Soul Bound

Chapter 6

Every night it was the same. The wind, a cool breeze that snuffed out anything that resembled warmth. The scent of ash drifting through that wind, embers dancing in the air and scorching everything it touched. The screams were the worst. They haunted him even when he was awake. They clung to his soul like a leech and sucked his will from his bones.

There was no escaping it. He was forced to watch the scene unfold over and over, like a ghost hovering over its victim.

A man he used to be proud of patrolled the streets of Pitmedden, a platoon of soldiers marching behind him. Each step they took forward rocked the earth beneath their feet, stomping to the beat they were trained to follow. They moved as one unit, every footfall, the swing of their arms. From afar, they could be mistaken as a behemoth. The idea was to strike terror into the hearts of anyone who laid eyes upon their formation.

It worked.

His kingdom was safe because of him. He moulded this army in his image, a monster to be feared, leaving his enemies no choice but to yield.

But as the years ticked by, that image changed. His army changed. Corruption spread like a poison through his ranks, tainting his creation. His men grew greedy. Cocky. Instead of raiding a village to remind them where their loyalties lied, his men took women and gold. He was forced to make an example of more and more of them to keep them in line.

His army became feared for an entirely new reason. A despicable reason. It was humiliating. What he hated the most, though, was that his family approved. They thought it was all a part of his design.

The people of Pitmedden cowered away from the army. Some hid in their homes, keeping as much a distance as they could from the army. Better to be silent than heard. These days, he preferred it that way. He didn't enjoy the hunt as much as he used to.

Today was Conscription Day. This year, Pitmedden was selected to add to his army's ranks.

His men rounded up every boy of age, tearing them from their families and depositing them in front of him. He examined each one that came by, looking for the traits of a fine warrior. If he found they were worth keeping, he absorbed them into his army to be taken back to the Keep where they would be trained to become a part of the behemoth. If the boys were too weak to be in his army, he cast them aside to be collected by their families.

Still, to this day, he didn't know entirely how it happened. How he had lost control.

The village had been complacent. The parents were willingly handing their children over. Their fear of what he would do to them ensured that. He didn't know who started the first fire. It was small at first; he hadn't registered the smoke until it started spreading, and engulfed a house. Soon, an entire row of homes had been swallowed by flames, its orange light a fine veil over the village. Smoke billowed into dark pillars in the sky.

He turned around and was met by another wall of flame. They were boxed in.

He stood still, stunned into a stupor. This shouldn't have happened. He'd warned his men what would happen if they went out of line again.

This was the last fucking straw.

His men were unafraid. Their armour protected them from the fire and any weapon a villager would arm themselves with. It wouldn't protect them from him.

He walked up to the closest soldier, who had taken hold of a young woman, and ran his blade through the weakest part of his armour. He fell dead at his feet.

Other soldiers witnessed his betrayal. Instead of grouping up to face him--he was one man against an entire platoon, after all--they turned and ran the other way. They had invoked his wrath and they wouldn't live to see the sun rise.