Heya, guys! I'm sorry that this one took so long to update. I recently got a hold of my brother's copy of Diablo III and playing it sort of diverted me from writing XDDDD No worries though, I'm done playing it now and am just playing casual games to focus on my writing. I also want to apologize for this chapter being so short but I wanted to finish and upload it today since I might become busy next week and I wanted to show you guys I'm not dead. :P

I hope you enjoy! :)

The Knight Who Lost

888 T.E.

Peakside [1] was a ghost town. Even from a distance, the destruction had been evident: tongues of fire leaped high into the air as it chewed the wooden walls of the dwellings in Peakside, spewing tendrils of smoke that curled upward into the heavens.

For a minute or two, just before they disappear, they seemed to spell out my name; a condemnation, an accusation, a brand set upon the sky for all of Thedas to see.

This is the name of the knight who failed you: Malcolm.

This is the name of the knight who should have been here to prevent all this: Malcolm.

Here is the name of the man who failed you. No less than three weeks ago, in response to a messenger's plea for help, King Rickon Theirein had given me the task to take one hundred soldiers to the small town of Peakside and give them aid from whatever had been attacking them.

The messenger had been vague as to what exactly had been threatening the town, saying only that they came at night in great numbers.

I had expected bandits, ones who were too cowardly to attack them in broad daylight, striking only when there was darkness to cover them. I did not expect my soldiers and I to find such destruction. Shame bubbled at the pit of my stomach at the sight of the desiccated village, knowing full well that I could have prevented all this had I encouraged the troops to move faster.

These people, this village had been my responsibility and it was through my actions that they were dead.

Swallowing a wave of nausea I turned to the hundred something men and women who were watching the burning town with wide eyes. I divided them into five teams and gave them specific instructions as to what to do.

"Put out the fires, search for survivors and look for any clues as to who would do this," I told them. Then, after a moment's hesitation, I added. "And treat the dead with respect. We shall bury them later," Their silent assent of my words served only to inflame my guilt. How could they trust me when, already I had failed Peakside?

Who's to say I wouldn't fail them?

But my team had already begun their search of the town. Jan, a soldier who had served the crown for nearly as long as I have, approached me and said in a low tone.

"What in the Maker's name happened here, Malcolm?"

"Bandits most likely," My reply came through gritted teeth.

"Don't think they'll still be lurking around?" Jan cast around nervously, as if a bandit could still be hiding among the wreckage.

"Doubt it," I said curtly. "From what the messenger said, the cowards only attacked at night. If they didn't have the guts to face a town of farmers in broad daylight, I don't think they'd want to take their chances with a hundred fully armed soldiers,"

Jan's face flushed with embarrassment at this. "Er…right. Didn't think of that Malcolm,"

I didn't reply but instead walked into the town and examined the ruins. The stench hit me almost immediately and I had to fight to keep myself from vomiting out the contents of my stomach.

The whole town smelled of death, the scent of rotting corpses and burning wood hung heavily in the air, like some morbid perfume. And…there was also something else, something I couldn't put a name to. It was so faint, more like the ghost of a scent than the actual thing and yet, I could feel its effect on me. The scent made me feel dirty, as if something evil had invaded my body.

I ignored the feeling and instead committed myself to studying what was left of Peakside. The bandits had put every house to the torch, perhaps setting fire to their rooftops first to flush out the families hiding inside. They had also slaughtered the animals and burned the fields, maybe to starve any possible survivors. Or perhaps to make the town uninhabitable after they had finished with it.

If they had sowed the soil with salt, they couldn't have done a better job.

But what would bandits want with a small town like this? Bastards like them hardly ever thought of anything else but the glitter of gold and the people of Peakside weren't likely to own anything that might interest them. It didn't make any sense.

Most of my soldiers were committed to arranging the dead bodies in lines so that they could be buries later, treating each of them with respect. My heart twisted at the sight of them and I prayed that the Makerwould find it in His heart to give them a place at his side.

I watched carefully to see that none of the corpses were looted, although I knew that the farmers had nothing more than the tunics on their backs, it still never hurt to be sure.

The thought of the dead lying so helpless while cold, unconcerned hands stripped them of their belongings, their dignity sickened me.

But my soldiers knew me well enough not to try any of it and I was proud of them. I finished my sweep of the village and with a sigh, moved to help the others arrange the dead.

It took us until midday to find and move the dead to the center of the town; we could have finished sooner but some of the others had tender stomachs and had begged me to allow them to set up camp instead, a fair distance from Peakside so the smell would not reach us at night.

I had granted their wish and kept on moving the bodies. I figured that we should make a pyre for all of them.

If they died as filth, then at least let them go as royalty. I thought to myself.

Finally, when we had finished, I stood up at stretched my abused muscles.

