Quite a somber history, wouldn't you say? Yet, as morbid as that was, there is still far more to come. So let us wind the clock forward, catching up with where we had begun, at least the second time, back upon the lonely road with the Silent Man. His feet are set upon a short journey that takes him away from the road's ever winding path, through a gate that is now familiar to us all, on into the dark.
The night is thick all about as the hour is late, near to midnight when he enters the graveyard. He expects to be alone at this ungodly hour, but he is not. He can make out several lanterns held by shadowy silhouettes, providing light for an additional individual who is busy shoveling in the dirt, near to grave markers.
Our hero, such as he is, does not care who they are, nor what business they're about so long as they don't intrude upon his personal affair. That being the vigil he keeps every year at this time, which marks an event that transpired ten years to the day. When a boy once watched his mother be laid to a premature rest.
Now, there is no boy, only a man, who stands before a grave marked with a small, rectangular slab of stone through which is tied a wooden trinket which clicks against the austere structure thanks to the growing breeze. The lone figure wraps his coat tighter around his body to deal with the blowing wind, but is otherwise still.
The Silent Man remains in his place and lets his mind wander and do as it pleases. He's uncertain whether he maintains this vigil as a solemn gesture for the dead or, as a stranger had once warned him, he feared she might rise again. An occurrence that happened once before to another person in his life.
He stares at the grave, as he feels a twinge run up his spine. Something is wrong, he can feel it in his bones. Keeping mostly still he slowly pans his head as his eyes rove about to take in as much detail as he can. The night seems to be full of prying eyes, staring at him from across the distance, but they are a trivial matter, if only they would remain that way.
From somewhere nearby a shout rises upon the wind. What is said is not clear, but the urgency the voice carries can be felt by all. The shadows in the distance extinguish their lanterns as they and their compatriots flee into the dark. Hardly a moment goes by when the doused fires are replaced by a great multitude of torches which are borne by a large contingent of soldiers, turning night into day.
They use this light to hunt down the fleeing suspects while a small offshoot breaks away from the rest and heads directly toward the Silent Man. The lone, grave watcher turns his full attention upon the approaching lights, as his muscles tense in anticipation of a skirmish and he positions his hand to draw his sword.
"Stay where you are!" a voice barks from directly in front of him.
The Silent Man does not care for the tone of the shout of those approaching with rapid steps. Having lived alone and isolated for so long, he isn't accustomed to taking anyone's orders. As such, he draws the sword hanging from his belt as four men break from the group and charge forward with batons at the ready.
The first attacker begins the assault swinging wide, aiming for the head while his opponent wastes no time and avoids the blow while striking the official's wrist, who drops his weapon and falls to his knees. He clutches his arm as pain surges through his appendage. He expects to find his hand severed from the rest of his body.
Instead, he finds a deep red mark and his wrist is very much still attached. He heaves a sigh of relief, before a boot to the face takes him out of the fight. Why was the unconscious man's hand not severed? Because the Silent Man, although a proficient swordsman, doesn't much care for maintenance and so over the years, his blade has become so dulled that it lost its edge entirely.
But enough of this aside, let's return to the action. The second attacker charges hard and keeps his weapon ready. The lone grave watcher swings his blade and finds his strike countered by his opponent who continues to run at him and impacts him solidly in the midsection causing the target to stumble backwards, but not lose his footing.
The Silent Man recovers himself only to find the baton swinging towards his midsection. He decides to take the blow and trap the arm before taking hold of the shoulder with his free hand and crossing his leg against his adversary's. With a single motion he pushes his opponent forward with his hand while twisting his body to hip throw the official on to the ground, taking the wind from him.
He barely recovers from his previous action when the third and fourth attacker simultaneously strike, one aiming for the head, while the other goes for the knee. Their batons whizz through the air as the lone grave watcher takes on the low one first with a heavy strike aimed for the wrist, but catches the base of the baton instead.
Still, this inaccurate strike is not without efficiency as it deflects off his adversary's weapon and propels itself downward smashing his opponent's knee. The official's leg radiates with pain and he drops low, forgetting all about the fight, while he cradles his busted leg and does his utmost to roll out of the way of his confederate.
The fight though is not over, for as the assault upon the low attacker is commencing and concluding, there's the high attacker still to deal with. The Silent Man, during the incapacitation of his first foe, ducks the high strike and swings upward catching his opponent inside the armpit, causing a massive amount of pain to shoot through his foe's right side. And though it's not enough to incapacitate, it is enough to take the fight out of him. No sooner does this wave go down, then a second one prepares to move in.
