William Cornwall, Duke of Westbridge, was a pious man. God-fearing and righteous. When he learnt that the sweet and innocent Lady Juniper had been kidnapped by the demons, he knew he could not leave such a fragile creature to such beasts. Moreover, the lady was promised to his son and heir, and she was thus an essential part in carrying on his legacy—the other noble daughters in the Free Cities were perhaps beauties, but they did not provide the riches of Winter Harbour.

Rescuing the lady was thus of the utmost importance, not only for his legacy, but also to grant him a comfortable retirement. Fighting the demons were, in turn, a holy calling. Never in his life had he been presented with such an important challenge, and he knew that he had to face it.

The odds were in their favour—the Builder would guide them and aid them, of course—and he had faith in his men. Although many criticised him for not having Nornish men in his army, people who knew what it meant to be fighting for the North, William was confident that his men felt the calling just as he did.

In his tent, he kneeled in front of his altar with the Hammer of Edred and prayed. He asked the Builder for strength and courage and that evening, he felt the Builder in him. It was as though he inhaled the Builder's spirit, and he knew that at first light when they launched their attack against the foul demons, they would do so with the Builder's protection and they would prevail.

"Your Grace, the preparations have been made and the army will be ready to march at dawn."

"Thank you, Callahan." William kissed the Hammer and rose before looking at his guard. "I hope the men will get some sleep, at least. Tomorrow will be trying, but we will be triumphant."

Sir Callahan was a serious man, with a serious brow, and tonight was no different. His dark eyes were shadowed by his heavy frown. "Your Grace, the men are disheartened. Most of them didn't even believe the Grey Ones truly existed, until now." He sighed. "There have been whispers of deserters."

William narrowed his eyes. "And what have these whispers said? I thought Sir Donovan had his men under control?"

Callahan clenched his jaw tightly. "They're not convinced our enemy is real, sir. They are all wondering if you've sent them on a fool's errand this far up north just before the autumn rains. They would rather be home with their families, sir. Some of them have lands they need to tend to before the flood comes."

William felt anger rise within. "They will do as I've ordered them to! They will do what I pay them to do!"

Callahan kept calm and sighed heavily. "Yes, but Your Grace, you haven't paid them yet."

The Duke snorted. "Of course, I haven't. What fool would pay such men before a fight? They will get their riches when they return, as promised." The guard nodded, but William could see that he wasn't convinced and said, "Their reward will be greater this time. They will be rewarded by the Builder himself."

Keeping his thoughts to himself, even though William saw that there were strong ones at hand, Callahan nodded.

"Where is my son?" William asked. "Bring him here."

"Yes, sir."

The Duke poured himself a glass of wine and sat down to wait. When Christopher entered, he was in a foul mood, which wasn't very surprising. He, too, poured himself a glass and sat down.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" he drawled.

"Yes," William sighed. "You've met the demons yourself, you know they are real. What is your assessment of this situation?"

Christopher sighed. "Father, they aren't demons. They're just beasts, like Arlington says."

"Lord Arlington also says that his daughter has been kidnapped," said William and narrowed his eyes. "But you don't believe that."

His son glared at him, his blue eyes dark. "Of course I don't. She's a collaborator, you've heard her speak of them."

William frowned. "So you think this is a fool's errand?"

"No." Christopher swirled the wine in his glass and said, "Juniper Arlington is our key to the Winter Sea. We need her. I don't care if she's a treacherous bitch—I'll put a son in her the moment we're wed, give the boy to a wet nurse the moment he's born, and then I don't care what befalls the lady. Accidents happen every day."

"The Builder hears everything, my son," William muttered.

"And the Builder's punishment for treason is worse than anything I could do to the Arlington girl," Christopher scoffed.

"She's just a girl," William said. "It must be terrible for her being in the clutches of those monsters! I pray the Builder protects her."

Christopher said nothing about his father's prayers, but he did very little to hide his resentment. "You give those beasts too much credit, Father. Tomorrow, they will bleed just like any other mortal, you'll see." He swept the rest of the wine in one go and rose. "Sleep well, Father. At dawn, we'll cut those bastards down, and Noxborough will owe us everything."

William nodded. Such ambition. He had inherited that from his mother, no doubt. William was not lacking ambition, no indeed, but his wife Rosamund was a fierce, god-fearing woman. Had the Builder wanted women to lead, she would be a great leader. Christopher was indeed hers. William smiled. "Good night, my son. Tomorrow, we will win."

He had forgotten how dark the nights had become and almost tripped in the blackness as he blew out his candle. He had his armour prepared, his sword was sharpened, and his horse was fresh. He was ready for the fight ahead of him.

He had been a Holy Warrior in his younger days but had not seen battle for over thirty years. This, he thought, would be his most important one. He fell asleep blissfully, knowing that the Builder was watching from beyond the Void, and knew that tomorrow would bring a new era of peace and righteousness.

