It was the height of summer, but if you’d told Artimus, he wouldn’t have believed you. He’d awoken once again, shivering under a blazing sun. The ground below him, where he’d slept uneasily through the night was rock solid with a sheet of ice covering the grass. Each breath he took felt like frozen daggers to the lungs. His grandmother had told him that Hell was a land of ice, the wicked preserved to be punished eternally, the woman wasn’t wrong.
Through the darkness of his clenched eyes, he could see her sitting in her chair facing the fire watching the flames dance and listening to the crackles as the embers spat into the dingy room. He hadn’t seen her in months, he wondered if she was still alive.
Rodrick was already up, Artimus didn’t need to open his eyes to know this, he could hear the high-pitched ringing of the captain sharpening his halberd, a monstrously long and jagged weapon, an amalgamation of axe and spear, which Rodrick claimed could slice a horse in half in one swipe.
The captain looked over to Artimus as he stirred under his blanket. Rodrick was wearing his kettle helm, his one good eye glared at Artimus, a black patch covered what was left of the other. Artimus shuddered thinking about what could be underneath.
Cole was awake too, dressed in his white furs, fashioned from a snowcat he had caught back in his homelands, the beast’s head made the hood, as ever he was grinding his teeth to hold back his tongue, he’d already packed his things and was ready to go, he was a Mountainman, built for the cold, thick of beard and thick of skin. Artimus and seen with his very eyes, a Wildman slash at Cole with an axe, but the steel didn’t break his skin, only glided over him, shaving off a patch of hair on his forearm.
The thought of the Wildmen made Artimus’ right-hand tremble, beastly men, wild, ferocious and unyielding. They moved like shadows, silent, always present, throwing spears and losing arrows from short little bows and running away when you got close with a sword.
Forty of their company had marched out on this mission, now there were three. Rodrick, Cole and Artimus. Artimus was no warrior like the other two, he was a cook. His skill was with oiling a pan, picking the right herbs, mixing the right spices not swinging a sword.
For three days they’d marched in peace, enjoying the landscapes, beyond the Wall of the World, the great mountain range that separated the civilised world from the Wildlands. They had passed through the Gap, which was guarded by the Moon Fort then they travelled beyond the Great Flat eventually ending up here, a land of short steep hills. Atrimus didn’t know the name of this place.
In the beginning, he had taken pleasure from discovering the new herbs of the land, there was Thyme with a purple flower which had a wonderful earthy flavour to it, Artimus used it with the fish that Hobbarth caught in a great lake they marched around. There was also a low-growing red berry, Artimus had harvested it and offered it as a snack to the men to stop them from eating up the supplies. The taste was bitter, but it was filling enough to keep them happy. In the end, these efforts to preserve the supplies were futile.
It was when they reached the hills that the Wildmen attacked, in great numbers. They came in the early morning sun, creeping dressed like the bushes of the land, cutting the throats of the watchmen. The fight was quick but chaotic, Artimus guarded his charge, the supply cart, but when ordered to abandon it he gathered what he could into his pack and fled as a hail of arrows and spears fell on him.
The three were lucky to have escaped, another attack and they would be done for. Cole had made the argument that they should head back and get the rest of the company, Rodrick denied the request, so they pressed on for another two days.
A few other men had survived, wounded. Artimus was tasked with their care, he made sure they were well watered, but he had no healer’s training, he didn’t know what to do. After a day their wounds began to stink, he stuffed the cuts and slashes with sage and mint to stop the smell. But, with no luck. Garth, Hebtel and Uthor fell to a fever in the night and did not wake from their sleep.
“They poison their arrows,” Rodrick said as Cole took the valuables from the bodies, knives, rope and food. They left the bodies unburied, to rot on the hillside.
What did I do to deserve this? Artimus thought to himself as he began to pack up his blanket. He pulled out some salted beef and chewed away as he slung the pack onto his back. Even if he was on the edge of the world, he would not be denied his breakfast.
“We should go back,” suggested Cole, his voice was gravelly, low and rough. Rodrick looked at him, Cole continued, “we don’t have much food, it may take us weeks to find this settlement, we could starve”. Artimus tapped his pack with his hand not me, he kept most of his food hidden deep.
Rodrick put his sharpening stone away and stood, “we don’t turn back,” he said adjusting his helm. Cole pressed, “we need more men, the full company, march in force and no Wildmen will face us, we could send scouts, on horseback, Windriders. Wouldn’t take them long”.
