First Mission 4 – Ambush

.

As the heralds scaled a serpentine trail that twisted up the hillside, they spotted three emaciated figures ahead. Their hands drifted warily to their weapons, but the Matron continued to march unperturbed, so they followed her example. When they drew closer, their suspicions were confirmed. These men had long since gone hollow.

The pitiful things were dressed in rags that clung to their skeletal frames, and leaned wearily on crude wooden pikes. One lifted his gaze as they neared, staring at the troupe with vacant eye sockets, and Verna thought for a moment that he might attack. However, the undead simply hung his head again, returning to whatever dismal thoughts drifted through a corpse's brain.

Calvert glanced back as the party rounded the next bend, discomfort marring his elegant features. "They must be the Legion's acolytes," he muttered under his breath, as if he might somehow offend the soulless wretches. "How far the mighty have fallen..."

"They don't deserve pity," the stalwart Fordin said, keeping his eyes forward. "They're undead. Let 'em rot."

As they approached a crumbling fortress at the peak of the hill, Verna noticed another herald, Marth, glaring at Fordin's back. He was a sullen man, and had not spoken a word since their departure, but he suddenly looked like he wanted to rebuke his companion's callous remark. Then, Marth caught her staring, and quickly averted his gaze back to the dirt beneath their feet.

Once they were within the circular ruin, greeted by the sight of a warm bonfire, Medeline turned to her charges. "It would appear our ride is running late," the evangelist sighed, her smile unfaltering. "We will make camp for now. Lendrey, Marth, you two will have first watch. The rest of you may break out the rations."

While the pair of heralds took their posts at either entrance, the others gathered around the bonfire and began digging out their food. Most of them had little more than dried strips of salted jerky, which they tore into with enthusiasm. Cliope took out a handful of mossfruit and picked sparingly at it.

"I don't know how any of you can eat that stuff," she said, eyeing their ravenous hunger with a hint of disdain. "I don't even know what it is, but it doesn't look appetizing."

"It's probably just dog or something," Percelle mumbled around his food. "Besides, it just tastes like salt. Here, try some."

The cleric scrunched her nose as he tried to hand her a piece. "Ew, no thanks." She promptly turned to her fellow clerics as Percelle tore off another strip with a grin.

.

.

"Marth?"

The warrior looked up with a troubled frown, his brow taut, but he relaxed as he recognized Verna standing beside him. "Sorry," he excused himself gruffly, "got lost in my own head."

"Understandable," Verna replied. "This trip has us all worn out. Lucky for you, it's my turn to take watch. You should go eat, get your energy back."

Marth gave a half-hearted shrug. "Not hungry, but I wouldn't mind resting my feet. Thanks."

As he turned to join the others, Verna spoke up again. "Hey... If something's troubling you, you can always talk to the Matron. She's a surprisingly good listener, you know."

That dour look darkened the herald's face again. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "Just seems like something's on your mind."

"It's nothing I can't handle," he said curtly. "Don't worry yourself over it."

"I'm not saying that out of the kindness of my heart, Marth. You were supposed to be on lookout duty, but you didn't even hear me come up behind you. If I were an enemy, I could have cut you down before you knew what hit you. This mission requires all our focus, so if something's distracting you, you should deal with it. For all our sakes."

He seemed taken aback by the directness of her reprimand, but eventually, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right. I probably should talk to somebody... the Matron's already heard my complaints, though, and it's not like I can talk to any of you about it."

"Try me."

Marth raised a bushy eyebrow. "What?"

"I said try me," Verna repeated. "I'm not going to judge you. It's our first mission, I'm sure everyone's worried one way or another."

"That's not it," he shook his head. "I'm not worried about the mission. It's... it's not something you could understand. And trust me, you will judge me."

"Well you won't know until you say it," the red-head shot back. "Just spit out, Marth. What's wrong?"

The tall herald glanced back to the rest of their team as if he were seeking an escape, or perhaps making sure they weren't in earshot. "It's the way the others act. The way they talk. They're just novices, all green. They have no idea what the world is really like... what some of us have had to sacrifice to keep others safe."

