Black Heart

The arch had been nearly torn down. A sizable chunk of rock had been ripped from one of the pillars, leaving a frail thread of stone behind to precariously hold the upper section in place.

Two standards had been set down against either pillar. The empty sockets of the skulls that adorned the banners stared down at the travellers, inviting them to share the same silence that had become their only law. Occasionally one could hear a distant chirp, a hesitant breath of a faltering earth; then, as suddenly as it had begun, the tired melody would be cut short with a sharp screech.

"Should turn back, y'know."

Atticus turned around and frowned at Jonas. The ragged appearance of the peasant matched his evident exhaustion, for he made an obvious effort to carry himself forward. The mule, too, was reluncant to continue; it struggled to resist the strong pull of its reins, digging its hooves into the brittle soil.

"Yes," replied Atticus pensively, "we should." He dug his sword into the cracked pavement and made show of tiredness himself, but with a deep sigh he sheathed his blade and continued walking. A spark of dismay played in Jonas' features.

"O!" he cried. "O!" He watched the armored soldier move further away from him. "By the flames of damnation!" he hissed. He looked back at the distant chapel. The lights were barely noticeable by now, what with the curtain of night spreading across the horizon. He remembered the emptiness that ruled over his wallet and grudgingly shuffled after Atticus, muttering curses under his breath.

"Good heavens!" he roared. He tore his foot out of the rotting carcass that was splayed on the ground. Maggots bit at the year-old flesh with an enthusiasm that was up to par with Jonas' revulsion. The lack of humanity in the corpse's frame made the sight no less apalling. He frantically waved his arms at Atticus, but the soldier was oblivious to the farmhand's plight. Jonas kicked what was left of the carcass' skull. "Earth have your damned remains. It's like here couldn't ask for better bounty."

A sharp kick against the mule's gut prompted a loud jeer from the animal and sent it swiftly trotting down the ruined path. Jonas ran after the transport animal, eyes peeled in search of Atticus. A sharp howl pierced the silent veil of the night.

"O! O!" shouted Jonas. There was no reply. The mule took a turn down a dirt road. "Ye!" bellowed Jonas. "Come back! Return!" The pained jeers of the beast echoed from the distance. Jonas crumpled to the ground, face buried between his dirtied palms. He pushed himself to his trembling feet and turned around, realizing to his dismay that he could no longer notice the ominous archway. A wholesome moon crept up the sky, its full white glow occasionally disrupted by pillars of brown smoke.

Now the dead forest seemed to have been shocked back into life. Rattling chains and tortured howls and horrifying cackles and hypnotic chanting erupted from all corners of the unhallowed woods. Jonas threw himself on the ground again and quickly scurried into a ruined house that bordered the road. The roof had been smashed in, yet it remained a providential refuge nonetheless.

He silently snaked into the home, blinded by the darkness that filled the abandoned chamber.

"What, what, what, what, what..." he repeated as he accomodated himself in a hidden corner, popping the stopper of a leather vial open and drinking all of its contents in a single sitting. "No coin's worth this trouble," he complained.

Jonas screamed.

Atticus lay chained to the opposite wall, head hanging limp against the left shoulder. Two chains bound either arm to the ceiling, and a thick metal brace pinned his chest to the wall; no lower half of his body was left to be bound by similar chains. The blank eyes stared into Jonas' with the same emptiness and resignation of those set in display by the arch.

The peasant carefully approached what remained of his contractor and, with steady eyes, examined the horrifying display. His breathing was quick and his frame trembling.

"You'll be remembered." Jonas whispered. He tore the Silver Hand's symbol free of Atticus' neck. Then, with trembling hands, he reached into the small leather pouch that strapped to the man's right arm. The glistening golden coin brought a tattered smile to Jonas' face.

"A cupid's heart meets a beast's end," Atticus joked. He touched Jonas' neck with the cold steel of his sword, all the while staring with admiration at the disgusting spectacle that had been arranged on the wall. He saw the terrified eyes of the peasant stare into his own and he chuckled. "Ah, if courage were legitimate and not a whore of gold!"

"You're..." sputtered Jonas, "you're dead."

"Of sorts." replied Atticus. "You did not have to follow," he added. "I saw to that. Of human virtue I keep gratitude; that was enough to warrant you safe pass out of these woods." His cold blue eyes peered minutiously at the trembling man that lay prostrated before him: they bore no fear, no anger, no resentment, no amusement; they bore nothing but a small hint of detached interest.

"But--"

"The symbol," commanded Atticus. "Give it to me."

A trembling hand reached into the jacket's pocket and bestowed the symbol unto Atticus. He examined it carefully, as if seeing it for the first time; then, with a grunt of disregard, he tossed it aside. The long, adorned, and delicate blade that hung from Atticus' waste trembled slightly, humming with satisfaction.

"M-may I go?" stuttered Jonas. Atticus grabbed the peasant by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet with a smile sketched on his face.

"Of course."

Jonas stumbled away from Atticus, trying to mouth additional words with which to express his bewilderment. Evidently deeming it unecessary, he crept towards the house's door.

"Ah!" Atticus cried. "I nearly forgot!"

The farmer stopped cold and stood still under the doorway. He slowly turned his head to face Atticus, who was groping for something in the leather pouch of the chained carcass.

"Yes?" he muttered.

"Your pay."

The golden coins struck Jonas' neck with tremendous force. He gasped, eyeing Atticus with surprise, and folded on himself before sliding to the ground. The paladin smiled before unsheathing his blade and holding it, point-first, towards the farmer's calm body.

"You tried to charge more than your fair share," he whispered. "It seems that a few more hours of service will be necessary to pay what is due." A black haze surrounded the blade of the sword, the corpse began to quiver eerily, and a malicious smile played on Atticus' lips.