“We don’t go back” Rodrick grunted. Artimus could see a vain rising on Cole’s forehead, “you condemn us” he said after a moment. “Ready to move?” Rodrick asked, ignoring the comment, Artimus nodded his approval, the walk would warm him up at least. When death stalked you in the shadows, you need to find the positives where you can.
The trio set off across the valley. The frozen grass crunched under the pressure of their leather boots as they hiked up one of the hills that surrounded them. “Elders be rid of the accursed land,” muttered Cole as they made their ascent, “simple easy job, Caledan said, bastard”.
“Good men have died for, Caledan,” replied Rodrick, “men lost brothers needlessly, they will be wanting his head on a spike”. “I’ll do the cutting” Cole noted.
Artimus looked back at the events that brought him to the edge of the world, a little over a year ago he was hunting flowers for Alice, he’d planned to give her them at the spring dance. He’d gathered Buttercups, Ragged Robin, Wood Anemone from Clepper Forest, Cowslips and Bluebells he found walking home from the manor. He’d wrapped them all together with string and a piece of cinnamon that he’d taken from the kitchens.
As they trudged their way up, Artimus longed for the smell of cinnamon, he looked behind to check that there were no Wildmen sneaking up on them, all he could see was a thick mist floating in from where they had set off, it marched like a column of knights, a perfectly flat wall of fog, it was an unnatural sight. “Look at the fog,” Artimus said pointing at it, the other two didn’t look.
“Who gives a fuck about fog?” snapped Cole. “This fog ain’t right, unnatural -” Artimus tried to explain, but was interrupted.
“Fog is fog, Boy. Think of it as a sheet, it can hide you from your enemies, it’ll be to our advantage” replied Rodrick. “Won’t be able to see the settlement” Cole pointed out. As the two seasoned warriors began to speak of the good times, Artemis drifted off into his own mind once again as familiar thoughts resurfaced.
Alice had accepted the flowers with a smile and a kiss, it was soft and tender, like a light summer breeze. They spent the evening dancing together, she had put some of the Buttercups in her hair. She smiled as he spun her, Artimus had never seen such a beautiful sight.
Errol had brought ale, Terrace played his lute, Eric played his harp, Marty and Gavin banged drums. Under the moonlight and surrounded by the sound of music he fell in love with Alice and her locks of sun-blessed hair.
The party reached the top of the hill, Artimus’ legs burnt from the effort of keeping up with the other two. He used his pack as a seat as he rubbed his legs to ease the pain.
When the ale was drunk and the music stopped, Artimus and Alice walked Clepper Forest, it was up against an oak that they kissed, lips entwined with passion. Their hands explored each other’s bodies.
“To the east,” said Cole interrupting Artimus’ daydream, “I see a keep, upon a hill, I see huts and I see a wall”. Artimus sighed knowing he’s have to move again. The pain in the back of his legs had eased somewhat, but they weren’t ready to move again.
Rodrick walked over to him to see as well “Trioch be praised, that’ll be our destination”. After getting up, Atrimus could see it too, but he wasn’t filled with hope like the rest, he could see a small wooden keep surrounded by a thin palisade wall, with a few huts and hovels inside. It looked to be a league away and was minuscule, not as the Raven Lord described.
They headed to their destination, at a quick pace, Artimus struggled to keep up, he needed to stop regularly to rest the aches in his thighs, with each momentary rest Atrmus would look over his shoulder, scared of the Wildmen, but all he could see was the surrounding hills getting swallowed by the fog which had tailed them. He wanted to be anywhere but here, he’d rather be home than in this frozen hell.
His mind floated to the morning after the dance, Marty had burst into his home, red of face and sweating, “Half Penny knows!”. Artimus didn’t have time to grab his things as the banging began on the other side of the door.
The mob had brought spears, axes and clubs, they had chased him across the fields, over the rivers and through the trees. He managed to escape them by climbing the branches, much like he did as a child.
When he moved back to the river he climbed down and crept his way to the manor. “Tell your father the truth” he begged her when he snuck into her bedroom, “I cannot” she cried and begged forgiveness. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to strike her, but, even through floods of tears, she was still beautiful, his Buttercup.
Instead, he ransacked the manor looking for her father’s silver. He found five pieces and left the village, his time for good.
By mid-morning, they had reached the gate of the settlement, Rodrick banged it with his halberd “Hello?” he called out “The Raven lord has sent us!”. There was no answer. “Cole, find a back gate” Rodrick commanded. Cole did as he was told.
