Fall in Spring

The Dead that Walk

The evening sun blazes down upon Anvil as a mixed group of Dawnish and other nations clamour around the Sentinel Gate. Rhoswyn teeters slightly on her feet, trying to suppress her nerves and uneasiness as she joins Sir Sagramor de'Gauvain and his companions. Beyond Sir Sagramor, there's only one other she recognises: Master Tom Crowle of the Marches. He grimly nods his greeting, far different from the jovial man she had met at that tavern a few days before. Rhoswyn forces a smile back, but it doesn't reach her eyes - she cannot shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong.

It's the same feeling she had back in Overton before everything really did go to hell. But how can this go wrong? They were only spending a short amount of time beyond the gate, they would be there and back as soon as, what could go wrong? She finds herself remembering Overton again, as she had that morning - she's reminded that a lot can happen in a short space of time.

She bites her lip. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, maybe she should have just waited in the Dawnish encampment, or gone and found some tea with Solene. Tea was always a good shout. Anyway, she had said to Kestral that she would see him in Dawn, and yet here she was stood in front of the Sentinel Gate.

As she glances behind, Rhoswyn's eyes linger on the Dawnish encampment in the distance. I'll come back, she thinks, I always do. At last, she gazes at her friends, Solene and Helgunn. They seem just as nervous as she feels, but they've forced smiles of encouragement nonetheless, it's enough to make her smile back at them.

She wants to tell them goodbye, or at least that she'll return, but the words barely leave her mouth before her attention snaps back to the gate. A mage in green and turquoise has stepped forward, his chanting ringing out. Their group moves forward, and finally, she spots Clovis and Siegward. Her heart leaps, she's amongst friends here, maybe things will be alright after all.

'Rhos! I didn't realise you were coming,' says Clovis, surprised.

Rhoswyn shrugs her shoulders, 'I had to run and get weapons, or I'd be here sooner.'

Neither of them gets the chance to speak much further, there's a burst of light as the gate opens. Almost without hesitation, the group charges. There's just time to hear Solene's call:

'Good luck! See you back at camp!'

As the gate closes behind them, Rhoswyn finds herself wondering if she'll ever see Anvil again.

It feels just as hot and humid here in Weirwater as it did back in Anvil, For once, Rhoswyn is glad that she doesn't have to wear plate armour, that the protection afforded to her by her mage armour is usually enough. After all, it's seen her through many battles and skirmishes, it'll see her through this one too.

They continue to run, Sagramor occasionally shouting orders. Some break off to investigate a hut, but it turns out to be nothing. Rhoswyn isn't sure whether she feels relieved or not, fighting them in direct sunlight feels like a far better idea than in the woods.

Either way, it's not a relief that lasts.

Rhoswyn tries to keep close to Clovis and Siegward but the pace and the undergrowth make it difficult. Sprinting has never been her strong point, couple it with trying to keep a wary eye on her surroundings and it's not long before she finds herself falling behind. Rhoswyn grits her teeth, pushing herself forward - she cannot afford to get herself separated from the group.

'Movement, ahead!' A voice shouts from the front of the group.

Her heart pounds, her breathing ragged as she tightens the grip on her sword, her eyes sweeping the forest. Shambling figures stumble towards them. Rhoswyn's heart sinks. There has to be about fifty of them, they're outnumbered - this wasn't going to be a fair or advantageous fight.

They press forwards, those more heavily armoured with larger weapons quickly take the front, but they're quickly overwhelmed. Suddenly they're retreating, the Husks advance tirelessly.

One swings their sword, Rhoswyn manages to dodge it only to find herself backed into several more. Cursing, she tries to fend them off, but for Husks they're quick. There's barely time to move either sword or buckler before a blow strikes her arm. Her mage armour strains under the blow, the next has it shattering.

She can hear her comrades behind her, around her - their shouts ringing through the evening air. She has to help them.

Pain slices through her leg, a pained yell escaping her mouth. Rhoswyn staggers forward, desperate to maintain her balance. Another yell escapes her as a spear catches her in the stomach, the ground rising up to meet her.

The sound of fighting rages around her, the sounds of her comrades start to fade - Rhoswyn can't tell if it's because they're just too far away or she's hallucinating. Panic starts to seep through the pain, her hands scrabbling to staunch the bleeding - she can't die here, not now. There was so much she wanted to do, to see.

'H - help!' she cries out, 'please, h - help me!'

But her desperate pleas are weak, cracked and only result in attracting more Husks. She tries to move, to pull herself away from these monsters, but pain envelopes her, an involuntary cry escaping her cracked lips. There's nothing to do but lie there, staring up at the canopy of trees and the Husks that walk by.

How did this go so wrong? They'd had a plan - it should have been easy. Tears prick Rhoswyn's eyes, she doesn't want to die here, so far from Anvil and her friends. Were they now waiting at the Sentinel Gate for her return? Had Kestral made it to Dawn only to find she was not there?

More Husks pass by. Some ignore her, merely stepping over her, others slash and stab at her.

Pain. There's so much of it. The forest starts to fade, the vibrant blue sky peeking through the leaves, dulls. Rhoswyn know's she's dying, knows that it's too late now. She can only hope that Clovis and Siegward and the others have made it back to the gate. She couldn't accept the alternative.

A sudden cry rents the air nearby. Even in her half-conscious state, Rhoswyn recognises that voice. Terrified at what she would see, she turns her head; what should be a simple movement almost makes her pass out. But as she sees a figure in red fall, here's Clovis's cry, Rhoswyn forgets about that, forgets about the blood she's losing, the pain consuming her and the cold that's steadily taking over.

'N - no!' she gasps out but her voice is barely a whisper now, lost amongst the clamour of the fighting.

Rhoswyn tries to inch herself closer but it's not long until her strength leaves her. She could only lie there, bitter tears now streaming down into her hair as Clovis's starts to scream. It doesn't take long to find out why as the Husks pounce on her.

By the virtues! She could feel their teeth sinking into her skin, tearing at her flesh, her own screams mingling with Clovis's ...

... The darkness is starting to close in now, the trees and sky blurring together. She can feel the cold that seems to numb the pain. Maybe death wouldn't be so bad after all.

Vaguely, nearby, she hears the voice of Sagramor, he sounds as if he's apologising but Rhoswyn cannot tell. She hears Clovis telling him to run, to save himself. Rhoswyn sincerely hopes he does. She might not know him well but she couldn't bear the thought of his death too. Even if he seemed too kind and valiant to leave them behind. But Rhoswyn knows that for her at least, it's too late, doubts that she'll even make it to the gate.

The thought makes her sad. She wouldn't read another letter from Wynn, see Solene or any of the Willows ... and Kestral, the Kallavasi who seemed so sweet and endearing, she would never get to meet with him in the Glory Square or give him the embroidered flowers sitting in her pouch.

If only she had waited, and not been so impatient, so restless.

By the Virtues, forgive me, I should have waited, Kestral, I'm sorry...

The darkness finally overwhelms her and Rhoswyn of Astolat knows no more.