The Enemy Unknown

“Sir! Wake up. The general is on his way. Trouble is brewing.” The soldier woke officer Cornwall from his slumber. 

He rose sluggishly. Sleeping only an hour at a time in this dreaded heat did not bode well for one’s health. But this time he awoke feeling cold. Was he sick? He didn’t feel sick. This cold better not have to do with what he thinks it does. Though if the general was coming all the way down here, then it was highly likely. Cornwall gathered his pack and sword and exited his tent. 

The sky was a gloomy grey. Quite the contrast from what they were used to. This part of the country received more sun than any other this time of year. Why was it so damn cold? 

Cornwall followed some troops to the opening square, where the general would give out orders. 

“Do you know what this is about?” One of the nearby soldiers asked.

“I won’t lie to you kid, if the general is coming, it can’t be good.”

The soldier regretted asking. His suspicions were almost guaranteed.

The general arrived on horseback wearing full ceremonial armor. The platoon surrounded him and all was quiet except for the sound of chattering teeth. “Okay boys! I can guess you’re all wondering what has brought me of all people down south. And what’s brought this dastardly cold. Well I’m here to say the rumors are true. The occultists are working with the enemy.”

Whispering rang out. Men threw their arms in the air. One yelled, “We’re so fucked!”

“Silence! All of you. This is not the end of the fucking war. You ball less bastards. There’s only one occultist in the south. We need to get rid of it before we can push onward. Before we can all go home! We have a plan. It involves sending one squad out into the Reach, under the cover of darkness. The occultist is held up in Wyverns Keep. If we send the whole army after it, every one of us that falls in battle, will rise, and become one of them. We cannot risk that. Only one squad must go. Infiltrate without raising suspicion, and end the occultist's life. We have chosen officer Cornwall to lead this excursion. Cornwall, step forward.” 

He obeyed.

“Pick the four finest men here to accompany you.” 

A few names immediately came to his mind. Though a few weren’t too fond of eachother. Not a good thing when communication needs to be tight and efficient. Cornwall thought for a few moments.

“I need Mouse, Jonesy, Alistair, and Crochet.” Cornwall belted, hoping everyone was listening. 

Some rusting in the crowd occurred and the sea of men parted to make way for the four men. 

“With that being settled, everyone prepare for the siege of Wyverns Keep in a week's time. You five, come with me.”

They followed the general into the war tent and spent the next day hashing the plan out. Much bickering was had, especially between Crochet and Jonesey. They’ve had a long lasting feud with each other. But they were too damn good at what they did to pass either of them up for another. Alistair barely spoke throughout as usual. Merely nodding his head when asked if he understood what he was supposed to do and when. Mouse was excited as ever to get into the action. He was almost two heads shorter than the rest of them and not much skin on the bones. 

As one could guess, he excelled at getting into places he shouldn’t.

The plan was to make their way to the keep at night. Their soothsayers claimed a snowfall would strike in mere hours. If they were right, that would be the perfect condition to sneak in and take out the occultist. According to a spy within the keep, the occultist operates in the tower right in the middle of the keep itself, though they are unsure of the layout. It won’t be easy reaching the tower, but once inside, the threat of alerting guards decreases considerably. The matter of the occultist was an entirely different one. They would need to strike fast. No one knew exactly what the occultist was capable of. They did not want to drag the fight on. Jonesy and Crochet were two of the best archers in the army. If anyone was going to do it, it was them.

“Everyone get some rest, settle your minds. This will be a turning point in the war and you all will be the glorious bastards to do it.” The general finished his little pep talk and left them to their own devices. 

“Better not fuck this up Jonesy boy.” Crochet spit near Jonesy’s shoes.

“Hey! You two.” Cornwall demanded their attention. “I’m not going to let your little child like bickering lose us the fucking war. You were picked for a reason. If this feud affects that in any way we all will die. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir!” They both said in unison.

It was going to be a rough assignment.

They all slept with the mission on their minds. Everyone trusted Cornwall to lead effectively. But he barely trusted them. But he’s been through worse. You don’t become an officer of the Lord's army for nothing.

Everyone woke up bright and early on the day of the assignment. Their nerves were too shot to sleep any longer. Cornwall could not appear nervous in front of his men. He was the glue holding it together. But the anxiety never leaves you in this business. An occultist was said to do unimaginable things to their enemies. Trapping their mind in endless torment, even after death. 

“Come on boys. Let’s saddle up.” 

Everyone got their gear together, received a farewell from the general, and went out towards Wyverns Keep. 

It was half a day's ride. About as close to the enemy as is comfortable. They could spot the tower the occultist resided in over the treeline in front of them. By the Lords did it look ominous in the sunset. 

“We’ll set up here until dark.” Cornwall got off his horse and laid out the schematics on a nearby stump. He attempted spreading it out, but the harsh wind kept blowing the corners inward. 

