his shot. The Apostle fell to the floor and screeched. “You killed an Elder, but I killed an Apostle without pants lad.” Sherrigar said. He turned toward his comrades, “It's time to leave, The Eye is lost.” Jameson told them as he handed out cutlasses that were held by four knight armours that stood in the corners of the church. Each a protector to one of the 4-Faced God's faces. They weren't sharp enough to cut through ringmail, but they would've made a bleeders’ blood rush if it came to it. “Let's head around the barracks, we need our weapons, and most of all I need a pair of pants.” The captain said. Sherrigar led the group, if the situation wasn't as dire as it was, Jameson and Lafelle would have laughed until they cried if they had followed Sherrigar with his buttocks out. But this wasn't a time to laugh, in the distance their men were dying, the sound of metal against metal flooded the hold. Screeches of pain came from both men and monsters. The barracks was a short ways away just across the training area and they'd be there. They slowly walked from shadow to shadow until they made it to the door of the barracks. Sherrigan slowly opened it trying to keep the hinges from squeaking. The group entered and gathered their things. Joseph grabbed his weapons, his sickle and sword were both cleaned and sharpened by Jameson, he grabbed his hat and put on his coat. The dark colours would do well to help with the escape. The captain grabbed another gun, his silver sword with a serpent on the hilt. He slid on one brown boot after the other and left the socks on the floor. His pants was the last item that he grabbed. He changed his shirt from the nightgown to a short-sleeved black button up, his dufflecoat matched in color, but his pants matched with the dead grass brown of his boots. He struggled to get his feet– that were already in boots– through the pants' leg but when he finally did, he buttoned up his shirt and marched to the common sleep area of the barracks where Jameson was grabbing the last of his items. Jameson was already dressed, he wore a full set of black clothes. A leather trench coat covered his black linen shirt. He wore black pleated pants and a pair of black ankle high boots. He grabbed a bandolier with room for six pistols. Underneath his bunk bed he dragged out a spacious chest, inside he took out the six pistols his uncle gave him. Each was marked on one side with a white three headed dove and on the other with the blue blossoms of the old king's house. He slowly placed them into the holsters, the first pistol's handle pointed to the right, making it easier for Jameson’s right hand to pull it out, the second was to the left and the third to the right again. Lafelle's quarters was on the other side of the hold, but like every great commander he came prepared. He did not leave his room without his set of pistols, one was plated in blue and the other was plated red. He was satisfied with the dull cutlass until he could snatch a new sword. Joseph was tightening the canine necklace around his neck when the captain walked into the common barracks and they made their way to the door once more. “We'll need to make a run for the gate, don't stop, don't fight, we have to live to see another day.” Lafelle told the men. He knew fighting would mean their end and if he could only save three men, so be it. The captain opened the door slowly and the men dashed toward the gate, the portcullis was raised and the huge oak doors were wide open. To every side of the men soldiers were fighting and dying blood covered the walls of the buildings and the wall that was supposed to keep them safe. Dead men and beasts lay next to each other like man and wife as the group ran past. A fire was coming from the tavern and it was making its way across the grass toward the rookery. The gate was in between the two. Lafelle shouted “Run men run!” As fast as their legs could carry them, Joseph, Jameson, Lafelle, and Sherrigar ran to the gate that was nearly engulfed in flames. They ran through the opening in the wall and made it to the outside. They kept moving until The Eye was out of sight. Sherrigar was pale and out of breath, he hadn't had to run like that since he was a footsoldier in the battle of the kings. As the men caught their breath Sherrigar looked at Joseph and gave him a soft smile, “I'm glad you made it boy”. The sound of wings slashing the wind came from behind him, a golden glint came from either side of Sherrigar and before the men could react, a hand pressed through the back of his head. Long fingernails pressed out of each of Sherrigar's eyes, a finger came out of his cheek while one was protruding from above his left eyebrow. The final finger stabbed straight through his brain and out of the front of his skull. With one fast yank, Sherrigar's head came flying off and blood sprayed into the air out of the wound where his head used to be attached. Droplets fell on Joseph's face as he started at his captain's body. It fell to the ground with a thud and his eyes met with the creature's. “A life for a life, run now or die.” The creature's voice was thick and deep, the words gurgled as it said them almost as if it was choking. The men turned and ran away from the beast as it screeched into the darkness of the night. When they were a few hundred meters away the men heard a whistle coming through the air, in front of Joseph plopped the head of Sherrigar, it was eyeless and all of its blood was sucked out. A few moments later his body fell next to them, it was in the same state.

