"This is an ancient curse enacted by a very powerful sorcerer," William gasped for air as he squeezed the fresh wound on his arm. "And we all know who would want to enact such a curse to cause the dead to be, well, undead?”

The blood oozing out of his body made him weak, he was exhausted. He managed to cover the wound with a cloth to stop the blood, but the pain almost made him want to stop.

He took a deep breath, he knew he couldn't stop. The wound was caused by an undead soldier, and if he didn't find the cure to it, he could get turned into one of them.

The gloomers staggered around the battlefield, they had managed to get hold of one of the Norman army. They tore him limb by limb as the knight screamed in agony. All the gloomers gathered around their new food as each waited for their turn. That was when William and his men got the chance to escape downhill to their camp.

Back in their wooden castle, William and his sixty standing men prepared to get back to the battlefield.

“The legend says that to break the curse, the eye of the enactor must be removed." William paused, his eyes flickering back to his men. "So we know what to do.”

“But where is Harold?" A voice questioned from the farthest corner of the room.

"No one has seen that coward since after the war had died down." Another answered.

"Mayhap he is dead sire, and he wasn’t the enactor.”

Silence fled the room, no one had thought about this. What if Harold wasn't the enactor? What if it was someone else? What would they do then?

“No, he is not dead." William balled his fists, a sudden wave of anger and pain flooding in his eyes. "He can't be dead! Not until I kill him! We have to make it to the main city before the undead gets there. We didn’t survive this far to rule over a city of dirty staggering and bloodthirsty undead!”

He paused. The pain becoming unbearable with every second that passed by. His veins
turned black around the wound - a sign that he had been infected but he had time. He was infected not cursed, it would take time before it spread in the body.

“This placed isn’t safe sire. We have to hurry and leave this place.” One of the soldiers explained making a gesture towards a dark part of the wooden castle.

A squire they brought along who was left behind in the castle to prepare medicine and the others that will be used after the war lay there in half. He had been fed on.

William turned away after his eyes met the listlessly looking ones of the dead squire.

“Gather a few supplies and let's get going. There is a tunnel through Maidstone to London. That will be a safe passage to the main city.”