Chapter 1

“I walked through Evabruck after it happened. After the incident. What I remember as being the most remarkable thing was the quiet. When you find yourself in the aftermath of such a senseless tragedy, you might be reminded of the term ‘ghost town’. An apt name for such a place, sure. Yet, it wasn’t until I walked the docks of Farrow’s pond did that truly start to ring true. I felt the undeniable feeling of being watched. Not suddenly, but over time the sensation grew upon me like an itch.
“I soon saw them everywhere. The people. The ones that were never seen again after that night. I’d spot them in open windows, or disappearing past street corners. I found myself peering into a small house through what was left of the front door. It had been shattered by something with tremendous force. An axe? A maul? Or perhaps just the whispers of Serenise herself, come to drag the souls of the living down into her domain? The Goddess Below hoarding the dead away from her twin sister. The halls of hell crowded with the souls of those taken far too early from this world?
“That idea seemed to offer just as much merit as any other. More so, if you asked some of the other towns in the Highlands. Demons dragging the people of Riverside, and now Evabruck, down to hell was somehow more comforting than trying to make sense of why everyone in these towns vanished. To be plagued by forces so beyond our ability to control was the easy answer. For how could we ask the Solas Legion for aid against the damned? What good could steel and resolve have against that which we cannot fight? Demons were to blame for the raids upon our towns; whether they walked as men or not. Darkness had cursed us, and the people of Gavaea were powerless to withstand the coming tide.
“But I knew that the faces I was seeing weren’t actually there. It was just my fractured mind trying to hold out hope that someone was still alive. I knew those at Evabruck, they were my friends. I may still see them again, one day, no one could truly deny me that hope. The bodies were never found. There was indeed a struggle, signs of it were everywhere, the culprits never bothered hiding that fact. But not a single soul was left in town, living or dead. An entire fishing village, hundreds of citizens strong, and all that was left to mark their existence was a steady stream of cold, hollow homes. I went in each and every one of those buildings, and all I found were ghosts.”
-From the journal of Gallant Thomas Tenneson. Year Eight-Hundred-Five. Thirty-Four years after the end of the Dark War.

       It had to be them.

       Of course, it was them. Who else was capable of it all? The boy had no other answers rattling around in his mind other than the obvious one.
       Why argue against the judgement of all the countrymen that had told him the same thing; over and over again? He’d grown old enough now to not blindly trust everything the adults told him. But after how many adults telling you the same story do you start to seriously believe them? Even if it was a fairy tale?
       Milo picked his head up from the table. He’d been resting it down upon the cold wood in an effort to calm himself down.
       It had to be them! Sure-as-shit, Milo! You really outta believe them!
       It didn’t work. He was just as anxious as when they first walked into Redstone. That anxiety peaked early when Quintin called out from the Traderoad and no one answered. Even there, in the Dancing Boar Inn, no one was around. Shouldn’t the inn be busiest at night? That’s what the case always was with the rest of the inns the three of them had visited. There was nothing in the Dancing Boar. No music, no food, and no people. They hadn’t seen a single living soul in three days travel. Where was everyone?
       Quintin told the boys not to worry, but it was too late for little Milo. He’d already felt his heart rise to his throat and he decided for the last time that he didn’t like the taste of it. It was like sucking on a dirty coin. His brother Rein said it was only his blood. Nothin’ to worry about, little brother. But Milo always thought that if he was tasting his own blood then it was definitely something to worry about.
       “You think it was them?” Milo asked Rein. His older brother was leaning back in his chair and humming to himself.
       Rein sighed, picked up his muddy boots and crossed his legs across the table. His blonde hair fell across the back of the chair as he reclined. “You’re scared again, ain’t you?”
       “No!” Milo squeaked. The younger brother’s resolve wasn’t as ironclad as he would’ve preferred. “I’m not scared, Rein!”
       “Oh, peep down, little mouse. You don’t want Quintin hearing you now, do you?” Rein answered. His tone was the epitome of an obnoxious older sibling, Milo noticed. Rein frequently talked like that when Milo got nervous. It was some defense mechanism that the younger of the two Shaw brothers completely abhorred. Wasn’t the big brother supposed to take care of the little sibling? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? Then why does Milo always feel more anxious after one of Rein’s reassuring pep talks?
       Milo wanted to climb onto the table and kick his brother in the face so he tumbled back like a felled tree. As he was smiling at that image, he saw that Rein had produced a shiny red apple from his pocket and began chomping down on it. That simple act somehow made Milo completely powerless. He decided simply to sit still and glower at his big brother instead.
