No Hope

[Malaroth]

The Shepherd Knight rode in silence save for the occasional complaint of torn, burned chain mail armor and the frayed black tabard bearing the emblem of a silver, crooked staff. His hands loosely held the reins, eyes adrift upon the expanse of lightly wooded rode, as the mare beneath his knees ambled along towards the chapter house and the waiting, remaining knights.

According to some it had been a victory. Teddi, the barmaid kidnapped over a month ago, had been found alive and well... at least well enough considering her stay beneath the Ashfiend's shadow. The undead had been destroyed to a one and their master driven from the Priory of Snowstill possibly never to return. Who would seek to reclaim a fortress proven to serve poorly for the defense?

No matter where his gaze or thoughts turned however, the spectral images of the slain threatened to take shape in every shadow or amongst the wind-stirred branches of trees. In every large space of darkness loomed his own men, who stood between the undead and fire to protect those not of the knightly order, who felt their own flesh burn and watched companions perish for the sake of holding the line that more might not die. All at his command and his will. A will now responsible for the death of almost a third of his fully battle-ready and proven knights.

A head crowned with gold tangles, threatened with silver spills, angled forward and turned his cerulean gaze over the blank and unjudging ground. It was a testament to their honor and courage that they obeyed in the bloody thick of the chaotic melee, and to his leadership as well despite what the gypsy-witch might say. Such men were the unsung heroes, who took the full brunt of the assault and whose deaths bought others time to do what needed to be done. To serve in such a fashion was a grim but glorious duty for it seeded the ground with others' lives but watered it with one's own.

Despite that some had called it a victory the Ashfiend had escaped. The creature's undead horde had proven tougher than he had expected, catching cavalry that otherwise would have ridden them down flat-footed and unprepared. Perhaps it didn't have to be so, he considered, especially if Khalika Quiller had not distracted them with her foolish talk...

Khalika...

The woman would pay, he assured himself, for betraying them to the Ashfiend. And then the creature itself would be hunted and destroyed. But for now the road and horse demanded his attention, that he did not fall from the saddle due to a wandering, exhausted mind. Another day, another battle, another death, and another dawn to come. It would prove, he had no doubt, to be the cycle for these lands.

Perhaps there was no hope for Myrken Wood.