Chapter V: Darkwood
"The outpost in Barrow Fields has fallen m'lady!"
Lady Grey took another drink from her teacup as she daintily pondered at her fate. "Where are they now?" she inquired. The messenger had a look of severe disarray and spoke in an almost weeping tone, "Our spies report that they are entering Darkwood m'lady." The mayor of Bowerstone, being the unspoken governess of Albion, sat in a very ladylike manner seemingly unaffected by the news of impending doom. "Thunder my good advisor, what do you think." The mountain of a man, Thunder, rose from his chair and began to pace while in deep thought, "If it were my decision, I alone would love to slay that pustule, but I suppose you value the lives of our army." Lady Grey took another drink from her tea, "The only reason I value their lives is because there are less bandits to worry about when I do." Thunder continued to roam about in the room, "If you wish to think that way the best thing to do is play defensively." The governess shook her head ever so slightly, "No. We have to show those rats that we are ready for them." Thunder stopped moving and turned towards her, "M'lady if we don't send an army how can this be done?" Lady Grey set down her tea and spoke in a dainty tone, "You do not need an army to kill a few bandits do you?" The messenger spoke up, "Something you should know m'lady." Lady Grey turned to him and listened. "The bandits aren't being led by Cyloncrius." Thunder leaned closer to hear the man. The messenger spoke in a peculiar tone, "They are being led by Tarus." Lady Grey closed her eyes in dismay. Thunder cringed inside knowing very well of Tarus. Everyone in the court knew of him.
Many years ago, Tarus had come wishing the lady's hand in marriage and, as the stories went, he had a duel with Thunder for her. Of course everyone knew what had happened that day. Tarus defeated Thunder, and won Lady Grey, but oddly enough, declined to marriage. Tarus left the kingdom, to far off lands, while miraculously Thunder recovered from his mortal wounds. They did not marry but Thunder became chief general of the Bowerstone army, rendering him military advisor to the governess. He had no need to use his power until now, when the same man who had put him in power came to take it.
"Any thoughts Thunder?" Lady Grey asked. Thunder looked out of the large window that looked out from Grey Manor over the rest of Bowerstone. He spoke gruffly, "We will need mercenaries."
In the meantime…
Tarus and his men continued their journey north, now marching the long road towards Bowerstone. Their recent conquest of the Bowerstone outpost had lost them a mere twelve lowly bandits. In their minds, nothing could stop them. "I say Tarus why must you worry about the future," said Cyloncrius as he took another deep drink from his frothy mug of beer. The tent in which they were camping in was filled with the higher-ranking elites. Sounds of hearty laughs and the clinking of glasses rang joyously in everyone's ears. Tarus sat maniacally on his chair slowly pondering over some ale. Cyloncrius clumsily tried to cheer him some more between deep gulps of ale. Tarus merely glared at him with a growing hate. "Come on son have some of this," the bandit king reached for his hip flask that contained a ferociously strong bandit rum. Tarus continued to stare with an utter loathing. "Drink it boy!" the king's tone grew to a command. Tarus grabbed the king's garment and violently pulled him out of his chair. Tarus and the king rushed out of the tent drawing curious glares from the elites.
"Listen to me you bastard!" said Tarus as he pushed the king toward the dark side of the tent. The king merely stood blankly and wide eyed at him in a drunken stupor as Tarus drew his dagger. "You insolent rat. I am having to fight myself in order to spare your worthless pustule of a life." The king continued to look on in terror. Tarus continued tightening his grip on the kings cloak out of rage, "You have treated this endeavor like a playful outing. You sit like a drunken swine, and laugh heartily as I plan out attacks. You fool! Do you think that the battles ahead will be this simple? Do you actually perceive that we will prance merrily to the gates of Bowerstone and take charge of their city?" The king stood weakly, and stuttered mindless babble in response. Tarus pulled the king close until he could smell the fowl stench of bad ale. He spoke in a gruff whisper, which sounded like hate itself, "You will die on this expedition, and I will enjoy it." Tarus pulled back and delivered a ferocious blow to the king, that threw him back and onto the dusty ground, unconscious.
Tarus returned to the Tent carrying the unconscious Cyloncrius. The tent was silent. "Old chap had a bit to much." Said Tarus as he threw the king into the corner. At this the elites let out a joyous cheer and continued in their celebration.
When the men set out the next day the king sat like a frightened dog in his saddle. He flinched at every noise and was always looking around him warily. He never said a word; he only rode on behind Tarus allowing him to take full control of the army. It seemed that all of the bandits had partook in their own amount of celebration. This was hinted at by the slow, and groggy nature of the men. Tarus was the only one who rode in a straight path and found no pain in the act of thinking. Because of the current state of his troops, Tarus worried about the journey ahead. Not one hundred yards ahead of them lay the forest Darkwood. The army stopped and looked with a deep fear at the looming woods.
The trees stood tall, but not in a majestic way. They were twisted with vines, their limbs were contorted into hideously maniacal shapes, and the entire endless labyrinth was covered in a dark and gloomy mist. Everyone was stuck fast to the ground. No one moved, they only stared intently at the nightmare before them. The woods were haunted, everyone said so. Travelers who had been unlucky enough to be forced to path through Darkwood's looming branches spoke of the evils within. "The devil himself lives there," they say, "nothing seems real in there. Dead walk, living die, and the ones who do survive are snatched off by who knows what." All of the bandits knew these woods well, and all of them feared it equally.
Tarus did not hesitate, and rode into the mist. Everyone remained still. Eventually Cyloncrius cautiously entered the gloom. The rest of the bandits, having no apparent choice, ambled into the woods, constantly looking around them in a panic-stricken terror.
The mist enveloped Tarus like a shroud. He could not see more than five feet ahead of him, but he did not fear. The others, however, were on the verge of madness. Even the once so brave Cyloncrius was literally shaking.
The group slowly made their way through the perilous woods. The path on which they traveled was always overtly unraveled, and the men sometimes had to hack their way through fierce underbrush. So far, in their escapade through the forest, Tarus had been able to identify a small amount of ambient noise: the occasional ravens screech, the small but frequent sound of a hushed wind, and at least the small rustle of leaves from the creatures of the forest, but all of the sudden, all became quiet. Something was wrong.