"Stop!" a strange voice shouts from the darkness, causing all motions to cease as a new challenger steps forth. A knight covered from head to foot in red armor, with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. "He's mine."
The Silent Man stands stock still as this new adversary strides forward. There's something not quite right about the voice, but he can't tell just what. The red warrior stops a few feet away and holds a moment before lashing out with a multitude of fierce strikes, each of which are so strong that it becomes evident early on, that it would not be wise trying to block the full force. As such, the swordsman opts to employ deflections and dodges as his primary means of defense.
The exchange is quite a sight and the gathered mass stand slack-jawed as they take in every attack and parry. The spectacle unfolding before their very eyes is a rare sight indeed as the knight's moves are near to flawless, with precise sword strikes and a shield to block attacks, but the opponent is no slouch with a sword either and there seems no end to the conflict.
There's no telling just how long the fight would have lasted under normal circumstances, had fate not intervened in the form of a rogue torch being dropped onto a wide field of grass. The normally green carpet had seen so little rain that it's dry and brittle, perfect kindling for the wildfire which spreads within a matter of moments.
The growing hellscape sends the spectators fleeing for their lives, but not before gathering their fallen brethren. They may have a job to do, but extinguishing the fire takes precedence. The local fire brigade has to be roused so they can hopefully keep the fire from spreading too quickly and every second counts.
The inferno passes across the entire graveyard, intruding upon the duel, but this budding catastrophe barely hinders the Silent Man and the knight, who carry on with all the more ferocity. Even so, the duel cannot last forever and though the swordsman with the dull blade is definitely getting winded, it's his adversary who shows signs of fatigue first.
The weight of the full set of armor begins to really take its toll and that coupled with the interior's temperature rising drastically, causes the warrior's motions to become more labored and the actions become more sluggish and with an exchange this tense, this fierce, a simple misstep is all it takes to certify the victor.
The Silent Man continues to trade blow for blow as he waits patiently for an opening to appear. However, his opponent is far more skilled then he had anticipated, but a miscalculation on the part of his foe, has the blade swinging too wide. Now's his chance. He takes advantage and drives his blade downward upon the exposed skin of the wrist, where the armor retreats so as to give the bearer a better grip on the weapon.
The knight tries to hold on to the sword despite the pain, but the muscles in the afflicted arm will not respond. As such, they watch in horror as the blade falls to the ground, leaving the wielder nearly defenseless. The helmeted head raises and stares at the sword as it comes downward upon the armored opponent who raises their shield and takes the full force of the blow that, coupled with the growing weariness, sends the beleaguered battler down on one knee.
It is from this kneeling position that the knight tries to retain a defensive position, but finds the hunk of metal that is their shield which they had previously wielded with little effort is simply too heavy now. The Silent Man readies his sword. He knows he can't kill the warrior with so dull a blade, but a good swipe across the helmet is sure to scramble them but good. He's about to strike, when he catches a glint of something.
He turns his head slightly at first, then altogether, as he drops his blade and runs away from the fight. He falls to his knees and clutches an object engulfed in fire with hands that are not protected from the licking flames, but he does not flinch or even cry out. In response all of his muscles are tense to the point of erupting from his skin.
The knight can scarce believe the turn of events. Defeat, possibly death, loomed overhead and the opponent simply runs away? Confusion is all that currently occupies the red warrior's mind, but pushes the matter away since there is plenty to focus on with just rising and collecting the sword. The battler proceeds to move toward the adversary's undefended rear.
The fierce knight holds at the ready and approaches the kneeling man while gazing over his shoulder. They can hardly believe the sight. The Silent Man is clutching a wooden trinket, engulfed in flame, with his bare hands and for a moment stare is all either of them do. Then the red warrior returns to a right mind and brings down the hilt of the sword on the back of the kneeling man's head who falls over like an old sack of potatoes.
The knight stands above the unmoving adversary, staring down at him. Absently watching as the fire spreads and nearly incinerates the fallen foe. Luckily, the fire brigade is out in full force and they're doing their best to get the flames under control. As such, they douse the affected area before it has a chance to claim a victim, but ignore the burning object.
The knight turns and thrusts a hand into the bustling throng. Taking hold of a full bucket of water which is then used to douse the burning object, completely extinguishing the flame. After which, they drop the empty container and step forward as though in a trance before taking hold of the object and lowering their body so as to get a better look.
The slats in the knight's helmet will not allow for proper sight, so it's removed and dropped to the ground, leaving the head exposed which belongs to that of a woman with fiery-red hair that is cropped short and goes by the name Amelia. She stares at the object in her hand, still tethered by a heavily singed chord. She can tell something has been carved on it, but the fire has eaten away at the inscription, leaving it indecipherable.
