The Strangers

He raised the weapon to eye level, inspecting the fine, sharp edges of the steel blade. Its maker took so much time into the sword, that it shone like silver in the sunlight. He grunted his approval, as he threw it towards the Prince, who scrambled to get away with a yelp. The master-at-arms sighed and shook his head as the weapon hit the ground with a loud clang.
'How would you become King if you can't even catch a sword someone handed you?' the old man asked.
'It was never handed to me, you threw it like a maniac.' The Prince replied, making the older man laugh.
'That is how you learn to become a man.' He watched as the young boy snatched his sword from the ground.
'Who made the sword for you kid?' he knew the answer, but he just wanted to make sure.
'The local blacksmith of course.' He replied, moving to take his spot at the other side of the training ground. 'Mekana makes the best weapons ever.'
'And does it have a name?'
'Does what have a name?'
'Your sword.' The Prince thought a moment then nodded. The old man waited patiently for the boy to reply.
'Yes. Its name is Silverwind.' He said at last.
'Why did you call it that?'
'No more questions more practice, Ser Lancel.' The master-at-arms nodded and smiled, drawing his sword from it's leather scabbard. He gripped the hilt tighter, feeling the bitter-sweet pain in his palm, as the leather wrap bit into the skin. Lancel moved forward and stopped. Footsteps approached the training ground, and he turned to meet the on-comer, but no one was there. A shadow passed at the edge of his vision, and he whirled around but still, no one.
'Ser Lancel is something wrong?' the Prince asked, and the master shook his head.
'It's nothing.' He turned to face the Prince, and raised his sword, eyeing the hooded figure behind him. The figure had a dagger in his hand, raised high above the Princes back and the old man had a feeling the person was smiling. He took a step forward, then another, keeping an eye on the figure.
'Aricus move out of the way!' he shouted, as he started to run, but he knew it was too late. He never made it to the Prince in time, and the hooded figure stabbed downwards cutting between the boys shoulder blades. He fell forward with wide eyes, reminding Lancel of the scared boy he used to be, who would hide behind his mother's skirts not wanting to come out. Blood poured from the Prince's wound, soaking into the ground beside him.
With a loud battle-cry, the old man threw himself at the intruder and stabbed forwards, hitting him in the chest. The sword cut clean through flesh and cloth, embedding into his heart. The man gasped in pain and sank to his knees as Lancel stood above him ready to take the kill...


Lancel bolted upright in his bed, gasping and sweating, as the furs fell about his waist. This isn't the first time he had this dream, and it certainly won't be the last. A knock came at the door, and he slipped from the bed, yellow light filtering through his window, to land on the great oak wardrobe that stood in the corner of his room. He padded across the room and retrieved a robe made up of different furs from the northern part of Bralon.
'Ser Lancel!' Relann's voice called from outside the door with another bout of knocks. Lancel cursed loudly and moved towards the door.
'What do you want?' he asked sharply, looking at the squire in annoyance. He was short, with long brown hair, that was tied back into a bun on the back of his head.
'There are riders at the gate Master.' He replied, and the master-at-arms rolled his eyes.
'And?' he pushed.
'The guards don't know what to do.'
'Well, what do you think they should do Relann?' he asked.
'I don't know.' He answered sheepishly.
'They should use their brains is what they need to do. I am a master-at-arms, not a goddamned guard.' Relann followed the older man who turned and stalked back into his room to get dressed.
After he was suited up in leather, mail, and cloak, he left his bed chambers, Relann ahead of him.
'This way.' The boy gestured and started to move, when he noticed the other man wasn't following him, he stopped and turned.
'I know the way Relann.' Lancel strode past the squire, and smiled at the boys foolishness.