       “We’ve got a job to do, Milo. You need to grow up,” Rein said. Little flicks of the apple flinging out of his mouth as he talked.
       “I have grown up.” Milo answered with his best serious face. He was twelve, almost a man by Quintin’s admission. The big blue eyes and cherub like cheeks of his did him no help in that regard. Milo was just sick of his brother treating him like a child.
       How could Rein not be nervous? The Shaw brothers had done plenty of jobs, and in plenty of towns; but this was different. First of all, no one was in this town. Redstone was supposed to be one of the busiest stops on the Traderoad. Easy pickings, little brother! It’ll be like fishing! Those baby hands of yours are gonna be so deep in pockets they ain’t gonna see the sun for weeks!
       This was a ghost town, Milo thought. It was so quiet. When he was outside, he looked down every road that led out of the inn. Nothing. Not a single face. Nothing but the quiet night air.
Rein crunched down on the red apple, “You’re still scared of the stories, ain’t you?”
       “Stories?” A third voice called out from the doorway. It was much deeper than the two adolescent boys. “You sound like the worthless piece of shit your mother always warned me that you’d become, Rein.”
       Quintin had approached from the darkness of the open doorway. The old man was bald, but still had a short beard of various shades of grey. He had the jawline of a bull dog, and his jowls trembled when he got angry. They were quivering terribly at that moment. “Get your fucking boots off of the table.”
       He glared at the boys like a butcher judging his new squeamish apprentices. Quintin inherited the Shaws, he didn’t choose them. A last favor to a dying friend. Milo never asked who Quintin was to his mother, there never seemed an appropriate time to bring up the past. In fact, any mention of his mother at all just seemed to anger the old man. Milo learned all too quickly what it meant to make Quintin mad. Not Rein though, his brother was more prone to forcing the pieces together with force than attempting to figure out how they worked.
       “Come on, Gramps,” Rein wailed, “It’s not like there’s anyone here to get all offended.”
       My big brother, all the tact of a raging bull, that one.
       Quintin took a few steps forward. That’s all he needed to get close enough to the table to act. What he did next was hard to discern given the dismal light of the inn. Milo could only watch what little light there was, shimmer off the steel of something in Quintin’s hand. Then the table leapt up below Milo’s hands as Quintin slammed a blade into it with enough force to even make the floor shake.
       It was an axe, and it had come so close to Rein’s boot that Milo had stopped breathing. A mouthful of apple fell from Rein’s mouth as the young man realized how mere inches separated him from life as a cripple.
       “Look at it, boy,” Quintin demanded.
       It was unlike anything Milo had ever seen. This was no modest tool for splitting logs. This was a weapon; one carved from a twisted nightmare of war. The blade curved down and extended halfway down the length of the shaft. It looked like the narrow edge of the moon; thin and radiant in the twilight.
       Quintin pulled a candle close that had been left on the bar. The wood of the handle seemed to drink in the light. It was difficult to tell, but to Milo, the wood was the darkest color black that he had ever seen.
       “What is it?” Milo asked.
       “I found it outside,” Quintin answered. His demeanor had changed. It was now his softer, teaching voice. Milo knew it well, even if Rein didn’t. “You’ve seen anything like that, Lo?”
       Milo swallowed but couldn’t bring himself to look away from the spot on the table where the hideous thing now rested. “No, sir.”
       “You got a guess, then? Go on, lad. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
       “Demons,” Milo choked on the word.
       “You killed a fucking demon, Gramps?” Rein shouted, and finally pushed himself off the table. The moment he got up to his feet there sounded a resounding clap that made Milo jump.
       Quintin’s backhanded struck Rein across the cheek so loud that it would’ve been heard all across town.
       “You’ll bring the Solas Legion down on us all!” The old man hissed. “They’re probably already on their way.” Quintin crossed his arms and took a deep breath. Then a smile formed on his dog-like jaw. “This is a gift, lads. A rare opportunity. You may not like it, and goddess knows I certainly don’t, but we have no choice. I don’t know about you two, but two weeks on the traderoad has left me mighty hungry. It’s time we get to work. Ain’t no one in town’s gonna stop you now. Spread out, take what you can carry. Gold, iron, food, whatever’s to be had.”
