VERBOTEN

Chapter 3

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Valentino:
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I carried the dirtied woman over my shoulder only so far through the oak trees of the forest that swallowed all of us whole. Me, my men, and prisoners, stepped foot into this utter abyss where a darkening force reached out and embraced us all. We have left the dead who are beginning to decay on the caliche roads, in between houses, and on top of each other. I still smell the blood of the victims on my hands, my armor, and my weapons. I smell the death of the loved ones I took from this woman on my shoulder. The smell entrances my senses, almost making me feel guilty before the smoke in my eyes grew prominently darker, eradicated any trace of green and guilt.

Once we reached deep enough into the trees where we had left the horses we traveled on behind, along with a sole wagon that contained food and water, I call out for us to make camp. I place the woman who reeked of death in front of the wagon and she leans weakly upon it. The other women join in a huddle around her. All of them different from their social classes to the color on their skin. And as I stare upon them, seeing that some of these women are entitled while others are not, I know as well as they do that they are all now the same. They are nothing more than my prisoners. Prisoners who had just witnessed Death. Prisoners that either feared it or called out to it.

"Captain!" A voice piercing through the neigh of the freshly greeted horses and the clattering of my men calls out to me. As I turn, I see that it was Piers who had spoke, trailing behind Demetrius.

"Over here," I gesture for the two to follow me, just beyond ear shot of my men. If they hadn't found Veronica, which is clear they hadn't because no woman was with them, or worse that they had found her dead, I couldn't allow the rest of my men to hear about it. The situation would cause chaos of fear amongst them all. Fear for what our beloved hateful king would do to us, or worse, our families. "Well..." I venture as I grasp my hands, sticky with dried blood.

"We didn't find her..." Piers says reluctantly.

My jaw clenches, I bite on my teeth to control all the anger that bottles inside me, trying to contain it in the pit of stomach rather than to allow it to escape from my mouth. Consuming both men like a rabid wolf, having his first meal in weeks.

"Sorry to disappoint brother." Demetrius says so casually, his black eyes glowing with sparks of gold. "But don't worry, we made sure to kill everyone we saw on our way out."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint brother," I say harshly back with my brow deepening the color of my eyes in a glare. "But both of you will have to return to the kingdom and examine every corpse to make sure Veronica is not one of the deceased."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Demetrius groans as he kicks the leaves that lay across the dirt, slamming his fists into his thighs.

"You will search all the dead for any trace of red hair and look upon the neck for the cross birthmark," I order. "Don't return back to camp, or follow us back to Lodebar until you have done as I have commanded."

"And if we don't find her?" Piers swallows as he cautiously stares upon me, his black skin beating with drops of sweat.

I step in front of him, close enough for my breath to waver the precipitation on his forehead to sway in a different direction. As my eyes pierce his I say, "Then we will deal with it." He nods, shaking slightly. "Now, leave." Piers then embraced the darkness in his eyes, forcing the brown to turn the color of coal. And with the blacker than black eyes, he leaves with Demetrius. The two discretely going back through the forest from whence they came.

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Veronica:
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My entire life, I have always known of Death. Death has lived much longer than I have. He has worked an endless job that must be painful not just to us but to him as well. I never thanked Death for how he came and went across my kingdom as he took the elderly, and the sickly. I thought Death as a monster but now I see that he used to be like a soft breeze, only taking who was ready to be taken. He was almost like a gentle but fierce mother who watched over not just you but everyone. He waits, he watches, and he calculates. We're the prey and he is the hunter. He takes the wounded one of us. The weakest one. Death saves us.