Sometime later, he awoke with a jerk, a strange feeling tingling in his body. It was a prickling sensation, as if his whole body tingled into numbness. He tried to sit, but his body was too tired for that—he could barely lift his fingers. Despite just waking, he could feel that something wasn't right. The numbness was spreading, and he could barely turn his head. Only his eyes seemed to be able to move. Panicked, he tried to call for Callahan, but his mouth was dry, his lips wouldn't part, and no sound escaped him.

A dark, cruel, and inhuman laugh echoed around him. Fear arose in the Duke's chest, like a searing pain through the numbness. The demons had come. In his mind, he prayed for the Builder's protection, for his grace, but as sparks flared in the darkness, he could spy a pair of burning, yellow eyes in a grey, terrifying face.

When a torch lit up, the beast appeared—his yellow eyes were scorching, his sharp teeth were bared in a terrifying grin, and his build was unlike anything William had ever seen before. This was a demon, straight from the Netherworld, without any doubt. He tried to scream, but all he could croak out were small, choking sounds.

The demon scoffed and moved towards him. Then, when the light flickered, William could see something in the demon's other hand—golden locks glimmering in the firelight. When the creature raised the arm, William blinked away tears that immediately flooded his eyes; in the demon's large hand, was the severed head of his dear son.

No, he thought, this could not be real! This was but a nightmare. A cruel one, but this could simply not be true. The Builder would never allow such gruesomeness.

"Your boy cried like a little child when I came for him," growled the demon. "He didn't even put up a fight." It snorted. "It reminded me of how soft human flesh truly is, just like when I struck him that day. How fragile your kind is. I barely had to graze him with my sword before his head came off, and he cried no more."

The demon tossed Christopher's head to William, with a snicker, and it landed just beside his own head.

The Duke cried, and if he could have made a sound, he would have wailed out his misery. His son's dim, blue eyes stared at him, and he could see the fear and terror in them. William had to divert his gaze—this wasn't real. It couldn't be real!

The demon stepped in front of the altar and said, "What is this?"

A large hand with black, clawed fingers reached for the heavy, golden Hammer and William winced as the demon picked it up as though it weighed less than nothing.

"This is important to you, is it? You think your god will save you?" The demon's terrible smirk reappeared, and it lowered its face so it was only inches away from William's. "Where is your god now, old man?"

As the demon straightened, he placed the torch on a stand next to the bed and grabbed hold of the Hammer. He broke it in half with a terrifying growl. It simply snapped, like a twig, in the mountainous beast's hands.

The demon threw the pieces onto the ground and snorted. "Your god has forsaken you here. Your god had forsaken this city. Go home, don't look back, and you might find him again. You'll certainly need him, because I'll be coming for you one day."

The demon turned away, grabbed the torch, and snuffed out the light, leaving William again in complete darkness. He tried to scream again, tried to move, but the numbness had taken him over, and soon, his mind, too, slipped away into the empty blackness.

When he awoke, he flung his eyes open, drew a sharp breath, and sat up. He was drenched in sweat and his heart thudded violently against his chest. He looked about the room—it was light, and still. Morning had come.

He looked at his side, fearing he might see his son's head beside him, but the bed was empty save for him and his bedding. There was blood on his pillow, but a straining sensation at the skin by his nostrils made him slowly feel with his fingers. Dried blood. His nose must have bled in the night.

He tried to calm himself, calm his heart, knowing it had all been a terrible nightmare. He was trembling, and without being able to control himself, he started crying. They were partly tears of horror, but also tears of relief. But he wondered—had he missed the march? Had they all overslept? He threw the blanket away and realised that he had wet himself.

"Fuck!" he muttered and quickly stood. His nightshirt was drenched with sweat, blood, and his own soil, and he muttered angrily as he reached for another linen shirt. Suddenly, he froze. There on the ground lay his golden Hammer of Edred, snapped in half.

He felt the fear and panic rise in him again as the trembling intensified. He quickly backed away and almost fell.

"Where is my son?" He breathed, looked about, and shouted, "Where is my son?" He fell, struggled back onto his feet, and rushed out of the tent.

The sun stood high—not yet noon, but well into midmorning—and there, just outside his tent, on a wooden pole, was his son's broken body tied, his head hanging by the hair from a rope around his waist. The crows were already feasting on his lifeless form. William fell to his knees and cried.

"Your Grace! Your Grace, wake up! Your Gr—" Callahan came running towards him, only in his breeches and linen shirt, and the crows croaked and scattered. He paused just in front of the scene, and William reached for his guard.

"It was the demons!" he wailed. "They did this! My son!"

Callahan stared at Christopher's brokenness, but steeled himself and helped the Duke to stand. "Your Grace, half the men have already defected. Sir Donovan is gathering the rest to turn back."

William could barely control his own voice, but he grabbed hold of his guard and hissed, "This city is cursed, Callahan!"

"Sir, you have no men left here," Callahan said and took a sturdy grip of the Duke's arm. "I am deeply sorry for your loss, sir, but you cannot stay here."

William sobbed and looked at his son. "They killed my boy..."

"They've killed and displayed about one hundred men, sir," Callahan said. "They came in the night, like shadows. There were witnesses but they say that they could not alert anyone. They say they were like prisoners in their own bodies, and no one wants to stay and fight anymore. They're heading back to Illyria, sir. They have abandoned you."