       Milo finally looked up and caught the eyes of his old caretaker. The boy couldn’t be sure but there looked to be something resembling fear behind those eyes. Maybe it was pity for setting the boys upon such an ugly task. Either way, it wasn’t something Milo was accustomed to seeing on Quintin.
       “Yes sir,” Rein answered. With a reddened cheek, he moved to the door without hesitation and disappeared out into the darkness.
       Now it’s your turn, Milo. Before he could stand up, he looked back at the axe. Then his mother’s words spoke to him from beyond the grave.
       Demons are a part of this world just like you and me, Milo. Don’t go looking for trouble and if you’re lucky the trouble won’t come looking for you. Milo needed to see her at that moment. He wished with everything he had that he could have her hold him again. Milo fought back the tears he knew were coming.
       A heavy hand took him by the shoulder. Quintin was smiling down at him. Please be brave for me Quintin, I’ve forgotten how.
       When the old man began to speak, he did with a softness that he kept only for Milo, “Kid, I didn’t kill anything out there. I found that underneath a turned wagon. Whatever raided this town is long gone. Nothing’s out there, ok? No one except your shit-for-brains brother.”
       “How do you know?”
       Quintin shrugged, “Because there’s no such thing as demons. I just like making Rein squirm. What killed this place is just as real as the likes of us. I don’t know how that’s supposed to be less scary, but it’s true. They’ve just lost their way is all. Crossed a line that we never cross. You and me, we’re thieves. What happened here was murder, plain and simple. Did that help?”
       “I don’t know.” Milo answered, and even surprised himself with his honesty. All he knew now was that even if he did feel scared, there wasn’t time for it anymore. They had a job to do. “But I’ll be ok.”
       Nothing else was said between the two of them. The old man just patted him on the shoulder, winked, and walked out the same way Rein did.
       For a brief moment, Milo simply stared out into the doorway and the darkness beyond. He wanted to believe Quintin, but his mother’s words were proving too dire to be cast aside. Don’t go looking for trouble, Milo, and trouble won’t come looking for you.

~~

       He never got used to the darkness. No matter how many quaint little homes he went into, or how many times he left them and went back out into the twilight. His vision never adjusted. The fact that his eyes stayed hopeful for the light was something that deeply unnerved Milo. Each time he stood out under the starry sky and peered into the next lifeless house, he asked himself whether or not it was worth it.
       The bag upon his shoulder was growing heavy. The food was ample and easy to find, despite the circumstances. Many of it was sitting upon their tables; arranged neatly around plates and spoons, and always cold. Milo didn’t care about that. He didn’t care because Quintin didn’t care. Food was food. To the hungry, and the three of them certainly were hungry, cold food was a blessing. Hot food would’ve been divine, but Milo vowed long ago to not become a beggar. Upon the first house that he found the remains of supper, he stuffed himself with cold potatoes and carrots and said a quiet thanks to the family who prepared it. He refused to think too long about why they weren’t there enjoying it themselves.
       There were apples were everywhere. It took him half a dozen cupboards full of the shiny red fruit before Milo realized the trees outside were bursting with them. The Redstone apple. His mother had used them for baking pies when he was younger. Milo was ashamed that he had never made the association until now.
       Gold was harder to find. People always hid their money. It would’ve been difficult to find even if it was as bright as a warm summer day. In the gloom of night however, it was frustrating beyond measure. The boy had found only a single purse with two nicks, and six pennies rattling around. A poor man’s fortune. Milo wasn’t wise to the cost of things in Gavaea’s highlands, but even he could guess that was far from a big score.
       At last, he came upon the last house upon the road. The door’s top hinge had broken, and the wind was making it rattle quietly against the frame. Milo didn’t want to go into that house. He didn’t even need it. The bag of food was filled, and though his purse was still light, he didn’t feel as if one more house was going to change that.
       It’s the last one. You can’t give up when you’ve only got one left. You’re not a baby, anymore. Milo nodded to himself, and took a step through the doorway.
       Everything inside looked identical to all the others. That is, indecipherable shapes amidst a blanket of darkness. His hand brushed the top of a chair upon his left, and his feet touched the softness of a carpet underneath. If he wanted to venture a guess, there would be a small table beside the chair, perhaps with a glass of wine, or brandy nestled unfinished on top. The fireplace would be further past the chair, the kitchen directly in front of him, and a bedroom, or two if they were well-off, upon his right.