Verna nodded thoughtfully. "I can see where you're coming from. I honestly feel the same. Most of them have never set eyes past the graveyard of the Cathedral. Hell, Percelle didn't even know what a bloody basilisk was."

To her surprise, Marth allowed himself the ghost of a smile. He appraised the younger herald with a hint of respect. "Verna, I want to ask you something. What do you think of the undead?"

This caught her off-guard. "The undead? Well... I'm not sure. I mean, they're just ghosts, really, or rather the opposite. Nothing but a husk of their former selves, trying to fill the emptiness with the souls of others..." She trailed off as Marth's expression grew sullen again.

"Yeah," he muttered. "That's what everyone thinks. No one remembers that the undead have served our Church for centuries, long before any of us were even born. It's... it's disheartening how easily they've forgotten."

For a brief moment, Verna thought back to the knight of thorns looming over her, glaring down with his iron-wrought gaze, forever chasing after the troublesome child. She quickly pushed the memory aside, but not before an unwelcomed chill ran down her spine. "That's true, though I'm not sure if that changes what they are. They've already died. They aren't human like us."

Marth snorted loudly. "I knew you wouldn't understand. Thanks anyways, Verna."

As he turned to leave again, she grabbed his shoulder. "Wait. Explain it to me. I want to understand, honestly."

He didn't look at her, but he didn't pull away, either. After a moment of silence, he said, "You can't. Honestly. You don't know what it's like until it's upon you, until it's too late."

Verna's hand fell away on its own. "Marth... what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you were an enemy, and you cut me down, I'd just come back to haunt you."

Finally, it hit her like a cudgel to the gut. "Merciful Gwyn... You're one of them?"

"Yeah, one of them. Not one of you."

"Marth, I'm sorry... I didn't mean it like that, I just... I had no idea..."

"Nobody does," he sighed, casting a weary glance to the others gathered around the bonfire — a bonfire that burned with the bones of an undead, just like himself. "You all look at me as one of the crowd, just another trainee trying to earn his place. None of you have any idea what I've sacrificed to serve our Lord."

Verna struggled to find a proper response. "When did it happen?" she eventually blurted out, immediately realizing how rude it must have sounded. However, the older herald showed no reaction.

"A while ago," he said, eyes clouding over. "I'm not really sure. I don't... I can't remember how it happened. I just remember waking up in the Cathedral, with the deacons watching over me. This was back when we still had Fire Keepers, of course, back before they started wilting away like snipped buds. I thought I was scared, then, when I first woke up. I had no idea how terrifying my false life would become."

"I can't imagine..." she tried to console him, though she knew the words rang hollow.

"No, you really can't. This world was once full of life, you know. The land flourished with the Fire Keepers, with bountiful souls... and humanity. But now the Fire Keepers have all but faded, and they took the last of our humanity with them." He placed a hand over his heart, as if it pained him. "What I hold within me now... I'm not sure if I can ever replace it. And that frightens me more than anything. The next time I die, I may lose what little remnant of self I have left, forever."

Verna fought to regain her composure. "Marth, that's horrible... and you're right, I can't imagine what it must be like. But I want you to know, this doesn't change how I think of you. No matter what, you will always be one of us. Always."

The weathered creases around Marth's eyes finally softened. "Thank you. That means the world to me, truly. It felt good to finally get that off my chest." He started to leave, then glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Oh, and Verna? If you speak a word about this to anyone, I swear I'll eat your soul."

She stared aghast at the stoic knight, until the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, and she let out a nervous half-chuckle. "Curse you, Marth," she swore with a shake of her head.

He shrugged. "Already am."

Suddenly, a feral shriek shattered the still air. In an instant, both heralds had their weapons drawn, staring intently down the road before them, though not a thing stirred along the beaten trail. Even the hollowed acolytes were nowhere to be seen.

"Regroup," Marth ordered, never taking his eyes off the tree line. "Something wicked is coming."