Rodrick banged the gate again, he walked off patting his halberd off the thick logs that made the wall. Once again, Artimus was left with only his memories again.
The manor knight had hunted him with dogs and men-at-arms, they tracked him for days through the Great Plains, Artimus was smart, he ran day and night, and waded upstream through the rivers to carry his scent south. Trekked up hills and covered himself in dirt to mask his smell.
After a few days, he came across a knight hunched over a small fire, he had three black trout on white as his sigil, Sir Gwending had protected him, at a price. As they travelled together, he would cook for Gwending and in return, the knight would teach him the way of the sword.
“You’ll need a new name, lad,” he’d said as he parried a swipe “then you’ll be harder to find. A name from the books”. Sir Gwending had studied to be a Master of history but failed the final test.
Artimus had asked him why he ended up a Free Lance, “by the time my studies were over, my father had died, my brother, now lord of the keep didn’t want me around” he explained his story over a campfire as they shared a bowl of Pottage stew, it had fried onions, peas, cabbage, carrots, beans, barley and all the herbs Artimus could find.
That night, the knight named him Artimus after some man in one of his books and in the morning they set off to find a free company, “a man can make a good life for themselves in a free company” he’d said mounting his horse, Herbert, “they would pay a good penny for your talent with food”.
Both Rodrick and Cole returned together, “there’s no back gate and no response,” said Rodrick, “they’re either dead or fled”.
Artimus could feel the air get colder and bitter, “that’s what the Raven wanted to know”. Rodrick frowned at him, “he will want to know more, how they died and why they didn’t call for aid,” he bashed the gate again, “The Forth company does the job properly”.
“How do we get in to check? Gates locked” Cole asked the group, Rodrick stared at him raising his eyebrows. Cole rolled his eyes and pulled out his hook and rope from his pack.
He threw it over the gate and pulled it back until the hook was caught and the rope was tight, both Rodrick and Atrimus watched the Mountainman climb over the gate, it didn’t take him long to open the passage.
Just as expected, the inside was deserted, not a person in sight. The ground was made up of frozen mud, frozen grass and frozen flowers, Artimus recognised some, there were Sweet Williams, Geraniums and Poppies. Sat on the frozen ground were wooden planks placed down acting as walkways each leading to a hut each with a thatched roof, “no sign of a fight,” said Cole looking around, “starved?” he suggested.
At the back of the settlement was a hill, steep, manmade, steps were etched into the ground’s surface, and sitting on top was a small wooden keep casting a shadow across the small town.
The Raven had described this settlement as a trade hub, to help bring the two realms of men together, the operation hadn’t started yet, goods from the south were to be held here and traded with the Wildmen clans. Artemis wondered what valuables could be hiding here, gold, silver, trinkets and even money.
Rodrick looked confused, “if the crop failed, why not send for help?” Cole grimaced, “search the huts” commanded Rodrick.
Artimus picked one of the smaller huts, built up against the wall, while the others searched bigger ones further towards the back of the settlement.
He opened the door, “be decent” he muttered as the wooden door creaked on its iron hinge. He expected it to be stiff, but the door glided open like it had been freshly oiled.
In the centre was a small pit for a hearth, the floor was strewn with straw. The room had three beds and a fenced-off area for animals. It wasn’t too dissimilar to the home Artimus grew up in, although that house was full of life.
By the hearth there was a small table and chair, the table was littered with paper. Atrimus inspected the paper curiously. There were drawings, child’s drawings, of horses, knights, dragons, some animals that Artimus couldn’t work out, possibly a deer, but the antlers were too thick and a man with a bull’s head.
Under the table there was another drawing, Artimus assumed that this was another drawing from the imagination of a child, he picked it up and looked at it.
It was a drawing of a man staring at an orb in the sky, Artimus summarised that he was looking at the moon. It was clearly children’s work because the proportions were all wrong, the man’s arms reached past his knees. He placed it down with the rest and continued his search.
He rifled through draws looking for valuables, he didn’t find anything made from gold or silver, but a nice pair of gloves and thick woolly socks.
He sat on one of the beds, the mattress stuffed to the brim with straw, it crunched as Artimus’ arse pressed in, the blankets were tucked in tight, and there was no dust, it was like someone had just been to clean the room.