The knight remains kneeling as she diverts her gaze to the unconscious man laying beside her. She takes hold of his hand and turns it over, revealing a palm covered in blistered flesh. Her mind flashes back to how he had grabbed the object and held it tightly, despite the pain it must have caused. Her head begins to spin and she takes hold of the stone slab, from which the object hangs, to steady herself.
Within Amelia's mind she can see hands reaching out of a raging fire, holding something aloft, something precious. She can't tell what it is, but she knows it to be dear, as it's wrapped tightly and held with delicate hands. She doesn't know whose hands they are, but she can tell they're small and soft, more like a woman's than a man.
"Captain!" a voice shouts not far off.
Amelia is wrenched from her mind's imaginings. "Yes, " she responds in a half-waking state as she rises to her feet and turns to face the newly arrived messenger.
"We rounded up all the grave robbers we could lay our hands on and…" the official who addressed her starts his report, before stopping short.
Amelia clears the haze from her head as she looks to the speaker. "Yes?" she asks, before noting the look of concern on his face.
"Are you alright?" the subordinate inquires with genuine concern and fixes her with a gaze.
"I'm fine," Amelia assures him before returning to the matter at hand. "Carry on with your duties."
"Yes ma'am!" the official returns with a salute, before hurrying off.
Amelia doesn't bother to return the salute, she has more pressing matters on her mind. She sheathes her blade before reaching for her helmet, which happens to be near the discarded blade of her fallen adversary. She takes hold of both items and examines the blade more closely, by running her finger across its edge. It would have been difficult to cut butter with it. She gazes at the weapon in her hand, then she gazes at its owner, who still has not stirred. She turns her attentions to the bustling activity behind her.
She puts forth her hand and stops a nearby official. "See that this man is taken to the castle," she commands him, as she gestures toward the man lying on the ground. "I want his wounds tended by a physician."
"Yes ma'am!" the soldier responds with a salute and hurries off to fetch others to help in his task.
Satisfied, Amelia prepares to leave, when something odd catches her attention. She could have been mistaken, but it seems there's a strange lump protruding from the man's chest. She kneels down next to him and feels the protrusion. She lifts his collar, revealing a chord hanging from his neck and something that seems familiar and yet, alludes her all the same.
She reaches inside his shirt and pulls forth a strange wooden trinket that is very similar to the scorched one, only this one is still legible. Carefully, she removes the odd piece of jewelry and reads its inscription several times while she gazes at its owner. She has much to discuss with him, but it will have to wait.
The next moment, a small contingent of officials break on to the scene and carry the unconscious man away, leaving Amelia all to herself. She holds for a few moments as she takes in the entirety of the chaotic scene that is quickly being reigned in. After which, she decides to leave the graveyard and enter the nearby town. Just as soon as her men have all gathered together.
There she finds a contingent of soldiers walking along with a pair of horses pulling along a caged wagon that is half full of the small group of grave-robbers they were able to round up. Near to them, over-watching the operation, is another knight wearing a full set of green armor who is busy coordinating the necessary efforts.
The green warrior catches sight of the other knight. "Captain," they declare while removing their helmet, revealing the face of a woman capped with curly, blonde hair. "What took you so long? Yours should have been the simpler task."
"Hello Erica," Amelia addresses her sister while closing the distance. "There was a lot of ground to cover and we had to deal with a fire."
"I'll concede that a fire was not anticipated," Erica admits and crosses the arm not holding her helmet. "I hope you have the fire bug in custody."
"I have to start an inquiry since the battleground was pretty chaotic, as they are wont to do," Amelia replies and focuses on her sister.
"See that you do," Erica commands and maintains a stern gaze.
Amelia gives her a look as she doesn't care to be ordered around by a peer, but is distracted by a third cadre of soldiers approaching with a blue knight at the head who approaches the other women.
The blue warrior removes their helmet, revealing a female face with straight, brown hair. "Good evening sisters," she proceeds and closes the distance.
"Captain," Erica responds and gives a nod.
"Cassandra," Amelia properly greets her sister and gives a pat to her shoulder.
"Now that we're all together, I think it's time for us to head to the castle, wouldn't you say," the newly arrived woman chimes in and chokes up on her helmet.
The three separate groups break apart and reform into one mass just behind the knights with the three wagons of prisoners bringing up the rear. They march as one on to the battlements where lies the various barracks for the soldiers to adjourn to after they deposit their captives in the dungeon while the captains proceed to the keep in which the king resides, awaiting their report.