War's red steed was sweating. Even though about a third of the ancient army had by now wandered off, the remaining two thirds were still fighting.
Death was sitting in the saddle of his pale horse, galloping lightly on the sidelines. While War hadn't been that busy for centuries, Death didn't actually have much to do. The fight was less of a fight and more of a bar brawl. The warriors were packed so tightly together that most of them didn't have any room to pull out sharp weapons without risking to cut their own important bits off. So they had mostly resorted to headbutting, stomping on other people's feet, and general yelling.
The reaper watched as War's charger ploughed through the mass of warriors that, albeit packed, somehow let it through easily. He knew that the current guilders had long left and working with a resurrected army was like eating yesterday's meal - you can heat it in the microwave but it simply won't taste the same. But a job was a job; besides, due to that demon, their work had remained unfinished back then.
"You bloody biradez!" a voice yelled somewhere near him with the kind of nasal quality people use when someone else is twisting their nose, "I shoulda gnown dad from de minude diz sdarded! Yer ziding wif zad- ow! that demon!"
"What?" demanded the pirate who'd just let go of his nose. "We, siding with that jackal?"
"Well, you let him get away with the pirates!" the owner of the now interestingly purple-hued nose retorted.
"Get away? You think those pirates are so wimpy that once they have Leraye, they'd let him get away?" The pirate got riled up at once.
"Didn't look like much of a prisoner," snapped another warrior, a tall elf in armor. "He was sitting on a couch!"
"So? Not everyone treats their prisoners like something the dog dug up, unlike some I know..."
War's bloody sword was spinning. "It's not quite the same," he said, now within earshot of Death, "but it falls under the same category, at least."
"Not any more, actually."
The two turned around as more arguments broke out behind their backs.
This horse was probably black, but its hair was matted and shedding at places, making it come off as dust grey. It had no mane to speak of and the tail had only a few sad-looking hairs attached to it. You could count each and every rib under this tight skin. This horse looked like a skeleton covered with old horse hide - and that was, in fact, exactly what it was.
Death grunted happily, fumbling in the depths of his robe as the black horse stepped up to him and affectionately nuzzled his bony knee. A primordial sugar lump appeared fom the Horseman's pocket, and the black horse gulped it down, big ears moving back and forth.
I SEE YOU'VE KEPT HIM WELL, he said, only now looking at the rider of the miserable wreck. I ONCE THOUGHT OF USING HORSE HIDE MYSELF, BUT IT GOT WRINKLES EVERYWHERE.
"Oh, he's such a total cutie, really," said Famine, patting the neck of the horse. It sounded like shaking a bagful of dice. "And it really isn't hard, like, some skillful needlework and a little cutting here and there. Though I still had to use like some wire and such."
Famine was, at least compared to the other Horsemen, rather new to the job. The old Famine had retired after the Mages had put an end to crop failures and other such things with, well, magic, and a few simple weather spells. But shortly after his retirement it became clear that all the little metaphorical things, the longing for things one cannot get, cravings and wishes spiralled out of control - all those had also been Famine's expertise. So they had to find someone new for the job, and fast.
The new Famine was a former top model who had collapsed and died on the catwalk for all too obvious reasons, and brought in by Death mere minutes after her demise. She actually weighed less than Death and, due to excessive make-up, looked quite a bit more creepy. A skull is simple enough. A skull wearing mascara is just wrong on too many levels. But she, albeit a little sad that people couldn't see her any more, was rather happy with her new job. She liked her horse, the fact that she didn't have to eat any more, and she could still wear designer clothes. Which she did. The other Horsemen had tried to protest that, but the girl had pointed out that there's no such thing as traditional Famine clothing and so she'd like to keep her D&G, thank you very much.
"Why're you here?" War asked, trying to sound polite. He had nothing against Famine, but the girl had still once been a human - even if she looked less like one than War himself.
"Thousands of warriors," said the girl, nodding at the army. "All of them, like, totally hungry for revenge. Those things happen, but like, usually not on that scale." She grimaced. As did the other two, subconsciously fearing that Famine's already tight skin might snap at the cheekbones. "I know I'm totally new to this, but I've read back and like, something like this only ever happened..."
DURING THE FIRST WAR, said Death. THEIR ANGER AND THIRST FOR REVENGE HAS PILED UP INSIDE THEM FOR CENTURIES, WITHOUT THEM EVEN KNOWING.
Famine beamed. "I know! It's like, the gig of the millennium!"
The three turned to watch the battlefield - or rather brawl-field - in front of them. At this point the different groups had come to a rather similar conclusion.
"Leraye!"
"We need to find him!"
"And get our revenge!"
Death's horse sniffed the air, whinnying quietly. War's horse shook its mane. Famine's raised its head. Their riders gathered up the reins.
"Looks like we're moving out," said War. Death nodded.
Famine seemed hesitant. "Like... before we go... have you perchance seen, you know... him?"
The other two gave her a sideways glance. The fourth Horseman. The riders of the Apocalypse rarely got together, for the most part only War and Death worked together, occasionally Death and Famine, but three of them together was a very bad omen. Three was only one short of four. And if the fourth was to come...
NO, Death said. NOT YET.
Famine gnawed on her lip, nodded, and gently nudged her horse forward. As the army began to scatter, the three Horsemen rode off. The field next to Castle Kestrel no longer needed them. They weren't sure where the next battle would break out, but once it happens, they would be there.
All you demons, can't you see? Can't you see?