He pulled the gloves on his hands immediately feeling the benefit, he then pulled his boots off, greeted by his big toe sticking out of his right sock. He pulled his new socks over the old, two layers for extra warmth.
As Artimus tightened the laces on his boots eyes spotted something, in the corner of the room, next to a wardrobe, a chest, a chest possibly filled with gold. A nice bit of gold and this whole mission would’ve been worth the journey.
He marched over and opened it, the inside was empty. He kicked it in frustration, causing it to fall apart instantly scattering bits of iron and wood splinters across the floor.
Using his feet, Artimus pushed the wood and iron into the hearth, he thought he could light a fire, some warmth to see the day through, perhaps he could find some stored food and cook it.
He longed for broth or some strew, piping hot to warm the core and packed with chewy lamb, leeks, garlic, peas, bacon, mushrooms and bread to mop up the leftovers. His stomach rumbled at the thought. He thought about the salted beef in his pack but resisted. He needed to conserve his food for the journey back.
From a distance, a voice cried out, “to the keep, to the keep!”. The familiar tone resembled Rodrick, yet an eerie undertone lingered. The words floated through the hut, their echoes resembling hushed whispers that seemed to emanate from the very walls.
Turning, he could see the fog was here, oozing through the doorframe like the puss that leaked from Garth’s wounds through the makeshift bandages Artimus had made. Through the fog, he saw a shadow glide past his line of sight.
“Cole, Rodrick?” he asked quietly as he stepped slowly towards the threshold, his hand grabbed the hilt of his sword loosening it, just as Sir Gwending had taught him.
Artimus cautiously ventured out of the hut, his senses instantly assaulted by the enveloping shroud of dense fog. Yet, as he immersed himself in its murky depths, a chilling realisation took hold. This fog was unlike any he had encountered before. Its ethereal tendrils coiled around him, carrying an ominous stench that clawed at his nostrils, an abhorrent odour he couldn’t place. The scent invaded his senses, evoking an unrelenting wave of nausea that twisted his stomach, threatening to unleash a gut-wrenching upheaval.
He fought against the fog’s suffocating embrace, its density pressing against him like the flow of a river. With each desperate push forward, the air thickened, almost solidifying, as if the mist itself resisted his intrusion. It clung to him with an unyielding grip, an invisible force exerting resistance akin to an impenetrable barrier. Each agonising step through the ethereal abyss demanded an exorbitant toll, draining him of strength and resolve, as though an invisible hand tugged at him, relishing in his mounting exhaustion.
Struggling through the suffocating tendrils of the fog, his heart pounding in his chest, he fought tooth and nail to escape its clutches. As he clawed his way forward, his vision pierced the gloom, revealing the foreboding silhouette of the keep perched atop a desolate hill. In the fort’s gateway, was Cole, waving at Artimus feverishly willing him to safety.
A sense of urgency surged through Artimus, urging him to flee, but the fog began encroaching around him once again, sinister and sentient, slithered around him. Its ethereal tendrils, like phantom hands clad in white, coiled around his body, tightening its grip with an icy touch. Starting with his boots, the mist began its insidious ascent, constricting and pulling at his leathers, its ghostly embrace seeking to imprison him. Summoning every ounce of strength, Artimus launched a mighty kick, unleashing a primal force to free himself from the fog’s clutches, pushing it back momentarily.
He ran to the keep and bounded up the earth stairs, taking two at a time. Tripping halfway up, he looked back. His eyes widened when he saw the branches of the icy fog slithering up the stairs. Strong hands grabbed his pack and pulled him up to his feet, Artimus finished his accent into the keep, Cole pushed him through the doorway and barred the door resting his back on it.
Cole moved closer to Artimus, “That fog ain’t right -” Artimus began, but Cole stopped him by covering his mouth with his hand.
“Something’s in the fog,” he whispered, “up the stairs, silent now”. With bated breath, the two figures inched their way up the staircase, their movements deliberate and stealthy. Aware of the treacherous creaking beneath their feet, they adopted a cat-like posture, creeping on all fours. Each cautious step resonated with an ominous resonance, a reminder of the impending danger that loomed. In the shrouded realm beyond, Artimus grappled with a deep-seated dread, a haunting uncertainty as to what awaited them beyond the bolted door in the enigmatic fog — an entity, a malevolence, or perhaps something far more sinister, waiting to unleash its menacing grip upon their souls.