“Snow.” Alistair said in his soft voice. He looked up, catching the snowflakes with his fingers. 

“The bastards were right.” 

The rest of the crew caught up.

“Mouse! Get over here.” Cornwall ordered. 

“Yes sir. Going over the plan again? Don’t worry, got it memorized. Went over the whole thing a hundred times on the way here.”

“Well, that’s good. Just remember, Wyverns Keep is old as the hills. These rooftops are not stable. I know you’re only a couple twigs put together, but if you fail, we lose our eyes and ears.” 

“Yes sir. I’ll be stable sir. Light as a mouse. That’s what they call me you know.”

Cornwall groaned. 

“Everyone. Take these.” Cornwall handed them the sygilled necklace. It would be used for communication. One member could send vibrations to the rest of the crew telling them exactly what’s going on. “I hope you all remember the signals.” 

Everyone nodded and went about their last freetime for a while. Jonesy and Crochet got into an argument over who’s the best shot. They competed on hitting different things around their small camp. This was better than it usually was with them, until they almost broke out into a brawl. Alistair walked over to them and pierced them with his eyes. This shut them up. Mouse found all this quite amusing. 

“Guy gives me the creeps.” Jonesy whispered to Crochet. 

“Tell me about it.” Crochet whispered back.

Perhaps some ground was being made in their relationship. 

The ride here was tiring for everyone. They got as much rest as they could for the next few hours. The beginning of rain and the lowering of the sun got everyone up. It was time. 

They let loose the horses and grabbed everything necessary for the attack. Everyone donned white cloaks and boots to blend in with the snow. 

Cornwall walked to the edge of the treeline to make sure the coast was clear. He signalled everyone to move forward. 

It was a slow crawl towards the castle walls through the already high snow. Mouse had little insulation on his body and his fingers were already numb. Not good for the climb ahead. 

Cornwall signaled with his necklace to stop moving and heads down. Guards atop the walls walked by with torches in hand. Once they passed, it was time to keep moving.

Reaching the walls wasn’t difficult. Now Mouse had to traverse up them and let down the rope so the rest of the crew could join him. His hands were so cold and stiff he began to worry. He’s never been stationed in the north. The cold wet snow was new to him. He began his ascent, clinging to anything his tiny fingers could latch onto. He looked like a goat, seemingly sticking to a ninety degree surface. He stuck one of his tools in the walls to get a better grip before heaving himself up. Before he could pull up his hand slipped on the slow and nearly plunged to the ground forty feet below. Luckily his other hand held true and he remained hanging and eventually climbed over. 

Moused tied the rope down and heaved it over the edge. Alistair was the first to climb up. Luckily so, as three guards came patrolling to that section of the wall and spotted the infiltration. Before they could react and call for the alarm, Alistair rushed and gutted them silently. It was one of the quickest displays with the knife that Mouse had seen. 

Jonesy went up next followed by Cornwall and Crochet. 

“We don’t have a lot of time until those guards are known to be missing or seen dead. Let’s get this done.” Cornwall was calm but shivering. The snow was getting heavy. No doubt the occultists work. 

Mouse leapt from the defensive walls onto a building’s roof within the keep. The snow dampened his impact and he began scouting. 

“Follow me.” Cornwall started towards the stairs down to the streets.

The process of moving from alleyway to alleway towards the tower was the slowest part of the plan. Mouse was the eyes in the sky, He alerted the crew to every passing guard, any alarm or holdups, and judged when they should push up. Though he couldn’t see everything. When his vantage point was poor. A lone guard would occasionally get too close. Crochet would usually loosen an arrow into the poor bastard. 

Right in front of the tower sat six enemies around a campfire. They looked cold as a witch’s titty in a brass bra. It would be nigh impossible to sneak by them. All would need to be taken care of. 

Cornwall thumped his necklace, alerting Mouse what the plan is. A little preparation for the occultist. They’ll hit them fast and hard before they can react.

“Jonesy, Crochet, both of you get behind that wall. Let loose when we charge. Alistair, come with me. We hit them head on. Mouse is going to distract. Let’s move.”

Everyone got into their position. Mouse could be seen on top of the barracks looking over the campfire. He packed a snowball and hurled it, with what little strength he had, at the men around the campfire. They all scrambled up, looking for the thrower. Mouse just stood there at the top, attempting to look menacing. It didn’t matter much. Jonesy and Crochet flung their arrows, hitting two of them, as Cornwall and Alistair ran as fast as they could through the snow. 

Alistair reached them first, slitting one of their throats. Blood painted the snow. Cornwall tackled another to the ground, covering their mouth to muffle the screams as he stabbed him. Mouse jumped onto the back of one of them, getting him into a chokehold. The last man was quickly shot with arrows and skewered by Alistair. Mouse struggled quite a bit but eventually his man was knocked out. All that was left was to enter the tower and finish the job.  

