The Grim Lord's Work

"The light is failing," muttered Althus. "Let's go, while we still have some of it left."

Renald crouched on the soft earth, moving leaves about with his hand. "Pipe down, Al. I'm still looking."

Althus gave an exaggerated sigh and looked about. The setting sun cast its gold-red light on the land, a band of rolling hills that served as the long foot of distant mountains. Their snow-capped peaks hid among the cloudy mat of gray that stretched on and away into the south. A storm is coming. A bad one. I can feel it in my old bones.

And old he was. Althus had fifty-three years, unkind ones at that. They'd been hard, filled with work, but their difficulty had given him the strength to walk the tougher roads of his past. Now, the years of his youth well behind him, they were starting to take their toll.

Renald was a different man altogether. He was a youngster, small and weedy. His skin was smooth and pale compared to Althus' wrinkled complexion, tanned from years under the sun.

But Renald had his wits about him and held himself confidently, all things considered. Renald would get them through this.

Althus still couldn't say why they were chosen over anyone else. He and Renald were brought before the Grim Lord without warning, quivering and questioning, just hours ago. Few made to kneel before the man of unsettling rumors were showered with complements or rewarded for their loyal service. The Grim Lord was a towering figure with a gray, unpleasant shade to his eyes. He stood above them on the steps to his high seat as they bent their backs to him, waiting for his infamous raspy voice to fill the room.

"Friends," he'd croaked with forced courtesy, "welcome to my grand halls."

They returned his greeting as only peasants could: they bowed lower.

"You bend your knees before me with ignorance, probably wondering why I've summoned you this late into the evening."

They did.

The Grim Lord cleared his throat. "Well, the answer is plain. An animal from the royal gardens has gone missing. I need him found and returned at once."

They'd glanced at one another then. A lump formed in Althus' throat, and it looked to him that Renald's eyes gleamed with uncertainty. Being the older of them, Althus took it upon himself to answer. With all the courage he could muster, he lifted his head and met the lord's eye.

"Forgive me, lord, but how could myself, a farrier, and a stablehand help you in this regard? Surely one of your retainers would be more suited to the task, or perhaps the captain of your bodyguard?"

The Grim Lord dismissed the idea with a hand. "They're all too busy for such work. Besides, I have two very capable men right before my sharp eyes. Both of you are familiar with horses, no?"

Althus paused for a second, sharing another glance with Renald. They'd spent their lives around horses, but so had countless others. Why us? But the lord wanted an answer, not a question. They both nodded slowly.

"Good. The prized stallion from my stud has cleared the fences and ran off into the Darkwood. You'll both fetch him for me. And be rewarded well, I should add."

Renald gulped. "The Darkwood, sire? That forest is haunted, folk say."

"Folk like to prattle nonsense," their lord said sternly. "Was my offer of compensation not suitable? Perhaps a spell in the dungeons would fair you better?"

Althus held up a hand to silence any more talk from Renald. "We'll do as you bid, my lord. You need say no more."

"But I will. Should any harm come to this horse, good fellows, you'll both spend a month in the deepest, darkest cell in my keep. I pray that is understood."

Althus nodded fiercely. "It is, my lord."

"Thank you, lord," stammered Renald.

They'd then left the Grim Lord's presence, Althus glad to still have clean breeches. It was near dusk of the same day, and the Darkwood rose menacingly before them as Renald hunched in the leaves.

"Why did we linger so long?" Althus rubbed his arms to warm them. He wore a thick cloak over his short-sleeved tunic, but it was already growing cold.

"You know why. We have to mark the stallions tracks, or we'll never find him in a forest so vast. But fear not, I think I've finally found them. Look. Here. See that?"

"That's no hoofmark. There's barely a dent there."

"It is, Al. Right there. See that groove? And look, another there."

"A master tracker has graced me with his presence, is that it?"

"No, but it's easy to see now that I see it. You have bad eyesight is all."

Althus sighed. "Fine. We'll come back and follow them in the morning. We spent two hours just trying to find the damn things. We've lost the light."

"Bollocks to that," Renald rebuked. "Who knows if they'll be here tomorrow. We can't afford to wait and risk losing them. The Grim Lord will have us in the dungeons by week's end should we turn up empty handed. You have your lantern. We'll be fine."