Outside they could hear footsteps, to Artimus it sounded like the hooves of a knight’s charger, huge beasts, taller than a man, the sound was muffled by fog and the thick pine wood that made the keep. The door rattled as whoever was behind it tried to open it. Behind the door came a great snort.
There was then a great smack of an axe on wood, and the two panicked, Cole drew his long sword, it had an enchantment etched into the steal, Artimus could not read it, but hoped the magic would protect them.
He pulled his own sword, it was much shorter, but just as sharp. Artimus spotted a rope attached to the stairs, it was tied up the wall around an iron hook, “retractable,” he whispered unravelling it as the axe bit into the door again. The pair pulled on the rope which pulled the stairs up.
With a forceful third swing, the weapon crashed against the door, obliterating a section and leaving behind a splintered hole. Shards of wood rained down, scattering across the floor like spilled grains. As the pair pulled, the stairs began to slot together and rise like a castle’s drawbridge, as his view below waned, Artimus saw a hand covered in thick fur, covering weathered skin, each finger thick with blunt fingertips.
The hand wrapped around the wood, it ripped it away with ease making the hole larger, allowing the fog to pour in, through the fog, Artimus saw an orange eye peering through the gap. Before he could look at the beast breaking in, the stairs pulled closed.
The sounds of smashing and ripping of wood below continued, only breaking for the clatters of chunks of wood being thrown on the floor, and then there was silence followed by footsteps. The pair listened to the stomping came below, whatever was down there sniffed hard, Artimus feared that it could smell them. Hooves clomped as it moved around the parts of the keep it had access to, sniffing away.
“Rod,” Cole whispered, remembering his captain. “He’s smart, he would’ve hid, he warned us,” Artimus hoped this would comfort Cole but to no avail. Cole and Rodrick had been in service together for over a decade, the pair had fought out east, and they had led the charge against the Griffin at the Flaming Field.
He’d never seen Cole scared before, that scared Artimus, “I’ll go to the top, see what I can see, you hold here,” Artimus said getting up and climbing the final flight of stairs, at least if he was on the roof, he wouldn’t hear the stomping.
He crawled below the battlements, peaking out to see nothing but the fog, it had surrounded them by miles. The fog hadn’t reached its way up here, nor did the sounds of the beast below. Artimus felt safe here.
He peered over the battlements, he could see nothing but the fog, which carpeted the land as far as the eye could see, it was like there had been a blizzard sent by the Elders themselves.
Slowly, after what felt like an age, the fog began to creep away back over the hill from where it came revealing the settlement. Many of the huts now had human-sized holes in the walls and doors.
Artimus descended toward Cole, cautiously navigating the stairs, settling onto his rear and gliding down each step, as silent as the gentle ascent of the moon.
“We need to find, Rodrick,” he said when he returned to Cole, who in turn, nodded “Then leave this place, fuck the gold, fuck the reputation and fuck this place, ” Artimus agreed with his comrade.
Together they left the keep, inspecting the door along the way, it had been smashed into little pieces. “Wild bastards,” said Cole as he inspected the remains of the keep door, “this is Ironwood”. Artimus picked up a piece and pocketed it, “I’ve seen this stuff resist rams” Cole continued.
The pair pressed on, together looking through the hovels to find their man, moving into the last hut, they found him.
Rodrick was standing with his back to the door staring into the hearth. “Rodrick, let’s get out of here before the mist returns” encouraged Cole approaching his friend, Cole began to raise his arm, “it’s us, Rod” he reassured.
Artimus felt his feet stepping back as a shiver went down his spine, “this isn’t right, Cole” he whispered. The stench was in the air. Cole crept ever further to Rodrick, “Captain, it’s me, Cole”.
Artimus moved his hand to his sword and loosened the scabbard. Cole grabbed Rodrick by the shoulder and shook him, “Rod, we need to move!” he whispered.
Rodrick contoured around at an inhuman speed, his blue steel eyes were now bright orange, his mouth agape, there was a moment of brief silence, where Cole and Rodrick stared at each other.
That moment ended with a blood-curdling scream from Rodrick’s throat. Instinct took over and both Cole and Artimus began to flee, but Cole only got so far before Rodrick grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him in the air.
Artimus, looked back to see the ungodly sight, he had two options, he chose the more dangerous one, drawing his sword he sprinted to Cole’s aid, with one great swipe, he sliced off Rodrick’s arm, freeing Cole who landed on the floor with a thud.