       But he felt different in this house. There was something in the air that bothered him. Dread was growing upon him like a fire. Milo forced himself to laugh. There’s no one there. No one. They’re all gone, remember?
       Gone because the demons took them! The Goddess Below came for them and pulled them down into her domain!
       Fear and anxiety gripped him and he hadn’t the faintest idea why. It culminated in an overwhelming desire to run for the hills outside. Most of all, he felt as if he was being watched.
       Milo scanned the corners of the house, expecting to see something move between the shadows. He stumbled backwards and tripped over something at his feet. His back crashing against the floor knocked the wind out of his lungs. He screamed silently and kicked at the thing that made him fall.
       It was just a small wooden stool. He laughed again. This time it came out, but mostly in coughs. This one was a nervous giggle that he made solely in the attempt to push the overwhelming feeling of dread from his pounding heart. He lied still for another moment, waiting for the night to slow down around him.
       “Where am I?” A timid voice asked from somewhere in the night.
       Milo’s heart stopped. He frantically looked around the room; careening his head in all directions at once.
       There were eyes. A pair of deep, dark brown eyes staring out from the corner of the room beside the door. They weren’t looking at him though, not at anyone.
       The boy brought his hand over his mouth and stifled a scream. The woman before him wasn’t moving. He was fairly certain that she was dead. How hadn’t he noticed her before?
       Milo couldn’t make out much in the darkness. But what little light there was shined upon her pale skin and lit up her face. Her black hair draped in thick locks upon the floor. She was beautiful, or was beautiful. Milo wasn’t sure which one to think.
       “What’s going on? Where am I?” A faint, feminine voice asked. She sounded scared.
       It wasn’t from this one. The dead girl. Milo’s eyes never left her face. If she had talked, then he would’ve seen it and run for dear life. But it wasn’t her. Milo thanked the Goddess Above that it wasn’t her.
       Milo looked around for any clues. His eyes caught a few rays of twilight coming from a window on the back wall. It was open.
       “Where is William?” She asked. The voice came from the window.
       The boy leapt to his feet and stormed out of the house the way he had come. A fog was developing on the ground. He knew he should tread carefully, but he was soon running with all his might. Milo banked around the corner and into the tall grass that surrounded the town.
       She needs help! She sounded so lost and scared! Milo was sprinting towards where he believed the woman was calling out. He didn’t even know why he was so determined to find her, and he didn’t really care. Helping someone who was still alive just made so much more sense than raiding the cupboards of those who were dead.
       Milo tripped in the grass and his pack tumbled away. He left it where it was. It no longer seemed to matter.
       When he neared the back of the house, he saw a great oak tree and a clearing underneath. Against the back wall was a cloaked figure kneeling over a woman lying in the dirt. Milo couldn’t see her face yet, but her white dress was blowing gently in the wind.
       Something bothered Milo about the whole scene. There was something peculiar about it, but he couldn’t discern why that was. Whoever it was that was kneeling before the woman paid Milo no mind at all. The boy had stumbled rather clumsily out of the grass and there was no way they didn’t notice. He took a few tentative steps forward, just enough to get a better view.
       That’s when he saw her. She looked like a ghost. Her white dress only highlighted the ghastly pale skin of the dead. Blood had stained her mouth and neck. It ran into her dress and turned her chest and stomach into pools of red.
       Tears welled up in Milo’s eyes. He hadn’t the faintest idea why; he hadn’t asked for them. Milo was a boy. A thief! Why should he care so much for a woman he had never known? Death had been written upon the walls of Redstone that night. What was one more lost life?
       Why couldn’t there have been just one person left alive? Why did she leave me? Why did mother have to die?
       “Do you know this one?” A man’s voice asked.
       Milo looked up and saw the face of the hooded man looking at him with curiosity. He was supporting the dead woman in his arms. His left hand cradled her head, while the right one held her hand. It was such an intimate scene that Milo was confused. Did this one love her? Why wasn’t he sad? Then Milo saw her face. It wasn’t lifeless and empty like the other woman’s in the house. Her eyes were big and bright in the moonlight; and they were looking right at him.
       “Why is that boy crying?” She asked through a blood-stained mouth.
       Her voice carried with it a serenity that left Milo speechless. He had no words for the situation. All the hairs on his arms stood up on end. He took one more look at the woman whose eyes were open, and who smiled at him with red lips, and he screamed.
       “Well,” the kneeling man asked. His face still obscured by that hood. “Are you about done? I’d greatly prefer if you didn’t do that again. It’s a dangerous night, after all.”