"We'll be fine? You said it yourself, Renald. The Darkwood is haunted. You think it got that name for no reason?"

"I spent the last night in thought, Al. I've come to the conclusion that a dark, damp cell is real, as will be the fever I catch in such a place. Ghost stories are not."

Althus's heart raced at the idea of entering the Darkwood at night. Already, with the sun not yet set, the depths of the wood were an endless stretch of blackness. Even the brightest days struggled to penetrate its canopy.

But Renald was right. Stories were stories. And besides, their was a reward involved, should they succeed. The sooner they did so, the sooner he could forget this mess and move on to better lands, and better days, his coin purse full. With shaky resolve, he hefted his lantern. The candle inside, expensive yellow beeswax, flickered and burned away. "Our time is limited. Let's go."

Renald took the lead, hunkering over to look for the stallion's tracks. Althus trailed close behind, holding the lantern out and high. Together, they entered the Darkwood.

The air grew suddenly thick around them. Althus felt like he was being squeezed in an invisible grip. He took a breath, coughed it out and pulled his cloak together with his free hand. This is a bad idea, bad idea, he thought over and over.

Renald had his nose buried in the ground, following marks or disturbances in the dead foliage that covered everything. Despite all the decay, the oaks and yews still held their green leaves, as did all manner of ash and beech. Pointy pines and tall spruces filled the gaps, their needles thick above and below. Few weeds or shrubs grew in the Darkwood. It held no room nor sun for them.

The lantern burned hard to give them light, but it still proved difficult to see beyond a dozen paces. The darkness formed a sphere around them as they walked, locked in continual struggle with the light. Each flicker of the candle let it press in before the flame stabilized and forced it away.

But the thick of dark and the caressing fingers of cold weren't the worst of things for Althus. It was the silence of the land that made him shiver, made his eyes sink in their sockets. Beyond the crunching of their footsteps and the sound of his own breathing, Althus could hear nothing else. No owls hooted in the thick web of branches above, and no rodents squeaked and crunched across the forest floor. The drone of crickets from outside the wood had faded. The crickets.

He spun on his heels.

"Hey," Renald whispered harshly. "I can’t see!"

"We've lost the edge of the wood," Althus said in a faltering tone. "I don’t know which way we came in. Which way?"

"Relax, Al. We'll just follow the tracks back. They're strong here, very defined. Now bring that light back. I think we're closing on him."

He did as he was bid, though annoyed by Renald's lack of concern. “That stallion had hours of lead on us.” He also found himself unintentionally whispering. “How far have we even come? How long have we been in here?”

“Pipe down, Al. Can’t have been but twenty minutes. Check the candle.”

“Don’t tell me to pipe down, you youngster.” But Althus checked. The candle was almost halfway burned. They’d been in the Darkwood for over an hour. “That’s not possible,” he muttered.

Renald either didn’t hear or didn’t care. He sunk even lower to the ground and examined something.

“What is it?”

He held up a hand. “Horse dung. Fresh by the feel. Still warm. He’s gotta be close.”

Althus check every direction for signs of the animal. He saw nothing but trees and rocks and more trees. They would’ve heard the stallion, were he close. No whinnies or neighs, no hoof beats. Nothing. Nothing but…but something. Something was out there. He cupped his free hand around his ear, and the sound became more clear.

It was a deep, even breathing sound. It issued from ahead.

“Renald, you hear that?”

Renald stopped and looked up. Looked around. Listened. “Aye,” he finally whispered. “What is that?”

Althus held his light high and peered. At the edge of the darkness was a small clearing in the wood. A large boulder rested in the center of it.

“Tracks lead there,” Renald said.

They crept into the clearing with bated breath. The sound reminded Althus of a large blacksmith’s bellow, pulsing with air. It grew louder as they neared the boulder. Where is that coming from? He put a hand on the rock to steady himself and it all became shockingly clear.

The boulder was moving.

It rose and fell in rhythm with the sound, and the surface felt alive under Althus’ fingers. It was gray and rough, but hard like leather, not like stone. He backed away speechless, stunned, with dread filling his insides.

“Al, what is it?”

“Renald!”