Rodrick turned to face Artimus, his remaining hand flailed around, Artimus tried to swing at it, but missed, and in the process, Rodrick’s blood squirted into Artimus’ eyes, wiping it away, he felt the force of Rodrick’s arm as it made contact with his chest. He was flung into the air and landed feet away in the animal paddock.
Stunned, Artimus could only watch as Rodrick approached with his arm reaching out, gasping for air he tried to reach for his sword that was inches out of reach. Rrodrick’s body ripped through the fence blasting bits of wood and splinters everywhere.
Artimus could feel his heart about to burst, as the enemy approached him. He still couldn’t reach his sword. As the body was inches away, Cole appeared sword in hand and stabbed Rodrick in the back, the edge of the blade piercing his chest spraying Artimus even further with blood.
Rodrick turned his head to face Cole, who pulled the sword from the body of his former friend and in one quick movement, slashed at Rodrick’s neck, it was a clean cut and the head of his friend fell to the floor, followed shortly by the body.
The pair had no words for each other, Cole reached out a hand and lifted Artimus up, “thank you” he said, “for what?” Artimus said picking up his sword, “for coming back for me”.
Artimus looked at Cole and smiled, “We’re brothers in arms, are we not?”. Cole nodded and the two walked out of the building.
Artimus’ walking was staggered, he had no feeling in his left foot but didn’t want Cole to know so tried to walk it off, but he kept tripping over the uneven ground.
Together they both noticed a figure approaching from the gate, “another one,” said Cole raising his sword, Artimus did the same ready to face the new man.
But, this was no man, not any that they had seen. As it came closer, they could see this beast had the torso and arms of a man, but the head of a bull and the legs of something else.
It came at them with speed swinging its double-sided axe, Artimus moved out of the way while Cole engaged it attempting to parry the axe, there was a clash as steel met steel.
Artimus moved back and raised his sword to strike high, he brought it down, but the beast bashed him in the belly with the butt of its axe. Artimus crumbled with the main as all the air in him was knocked out.
Cole and the beast continued their fight, the beast sniffed and snorted as Cole parried each swig waiting for an opening, but none came.
The wind returned to Artimus, picking up his sword, he started to return to the dance which had moved feet away as Cole was giving ground.
Cole spotted that Artimus was coming, as did the beast, Cole took his opportunity and lunged at the creature. Artimus paused as he watched Cole lunge.
Cole’s sword was tapped away by the creature as it raised its axe. The beast grunted as it swung at Cole. He had enough time to raise his sword to parry again.
Artimus sprinted forward to help, but it was too late. Cole wasn’t strong enough, his sword was knocked out of the way and the axe dug deep into his neck.
Artimus watched the life drain from his eyes and the blood dribble from his neck. With what little life he had, Cole raised his sword again, but his body collapsed into a heap on the ground as the beast removed the axe.
It snorted as it lifted Cole up by the head and stared into his dead eyes.
Dropping Cole’s body, the beast turned its attention to Artimus, axe raised. Artemis raised his sword once more, ready to meet his foe. The sword reflected the light wonderfully as it trembled in his hand.
The beast stepped forward, each time its hoof crunched the sheets of ice below. When it was mere inches away, Artimus lunged with his sword, the beast smacked the sword away before landing a punch into Artimus’ skull.
He fell down to the ground, the beast moved over him, it snorted once again. Artimus’ hand reached around the ground for his sword, but couldn’t find it. Instead, his fingers wrapped around some wood. It was the Ironwood.
He drove the splinter into the beast’s belly penetrating the skin. The creature bellowed and stepped back. Artimus took the opportunity to stand back up on his feet.
Artimus had no choice but to flee, he grabbed his sword and ran. Looking back one last time at Cole, he saw the beast ripping Cole’s head from his shoulder and throwing it away.
Once again, Artimus was on the run. He ran, in each and every direction, he aimed to be high, where the wind was stronger to avoid the mist and he hoped the wind would blow his sent away.
He did not sleep, from fear of the beast. But by the second day, he was exhausted and needed rest. He was at the foot of a mountain range, he had spotted a cavern by the moonlight, he made his way above the cold jagged rock.
The cavern was damp, the wall trickled with water, which Artimus gladly drank. Then he rested under his blanket for an uneasy night’s sleep.
His sleep was ended abruptly by the sounds of grunting, worried that they had found him, he packed up his things and crept to the cavern’s entrance. There he could see the valley below lit up by the pale light of the crescent moon.
