The Unburied

Of Monsters and Men

He’d not eaten, he’d not slept, nor had he dressed the innumerable wounds that plagued him.  Yet, still he trudged forth, through the muck and rain, for he felt no hunger, no tire, nor even pain.  A day and a half down the mountainside, and another through the greying woods and meadows, before finally arriving, in this forsaken place.  With grey skies and greyer yet faces all around, it was nearly as dead as himself.    

Despite his best efforts to hide his face, there were still those who turned to whisper to one another as he passed.  As if the broken blade in his belt, and rent armour that hung from his chest were not to sufficient, he had only imagined the horrific wounds on his face, wretched slices and gouges, the flesh torn apart.  Or at least, that is what he had seen upon his comrades, only to assume he bore the same.  He hadn’t yet dared to look in the mirror, for fear of what horror may stare back at him.  Thus, he wrapped himself in his tattered cloak as best he could, and trudged on through the mud ridden streets.

Letifer Mourse, that was his name once.  Or at least, he’d deduced so.  After days (or he hoped only days) of pouring through the quartermasters records, digging up corpses, and sketching faces, he’d come to the conclusion that he was indeed Letifer Mourse, a Knight of the keep of Haltoth.  

But there was something else.  

The quartermaster’s logs had shown that there was a child, who shared his rations and quarter.  A boy.  He could only assume, only hope, that this was his son.  

And thus was the reason for his arrival here.  He’d found no children’s corpses in the mass grave, thus, it was clear that the child did not fall in the raid.  He could only hope that he escaped the carnage, and by logic, this would have been his first destination.  

Letifer could not deny that this was likely his homeland.  Holtarthen, a burgeoning township, not far from the foot of the mountains.  A likely origin for a knight of the keep, not too far into the range.  

The question being, what action would a child take in a situation such as this?  By logic, Letifer assumed from the boy’s description that he was somewhere between ten and thirteen years of age.  This would make him small, seemingly innocent, and desperate.  Thus, Letifer assumed that he would have stolen to survive. And as such, he made his way to the lord’s manor.  

The two shieldsmen at the door were the first to hinder him.  The man on the left grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him back.  He showed a brief moment, not but a second, of confusion, feeling no warmth from the contact, but quickly regained composure.

"I'd lose the hood, lest you wish to go unsuffered."  He uttered, with a grimace.

Reluctantly, Letifer removed his hood, causing the two shieldsmen to don a face of terror.

"Be at ease.  I am no manner of reaper, gheist, or ill omen."  He uttered from his cracked lips, “I beseech someone.  A prisoner.” 

One of the shieldsmen nudged the other, whispering, “He’s of the Fell Kin, we best not wrong him.”

“Wise of you.”  Letifer responded, pulling his hood back over his head.

One of the shieldsmen sighed, turning to his comrade, and quietly muttering, “Fetch the keys.”  He sighed again,  “Go take a gander at the underhalls.  But you’d best make it quick. And uh, you would be a kind…    fellow, not to go yackin about in regards to this little favour.”

“Of course.”  Letifer replied, in his usual soft tone.  

Quietly making his way through the doors, he was met with a room illuminated by the warm light of an ornate fireplace on the far side.  A staircase enveloped in a faded purple carpet fringed with gold, curled along the left corner, leading to the higher floor.  But that was not Letifer’s destination.  No.  He quietly found his way down the deep places of the manor, where the sun did not penetrate the walls.  This is where he passed the wine cellar, and came upon the cells.  

Searching through them, he found only drunkards and madmen.  Not a child to be seen.

“And what would be your business here?”

Letifer turned to face an ageing man leaned against the archway leading to the cells.  Clad in a dark red tunic and trousers, he bore silver hair that found its way down just past his shoulders, and a face veiled in the scars of battle and the ravages of age alike.  Surprisingly enough, the elder was not taken aback by the sight of his face.  

“I beseech a child.  I have reason to believe he may have been taken here.”  Letifer replied.

The elder was silent for a moment. “My eyes are not what they once were.  Come close, let me see your face.” 

Reluctantly, Letifer strode towards the man, prepared to face a terrified recoil upon his proximity.  

“Tell me,” uttered the ageing man, “What dealings would Fell Kin have with children?  Don’t tell me it was he who slew you.”

“He is my son, or so I believe.”  Letifer responded, setting his eyes to the floor, for but a moment. 

“I have dealt with your kind before, phantom.  Left unburied, desecrated, doomed to a living death, until vengeance is wrought.  And it is to my knowledge that, assuming you fell with the mountain keep, your memories have rotten with your corpse.”  The man explained,  “Tell me, what would you know of your former offspring?” 

Letifer sighed, “Forgive me, but that business is mine alone.”  he stated, not wanting to recount his ordeal, “And what business would you have in such a foul place as this?” 

“This foul place is my own,”  the old man explained, as he stood from his leaning position, “It is a rather undesirable inclusion to my manor.”  He proceeded to introduce himself, holding out his hand to shake, “I am the Earl Dascule, and you are?”. 

   Letifer took his hand, answering his question, “Sir Letifer Mourse, my lord, if my deductions are correct.” 

“A fell knight?” asked the Earl, “Well, I suppose I should be without surprise.” 

A voice called from the wine cellar, “Phantom?” 

“Perhaps not a monster.  Perhaps a man.”  The Earl called back to his shieldsman, “Leave us.” 

Entering the archway, the soldier took a quick bow, “Apologies, my lord.”, before quickly taking his leave.

The Earl sighed, “My roundsmen brought a child but a fortnight ago, saying he stole a loaf of bread.  I fed him, and sent him on his way.  Last I saw, he was heading west.”  

“My thanks to thee, my lord.  You are a generous man.”  Letifer replied, as he began to take his leave.

“So I suppose you’re not to stay for supper?”  

Letifer turned for a moment, “No, I suppose not.” 

“Do be careful in your search.”  The Earl called to him, “There are many who see less than I.”