Chapter 6: Jameson

Les Dieux veillent sur nous.

“Putain, we've been walking for ages.” Lafelle said as the sweat ran down his head. Jameson lifted his head and with a soft smile “If I knew the French would complain so much I would've left you back at The Eye, and come on we're almost at the gates of Rabbatzar, I can feel the sand becoming softer with each step.” Jameson gave a quick glance backwards to check on Joseph, his head didn't move, his eyes peered through Jameson, and while Joseph was there, walking with them, his mind was somewhere different and he could not care what Jameson and Lafelle were talking about. “Let's make camp for the night here” Jameson said as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Merci le Dieu à Four Faces, I'll get a fire started.” Lafelle pulled his hip flask out of his coat pocket and took a swig. “That is the last drop fellas, we've got to find some water if we're going to make the journey through Rabbatzar.” “I'll find us some and don't act as if you've been drinking water this entire time commander” Jameson said as he slowly walked past Lafelle deeper into the sandy area where The Eye's forests ended and the dunes of Rabbatzar started. Joseph followed Jameson into the trees, “I'll make sure we eat tonight.” As the words left Joseph's lips, Lafelle swatted the two of them away with a gesture and took a seat next to a fallen tree.

Chapter 7: Joseph.

Reunion.

“I'll start digging for water here, this is a nice cold spot, what do you think Joseph?” Jameson takes a small spade from his torn pack and presses it deep into the ground. “Joseph..?” “I'll go hunting, here's my bottle.” Joseph drops his bottle next to Jameson, his eyes focused on the treeline as he slowly walks away. It's getting darker and the sun is just about to set when Joseph hears something in the distance. He slowly creeps forward his sword in his hand. The sound grows louder and Joseph can hear faint whispers. “My boy, you made it, care for a quick spar?” A voice from the distance suddenly called out. Joseph can't believe what he is seeing, he blinks a few times and wipes the dust from his eyes. “Captain is that you?” The voice creeps closer. “Aye lad, you didn't think I'd leave you alone with Lafelle De Pier did you? I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.” A smile grew on the captain's face as he walked closer to Joseph. “What about a quick sparring session lad, I wouldn't mind stretching my legs a bit.” Joseph was flabbergasted. “Now sir? At this hour? We have to get back to the others, I have to tell them you're alive!” Sherrigar's face turned sour as he gripped his sword with his hand. “I said en garde” Sherrigar took two steps forward and swung, Joseph lifted his hand and ducked underneath. He stumbled a few steps back and readied himself in a defensive stance. Sherrigar gave him no time to recover and pounced toward Joseph again, he slashed left and quickly brought the swing back to his right. Neither of which struck Joseph. “Stand still boy, I only want to make a scrape along your belly.” Sherrigar wasn't backing down and the sparring battle felt more like a fight to the death. Joseph raised his sword, he locked eyes with the captain and let out a sigh. “So be it, sir.” The two men engaged in a battle, swords clinked against each other left right left right left, Sherrigar was on his backfoot and Joseph showed no intention to stop. With one final breath of energy Sherrigar swung from above and with his pommel struck Joseph on his cheek. He fell to the floor, blood rushing out of the wound. “Ah son, if an old boar like me could take you down, how will you ever stand a chance against an army of bleeders?” Sherrigar said as he slowly walked to Joseph his sword raised above him. Joseph turned his head to the left as he crawled on his back, away from Sherrigar. In the distance a faint glint caught his eye. “Any final words, Joseph?” Sherrigar said out of breath, while his eyes peered down at Joseph. “Aye, sir, thanks for your sickle.” Sherrigar's eyes turned to his right as Joseph lunged; his hand barely grabbed the handle of the rusted sickle when Sherrigar's sword came rushing down on him. A short gasp left Joseph, and a gurgled snort came from Sherrigar as he fell on top of him. Blood rushed out of the wound from Sherrigar's neck where the rusty sickle pierced the flesh. In a voice filled with blood and pride, Sherrigar said his final words, “Well done, my boy, the world is yours; make sure to save it.” Joseph pushed Sherrigar off of him; he lay on the ground, out of breath, when he heard Jameson's voice coming closer. Joseph tried to sit upright but when he peered down he saw that the blood on his stomach wasn't that of Sherrigar, but it was his own, and that the sword of the captain cut him open as if he was trying to cut a babe from its dead mother. Joseph saw the faint outline of Jameson rushing closer and heard commander Lafelle’s voice before everything went dark. “My God, he killed that on his own?”

