Prologue - The Crows Watch

There were four of them in all, walking together in a line.

 "How sure are you about this path?" Asked Rick with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

 "If I say this is the way, then this is the way," Dean replied with the arrogant authority only a leader would have.

 "Coward as usual," Tom introduced, clearing his throat.  "Even Order roads take a week, how do you expect this one to be less?"

 Bob, the fourth, nodded in agreement with Dean. But Rick didn't feel any better. There was a reason why they used the Order's roads, as well as why they used chains that linked them in line.

 "Damn all the nobles I say," commented Bob. "The bloody taxes get worse every year, I'd rather take my chances here than give that baron's pig a single copper," he said at last, as he moved the chain around his waist to ease his discomfort.

 Everyone felt the same outrage as Bob, taxes became a bigger and bigger burden each year. Forcing them to use the old roads where wagons didn't fit. Spices filled their backpacks on their backs, as did the small bags tied to their chains.

 "Less of your tongue and more of your focus. Darkness surrounds us," ordered Dean turning to look Bob in the eye, which brought the group to a halt.

 For a few seconds they stood there staring hard at each other. But finally, Bob lowered his head in reluctant restraint.

 For the next few hours there was only the hollow sound produced by the bumping and scraping of two pieces of leather. The source was a nervous Rick who had the irritating habit of tapping and scraping his glove on the leather of his robes to calm his anxiety.

 Rick never set foot outside the baron's lands, or his roads.  But he grew up hearing about the creatures that dwelt in the dark. Stories about ancient and hungry beings.

 "Hell! Stop it," cursed Bob, turning around and squeezing Rick's hand. Bob didn't like the way Dean treated them and Rick was the perfect goat to vent his anger. However, the cowardly Rick couldn't care less about his displeasure, his eyes were fixed on the forest that surrounded them.

 "C… crows," uttered Rick. His face is getting darker and darker by the moment.

 "What the fuck do you mean by crows?" Replied Bob, dissatisfied.

 "Weapons!" Spoke Dean in front of the group as he pulled a bastard sword from his waist.

 Tom pulled his hatchets at Dean's command, causing Bob to finally turn to where Rick was looking. There was what appeared to be a flock of crows at the head of the group, hundreds of them perched on the branches of the trees.

 "What a…"

 "Quiet," pronounced Dean, taking a slight step forward.  "Walk slowly, don't make noise, don't make any sudden movements."

 "Do you know what they are?" Whispered Tom, close to Dean.

 "It sure isn't just crows," Dean whispered back.

 The group heard no noise apart from the cautious step of their companions, the cool breeze of the night and the heartbeat of their hearts hammering against their ribs.  They swallowed hard with every step, their hands were cold and sweat was running down their foreheads and pimples.  Then a metallic sound followed the palpable tension.

 "I, I'm sorry," stammered Rick, his voice shaky and brandishing his dagger towards Bob. "I'm very sorry!" He yelled and stabbed the dagger into Bob's chest, already on the ground, over and over again.

 "What the f…" Tried to say Tom, absorbed in the shocking scene, but was soon interrupted by a sword cutting through his guts from behind.

 "I need it, I need it," muttered Dean, as he withdrew the sword from Tom's body, causing his innards to spill out onto the floor.

 What followed would terrify Tom even to death.

 He watched along with the crows, Rick and Dean using their blades to slit their throats until the bubbling gargle of blood silenced their babbling. And the silence that their end brought was filled by the cawing of crows, as if laughing at them and their misery.