Lancel made his way over to the town walls, where he found the guards chatting with two people the old man had never seen before.
'Relann,' he turned to the squire who straightened at the sound of his name. 'Get me my sword.' When he didn't move, the old man gestured behind him at the group. The boy nodded once and vanished from the master-at-arm's sight. Lancel turned back to the group and cleared his throat.
'What is this?' he asked. The outsiders turned to him, allowing him to carry on. 'Are you travellers from the far north, scavenging for food and shelter in the towns of Middle Bralon? I won't even be surprised if you make up some stories to entertain people.' Everyone looked at him in surprise when he finished, but he didn't care.
'Sorry about my manners. Had a rough morning is all. But who are you and why are you here?'
'To warn you.' The male outsider answered. 'There is a darkness that is sweeping through the towns leaving nothing but death and destruction in its path.'
'They latch onto humans like leeches, draining away their life and taking over. We call these things Strangers.' The woman explained.
'Is there a way to stop this?' Lancel asked and she nodded her head.
'By killing them.' she replied.
'But these beings are innocent. They know nothing of what they are d-.' Lancel started to protest but was instantly cut off.
'They are already dead. Their old self is there spectating, but they can't do anything to stop the murder they will commit. The one that you loved, could be the one you die by the hands of.' The woman snapped. 'We are doing no more than helping them.'
'But surely there must be a way?' A guard asked but to his dismay the Northerner shook her head.
'I wish there was another way, believe me I do. But killing them is the only option unless you want to keep them alive until the town streets are strewn with the bodies of loved ones.' Someone made a sound behind Lancel, and he turned to find Relann watching the group with wide eyes.
'What are you doing Relann?' He asked, bringing the boys attention to him.
'I...nothing I... Heres your sword, master.' He held up the leather scabbard that held the old mans sword. He took it, tying it to his belt, and fixed the boy with a cold stare.
'How much did you hear?' he asked calmly.
'I don't know what your-.'
'How much!' Lancel yelled, spit flying. The squire flinched and wiped at his face.
'Enough to know that we might all die soon.' He stammered.
'You were eavesdropping on a conversation meant for adults.' He thought a moment. 'How old are you boy?'
'Sixteen, Ser.'
'Mmm. You are a man, but an eavesdropping man. The next time you want to eavesdrop on a conversation, don't make a sound and don't be seen.' Relann nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Lancel turned to the outsiders.
'What do you call yourselves?'
'Ithrin and Irathria.' The man answered.
'From the north then.'
'Yes.'
'Well, you may go and warn the other towns.' They bowed and turned on their horses, vanishing through the open gates. Lancel saw the green trees and grass before the gates finally closed.
As the old man made his way back to his bed chambers, a scream rang throughout the town. He turned and ran in the other direction, dodging people who stopped in the streets to listen, fear masking their faces. The screams continued into a gurgling cry before they finally stopped altogether. Lancel turned a final corner and stopped in his tracks, looking at the scene before him. Two limbless bodies lay outside a burning home, the smoke seeming to only just rise from the flames.
The bodies were those of a woman and small child, their faces stuck in the throes of death. A man stood above them, glassy eyes seeming to look at nothing, but Lancel knew they saw everything. He took a step forward and the man raised his head, making Lancel gasp in shock. Before him stood the Blacksmith and his closest friend, Mekana Kaliphan.
'I killed them.' he looked down at the bodies. ' I killed my wife and child with this.' He raised a blood-stained hand, revealing the dagger he was holding. 'I'm a monster.' The man looked at Lancel once more and to his surprise, the other man had tears in his eyes. 'Kill me.' he whispered before he was taken over once again. Mekana was gone.
The old man took one step after another, slowly drawing his dagger as he stood before his old friend.
'I'm sorry brother.' He whispered and stabbed the man in the chest, steel cutting through flesh and cloth. Tears rolled down his cheeks as Mekana's eyes went to normal, showing he was still in there. He smiled and whispered two words.
'Goodbye brother.' And he died. Lancel staggered from the dead weight that fell against him, as Mekana went limp. Lancel retrieved his dagger from the dead man, and lay him next to his family. He sat a moment before he finally stood and turned to find Relann staring in shock.
'Clean up the mess Relann.' He said and turned away from the man he had killed.
'Ser Lancel! There are riders who wish to see you!' A squire said as he ran up to the master-at-arms. Lancel sighed and walked in the direction of the wall.


Lancel eyed the lead rider cautiously, noting the proud look he had on his broad face as he watched the old man. He had the brown hair and black eyes of the northern Bralonders.
'Why are you here? I thought you were warning the towns.' Lancel stated matter-of-factly. The man nodded and smiled coldly.
'We have, but I came to see the bodies of the dead.' That struck Lancel as odd. He shook his head, staring into the other man's black eyes.
'They are being buried. And what has it to do with you about our dead?'
'I need to see what happened to them.'
'No. There is no need for you to see what our dead look like. It has nothing to do with you or your compan-.' A loud crash cut him off, mingling with the sounds of screaming. Lancel looked back at the man on the horse before running to see what was happening.
The master-at-arms ran through body strewn streets, trying to dodge the people who were running for their lives. A man came at him from the side, and he drew his sword barely managing to block the man's killing blow. He slashed at the man, chopping his head off as he carried on down the streets.
He stopped in his tracks when he came face to face with his wife. At first, panic rose inside him thinking she was a stranger, when he noticed the knife at her throat. He looked at the stranger holding his wife and almost sank to his knees. His son had hold of his mother's hair, pulling her head back, the dagger biting into her neck.
'Let go of your mother Brandon. I know your still in there. Just leave her be.' But it was pointless. Brandon dragged the dagger across his mother's throat, and with a gurgled cry, she fell forward, blood seeping into the stones. Tears blinded Lancel's vision as he picked his wife's dead body from the ground, cradling her to his chest. He heard Brandon take a step forward and looked up at his son.
'Come on Brandon. Just kill me already. Do it quick. Please.' He begged as he closed his eyes. Lancel waited for the cold blade to run across his neck, but nothing happened. He opened his eyes and looked up at Brandon. His son looked down at him, sadness shining in his eyes, but it quickly faded as the monster took over again. In one sweeping movement, the steel blade touched Lancel's neck, and sliced across. Pain shot through his body before it finally turned to numbness as he passed on into the darkness.