The Forgotten
Chapter 27

Thick black smoke rose from ruined houses and buildings in the city. Even in the cover of the woodland, some still coughed from the dirty air. Hundreds of people gathered in groups around trees, households and friends all trying to give one another comfort. Some who lost loved ones walked mindlessly from group to group, looking for a friendly face but never replaceing one.

Arthur walked around the masses of people trying to be some form of person to look to, yet the time spent in prison left him weak and barely able to stand. Drained of energy, even moving his head made him dizzy. Looking helpless, he grew impatient with himself as anger welled up inside him.

“Arthur, is that you?” A woman yelled as she gripped her side, walking towards the man.

Turning his head, Arthur’s eyes lit up at the sight of a friendly face, and with some forced cheer in his words, he said, “Jessica I can’t believe it is you.”

“You look worse than me Arthur, now come and sit. Tell me news of what happened and tell me where Lynden is, I can’t replace him anywhere.”

As they reached the trunk of a large tree both of their legs gave out, exhaustion and injury made sure that they won’t be able to rise again for some time.

As Arthur sat, he sighed heavily and looked up at the sky, wondering how he would break the news to her.

“He was the best of us, Jessica. He died saving us. Holding off the soldiers and facing down the king’s champions, he fought until his dying breath. All I can say Jessica is I’m sorry, it should have been me yet it was a man with more spirit and more courage than all of us combined. A true hero to us all.”

As Arthur spoke tears welled up in Jessica’s eyes. Her breathing increased and with it came spikes of pain, the wound in her side stabbing each time she exhaled.

Panic started to overtake her until she saw Lynden’s warhorse appear seemingly out of nowhere, its hide covered in blood, a mixture of others and its own. The horse made its way towards and placed his against her shoulder.

She pulled the horse in close and whispered, “Thank you. You are such a wonderful horse, I never knew why Lynden didn’t ever name you.”

The horse stomped his hooves on the floor and pushed its head closer into her.

“I guess it’ll be up to me then.”

Thinking for a moment she looked into the horse’s eyes, “Custos, you’ll be called Custos from now on.”

Bowing his head, Custos laid down next to Jessica, a sight rarely seen of any animal.

Arthur looked on at the exchange. Not knowing what to say or think, they clearly shared a bond and helped each other through the loss of their loved one. With worry showing through his face, a tang of regret and guilt welled up inside him.

“Arthur, it isn’t your fault Lynden is not here, we both knew that war would claim him one day.”

The words barely made Arthur feel any better but was luckily interrupted before he could think anymore on it. Rendall walked into view, Celer, the white wolf who still had blood coating her fur followed less than a couple of paces behind him.

“I can’t stay any longer.” Rendall murmured as he got closed to the pair, his face a mix of sadness and frustration.

“What are you on about Rendall?” Arthur blurted out as soon as the boy finished.

“Each time I come back to the world people die around me and I’m unable to help them. My parents in the woods and now countless hundreds of people in Tocking Vale.”

A soft downtrodden voice came from behind the boy as Suzy walked over to the group, “You are not to blame for any of this Rendall. This has been happening for longer than anyone would care to remember and let us not forget you saved my husband and me from bandits on the road. Without you we would have died.”

Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes at the thought of her husband as while the boy did save them Rolf was now dead. Reports from several of her friends and townsfolk had told her that Rolf’s head was piled in a basket next to the chopping block, many witnessing and watching the man’s last moments being taken from him.

“Besides, I have lost you once already as a young boy, I do not plan for that to happen again.”

Jessica, Arthur and Rendall all look up at Suzy, her pronouncement something none of them expected to hear.

Seeing the expression on the groups face the woman clarifies, “I was your mother’s maid, the Queen’s maid. I cared for you ever since you were born, yet you were sent away from me. The King and Queen had told me that you had passed away from a sudden illness and wished to discuss it no further. In truth, I now know that they were sending you away for your own protection, protection from your brother Myval.”

As if Rendall thought that his mood could dip no further it did. The boy was not frozen in fear this time, instead, he walked towards the deep, darkening forest. Not stopping nor barely hearing the voices and shouts that were made after him. None followed Rendall though, Celer and the pack of black wolves flanked the boy growling at anyone who came close, sensing the desire for murder and vengeance in the boy’s presence.

-

Myval sat in the darkness of his study, a small candle providing a glimmer of light from the desk that only lit up the King’s jawline. Thinking back to the death of the traitor Lynden made his mouth twitch towards a smile. He had been a problem for far too long, causing several small rebellions and the death of countless soldiers in his army.

He was nevertheless surprised at the armour he wore and the sword he carried. Having read the stories and tales as a child of the famed Knights of Valok he thought, as like many others, that they were simply a myth, yet that was seemingly not true. Not wanting to lose such a relic, the armour hung on a doll in the corner of the room and the long black sword hung above his study, removing the old painting of some forgotten landscape that hung before. Neither of the items had been cleaned. Myval wanted to remember each moment of Lynden’s death for all time.

For several moments the King smiled until he remembered the boy, his brother. Even after all of this time, the dirt-stained skin, the greasy hair and the red bite marks that riddled him, Myval recognised the boy, the silver eyes of his mother could certainly remove any doubt of who he was. The thugs that Myval hired had lied and stolen from him, clearly, Rendall was not dead but very much alive. A threat to his rule and while he wasn’t too bothered about Rendall’s rudimentary abilities, he was worried about his power to unite people around the cause of another king.

“The brat needs to be handled,” Myval muttered to himself.

The King pulled a small chest out of one of the draws to his desk. It was a plain wooden box, nothing special to it and if any saw it they would no doubt pass it by. Yet as the King opened the chest, it let out a small purple glow that illuminated the room.

Carefully moving his hand towards the box, he grabbed the small stone in the palm of his hand. Staring at it for long moments, the King crushed the stone, it quickly melted away into dust.

“Find the boy named Rendall and kill him. Let no one stand in your way and bring me his head.”

Screams echoed throughout the room out of nowhere. After a few moments the noises stopped, but what seemed like an answering call was heard from the woodland where the peasants now hid.

Light was sucked away from the woodland as the thick black darkness drew in closer engulfing the area, the screams did not cease as the Vespers were hunting.