Of Teeth and Claws

  The soft grinding sound of the whetstone rang annoyingly in Adalhard’s ears. Thibault had been sharpening his sword for the last two hours– his eyes absentmindedly looking at the city gates. Ever since they had returned, the young knight had been awfully quiet.

  Gehrman on the other hand was impatiently wandering up and down near the fireplace.

  Adalhard shifted his weight, and fiddled with the straps of his armour, repeatedly. The atmosphere at the campsite did not make it any better. Idleness did not suit him well, not in camp and definitely not in combat. His thoughts wandered back to the living dead – what a missed opportunity.

  “This is not right,” Thibault’s voice disrupted the silence, “we cannot let our customs slip, regardless of how vile and cursed this place is – we must prevent the fallen from rising again.”

  Adalhard looked up, the emptiness in Thibault’s eyes had vanished, replaced by something he could not quite read. “Well, there is some fire in him after all,” Adalhard thought to himself.

  From beyond the fire’s light Lady Justine’s voice could be heard: “The Lady does not spare those who endure—she only reveals those worthy of suffering.”

  Adalhard shook his head, to his surprise Gehrman walked up to Thibault and muttered “Then we do, what must be done.”

  Adalhard exhaled, adjusted the laces of his leather armour and grabbed his mace and sword. Looking at Thibault’s shield, he smirked despite himself – a clumsy thing, suited better for a tournament than these narrow streets.

  They advanced a few paces at a time, checking every corner and side alley, weapons drawn. Adalhard’s breath went shallow, a shiver going down his spine – their footsteps seemed unnaturally loud between the walls.

  Adalhard did not recognise the buildings or the alleys they found themselves in – had they lost their way? “This city is one damned mace,” he muttered under his breath, as they passed the ruins of what once was a watchtower.

  The high buildings and narrow streets limited vision and movement. To get a better sense of the streets and corners, they dispersed. Adalhard was right next to Gehrman, accompanied by his two squires and one of the pilgrims.

  From the corner of his eye Adalhard saw Thibault, Lady Justine and some of the commoners go down one of the alleys. He scanned his surroundings, his eyes darting from one building to the next.

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  Suddenly he saw a shadow next to a building. When he blinked it was gone.

  That’s when he heard Rob screaming “Oi, Jonathan, watch yer ass.”

  As Adalhard looked up to the rooftops, he saw the pilgrim Jonathan fighting against a strangely disfigured creature. He could not make out any details, but the silhouette portrayed a slightly hunched figure with a strangely elongated face, as if it had a snout of sorts. Adalhard stood there perplexed by how fluid the creature’s movement was.

  Then Jonathan lost his footing … and fell. Moments later the creature squeaked and dropped from the roof.

  “Got ya, bastard,” Rob yelled.

  A sudden “clank” snatched Adalhard from his perplexity, right next to his head an arrow stuck in a wooden plank.

  His eyes darted between ruins and alleyways, looking for the hidden attacker – there behind a fallen wall, something was moving.

  His vision narrowed, ignoring his surroundings he started running. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, muscles in his body tensing. Sword in hand, mace in his offhand he jumped over crates and tumbled down walls, ready to fight whoever had shot at him.

  One more corner then … his heart skipped a beat … before him stood neither a man nor one of the living dead but something entirely different – some sort of vermin tainted by foul magic.

  It hissed at him, Adalhard was greeted by stench and spittle.

  His mind still bewildered by what he had seen, formed a silent prayer to the Lady. Without fully realising it years of training kicked in, he parried blow after blow of the foul creature with his blade. Sending it into a desperate rage.

  When he came to his senses, training paired with determination. He pressed hard, delivering blow after blow, driving the creature back a couple of steps. A smile curled around his lips, as he caught something stirring on his right side.

  A giant rat, at least the size of a full-grown warhound, lunged at him. Fast, but not fast enough. Adalhard delivered a short rising cut with his blade, drawing blood, and the giant rat scurried off into the dark.

  Now the tainted vermin was on him again, moving almost too quick to keep up … already he felt his blows lagging slightly behind.

  Something rushed past his shoulder. In the next instance he saw Gehrman’s axe sending the creature flying into the dark. Behind them one of the pilgrims drove off another one of the Giant Rats.

  Adalhard was panting, as the sensation of battle wore off, leaving him with a feeling of isolation. His mind went back to the strange creature he had just fought.

  He could not finish the thoughts as he heard a panicked scream. Adalhard reared his head and started running again. But then silence – looking at his fellow warriors waited for another sound, but there was none.

  Darkness was starting to swallow every alleyway and building - and with it came an eerie silence.

  Gehrman’s eyes met his, they both realised, there was nothing to gain here, so Gehrman sounded his horn and they made their way back to the camp.

  As they arrived by their fireplace, they counted heads, six members were missing, amongst them Thibault and Lady Justine.

  Adalhard ordered his squires to tend to his weapons and armour and sat down by the fire. The rush of battle had faded, leaving behind a well-know dullness.

  Hours later three figures, carrying a fourth emerged from the darkness. Lady Justine, Thibault, Rob and a heavily wounded Jonathan, closed in on the fire.

  Adalhard jumped to his feet, “Thibault, what ha…,” he did not finish the sentence, as he saw the young knight.

  Pale as death, Thibault averted his gaze and sat next to the fire. Adalhard looked at the others seeing nothing but dread and despair in their eyes.

  They had failed to retrieve the bodies of their fallen companions– yet the city had demanded a high price. Of the six missing members, only four had returned.