       So much blood, Milo thought. She can’t still be alive. “The blood…” He whispered. “She…She’s dead.”
       “If only it were so simple.” The hooded man responded. “Stay quiet, boy. You may learn something.”
       “Don’t be so rude to him,” she said, nagging the man. Her voice was sweet. “The child is unwell. He sounds awful.” Her eyes lit up and she made a motion to stand up.” My William will cheer him up, let me fetch him.”
       The man placed his hand gently on her chest. She looked up at the man barring her path, confusion in her eyes. He simply shook his head.
       “William left, he went fishing with your husband, don’t you remember?” He asked her. She answered with a tepid smile and nodded. “Mary, the boy will be alright. He seems to have gotten over it, isn’t that right, lad?”
       Milo could only nod. He felt like a child who’d misbehaved.
       “William is a caring boy, too.” Mary said. She looked fondly at Milo. “Always getting worked up over sad things.”
       “Mary, try to stay with me here, this is important.” He beckoned her attention back at him. “Do you remember who came into your home? Do you remember how you got here?”
       Mary’s eyes danced in her head, searching for something that should’ve been there but wasn’t. “I don’t remember them. They moved so fast. All I remember hearing was…” Then she remembered. Her eyes went wide as she relived the horror. “…the screaming. I was looking for William. He should’ve returned with his father by then. Everyone was running, screaming! Then something hit me, and I couldn’t breathe! My stomach- “
       “Who did this? Did they wear any colors, was there a sigil?” The man urged Mary for an answer.
       His demands didn’t seem to register to her. She was lost in the memory of it all. She screamed and thrashed in his arms. Then she saw her hand, saw how it was stained red to the elbow. A momentary silence came as she reeled in what was to be the scream that contained with it all the horror of one reliving their own death. But it never came. Mary’s panic stopped all at once. Her cries ceased and she slipped slowly back into her rest.
       The man gently lowered her body back down onto the fog and whispered words in a language he didn’t understand. “Virisi Vulkayar.” Then rose to his feet.
       Mary’s body was as motionless as a corpse. For a corpse she always was, Milo knew that now. With the man on his feet and no longer blocking his view, Milo could see the wound in her stomach. It was terrible. Whatever hit her wasn’t a mere thrust, but a gaping slash to her belly. She must’ve died in agony. Quintin always told him that stomach wounds were the worst way to go. Slow and agonizing. ‘Try as you might, but you can’t put it all back in’. It doesn’t look like Mary had bothered trying. It was all hanging out.
       Milo couldn’t look upon her anymore. He looked up at the man who he still couldn’t distinguish behind his hood. He was facing the moonlight now, and it shined a dim light on his form. He wore a dark cloak that draped over his whole body. It could’ve been black, but there wasn’t enough light to be sure. What was underneath looked common enough. The tunic was a lighter color than the cloak. His pants were grey, and they hung low over boots that were marred and filthy. This man looked almost as unkempt and penniless as Milo did.
       “There was a weapon we found,” Milo didn’t know if this could help the man, but he felt an overwhelming urge to try. “It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Like a demon’s weapon.”
       “Demon,” the word hung ominously in his voice, “I don’t doubt that.”
       He looked down at Milo who still hadn’t risen himself from the dirt. His eyes behind that black curtain. They were grey, and weary. The eyes of someone who had seen too much, and carried too much burden from it. “Tell me, boy. Where did you find this-”?
       Something fast cut through the air just inches past Milo’s head. A clap rang out as an arrow found its mark in the hooded man’s chest. He stumbled against the force of the blow and struck the back wall of the house.
       He grunted. His eyes burned with anger as he looked out across the grassy plain. The man stayed firmly on his feet right until the next two arrows came. He was silent then as his body slid down and collapsed alongside Mary’s, with three arrows pin cushioning his chest.
       Milo scanned the tall grass but couldn’t see a thing past the fog. In a panic, he leapt to his feet and scrambled for the cover of the great oak towering above the clearing. Just as he rounded the trunk an armored hand snatched his collar and sent him hurtling backward.
Bouncing hard off the tree, he then landed on a twisted pile of roots. He wanted to scream but no sound escaped his lungs. The world was spinning off its hinges and nothing at all was clear. Everything was slowing down. Milo began to hear the sound of heavy iron greaves echoing in the night.