.

.

Everyone was on their feet, swords and spears at ready. They had formed a tight circle around the three clerics, who huddled with their Matron around the bonfire, jumping at every leaf flittering in the wind. Verna and Marth fell into formation seamlessly, keeping a cautious eye on the shadows that shifted beyond the broken stone walls.

"What the devil was that?" Percelle said in a near-whisper.

"Hush, child," Medeline responded, lest anyone else voiced their fears. "Stay on guard. Be ready for anything."

They stood there, still as statues before the crackling flames, and the forest remained uncomfortably silent. Verna gripped her sword-hilt with white knuckles, afraid to relax for even a moment. Then, she saw it — a pair of gleaming red eyes watching them from the shaded woods.

Before she could call out, a savage roar shook their spirits, and a monstrous creature bounded over the wall. It looked like a hollow, but it was more hideous than any hollow Verna had seen before. Its greying mane lay matted against a gaunt face, with rotted teeth sharpened into fangs. Low-hanging arms ended in fierce claws, each one longer than her dagger. As the creature charged the ashen-faced heralds, Verna felt her knees weaken at its imposing size. It stood nearly twice as tall as any man, even with its back arched like a bristling wolf.

The beast crashed into their ranks with all its weight, nearly trampling right over the cowering heralds. "Hold the line!" Medeline shouted over the frenzied howls. "Pikemen! Strike back!" Despite their fears, the heralds' training took command, and they responded diligently to their Matron's orders. As the monster thrashed wildly at their shields, Fordin and Calvert thrust out with spear and halberd, piercing through its bowels. However, the wounds only fueled the creature's rage. With one swipe, it lifted Fordin by his spear shaft and sent him tumbling overhead, throwing him far beyond their shield wall, his weapon splintered uselessly.

The beast pounced upon the lone herald, digging tooth and nail into his exposed backside. Fordin screamed into the dirt as it rent his flesh apart, and Percelle took a step to aid him. "Hold!" the Matron bellowed again, forbidding them to intervene. "Protect the clerics!"

"It's tearing him to pieces!" Percelle cried, though his feet remained planted. Then, Medeline ordered, "Down!" and the heralds instinctively dropped to one knee, shields still raised. "Clerics, attack!"

As one, the priestesses rang their chimes, then thrust them forward as orbs of light raced from their outstretched hands. All three spheres burst against the monster, causing it to stumble away from the fallen warrior. It instantly spun on the group with a primal scream and raced towards them again. Without thinking, Calvert raised his halberd, and the beast impaled itself on the sharpened tip, which burst out its back in a spray of thick blood.

Still the creature fought, its claws swiping dangerously close to Calvert's face, but he held fast against the danger. Verna yearned to break rank and hack away at the monster, but just as the thought came to her, more howls rose from beyond the walls. To her horror, another of the hideous beasts leapt down, then another. As one, they rushed towards the ring of heralds, and she felt her heart plummet to the soles of her boots.

"Stand strong, warriors!" Medeline rallied her charges, and in one swift motion, she unslung her mace and brought it down in a sweeping arc. The spiked end obliterated the first monster's skull, and it finally stopped struggling as pieces of bone and brain matter splattered across Calvert's astonished face.

The other beasts collided against their shields. One of them sent Lendrey somersaulting through the air; their wall was broken on both sides. The exposed clerics stared up in horror as the gnashing maws bore down on them. Unable to hold back, Verna gripped her sword in both hands and thrust it into the fiend's ribs, and it rounded on her with a shriek. There was a flash of yellow claws, then she was sprawling onto her back, three gouges dug into her breastplate.

While the others battled the lone monster, Verna stared up in horror at the approaching abomination, its eyes shining a bloody crimson. As it raised a taloned hand, Marth suddenly pounced onto its back, driving his spear straight through the creature's throat. Its howls became wet gurgles as it thrashed wildly, trying to throw the herald off, and Verna took the opportunity to attack. She screamed as barbarically as the monsters as she slashed through its stomach, releasing a tangle of wet entrails and overwhelming stench.