There the beasts stirred marching to an unknown destination. Artimus studied them while chewing on some salted beef. They moved like an army but at the speed of a pack. Beast and man, in perfect unison, he’d never heard tales of these creatures.
His grandmother had warned him of Woodfolk, Blooddrinkers, Ratfolk and the Pale King. All children’s stories, designed to stop you from leaving your village. Had he known of what lives beyond the Wall of the World, he wouldn’t left home.
Moving back into the cave, he listened to the faint trickle of the water as it ran down the cave wall. Home was something he didn’t think of often. He ran away as soon as he could. If I get out of this mess, I could go back. He wondered if the village would take him back, did they know he took the knight’s coins?
I could work the fields. There would be no dangers there, no beasts. Just crops, carrots, radishes, turnips, leaks. His belly rumbled as he thought of leak soup. He chewed some more beef to appease it. Then he drifted off back to sleep.
Morning came and light filled the cave, rested, Arimus trekked on, staying in the mountains. He edged along slowly, not to disrupt the rocks, if one fell, the noise could bring all manner of nasties.
It took him the day to make his way through the mountains, clambering over ancient rock and through small valleys, sliding down smooth flat stone and up etched edges.
On the other side, he had hoped to see civilisation, through all the climbing he constantly told himself that he was traversing the Wall of the World, the taste of reality was bitter, as all Artimus could see was the flats, as far as the eye could see.
Beyond the flats, was something, his eyes couldn’t make it out, he could see spires, walls and what looked to be a keep. He wasn’t sure, Rodrick had said that eyes could lie and see things that aren’t there.
Artimus had no choice, either go there and have a chance of safety, or stay here and be found. As he headed in the direction of the fortification the moon rose high in the sky.
As Artimus made his way, the grass below began to light up, small little white flowers began to glow in the pale moonlight. He’d never seen a flower that came out at night, it was beautiful, and the light led the way to the castle.
Following the flower’s light, he made it to the castle as the sun was rising. At closer inspection, he could see the building in its full glory.
It was a fortress built from black jagged stone, the outer wall was at least eighty feet tall, the towers and twisted spires it protected were even higher. Artimus had been all over the world, from the Westerlands, to the Thousand Islands and the lands beyond, but he had never seen architecture like this, he could only describe it as wicked.
An evil built this fortress, the walls were covered with iron spikes, each varying in length a deep ditch sat below the walls, the gate was raised and Atrimus followed the thin bridge to reach it.
The black stone bridge was slippy, one misstep and Artimus would fall into the depths below, he took his time. The gate’s wood was pale with faces horrific and contorted etched into it, their eyes followed Artimus as he paced along the gate trying to push it open.
He couldn’t force the gate open, instead, he decided to climb over with his rope and hook. He threw it up but he couldn’t throw it high enough, instead of catching it, the hook just landed on the stone floor with a dull thud. Artimus made three attempts, each failed so he gave up.
Reevaluation the situation, Atrimus decided that he would climb the wall using the iron spikes. He used the hook and rope to pull himself up. Balanced on one of the spikes one arm resting on the wall, to help his balance.
The spike directly above him looked like the perfect start of his assent, he grabbed it and pulled himself up, again, using the wall for balance. The iron rods holding the spikes were thick allowing Artimus to place his feet on them, so long as he used the wall as support, he’d be fine.
He grabbed the pole above him, he needed to lean on his toes to reach it, but once he got his fingers wrapped around the Iron, he could pull himself up.
It took Artimus a monumental effort, but eventually, he managed to reach the top of the wall. He rested a while resting his back on the battlements.
Artimus wandered the walls looking for some steps, he found them and followed them to the ground.
The ground was cast in shadow from the high walls, but the light was still able to sneak in. In his explorations, Artimus was able to find a forge which featured an axe waiting to be finished by the long-dead blacksmith. He found a tavern, tankards sat still on the table.
Artimus, again, thought of his grandmother and her stories. She had told him, on a winter night by the cracking fire about the Four Families that ruled the lands thousands of years ago.
She had spoken about the North family, their name lost in time, corrupted by blood magic conquered Rainland under the Blood Moon banner.
Could this be the seat of the Blood Kings? The thought of this discovery excited Artimus thinking of the treasure and artefacts.
Weaving through the streets he came across the keep, a tall imposing building with long glass windows. The entrance was a great archway that Artimus walked through.