       “Devil’s arse, how long was that shot, Cooper?” A voice asked. The man’s voice was coarse, but with a great weight that carried it through the confusion. The world was becoming more stable for Milo with each passing second, and he soon heard the unmistakable sound of laughter on the night.
       Milo rubbed his trembling eyes and looked upon a towering brute of a man standing over him. A lofty grey beard hung from his face and he was shimmering head to toe in silver plate mail. Strapped to his back was the largest sword Milo had ever seen. A white symbol of soldiers standing in phalanx against the backdrop of a rising sun adorned his breastplate. Milo recalled it from his mother’s lessons and Quintin’s warnings, it was the mark of the Solas Legion.
       “Hundred yards easy,” A much younger man with a long bow wrapped around his chest answered. This one was short with a pointed nose that stuck out from falling black hair. All of the other soldiers clapped him on his back. Milo counted nine. Ten if you counted the plated hulk that plunged him into the tree. Milo always pictured the Legion as a regal force of thousands marching across the lands of Gavaea, spreading the will of the church and crown to far and treacherous new lands. What was a company of ten doing out there in Redstone?
       “Aye, best keep those lies to the whores, Cooper. That rooftop couldn’t have been more than forty. Nobody here’s going to wet your cock for your bullshit lies.” The bearded man said. This erupted even greater revelry from the men. “Still, you killed a wanted man. The king will pay you a ransom for his head. Claim your prize, soldier.”
       Cheers rang loud for Cooper. The private accepted a long sword from a fellow, and moved in for his trophy.
       “Get his head!”
       “Cooper killed the devil!”
       “Take off his fucking head!”
       One of the men walked away from the merriment, towards the man giving orders. He had something thrown over his shoulder. When he was near enough, he pointed down to where Milo still lay in the dirt. “What about the boy, Captain? We found this in the grass.” He dropped Milo’s sack and revealed all the food he had stolen from the dead. He cursed silently when an apple bounced out and rolled towards his boot.
       Milo didn’t possess the willpower to plead his case. Not after his night. Not after the world just then ceased to spin. He was going to surrender himself to the Legion. He didn’t recall any specific laws about pillaging from the dead, but he was sure there were some anyway. He looked up at the face of the captain. He couldn’t detect any mercy in those eyes. The Solas Legion wasn’t known for its leniency.
       “No doubt in league with the other two. Thieves are like rats, Anders,” The captain sighed, “There’s never just one.”
       Rein! Quintin! They had slipped Milo’s mind ever since he heard Mary cry out in the dark. Were they out there somewhere, tied up against a tree, awaiting the Legion’s judgement as well? Milo smirked; he knew a rope couldn’t hold Quintin. If they were captured, then they’re probably long gone by then.
       The captain continued, “I don’t know what happened to this town. A cold wind is blowing in our lands, Anders. First Evabruck, then Riverside, and now Redstone, someone is raiding towns on our watch. We’ll find the criminals responsible, that’s for sure. But what I cannot stand is vultures like these picking the meat off the dead and filling their pockets with bloodied coins.” He placed his hand on the soldier’s shoulder, “Take care of him, just like the other two. That’s an order.”
       Dead then, Rein and Quintin. He always feared his brother and him wouldn’t make it to old age. Life was bleak enough when Quintin took them in. He never enjoyed living as a thief, and now at least, he wouldn’t have to for much longer.
       Anders nodded. The captain clapped him on the shoulder again and walked away. Milo looked up at the great oak tree. Something about it brought him peace. Such a beautiful part of the world still existed there. Milo thought about his mother, she was beautiful too. He missed her, more than he ever had before. His thoughts stayed with her face, even as the crisp sound of steel sliding from its scabbard was heard.
       A terrible cry came from the ranks of the Legion. Milo turned to see Cooper stumbling and screaming towards them. His face was buried in his hands, but traces of smoke blew out from beneath. Anders ran after him with sword in hand.
       “Cooper!” The captain’s voice rang out, “What’s the nature of this?!”
       Cooper couldn’t respond with anything but screams. Anders tried to catch him but he fell just short of his arms. He writhed like a spider that had been crushed under a boot. His body was close to Milo’s now. Cooper’s face was smoking, but not from a fire. No, it looked to Milo like it was touched by something frighteningly cold. His cheeks, lips, nose, and mouth were jet black. Everything else was red and blistered. Flakes of ice clung to all parts of his face. A couple seconds later, Cooper stopped screaming.
