Returning North (2)

Drawing his new, yet unnamed horse to a stop, Markus eyed the wreckage of a large carriage on the road ahead. Days had passed since he abandoned Strider in the town of Mindel, and they were finally closing in on the city of Sohryn.

Quinn stopped next to him as the two shared a wary gaze. He could hear a soft weeping from the wreck ahead.

Dismounting, Markus passed his reins to Quinn before approaching the carriage slowly, one hand on the hilt of his arming sword. Long claw marks were clearly visible on the wooden structure, but no animal could have so cleanly split wooden beams and planks in two.

As his footpads resounded on the hard dirt ground, the weeping became louder, carrying a frightened quality that made Markus' heart clench. 'It sounds like a child.' He restrained a sorrowful sigh as he called out in a soft, calming voice. He had honed his voice for years living with his parents, how to be commanding, how to sound understanding, how to put others at ease or on edge, yet at this moment he used a voice he would with his own daughter. A fatherly voice.

"Are you okay? The monsters are gone, I'm here to help."

The weeping only increased, but Markus didn't cease his approach. The carriage was in tatters, collapsed in on itself, and split in many places, the child was probably trapped within. Through the gaps, he could see the figure curled up in a ball, shaking, rays of light falling on their body.

Slowly and carefully, he moved the wreckage, creating an opening he could crawl through to retrieve the child. Squatting down, he extended his arm towards them, presenting his open palm.

"Come on, it's not safe here."

The weeping drew to a stop as the figure's head rose from where it was tucked behind knees, and looked back at Markus. Bright, weeping eyes on a jawless head, torso opened up in a huge vertical maw of flesh and teeth. Tears fell from the Ghoul's still human eyes as Markus felt his blood run cold.

In a moment of explosive movement, he slapped his hand away from the monster, jumping back and kicking the wreckage so it fell atop the creature, pinning it to the ground. A twisted cry of despair came from the collapsing carriage as Markus drew his sword, shouting for Quinn to stay back.

The horses became frantic, fighting the squire's control as they tried to run. With a cracking sound the wooden ruins shattered, the ghoul within running at Markus with frenzied posture, its elongated arms throwing sharp claws in long, sweeping motions, its weeping continuing.

Bearing steel in a swift display of trained grace, Markus deflected those metal-like claws one after another, the blurry trail of his weapon drawing circles through the air as he performed the Rippling Surface, a defensive form.

The ghoul threw its whole body past Markus' guard, its torso bearing that long vertical maw ready to bite, but without his armor, Markus was unrestricted in his movements. He leaned back and set his weight on one leg, the other rising high to kick the Ghoul in the side, throwing it meters away as it crashed along the dirt ground.

A brief stinging ran through Markus' leg, the ghoul's body had felt like solid stone, but he did not hesitate for a moment, running forward and bearing his sword in a series of highly aggressive forms that carried his forward momentum.

'Eel Parting the Tides' broke through the frenzied attacks, 'Coastal Wind Scaling the Mountain' cut the stone-like ghoul deeply and forced distance, 'Paddling the Streams' cut lines into the monster while building momentum, and finally, 'Dividing Heaven and Earth' to sever the monsters head.

As that final blade swept along its wide, horizontal arc, however, the ghoul brought up its arms in defense of its head. The arms were severed with a great deal of trouble, but the sword chipped and stopped after splitting the skin of the Ghoul's neck, a great amount of recoil assaulting Markus' arms through the length of the weapon.

'Why is it so tough?' He clenched his teeth, raising his sword to strike down again as the ghoul regained its balance. His blade drew a line of blood down the center of the monster from the top of its head, but could not cut deeply enough to kill.

Even as the Ghoul was forced onto the ground, armless and unable to defend itself, Markus had to open four gates and shatter his lesser quality sword before finally stabbing deeply enough to end the monster, its skin actually cracked and broke like stone from his assault.

As he did, the surroundings finally became quiet, the sounds of the ghoul's weeping and the horses neighing coming to an end.

Regulating his breath, Markus put the immediate questions he felt aside, turning to face a section of woodland off the beaten path, his broken sword held ready as he backed up towards Quinn and the horses.

'The horses are not neighing, it shouldn't be ghouls. Opportunistic humans?' With four gates open, he could hear the faint sound of shifting beyond the treeline, the sound of a group remaining intentionally quiet.

Extracting his shield from the saddle, he called out. "I know you're there." Within his gallery of war, he was ready to open all six gates and end things in an instant if the need arose, fighting a group was just too unpredictable to take risks.

"We mean no harm" A slow, heavy voice called in reply as a large, armored man stepped out from the treeline, hands shown empty. Behind him, more revealed themselves.