“We don’t know what lies inside that tower. Mouse is our scout. He’ll still tell us what’s ahead. But be prepared for anything. If the occultist can turn summer to winter, I don’t want to find out what he can do to us. Let’s move.”

The entrance to the tower was a simple wooden door. When they attempted to open it, the door wouldn’t budge. There was a lock that Jonesy attempted to pick. While the others waited and kept guard, slight movement began occurring within the guards they just killed. 

“You see that shit?” Crochet whispered.

No one answered. 

One of the supposed dead soldiers shot upward and began twitching. It turned and faced the crew. His throat still slit and bleeding. 

“Jonesy hurry the fuck up!” 

Crochet shot an arrow straight through the dead bastard's eye. It was knocked back. But started slowly walking towards them unaffected. More arrows were shot but the damned thing kept walking. 

“Save your arrows for later man.” Cornwall ordered Crochet.

More bodies rose from the dead, picked up their weapons and stumbled towards everyone huddled by the door. 

“Almost there. Got it!” Jonesy unlocked the door and they all funneled in. The door was quickly shut behind them just as dead men reached it. Continuous banging was heard on the other side of the wall. 

“No time for respite. Mouse, get moving but stay cautious.” 

Moused scampered off, finding the stairs, sticking to the shadows. 

The inside of the tower was bleak. No furniture, stone walls, barely lit. There were small rooms here and there, each dingy and dust ridden. No one could be seen or heard.

“Don’t like this.” If Alistair didn’t like it. No one should. 

Thumps rippled through each member's necklace. Telling them the second floor coast was clear. They slowly moved up. Nothing on the second floor, the third floor, or any of the floors. They didn’t know if this was normal or not, for an occultist tower. 

They were right below the top floor, presumably where the occultist resided. So far Mouse has given constant details of what he saw on each floor. They hadn’t seen him since the bottom. But now he was dead silent. 

Cornwall sent a message through the necklace asking for a report. Silence. 

“We don’t go up till we have confirmation.”

“What if he’s dead, then we’ll get no confirmation.” Jonesy's sweated bullets, even in the cold.

“No fucking shit Jonesy.” Crochet nearly smacked him across the head until they heard a muffled scream from above. A struggle and then silence again. 

“Sir? What do we do?”

“We move up. Both of you. You see the shot, you take it.”

They crawled up the steps, expecting anything. 

The top floor had high ceilings, stained glass windows, and glowing symbols drawn on the floor. But no occultist. 

“Cornwall. What the fuck is going on?” Crochet sounded scared.

“Bad info maybe?” Jonesy thought out loud.

“We need to find Mouse and get out of here.” Cornwall began back down the steps.

“Do you hear that?” Alistair quieted everyone down.

Nothing was heard for a moment. Then the sound of water droplets. They looked up to the high ceiling of the top floor and saw Mouse clinging there, staring at them, blood dripping from his eyes and mouth. He let go and landed on Jonesy. Mouse began smashing his fists into his head. 

From the stairs came stumbling bodies. The dead men from outside came and grabbed Alistair and dragged him back down the steps. More came up and started towards the crew

A muffled “Help!” could be heard through each pounding of Jonesy’s face. If Mouse were alive, he might have been shoved off quite easily. But in his dead state, his strength was amplified. 

Two dead men attacked Cornwall who attempted fending them off. “Help Jonesy goddamn you!” He ordered Crochet. 

Crochet didn’t want to hurt Mouse. But he knew he was too far gone. He charged Mouse and hit him off with all his might. Mouse went tumbling aside revealing a very bloody Jonesy. “Get up.” Crochet lended Jonesy a hand. 

Mouse charged them once more. But both launched an arrow right into Mouse’s skull, killing him again.

Alistair walked back up the steps. He was covered in blood. Jonesy and Crochet worried they would have to face him too. No one wanted to face Alistair. But he didn’t seem hostile. He simply lifted his knife and threw it across the room into one of the dark corners. There was a loud screech and the shadow crawled into the light, dripping blood. Alistair collapsed onto the ground, the last of his energy gone. 

“Fire!”

Both archers loosened all of their arrows into the shadow. It twitched and screamed and thrashed. But it did not die!

Cornwall finished decapitating both creatures he was fighting. Breathing heavily, and sick of this job, he rushed headlong into the shadow, gripping something physical. They both crashed through the stained glass window and plummeted to the ground. 

“Sir!” Crochet cried out. 

Jonesys and Crochet peaked over the broken window and saw a dead Cornwall lying next to a shriveled, unmoving body. The occultist was dead. Almost immediately the air became warmer, and the snow turned to rain. 

Jonesy prayed to the Lords above for Cornwall’s safe passage into the heavens. 

“We’ve done it Jonesy.” Crochet patted him on the back. 

They checked Alistair’s body. Still warm. 

“I don’t know how we’ll make the trip back. But it doesn’t matter. They’re already writing me into the Annals.”

“Fuck you Crochet.”