       “The nature…” a voice pierced through the panic like a cold wind. Milo knew that voice. The hooded man was pushing himself to his feet. Nobody made a sound, the men of the Solas Legion simply watched as the man who was shot dead, rose back up from the fog. His hands grasped an arrow in his chest, and with a sound that reminded Milo of a chicken leg being ripped from its corpse, he pulled them out. When the last bloodied arrow fell to the dirt there was only silence in its wake. Only the man’s jaw was visible beneath his hood but Milo could see the malice twitching on his lips. “The nature is that you should really know what it is you’re hunting.”
       The captain marched forward, unintimidated by this man who didn’t die. The fog danced around his greaves with each step. He gripped the great sword on his back and with one quick motion, set it free. Milo knew what devastation a man of that size and rank could do with such a weapon. Still, as the two grew nearer to each other on that clearing, Milo couldn’t decide which one frightened him more.
       “Tiros West,” the captain’s voice bellowed through the ranks of men. Each one stood a little higher and gripped their weapons tighter at the sound. “It appears the tales are true. Pity Cooper had to pay the price of our ignorance. I am Richard Nathiall, captain of the Third Solas Legion, and we have been granted the power of His Majesty, King Warren Tristan as well as the Three Holy Prophets of Kariia to find and destroy all heretics and traitors. You sir, are both. I sentence you now to death for crimes of murder, treason against the crown, and practicing magics that offend the very Goddess herself.” Nathiall paused. “They say to challenge a necromancer is to court death, at least you didn’t disappointment.”
       Necromancy. Milo should’ve known. It was the only thing that made sense. What he did to Mary, made her open her eyes again; could only be necromancy. His touch was what allowed her to cry out her son’s name one last time. A man that had met his own death and pulled it out of him like a splinter. Tiros West. He seemed kind enough to Milo, and spoke so softly to Mary. He looked upon him now. Stoic in the face of the Legion. He could feel the hatred burning from behind his shroud.
       “Captain,” Tiros answered. “Let me pass. Do not make me kill any more of your men tonight. You underestimated me once already, do not make the same mistake twice.”
       Nathiall laughed, “My boy, you’re not walking out of here.” The captain raised his sword at Tiros, “You will die this night for what you’ve done.”
       “I don’t take kindly to threats, captain.”
       “I give you my word, necromancer. We’re not leaving without your head.” Nathiall vowed. “We’ll see if death can take you then.”
       Tiros laughed. That unsettled Milo. It appeared unnatural, like watching a dog walk on two legs. Death wasn’t supposed to laugh.
       “Captain, I have no intention of dying this night.” As the words were spoken, a dim white light was building in Tiros’ hands.
       The captain noticed it immediately. “Now! Before he has the chance-,“ Nathiall shouted, but it was hopeless. The necromancer’s spell had already taken shape. The Legion had little chance of stopping it, because it had been building all night.
       The fog’s thickness and immensity grew exponentially in a heartbeat. What was once only around their ankles had shot up and blanketed the whole night in an indecipherable gloom. The moonlight itself had no chance of piercing the mist, and the Legion was now lost and helpless in the chaos.
       Nathiall was shouting at his men, desperately trying to find a foothold in the cloud. Mixed shouts of ‘regroup’, ‘run’, and ‘make for the house’ from every soldier only fed off the madness of the situation.
       Milo jumped around and clutched the bark of that tree as tightly as he could. How he so wanted that night to just end. Now he was lost in the dark with a necromancer, and a contingency of soldiers that already tried to kill him.
       Wait! Now’s your chance! Milo told himself.
       He couldn’t see a damn thing but that could be his break to make a run for it. At least the tree was there to give him some sense of direction. He clamored his way around to the opposite side of it. If the one side was the Legion, then he best run like hell in the other.
       Summoning up the courage to make his escape, he then heard the sound that made him freeze in terror.
       A nearby legionnaire behind him began to scream in agony.
       Milo stopped, and clapped his hands over his ears. Hearing any man scream in that way was something he was never going to forget. It was horrible.
       The soldier’s cries didn’t last long. When Milo was certain it had stopped, he moved his hands back down. The night was quiet.
       What happened to him?
       No one dared make a sound, except Nathiall, “Anders! Anders! Cristopher!”
       Anders was the one that found his pack and tried to kill him. Milo didn’t share the captain’s concern at his demise. Then something passed in front of him. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure something hand moved beside him. Something passed by in the darkness right in front of Milo, and it hardly made a noise at all.