The back of its hand struck her across the face, and Verna stumbled away as the creature wrapped both claws around Marth's shoulders. With a mighty heave, it smashed the herald head first into the ground, then lifted him bodily to slam him again. Verna went pale as she watched her comrade go limp, and was on her feet in an instant. Before she could move, the monster flung the other herald at her like a ragdoll, and she reflexively tried to catch the heavy man. As she fell to one knee, she realized it was a mistake. The beast rushed at them both, spear still jutting out of its neck.

At that moment, a greater commotion came into earshot, even louder than the battle. Both heralds and monsters turned as a wagon barreled into view, bouncing on rickety wheels as if it would overturn at any second. Four rotted, undead canines yelped as they pulled the cart, and at its helm was a plump woman with a pointed hat. Even in the midst of combat, Verna could not help but stare at the peculiar scene.

As the wagon rolled into the fortress, the woman reigned in hard, bringing it to a creaking stop. At the same time, she leapt from her seat with sword in hand. To Verna, it looked like an oversized butcher's knife. With the creature distracted, the Matron swung her spiked mace, caving in its chest. The driver charged forward and slashed at the stunned beast, cleaving its head clean off its shoulders. Then, without pause, she rushed through the ranks towards the last monster.

A clawed hand came down at her, but in a flash, she took off its entire arm, then followed with another strike, slicing it open collar to hip. From behind her, the heralds jabbed with spears and halberds, until at last the monster collapsed, blood gushing from its hole-riddled body.

.

.

"About time you showed!" Medeline shouted, still grinning ecstatically. "Clerics, round up! Tend to the wounded!"

Verna immediately looked to the immobile herald still cradled in her arms. As fear rushed back into her breast, she tore at his chin-strap and threw the crumpled helmet aside. His eyes stared black glossily, and his skull had fractured wide open, streaming warm blood over his face. "Marth," she tried to shout, but her voice caught in her throat. "Marth, damn you! Say something!"

He blinked. "My head hurts..."

She nearly laughed in relief. "You bastard. You scared the life out of me." Marth tried to sit up, but Verna forced him back to the ground. "Don't you dare. Wait for the clerics to do their job."

As if on cue, Cliope rushed to his side and began reciting her healing miracle. Verna stepped back as the golden light surrounded them, then turned to leave, realizing there were others who needed aid.

In the middle of her chants, Cliope reached out and grabbed Verna's hand. "Thank you," she said hoarsely, eyes wide with gratitude. Verna squeezed back, nodded, and left her to her duties.

Despite being tossed like a sack, Lendrey was back on his feet, exclaiming surprise that he was in one piece. Somehow, Percelle hadn't even been touched. The unfortunate Fordin, however, still lay facedown in the dirt, his robes soaked through with blood. He screamed profusely as the other two clerics knelt by his side, combining their miracles in an attempt to heal his grievous injuries.

Calvert was sitting on the ground, his shield and halberd strewn to either side. He stared blankly at nothing, face still drenched in gore. Verna crouched beside him and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you alright?"

The herald nodded wordlessly, stuck in a stupor. She gripped him tighter and gave him a gentle shake. "You're okay, Calvert. Maybe this will teach you to start wearing your visor down, eh?" A weak moan escaped him.

While the troupe gathered themselves, Medeline approached the driver of the cart. "Quite the entrance," she remarked. "I'd almost think you planned this whole thing."

The woman planted her flat blade into the ground. "'Pologies, Matron. Took me a while to fix up m'cart. It ain't meant for carryin' warm bodies, as ya know."

"But of course."

"I hope this don't affect our 'greement?"

The Matron produced a burlap bag with a stained bottom. "Not at all. This should be enough to tide you over."

The driver grabbed the sack and peered eagerly inside. As she beheld its contents, a smile touched her cheeks. "M'thanks, Matron. Tell your heralds to pile in once they cleaned up. We've still a ways to go 'fore New Arston."