Night of the Fallen

Introduction

This story will be my first 'full length' piece and is intended to be a stab at horror-fantasy. The setting is loosely based on medieval Britain but with fantasy elements familiar to anybody who has read the likes of Tolkein. The story began from a sentence that I couldn't shake from my head. Since then, the rest has almost written itself and although I have a clear ending in mind, the road there could well be bendy...

What follows is a draft version of the first few pages. If you would like to read more please contact me directly as I shall not be publishing it online.

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The woodland was silent save for the slightest suggestion of a breeze. It whistled through the high trees and awakened thick foliage, previously undisturbed in the darkness of the evening. The breeze carried with it something else, a smell so faint that even those creatures abroad on the hour did struggle to catch it. Certain things, however faint cannot be mistaken and of this there was no doubt, it was the smell of cooked flesh. Rafael knew instinctively what that meant and with a silent gesture he gathered his men about him. The scouting party, five men in total, were dressed much in the same fashion as himself. With long dark coats of woven thread concealing thick leather jerkins, they were able to travel fast, without the hindrance of plate armour. Only Rafael had his hood down, his scarred and weathered face flicking intently between his men.

"We're almost there; the township is just beyond the next rise. Spread out and advance."

Without a word of acknowledgement, the dark spectres moved off into the night. Rafael was glad to have these men around him, if they ran into trouble he could count on them, after all he had trained them himself. There was no telling what they would encounter; the scout party had been dispatched with minimal information. The town of Gespayne had not been in contact for several weeks and by order of Lord Serim they were to investigate. The town was small in comparison to others in the region but large enough to be missed when its exports of woodland game began to stop.

A steep bank of dry earth and chippings was all that lay before them now. Crouching low they began to ascend the slope, making sure to check that their footing was true. Stealth was hard to maintain and easily lost, a lesson worn into them by their tutor. Rafael smirked at the thought; many a time that lesson had cost them bruises. As the area below came into view, they slid onto their fronts, all now wearing their hoods up lest the moon give them away. None of them had been prepared for the scene which now confronted them.

The town lay about forty feet below and was partially obscured by the old trees lining its border. What could be seen was in ruins; thatched roofs were caved in and stone walls smashed into rubble. That however, was not the most disturbing part of this picture. The flaming pyre at the towns centre was a grand inferno but even the flames could not hide the tiny figures writhing in its midst. From Rafael's position he could see a line of gagged and bound peasants snaking slowly towards the fire.

Rafael drew his bow and without needing to look, he knew his men were doing the same. He turned to his right and made eye contact with Vito, the eldest under his command. Even though the man was entirely in shadow, his eyes were clear points of visible hatred. Vito was an expert at close quarter fighting and going into this situation he could think of none better at his side. A smooth hand gesture indicated that Vito should follow him whilst the others fan out and hold position.

Hugging the largest trees for cover, the two men moved downhill at speed, aiming to close the distance between them and the town as fast as possible. The ground here was relatively exposed compared to the surrounding woods and there was far more chance of them being spotted. Their target was a large stone building directly ahead. It appeared to be fairly intact and would provide reasonable enough cover for them to assess the scene. Vito reached the rear of the building first, having vaulted over a low wall to reach it. He squatted down onto his haunches and put his back to the wall. Rafael slid in beside him and the two men lowered their hoods. The smell was far stronger now, the sickly sweet odour of burning bodies; flesh, bone and hair. Rafael shut the thoughts from his mind, he needed to focus and gather as much information as possible.

Looking at his comrade, Rafael almost felt young again. Vito was a tough old veteran, his sun beaten skin a stark contrast to the white of his beard. What little remained of his hair was pulled back in a top knot and he toyed with the dagger now in his hand. Vito's eyes flicked upwards, indicating the lip of a window above. Rafael reached up and hauled himself level with the stone lip. Careful not to make sudden movement, he gradually raised his head to get a view of the room beyond.

This room was on the second floor of the building, the first laying well below the level of the ground outside. It was dark within, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the wooden floor. From his position he could make out the thick legs of a bed and some other smaller items of furniture. Fortunately, entry to the window was unopposed and Rafael had little difficulty getting inside. Another quick scan of the room told him he was alone. Reaching back out from the window he leant down and grabbed Vito's expectant hands. The older man was wiry but still weighed enough to make him sweat.

"Thanks lad, I'm not quite as agile as I used to be." said Vito with a smirk.

Peering from a small window in the opposite wall, Rafael had a good view of the street below. It was lined on both sides by tightly clustered buildings, a combination of wood and stone structures. Most of them showed signs of damage and all of them were dark within. All except one; at the crossroads ahead light was escaping from a small hut. It was possibly a shop at some point but now it simply blended with the faceless structures around it. The only noticeable feature was the solid wooden door, beneath which light spilled out onto the cobbles of the street.

Suddenly, a series of loud crashes punctuated the opening of the door. A figure flew out from within; clearly it was a woman, naked except for the rags around her waist. She landed hard on the cobbles, weeping and though her face was hidden in shadow, it was obvious she was in pain. Studying the woman more carefully Rafael could make out the cuts and fresh scars that lined her body. Whatever had happened to her, it had not been brief. Slow, cumbersome footsteps approached from within the hut. As she turned towards the light of the doorway, her face was revealed for the first time, a sight which would haunt the men forever. Her young face was streaked in blood; empty eye sockets locking her in an expression of anguish.

"By all that is holy, what have they done to the girl?" whispered Vito, who was now beside him.