Red Snow

Valence, France 1361

The crunch of fresh snow awakes Yves. He jolts upright; around him the crimson light of dawn was illuminating the room. The still, frozen air cut through his bones. Bewildered for a moment, he finally realised where he was. His shirt and britches hung dripping off the bedpost, saturated with water. Beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead despite the cold. The soft thud of well made boots across the flagstones echoed in the stillness of the winter morning. Yves wiped his brow and shuddered; he pulled his sinuous, rippling body from his rich, burgundy bed. He walked fluidly towards his armoire, running his hands through his thick, dark hair. His bare, tanned skin, flecked with the scars of battles, glistened in the orange light of sunrise.

"Monsieur, j'ai une lettre qui est venu de Valence. Puis-je entrer?" The husky voice was barely audible from Yves' chambre, yet he beckoned in the elderly butler. The exchange of words between Yves and his majordome lasted only a few moments. Yves sliced open the letter and read intently. Shortly, the elderly man was leaving the ornate bedroom.

Yves repeated the letter over in his head, trying to fathom its meaning.

"Il y a ténèbres d'habitation à Valence qui est encore à voir. Visiter la Place du Ville et le témoignage de vetted obscurité pour vous-même. Fouler aux pieds léger dans le domaine de l'inconnu.
L'homme de l'ombre"

A torrent of thoughts flowed through Yves' mind: what is the "realm of the unknown", who is the man of the shadows, what has happened in Valence.

Soon Yves was staring into the bleak mountains of the Dauphiny region as he rode briskly along the snow covered path to Valence. He passed only one other man on his way; this man was well known to Yves as he had once been a chevalier, as Yves now was. As he rode along the mountain trail, his black cloak billowing behind him, he felt a strange sense of foreboding. The sky was dark and menacing; the winds were cruel and violent; the air was still.

The silence of the wintery Place du Ville was shattered by a blood-curdling scream.

When Yves arrived at Valence it was in chaos. He dismounted at the gate to the city, pushing the reins of his horse into the hands of one of the watchmen; he then ran through the eerily silent Grande Rue, up to the Place du Ville. He saw in front of him a crowd being held back by men of the city watch; his towering physique enabled him to easily force his way to the front of the crowd. His face contorted when he saw what lay before him.

The body was draped over a small fountain, it's lips were puffy and bloated, it's eyes were glossy and empty. It was a girl: no more than fifteen years old. Her wrists and throat had been slit; her body had been striped naked; the word "whore" had been carved deeply into her flesh. Her crimson blood was gradually dripping onto the snow beneath her.