Inside was a great long hall, at the other end was a seat. A king’s throne, made from pieces of slate, the back of the chair faced the court. The chair itself faced a great stained glass window which depicted the stages of the moon.
The ceiling was tall and arched, held up by giant columns of stone, small gaps in the roof cast moonlight across the court it was a mesmerising mix of light and shadow.
Below the window, Artimus spotted a tall plinth, six feet Artimus guessed, on top was a candle, a candle made of fused emerald. The flame itself looked to be frozen, still lighting the room, but the fire didn’t flicker or dance. It stood motionless whispering something, Artimus didn’t like it and darted left through an archway where the treasure could be.
He began his search for treasure in one of the side chambers. The first room he checked was a modest bedroom. It contained a bed, a wardrobe and a chest.
The wardrobe was bare, and the chest was full of old blankets. As he rummaged through the belongings of some long-dead courtier, his eyes focused on spotting gems and jewels he began to hear a scraping. Steel on stone.
The noise was getting louder, listening in Artimus could hear footsteps, they were slow. He had time.
He threw his pack into the wardrobe and slid himself under the bed and waited. As the staps came closer, Artimus worked on controlling his breathing. Slow infrequent breaths were quiet.
The footsteps were outside the door. The door creaked open. Artimus watched as two bare feet walked in. Human feet, but withered with age, pale as milk. They stood there for a moment before moving off further down the corridor.
Artimus waited for the steps and scrape to fade before grabbing his stuff and fleeing. In his mind, there was a change of plan, get back to the company. Tell them of the castle. Come back and take it, let the knights kill the occupant, then divide the treasure.
But first, he needed to get out, alive. He sprinted down the winding corridors that reached the throne room. There he saw the throne itself, bathed in moonlight.
The candle was still there, Artimus launched at it and grabbed it, such a thing could be worth a castle. That’s what he hoped anyway. As his fingers wrapped themselves around the emerald candle, Artimus could feel the heat pulsing from it.
Then, all of a sudden, Artimus could feel his whole body rising, he looked down, his feet were still firmly on the ground, but his body flew through the ceiling of the keep. Higher and higher he rose, feet still on the ground. All around he could see the surrounding lands. He saw abandoned settlements built into the mountains.
He flew past the Gap and higher still, he saw farms, towns and forts brimming with activity. He saw the realms of the west, flying past the Lakelands in an instant, to his right he saw the great ports of the east.
Beyond the ports he flew, across the great sea he saw the Thousand Islands. Even further he flew, past great deserts and jungles in a blink of an eye, past dragons and mountains that pierced the sky and reached the night stars.
Days, nights, weeks, months, and years passed by with a single blink of an eye. He watched small hamlets become villages to towns then cities faster than his racing heart could beat. With each pulse, castles were erected and then torn down only to be built anew.
Millennia passed through Artimus’ eyes in a matter of seconds, it was all too much, his stomach was turning. He let go of the candle and fell backwards in time and to the cold hard ground.
He could feel his heart beating in his throat as reality returned to his eyes. His left arm hurt, it was a pain like nothing he’d felt before. It burned like he has stuffed it into a fire. He looked at it. Where his right arm had been just moments before was nothing but charred ash which collapsed onto the floor in a heap as he inspected it.
The pain was unimaginable, Artimus was thankful that there was no blood, the heat of the candle had cauterised what was left of his arm. he did everything he could not to scream. He knew the lurker could be close, and he wasn’t wrong.
All the while the thing that had made the scraping was there, watching, curious to see how Atrimus failed with the candle. He was tall, out of proportion, his hands reached below his knees. He moved forward, approaching Artimus, hunched. Knees raising high with each step. He must’ve been seven feet tall.
Artimus wanted to run but he could physically move, he could only lay there as the pale man approached. Standing over him, the man reached out a hand, as Artimus took it, he was helped to his feet.
His hand was ice cold as he stroked Artimus’ cheek, his fingers were long and thin. The man smiled like Artimus was an old friend. His long hair blew in the gentle breeze. Perhaps, Artimus had been wrong to fear this man, maybe he and Artimus were the same, trapped in this hellish void. Artimus knew he should say something, but didn’t know what, so he smiled back, words flooded his head, anything would be better than nothing.
Artimus felt the Pale Man’s grip tighten around his neck as he was lifted into the air, he momentarily escaped the pain and troubles that plagued him, his world faded into darkness as a bone-chilling snap echoed through the air.