William snapped his head at Callahan. "They came to me too, Callahan! It was dark magic! I could make no sound, move no muscle. It—" He sobbed harder. "It threw his head at me! It threw my son's head at me, and I could do nothing!"

"Your Grace!" Callahan's voice was hard, gathered. "I understand your grief. I do. I lost my boys many years ago. But you have to steel yourself! We should ride back to Westbridge, now. We will send men to retrieve Lord Christopher's body for his burial, but we cannot stay here! The Grey Ones might be on the march as we speak, your life is in danger!"

William hitched a breath, still trembling, but Callahan was right. He nodded and returned to his tent. Callahan helped him dress, and when he had his armour on, they left to find a pair of horses by the city walls. While walking through the camp, William found it almost completely abandoned. Those still left scurried about, getting themselves ready to leave.

Callahan suddenly stopped, just as they had nearly reached the end of the camp, and flung his arm out to hinder the Duke. "Let's find horses somewhere else, sir."

"Why?" William demanded, but when Callahan wouldn't answer, the Duke forced his way past his guard and stepped forwards.

When he had passed the last tents in front of the wall, he stopped dead in his tracks. The sound of hundreds of crows was the first that hit him, then the smell, that awful smell of death, and he had to cover his nose and mouth.

Then, he saw the scene, and gawked in horror; along the wall hung more than thirty Noxborough soldiers, split open from throat to gut, festering in the morning sun. William followed the gruesome sight of the blood and intestines that had poured down the stone and onto the ground.

It was then he realised, that on the ground, broken and maimed bodies were displayed in what appeared to be a pattern. As he inspected it, the coldness that he had felt the entire morning made him lose his breath. On the ground, the corpses formed the distinct shape of a hammer. William stumbled backwards, and had it not been for Callahan, he would have fallen.

"Come now, sir," the guard muttered. "We need to find horses elsewhere, quickly."

William agreed, and they hurried away from the scene. He had his heart in his throat, and he hurried all he could. His armour was heavy and he was soon out of breath, but then, as if sent from the Builder himself, two saddled horses ran towards them through the camp.

Callahan quickly stopped them and helped the Duke to mount one before he mounted the other. William was relieved to finally be on his way, but he stopped just as he could catch a glimpse of the pole his son's body was tied to.

He swallowed. "Someone must take him down before the crows have stripped him of all his flesh."

"I'll see to it," Callahan said, "but we need to go, now."

"Cornwall!"

Both William and his guard turned their heads to the sudden call, and saw Lord Arlington, his son, and a few of his men ride towards them.

Lord Arlington's face was almost purple, and he barked, "Where are your men?"

Callahan urged his horse in front of William's and said, "They have defected. The battle is over."

Arlington looked as though he was about to explode. "The battle is over? You fools! The beasts are desperate! We have them just where we want them!"

"They killed my son!" William bellowed from his horse. "They used dark magic and killed over a hundred men, and we could do nothing!"

"You have five thousand fucking men!" Arlington spat. "We lost a hundred, but that is nothing! Stop being such a cunt and gather your men!"

William glared at the Duke of Noxborough, but all he could see was a cursed man. He shook his head. "No. I am sorry, my friend, but Westbridge won't support you in this."

Duke Arlington could not contain his anger and spat, "And what about my daughter?"

William sighed. "I will pray for the girl, but this city is doomed. Even the Builder knows it. Farewell, Duke Arlington. Lord Sebastian. I hope we shall meet again."

He then turned his horse about and spurred the animal on, with Callahan next to him. As the horse began galloping, Arlington shouted at him, calling him a coward, a traitor, and a cunt, over and over again.

William felt relief wash over him like a blessing. His heart was still overwhelmed by grief, indeed, but he knew that he would find solace in the Builder's grace once he had left this wretched city. Then suddenly, a sharp pain hit his neck, and blood filled his throat. He tried to breathe, but he only inhaled his own warm blood in doing so.

He fell off his horse and landed with a painful thud on the ground, knocking the breath out of him. His hands clawed at his throat and he felt an arrow lodged there. Callahan called for him, and soon he was pulled into his guard's arms.

"Your Grace!" he barked while placing his hands at the Duke's throat to stop the bleeding. "No... no, no, no, no..."

William felt the blood gush out through his wound and down his throat. He couldn't breathe, he struggled for air. He was getting light-headed, dizzy. He pulled at Callahan, desperately pleading for him to save his life—to do something.

Callahan tried his best and did what he could to stop the blood from flowing. "Don't give up, Your Grace! Don't give up!"

William pulled himself closer to Callahan, his closest and most trusted advisor and protector, and looked at him pleadingly. He felt strangely cold and the pain was no longer searing—he could barely feel anything at all.

He did not want to die, but as he lay on the ground, drowning in his own blood, he knew death was imminent. As he was fading, he was struck by the harsh fact that there was no light waiting for him. The Builder had deserted him. Slowly, he slipped away, out of this world and into the eternal darkness.