       Then a crunching sound made Milo jump. It was similar to the noise he heard when Tiros pulled the arrows from his chest. Suddenly, a crash rang out as something heavy fell to the ground just to his right. It was a body. Milo had no hesitation in thinking that. Armor clanged when it came down, probably falling upon the same bed of roots that he had. Whoever that was had made it closer to the tree than Milo thought. He heard the dripping of the blood upon the dirt.
       This one was soon followed by many.
       The rest of the Legion never stood a chance. Bodies began falling all around that clearing. Some managed to scream, but all fell. The booming sound of iron and flesh hitting the ground was deafening. Then just as quickly as it began, it ceased.
       Milo was sure he was the only one still alive, then he heard a voice.
       “By the goddess…”, It was Captain Nathiall. Still alive, but already sounding defeated. “Is this the grand battle I was promised? Stories of the terrible sorcerers of the past. Gavaea’s ‘plague bearers’, ‘pale riders of death’?! Nothing but cowards fighting in the dark. May the- “
       Nathiall choked on the last word. Then the fog was lifted and Milo turned to see. Each soldier lay dead on the ground, all scattered and forsaken. Above each body stood another. Though, not a living one. Milo could see their wounds, gaping and horrible. Each one present were citizens of Redstone, Milo guessed. All victims of the raid that ended life on that small town. They all stood pale, resolute, and emotionless in their duty. All had weapons brandished; daggers, swords, even one portly man with a blood-stained apron and a cleaver. Milo thought of the “Dancing Boar,” he wondered if he had been their butcher.
       Tiros himself stood just before the captain, who was on his knees. The necromancer had his hand placed over Nathiall’s face. Milo heard the same smoking he had when Cooper had come running to him.
       “Your Gods left your will in my hands.” Tiros voice was grave and emotionless. “Mine gives me the power to survive. Gives me the power to fight, to continue fighting. I cannot accept death until I get what I came for.”
       With a flick of his hand Nathiall fell. His face scorched black and dripping with shards of ice.
       Milo couldn’t speak. He could only stare into the captain’s face. What could men do against such unspeakable power?
       The Solas Legion was impervious. The greatest military force in Gavaea, sworn to protect its citizens and deliver justice to all who would threaten them. Elves, goblins, centaurs, even what was left of the royal army paled in the wake of the Legion. The white symbol of hope, and it had murdered his brother, his caretaker, and tried to kill him, too. Just for a couple of apples? Milo felt tears building in his eyes. What the hell do I do now? Where do I go? Where is safe?
       “They killed them…” Milo said. He wept for Rein, Quintin, and his mother. “They killed them just for being here.”
       Tiros looked upon the boy. He looked sincere. The necromancer knew what loss was, he knew better than anyone what it meant to be alone in the world. “Nothing will bring them back. Not the way you want them to be.”
       “I know,” Milo wiped away his tears and walked out from behind the tree. He noticed one of the bodies that Tiros summoned was Mary. She was holding a bloody dagger, and was staring blankly at the corpse below her. There was no life behind her eyes. No sadness, joy, or any emotion at all. Milo didn’t’ want to end up like her, or the soldier at her feet. He didn’t want to be lost or scared anymore. He didn’t want to feel any more pain.
       Milo walked up to where Tiros stood. He was close enough now to see beyond the hood. His eyes locked on the necromancer’s own. “Where do I go now?”
       The pale sorcerer took in a deep breath, and when it was released so was his hold on the villagers. All together the dead fell back to the dirt and lay motionless once more. With the release of his hold, the necromancer seemed to lose a bit of himself. The strength that he met the Solas Legion with was fading and he looked weary and exhausted.
       Tiros paid the boy’s question no mind and began to walk towards the tree line. His pace was akin to a crawl and each step seemed to threaten his balance. Milo was certain that he was going to fall.
       “I’m to get as far away from this place as I can tonight.” He said without stopping. “Follow me if you wish, but I am not your protector. I am not responsible for you.”
       This man, this necromancer was now the only person left in Gavaea who’s name Milo knew. Given all that had happened to him, and to everyone he’d ever cared for, why should he not go with him? His life had beseeched upon him the worst type of cruelty. Milo decided that he didn’t need to decide. Not yet. All he knew at that moment was he wanted to get as far away from that place as he could.
       He picked up his bag of stolen goods, it was all that he had, and followed behind the pale sorcerer.