Old "friends"

1580 HC, Caerholme, Mhoried

An insistent knock at his door roused Steward Beringer at once. After some years of military service, he was accustomed to coming awake in an instant. He was at the door even as he brushed aside sleep and pulled it open. “What is it?” he asked.

            “Commander,” one of the evening sentries bowed sharply. Steward could not immediately remember his name. It was the lateness of the hour, no doubt. “There has been an incident, my lord.”

            “What manner of incident?”

            The man’s jaw was set. “We believe an incursion has taken place, my lord.”

            “Take me there,” he said at once.

The years of service and the atrocities he had witnessed gave him some experience, although Steward had little choice but to turn away from the sight of his fallen men.

“They have been… torn apart,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

            “Yes, my lord,” the shift sergeant said. “The physician was on sight within moments of the discovery, even as a man was dispatched to summon you.”

            “What were his findings?”

            “It was his opinion that these wounds were inflicted with a weapon made of natural materials. Wood, perhaps, but more likely bone or recovered talons or the like.” The man shook his head. “Gruesome work.”

            Steward frowned. Something seemed wrong immediately. “Why implements?”

            “My lord?”

            “Why weapons rather than actual talons? The strength of these wounds seems quite inhuman to me. Why could it not be some manner of creature?”

            “Ah,” the guard said. “For a creature to reach this far within the walls, my lord, it would imply deliberate action and cunning intelligence, if not an overwhelming confluence of circumstance.” He shook his head. “A creature attack seems quite unlikely, my lord.”

            “Why?” Steward demanded. “Even after two years we repeatedly discover new things about the creatures that inhabit these lands. Were the culprits found?”

            “No, my lord, although the search is ongoing.” The man gestured to either end of the walkway on which they stood. “Neither of the next two duty stations were disturbed. There is nowhere for the assailants to have gone save to have retreated.”

            Steward stared at the wall behind them. Experience and the extreme temperature had pitted it somewhat, but to his eye some of the damage seemed new. “No,” he said. “No man did this.” He drew his weapon and turned to the others. “A beast has slain our brothers and now pushes farther into the castle! Sound the alarm!” He pointed to a group of half a dozen others. “Follow me to the princesses’ quarters! Move!”

             The hallway outside the princesses’ private chambers was deathly silent. Two sentries were stationed outside the chambers at all times, without exception. They could not even be dismissed by the princess, but only by Steward himself. It was a concession that the commander of the guardsmen had managed to get from the princess after a very long and arduous debate. Steward had never dismissed any man or woman from the post. Now, there was no one in the corridor. There was only a stain of blood on one of the walls adjacent to the door, low near the floor. “No,” Steward whispered. “No!”

            The commander did not even open the doors, but exploded through them like a hurricane, his face a mask of anger, his weapon held at the ready. Garric Riedhie guarded the Princess and he was tasked to do so with his life. Steward knew that they would be too late. His men followed right behind him, but stopped in their tracks at the scene of carnage that waited within. One of them, one of the youngest, staggered slightly, then turned and retched uncontrollably. Steward barely noticed. His mouth was agape, and his eyes filled with tears. Then he saw a flicker of movement in the chamber’s rear, where the lanterns did not reach. Something enormous, something monstrous. It moved through the impossibly small window like a flash of lightning, and then it was gone. “The murderer escapes out the window!”  Steward shouted!!  His voice choked. “Follow it now!”

            The men turned and ran from the room, circling around toward the exit in the rear of the corridor. He knelt near the shredded remains of the young Knight. “My friend,” he whispered. “I am so sorry I was not here. Forgive me, please.” Lady Mhora, stood frozen with her back on the door. “I knew hi..it…” she spelled with a staggering voice.  Steward frowned and with no sound at all left the Princess standing frozen in the bloodied room. “I will take care of it” the thought came rushing in his mind like an endless sea sending waves on the shore. “I will …..”