Chapter 8: Jameson.

A Bit Posh for My Liking.

“He’s waking up! By the Gods, he’s waking up!” Joseph’s eyes slowly opened as Jameson’s voice echoed through the tent. “Where are… we?” Joseph said as he slowly sat up. Men quickly rushed into the room and to Joseph’s side. A tall man slowly stepped through the entrance. “Ahh, your condition was nearly irrecoverable – but fortunately for you, you had the benefit of my intervention.” His voice was deep, and his skin was the darkest Joseph had ever seen. The man stretched his arms toward Joseph and inspected him once more. “The scar on your face will endure for life, but it serves as proof that you lived. My name is Doctor Astrahashi Kolmata, but everyone refers to me as Klofta. That’s their way of saying 'healer'. You were unconscious for quite some time, but you will survive, Joseph.” Doctor Kolmata studied Joseph and took a cold rag to his forehead “If I may, I have a lingering question.” With a swift movement, his blade was at Joseph’s throat, the Abarashi men had their rusted short swords pointed toward Jameson, and Lafelle was being held at spearpoint outside the tent. The Doctor’s grip on his blade was steady; he knew how to save a life as well as how to take it. Without raising his voice, he asked his question, “For a man with no bite marks on his body, how is it that you have the blood of the bleeders running through your veins?” Joseph’s blood was viscous, black as tar, and had the faint smell of rot. Joseph peered over at Jameson, whose hands were raised high above his head. He heard Lafelle outside, cursing the Abarashi in more languages than just two. He turned his head slowly to Klofta, “Would you believe me if I told you I killed an Elder and was treated with the Blood of Godsend?” Klofta’s knife fell to the floor, his mouth was agape, and for the first time ever, he was speechless. “I, uh, I only read rumours of this. Is he speaking true?” Klofta’s eyes wandered to Jameson, his mouth still hanging open so that you could see his white teeth. “Yes, sir, he speaks the truth and as you have tasted, he is quite a skilled boar hunter too.” Jameson said, as his eyes slowly moved to Joseph. Klofta ordered the Abarashi to lower their weapons, and Lafelle quickly entered the tent, “Putain, what is the meaning of this, we didn’t trade you the boar to be treated like common rongeurs.” Klofta dusted off his coat and with a small smile he led the men to the fire. “Please accept my apologies, I thought the Abarashi brought a bleeder to camp, we rarely see them here in the sand, the Sun is too bright, and the land is too open, so you must understand my caution when someone with blood thicker than oil enters our camp. You may eat and drink as much as you like, but Joseph, I would like a word with you.”

Chapter 9: Klofta

Abarashi Women Are Unlike Any Other.