'Damned luck.' He cursed inwardly. 'A dozen of them, all armed and armored.'

That was good and bad news. They weren't brigands, not with that equipment, yet that also meant they were something more. 'Are there knights among them?' He could feel no resonance, but that only proved there were no grand knights.

"You knew what was in that carriage?" He asked, hoping to buy time and probe their purpose.

"A ghoul." The large man spoke the words like a grim declaration. "I am sorry we did not warn you. We did not know at the—"

"It is my fault." A much milder voice called from behind what Markus had assumed was the leader of their group, as a lean young man in his mid-twenties stepped forward. He had black hair, like those from Ara'nodel, and a tasseled spear in hand. The others seemed surprised and worried at the young man drawing attention to himself.

"By the time we decided to risk warning you, you'd already closed in on the carriage. At that point, I made the decision to hold to our position. I'm sorry but I could not have known you were a competent knight, and I wasn't about to risk my men's lives in helping you fight the monster, I hope you can understand."

'A crisp and clear voice, a voice to placate without humbling yourself' Every noble learned to make use of that one.

"I understand, that was the correct call." Ever since the young man stepped forward his retinue seemed to be on high alert. Markus did not want to risk any more time spent around such a high-strung guard. "Then our business is concluded. May Quilthus pass you by."

With that, he pulled himself astride his steed and took the reins from Quinn, his shield still kept at the ready.

"Please wait." The black-haired young man stepped forward in a hurry. "The roads are dangerous, we've seen groups of ghouls scattered across the land. If you're heading north then we should travel together."

"My lord, please!" The large, armored man who'd once acted as their leader stopped the younger man from moving closer to Markus and Quinn, speaking in hushed tones.

"Old man," Quinn intoned quietly at his side. "They're so well armored, they probably have horses too, and food. We might move faster with them than if we move alone, stopping to hunt so often."

A little ball of pride surfaced in Markus' heart. Even unsure of his father's life, under incredible stress to arrive as soon as possible, the boy managed to pick out the advantages of joining them. Usually, the larger the group the slower the travels, but Quinn had looked past that at the circumstances of each party, and seen the truth of the situation. Perhaps he was underestimating the threat of such a guard, but maybe Markus himself was being too paranoid.

He wanted to give the boy a slap on the back, but instead, he spoke to the young man who awaited his reply.

"My name is Markus, this is my squire Quinn. If it's north by the main road then I would be glad for the company on one condition. We value speed first but lack the supplies to ride unceasingly. If you can spare the food for swift travel, I'll lend my sword in defense of the group."

"I am sorry Sir Markus, but we simply don't have the food to–"

"We have plenty." The young man interrupted the head of his knights, appraising eyes stuck to Markus as he continued. "Welcome to the group, Sir Markus, Squire Quinn. I am Wiot Tristiel, and this is the head of my guard, Grisha Sriklov. May Quilthus pass us all."

The last he returned with a tone that put little stock in the workings of gods.

Grisha grumbled but quickly stepped forward to exchange a few warnings and rules with the two. So long as they traveled together, the young lord, Wiot, called the shots. Ghouls were to be avoided where possible.

When Grisha seemed convinced that Markus and Quinn had listened, the group began moving as one. "Have you fought ghouls before Sir Markus? You didn't seem as shocked as we did when they first appeared."

"I have, but this was different. Those further south were softer skinned, nothing short of a beheading seemed to kill them, but they cut like any unarmored man. This one… Its body was like stone, my sword broke just trying to pierce its head."

Wiot nodded. "It's been the same for us. I did discover one thing, those with hard bodies are less aggressive, they just sit in a place and wail if you leave them be."

"I don't get it." Quinn said. "It's not like the legends at all."

Markus shook his head in wonder. The Fallen were supposed to weaken beneath the sun, yet it was the middle of the day and that ghoul was tougher than any other. 'At least I'm getting used to things' He eyed the broken sword in his hand.

Despite its stone-like hardness, he performed so much better against that ghoul than he did at Stonejaw. Back then, he had been so focused on his missing eye and trying to estimate distances that the arrows he loosed were off target, and the blade he swung was never quite on point.

This time, he had practically forgotten about his missing eye in the sudden heat of combat and had simply acted. Perhaps that was the way forward, not to 'think' about how far something should be, and when to swing, but to rely on his wealth of experience to 'feel' it. If he acted on instinct, he felt that perhaps he would grow accustomed to the loss far earlier than he'd originally expected.

'The world is changing. To protect my family, I need to be faster, stronger. I can't let the loss of an eye keep me back, no matter what.'

There were only nine Gates of War within each person. Of those, Markus had opened six in the past few decades. Perhaps it was time he continued his pursuit of the path once more.