The Squire (Prologue)
Just setting the scene for the story, I know it was short and trying to start a new story. Any suggestions and opinions would be appreciated. Thanks!!
A chill wind came down from the north, the wind ice cold, hitting the young squires face. He shivered and put his hands beneath his arm. The squire looked out over the valley, the wind blowing the snow in swirls, drifting into piles over their baggage. The other knights were had patches of snow sticking to their helmets and cloaks. A hand tapped him on the shoulder, it was Barahir, a large wolf, grey hairs streaking over his head.
"It's time to go, I need you to go and get firewood from the woods, we'll be right here when you return." Said Barahir placing a hand on the fox's shoulder then he turned and left the fox attending to other business. Jon, the squire was a small fox about the age of fourteen and standing around five foot three and had been serving Barahir for seven years. As he was walking into the forest searching for firewood, he thought of how Barahir had been like a second father to him. He wandered farther into the woods he heard a rustling sound and twigs crunching. The squire ran quietly behind a mound of snow built up high enough to hide him from the danger. As he glanced over the snow mound, he saw a terrible sight. As he looked upon the group of moving beings, a wind ice cold blew, all the cloaks and fur he had did not stop the chill. These wolves and foxes were all dressed differently, Jon knew something was very odd about these knights, the way they trudged through the snow, some dragging their feet and weapons behind them.
"This isn't right..." Jon sat behind the mound frozen at the realization at who they were, and jumped up sprinting through the forest back to the camp. As he got closer he could hear the sounds of swords and axes clashing, the yells of the Knights and another sound he hadn't heard before. A terrible shriek, cutting through the helmets and padding making most of the Knights cover their ears to try and quell the fearful cry. Jon fell to his knees covering his ears as well curling up trying to escape the awful sound. He fell into darkness as the snow slowly fell down around him and the day wore on, the distant sword clashes fading.
Jon awoke around three, the sky had turned a mixture of red and orange and the sun began to go down over the mountains. He slowly rose up, brushing off the snow being as quiet as possible scanning his surroundings for any of those...things. As he got closer to where the camp had been, he saw what had become of his friends and brothers-in-arms. Every knight was slain, swords broken in two, their shields and armor cloven. A dreadful sight for the fourteen year old fox. Around the Knights lay many of the dead wolves and foxes he had seen in the forest, but they were only few of the hundreds that had passed by. As he looked upon the bodies he saw his friend, Barahir, slumped over sitting with his back against a pine tree, pierce with many sword and axe wounds his eyes seeing nothing but the darkness of death, but around him lay at least thirty of his foes. Jon knelt beside him and wept, his mentor and friends were gone now. He closed Barahir's eyes and stood up looking over his brothers. Searching in the wagon for another cloak and some type of armor, he found a sword and shield taking a spear as well as a bow and a quiver of arrows. He would have to make it back to the fort and alert the commander. Pulling up his hood and carrying a torch in his right and the spear in his left he began his journey back, looking up to the sky , the moon was rising now. Jon knew he had to get back before the dead make it to the fort and ran. As the moon reached the highest point he stopped to rest sitting down looking up at the sky and closed his eyes to rest for a hour.
Many miles away by now, back at the camp, Barahir began to twitch, his fingers stretching and curling back and his head moved back and forth. Then it was silent...shadows began to rise slowly, a pale blue light could be seen in the darkness, trudging along the path of they had been traveling earlier. Barahir slowly opened his eyes, the snow over his eyelashes cracking and a pale blue light came from his eyes. He was not Barahir anymore but merely one of thousands of the dead servants now marching south to the valley.
The dead were coming.