Most of the others will milling about, some sharing their midday meal, others simply talking.

Jan approached me with a grimace.

"Terrible, isn't it, Malcolm? Didn't think that any bandit would be able to do this…" he drank deep from his skin of barley-water [2] as if the incident left a bad taste in his mouth. He hesitated then handed it to me.

"Might've been nicer if it was ale," he muttered.

"You're on duty," I said sternly but Jan only smiled. He had been my friend for a long, long time and he was used to my 'eccentricities' as he called them.

As I drank, I remembered that strange scent that I had smelled when I first entered the town. I am not exaggerating when I say that it felt…evil. When I asked the other soldier about this he scowled. "Felt it too, did you? It made my knees buckle,"

"But is it familiar to you?" I asked. Perhaps it was some kind of new weapons or explosives that that the bandits had used. If it was, the king needed to be informed and the more information I had when I gave my report, the better.

Jan shrugged, making his armor rattle. "It reminds me of my mother dying from sickness when I was twelve. The whole house smelled like death, I was surprised we didn't attract flies,"

"I plan on making a pyre for them," I told him. Jan didn't bat an eye but said,

"The others aren't going to like that; that kind of treatment is for usually reserved for royalty,"

"Then let them complain to me," The burning of corpses itself was not reserved for royalty; you see it all the time, especially during a plague. Corpses piled one over the other carelessly to create a mound of death, then set aflame. The stench of burning flesh would settle over the place for hours but it was a practical approach, getting rid of a hundred or so bodies at once while making sure that those that had died from the disease did not pass it on to the living. But constructing a pyre took time and effort, something that most villagers lacked.

When one of the royal families dies, it was a grand thing indeed. The wood that was going to be used for the burning was taken only from the grandest of trees and polished to a deep luster. Several scented herbs and the deceased most prized possessions were burned with the corpse.

I could not promise these people anything as luxurious as that, but I will try to give them the best one that I can.

"We can use some of the wood from the houses," I insisted.

"And herbs from the forest?" Jan suggested. Then he smirked. "Who's going to pray over them, eh, Malcolm? None of us is what you'd call devout,"

Typically, when a royal corpse is burned, a priest of the deceased's religion would pray loudly beside the flames while a small group of devotees of the same religion sang to their professed god. [3]

I didn't answer but instead stopped down to study the bodies. I had learned hours before that it was better if I breathed through my mouth but it seemed to me that I could smell the stench nonetheless.

I wanted to remember their faces, their wounds, I wanted to keep them fresh in my memory and keep them alive long after they had passed.

A man with a coarse black beard that made him look like a bear…

A boy that was no more than five summers old, dead from the red smile on his throat…

A wizened old man with enough scars on his face to account to a life of cruelty…

A baker with his stomach ripped open and his viscera pulled out. Someone had gently placed it back in.

A baby boy that looked like he could have been sleeping except for the blood caking his forehead…

Suddenly, I stopped taking tallies and slowly stood up, a horrible idea beginning to dawn on me. Chills ran up and down my spine. I turned to Jan who was studying the cadavers with a critical eye.

"Jan," I said and I was surprised by how hoarse my voice sounded. "Jan..."

My friend looked up from the gruesome sight and started when he saw my face. "Maker's Breath, Malcolm! You look like you've seen a spirit, what's wrong,"

I waved an impatient hand over to the corpses. "Notice something wrong, Jan?" I asked. Jan surveyed the carnage, then I watched as the color slowly began to drain from his face.

His voice trembled when he spoke. "Malcolm, these are all the corpses we found right?" I nodded.

"Then…then…where are the women?"

He was right. Every cadaver we had picked up was male, something that I did not pick up on until now.

The entire female population of Peakside was missing.

-Entry taken from the journal of Malcolm Cousland

[1] I'm terrible with making up names for fictional places so I used a name generator for this one XDDD

[2] I realize now in our modern times that barley water is being used as a British soft drink but in medieval times, barley water was made and drank by poorer peasants who can't afford wheat (it was far too expensive for personal use back then) and had to make do with lesser grains and used every part of their harvest to cut down on wastage. It's usually sweetened with honey and, when allowed to ferment, turns to ale. So think of it as a weak form of liquor XDD

Just a fun fact. Thought you might like it ;)

[3] Since this was the ancient times, this was also before the Chantry had firmly established itself as a major religious organization and believers of the Maker were fewer back then than they are in modern-day Thedas. I assume that other gods have been more numerous back then.

I'll try to put up the next chapter some time next or next next week if I don't get too busy. :) I'm trying to establish this habit of waking up at 5 a.m. every morning to write for a good 2 hours before I go to class so I might be faster in posting new chapters. No guarantees though. :)

Feedback would always be welcome :) I hope you enjoyed it! Have a nice day ahead of you! :)