Joseph followed Klofta closely to his tent; the flap opened, and a strong smell of mint and jasmine came from inside. “I would like to apologise once more, Joseph, so I would like to offer you some recompense.” Klofta said, his grin widening. “I may be a man of science and experiments, but I know how to repair the sundering between us.” With a wave of his hand, Abarashi women entered the tent, their golden brown skin glimmering in the candlelight. One, two, three, four of them entered, each prettier than the last, each carrying a pail of steaming water. “They will not understand you, but they do know two words in the common tongue, ‘faster’ and ‘love’. Sadly for you, you’ll only find one of those words will actually do anything while you spend time here. The ladies will fill the bath for you; feel free to send them away whenever you’re satisfied. Your comrades will also be occupied this evening, so don’t let them trouble you.” Most of what Klofta said wasn’t heard by Joseph, as he couldn’t take his eyes off the big-breasted Abarashi women. The water filled the silver bath and Joseph entered; the Abarashi washed all of his troubles away, and with each splash or drop of jasmine and mint soap, they would lose a piece of their clothing. By the end of the night, silk skirts of all colours – teal, red, green, and gold, were strewn across the floor of the tent. Joseph laid his head on an Abarashi woman’s breast and woke the next morning with her on top of him; the same can be said for Lafelle, who spent his time with two Abarashi slaves, but Jameson sent the women who were to spend the night with him away before they even entered the tent. He sat underneath the stars until the Sun rose. Klofta was in his study, with a vial of Joseph’s blood. He studied it throughout the night and he had only one thought going through his mind, “How is he still alive?” As the night ended and the Sun started burning the red sands of the Abarashi Mountains, Klofta made his way to Joseph, who was saddling a horse. “Ah, I see you chose Gabriesh; she is one of my favorites, you know. If I weren’t a doctor, I would’ve been a stable hand.” Joseph turned his head; he was smiling ear to ear, “Thanks for yesterday, Doc, apart from trying to kill me after saving me, that is.” If Joseph only knew that Klofta organised the Abarashi females to sleep next to him so that they could keep an eye on him in case he started to change, he wouldn’t have been so thankful. Each of the females had a knife hidden on their person, and when one was naked or tending to Joseph, the other stood ready with blade in hand. These weren’t your average slaves; they were Klofta’s secret assassins. Klofta smiled at Joseph before asking him to take a walk. “Joseph, let the boy saddle your horses. We need to speak. You’re travelling to Kaer Valin, my old home. I was ostracised from there after I conducted various experiments; the details do not concern you now, but one day I might reveal them to you. Find Doctor Rabashi Kalaghar, he is a small, old man with yellow hair and teeth more yellow than his hair. He lives across from the town square, don’t worry, he is difficult to miss, give him this letter and tell him ‘The darkness will find light.’” For the first time Klofta was staring right at Joseph, his brown eyes gleaming in the sunlight, but his face was serious and there was no mistaking that he meant what he said. Joseph gave him a nod and a short, stern yes, a yes of a soldier, and of someone thankful and willing to return a favour. “We best be going.” Joseph said. “Yes you should, please take as much food and water as you need for the trip, I’m also sending my apprentice to accompany you, her name is Laxia, and she is a brilliant healer, almost as great as I am. Please watch over her and deliver her to Doctor Kalaghar; he knows what to do with her.” Laxia is a 5-foot-2 Abarashi woman no older than 19 and weighs no more than a small table. She is a disgrace to the Abarashi, who view women as the bigger they are, the stronger and more fertile they will be. Some of the best Abarashi warriors are 6 feet tall and weigh as much as the men; their muscles are bigger than those of Jameson, and they can kill men with their bare hands. Laxia was putting food into Joseph’s saddlebags when he and Klofta returned; Lafelle and Jameson were already on their horses and were waiting to depart. Joseph climbed onto his horse, and thanked Klofta, “You know, you did the right thing when you didn’t kill us.” Joseph said. “I hope that’s true, and that one day, you don’t pay the price for my kindness.” Klofta responded. Joseph stared at Klofta for a while before he reined his horse into position and trotted along the road. Laxia rode on the back of Joseph’s horse; they were closely followed by Jameson and Lafelle. Lafelle still smelt like the ladies he spent the night with.