The camps had settled down by the time Christopher returned to his tent. His guards nodded as he approached and slipped inside. He sat on his bedding, pondering the events of the evening. Outside he could hear the chattering coming from his men and the nightly creatures talking to themselves. He rose from his bed and strode out into the open air. Glancing around, Christopher distinguished soldiers talking in tents and sitting around fires. He ambled powerfully towards one of the fires. Christopher strode silently into the ring of men, catching their attention. They quieted, looking up at their lord. Christopher stared into the fire. He nodded, smiling at the flames and turned to face his men. He looked into each of their eyes as he began, “Men of the Wymond Corps, we’ve been still for far too long. Tomorrow we will travel.” Christopher walked slowly around the fire. “I believe other men have found refuge around our fallen city and await my collection. We must set out and find the dealer of this great sin against our kingdom.”
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Soldiers poked their heads out of their tents and walked towards the fire. They stood silently around their lord, shuffling and fidgeting. Christopher paused, feeling the tension that seemed to crack with the fire. “What?” He demanded. “What’s the matter with you all? Speak up!”
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The men looked down, away, up, wherever their lord wasn’t. The angry lord stalked around the fire once, before staring at a lieutenant. “Are you going to tell me what's going on, lieutenant?”
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The soldier looked up, meeting Christopher’s gaze. “My lord,” he began, hesitantly, bowing his head. “The battalion is hesitant. You’ve been distant, you see, and now you’re making this order. They,” he said, gesturing to the soldiers around them, “don’t know what the expectations are.”
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Christopher’s eyes narrowed before turning and gazing into the fire. Uncomfortable silence crowded the wooded clearing, pressing on the ears of the soldiers. Christopher took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, extending the uneasy silence. He examined the soldiers around him, studying their faces. With a nod, he spoke. “I know I’ve been off. But I can’t continue this… this delusion that we will rebuild our lives and everything will be fine.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Raziel offer me strength. But the night sky remained still, and no words of wisdom met his ears.
The knights shifted, looking at their leader. The noble sighed, turning towards his tent. “We leave tomorrow at first light. Be ready. Pack your things.”
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The clearing emptied slowly, knights filtering out to prep their supply sacks. Soon, the only remaining men were the watchmen, who milled around quietly on the perimeter. Quiet wind rustled the leaves above, and the night dragged along. Christopher, in his tent, sat quietly on his makeshift bed. He rested his forehead against his palms, closing his eyes. He whispered, almost imperceptibly, “Raziek, oh my Raziek light my path.” Christopher sighed and turned, laying down upon his bed. It didn’t take long before he fell into a dreamless sleep.
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The horses and knights trod in a long line. Some men had no horse, so they walked. The going was much too slow for Christopher’s liking, but he had no choice in the matter. They were low on energy and had more to carry than they had horsepower. To push his men would spark a riot in his ranks. It wouldn’t start immediately but the dissenters would birth and work their way around like a slow acting poison that builds up to a quick death. And that, he knew, would be the last thing he needed.
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So in a slow processional, the group made their way through the forest. It was early, the sun had barely had time to appear, and the dew still clung to the leaves. By noon, the sun beat through the trees overhead, shining through the holes in the leafy top. Christopher knew this land well, and though it wasn’t deep jungle, he knew the forest would remain shaded through the majority of the day. He also knew that this would bring the animals out of their holes.
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Christopher called a halt at the front of the group, turning his temporary horse around in a tight circle. He surveyed his men. They were men he could trust, he knew, but he didn’t have many of his close-knit knights around him for support. He had no knowledge of whether or not Fyte had made it out, and he didn’t know just how many townsmen had worked out what was happening and got out to the safety of his forestry.
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Christopher shook his thoughts away, and sat up tall in his stirrups. “It’s noon. The animals will be lurking about. You all have ‘bout an hour to rest. Hunt if you can, but stay near. If you are late, we won’t wait too long for you.” He looked through the trees. “It’s no secret that men need to be fed, so let’s get to it.” Christopher swung his leg over the horse, dismounting. He grabbed the bridle and tied it around a tree with enough grass growth near the roots.
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After unstrapping the bow from the horse, Christopher set off into the green forest. He stood silently, for quite some time, about 50 yards from where the group had stopped. The quiet cracking of the trees and undergrowth filled his ears, but he was looking for something else. Someone else. The green and brown blended together, and nothing popped out. Christopher sighed, giving up on his search. He instead busied himself with the rustling in the bushes. That way, he told himself. Turning slowly, Christopher stalked towards an open piece of ground. As he peeked around a tree, he saw a bushy-tailed rabbit, grazing on the grass.
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Christopher lifted an arrow gently from his quiver. He fell into his routine, making himself small, but giving enough room to perform the shot. Peeking around the tree again, he judged the wind, noting its on and off blow. It was towards him. Christopher was downwind of his prey. Slowly, quiet as a mouse, he stepped out. He pulled back on the string and sent the arrow flying. The rabbit died before it knew what had happened. Christopher approached the prey, pulling the arrow from its chest, and wiping the blood on the grass. He pulled a small rope from the pouch at his hip, binding the back legs together and swinging it over his shoulder.
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As he turned around, prepared to return to his men, he gasped and stumbled back. Out of the grass was a snake. Not just a snake, but a copperhead. Christopher knew them only by reputation, a reputation that made the bravest man tremble in fear. Copperheads were known to be the most deadly snakes in the kingdom, taking out bears and men alike. They were very few, and hadn’t been sighted in years, but here one was. It reared its head and hissed as it struck. Christopher swung the rabbit from his shoulder, effectively whacking the striking snake away from him. Not for long, he knew. He took off, sprinting away from the clearing, the copperhead slithering after him.
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In desperation and self-preservation, Christopher glanced behind him, before launching himself up the nearest tree. He pulled himself quickly up the branches, squatting a couple branches above the lowest one. He quickly realized his mistake, though. Copperheads can climb; and he couldn’t see the snake. He panicked, and tried turning about, but lost his footing, and slipped from the branch. As he fell, his leg landed on a lower branch, breaking it off, but also flipping him as he crashed to the forest floor.
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He landed, stomach down, and lay there, dazed. His vision was blurry and his left leg was numb. He groaned, using his elbow to lift himself up, but he quickly dropped back down again, and this time, he was unconscious. The snake slithered around the tree, and seemed to grin. Then, in an explosion of black, the snake disappeared and Christopher’s body lay unmoving in the soft light.
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