But it was too late. The boulder-thing stirred, groaned. It uncurled a hulking mass, and when it stood, it towered above them. The height of three men would have barely matched it.

Renald’s mouth dropped open. Neither of them could move.

The thing looked down with beady amber eyes. “HMMM?” it sounded in its deep, resonating voice.

“What is it, Althus?” Renald quaked. “What is it?”

“Shhhh!”

But there was no hiding from it. It’d seen them.

“ANTMEN, HMMM. THEY FIGHT, THEY BITE. WHAT BRINGS YOU INTO MY WOOD?”

Althus swallowed and forced himself to move, backing away from the thing. “We’re. We’re. Looking for our horse. He’s gone missing. We’re sorry to have bothered. So sorry.”

“SORRY? HMMM, NOT ANTMEN. NEVER SORRY.”

“But we are. Honest!”

“ANTMEN NEVER HONEST. THEY FIGHT, THEY BITE. ANTMEN TAKE MY WOOD, POKE ME WITH THEIR NEEDLES. LONG AGO, HMMM, BUT I REMEMBER.”

“We’re not like them,” Althus pleaded. “We’ll leave. Leave you alone.”

“ANTMAN LIE.”

The stony giant reached out with gnarled, massive fingers. Renald screeched. Althus, all courage draining out of him like water from a broken vase, ran.

He had never intended to abandon Renald in the darkness, but sense had left him. The lantern swung in his hand as he sprinted mindlessly through the wood, no regard for direction. The light quivered in the darkness, and a scream erupted behind him. His name was called out. Althus paid it no heed. He ran and ran, until his breath was lost.

He finally stopped in the middle of nowhere, panting and sweating profusely, doubling over. What was that, that thing? Oh, Renald. I’m sorry. But he couldn’t go back. He didn’t know how. Which way. He raised his lantern. All the directions looked the same. He picked one at random and took it.

He walked and walked, an endless trek over rises and rocks and roots and leaves. His eyes darted in every direction, scanning for danger. The trees reached out with their branches and grabbed at his cloak as he went. They looked like misshapen, calloused hands. He cowered from them and fled.

Althus didn’t know how much further he’d gotten when a black figure reared up out of the darkness. Althus yelped, tripped over himself and fell, barely saving the lantern from crashing into the dirt. He held a hand against the beast and his approaching doom, but then his mind cleared.

It was the stallion, the Grim Lord’s prized horse. The candlelight reflected yellow off his black coat, making it shine. His defined muscles moved as he cautiously approached.

“Hey,” Althus whispered. He held out a hand. The horse inched forward. “No need to be afraid, little guy.”

The stallion neared. Sniffed. Snorted.

Althus had only enough time to realized his mistake, not prevent it. The same hand he offered was the one that he’d held against the giant in the clearing.

“Wait!” he cried, but the scent had filled the horse’s nostrils. He reared and screamed, kicked his hooves in the air. His eyes flamed. Althus fell back and dropped the lantern, holding his hands over his head. The stallion came down. The lantern cracked and crunched. The candle went out.

---

The Grim Lord sat on his high seat, his chin resting on steepled hands. The cold, red light of dawn gleamed through the glass windows in his hall, flooding the room with crimson light.

The captain of his bodyguard pushed through the hall’s two arched oak doors. His footsteps and the clinking of his chainmail echoed off the silent walls and filled the rafters above as he made his way across to his lord. He bowed at the base of the steps, then climbed.

“My lord,” he grumbled. “The two you sent into the wood have not returned.”

“Hmm…A pity.” the lord leaned back in his seat and sighed. “I had hoped these fellows would've fared better, but alas, the Darkwood claims more lives."

"Should I inform the others?"

"They should be brought up to speed on the situation, yes. The rumors prove truer with every day. Oh, and gather two more from the town. A man and woman this time. Bring them to me before dark.”

"The last two came willingly." His captain raised an eyebrow. "What should I tell these, lord, should they not readily comply?”

The Grim Lord shrugged dismissively. “Tell them first of a good sum of coin resting unclaimed in my vault. Then tell them their good lord has a job, and that a job is better than the dungeons.”

The captain smiled sadly. "Aye, lord. That it is."