The swordsman turned away, and his gaze slid over a broken pike and an old saber, taking in the scene they framed. Scraps of clothing and fur were scattered about, and splinters of bone and flesh jutted from the deeply churned, blood-soaked mud. From the remains, it was impossible to tell how many creatures the varkhuls had overwhelmed here, but nothing living remained on the farm now. They had already searched the house, and though the spiny creatures had violated that as well, there were no signs of a struggle there.
Bellimar stepped up beside him. “Whoever they were, they did not go quietly,” he said, inclining his head toward two more varkhul corpses, hacked apart but untouched by flame. The bodies gave off a sharp putrescent odor that somehow registered above the rest of the stench. It was the ichor, Amric knew; devilish hard to cleanse from one’s weapons and armor, as well.
“Died facing the enemy with blade in hand,” Valkarr said from the open doorway in a voice like shifting gravel. “All one can ask.” The words echoed the Sil’ath ethos, but Amric read the seething anger behind them in the way his comrade’s tail lashed and his breath huffed through narrowed nostrils.
“At the risk of sounding greedy, I can think to ask for more,” Amric said with a rueful smile. He walked past Valkarr, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “Come, my friend. We have learned all we can, and can do no further good here.”
The swordsman stepped out into the long daybreak shadow of the barn and kept walking. He drew several deep breaths when he reached the quickening sunlight, allowing the crisp morning air to cleanse and rejuvenate him.
Thirty yards from the barn, Halthak stood with the horses, and Amric watched him as he approached. Despite the pall hanging over the morning, he had to smother a chuckle as Halthak skipped away to avoid a nip from the bay gelding and fixed the animal with a reproachful glare. Amric and Valkarr were only fair riders themselves, for the Sil’ath seldom used mounts for travel or in combat, but the Half-Ork sat the saddle with all the grace of a sack of rocks. Whether indignant at his lack of skill or reacting to his anxiety, more than one of the horses had taken to goading the hapless healer at every opportunity.
Amric sobered. It was a measure of how shaken and saddened Halthak had been by the slaughter within that he had elected to remain outside with the animals.
Amric accepted the bay gelding’s reins from a grateful Halthak, speaking soothing words to the horse and patting its neck before vaulting into the saddle. It was a beautiful animal, swift and strong; Bellimar had proven his resourcefulness again by calling in another favor to procure these fine mounts. With a firm hand, Amric guided the gelding in a circle and to a stop again, to continue accustoming it to his control. The time might come very soon when their mutual familiarity and trust would mean the difference between life and death for them both.
Valkarr arrived a moment later, and swung into the saddle of a blue dun gelding. Bellimar approached, and all but one of the horses grew restive. They were no fonder of the old man than they were of Halthak, and it had in fact taken some searching to find a horse that would tolerate him. Bellimar had at last found an elderly sway-backed dun mare, and though Amric was skeptical of its endurance and speed, they had exhausted their available options. In any event, it would outpace their walking speed. Bellimar took the reins for his horse, which stood still, either placid or oblivious, and he mounted as well. Halthak was left with the reins for his chestnut mare, a steadfast creature that endured his fumbling attempts to climb into the saddle without a ripple to its serenity.
“Are you well, Bellimar?” Amric asked. The old man’s cheeks held a slight flush and his eyes were fever bright.
“As well as can be expected,” Bellimar responded with a tight-lipped smile. “It was stifling in that barn, and I am pondering the implications of what we have just seen. This is not the first reported presence of varkhuls in the region, but it is the closest known occurrence to the city, and in no small numbers. This gives credence to the accounts from the wall-watch of larger things approaching within bow shot of the city at night. Frequency, proximity and numbers; it all portends the city itself under siege within mere weeks.”
Amric nodded. “That is how I read the situation as well. And of more immediate import to us, the danger is rumored to increase as one continues east. We have almost three days’ ride ahead of us in that direction, and if things have progressed this far, how much worse will they be a day or two hence?”
He squinted to the east, looking into the rising sun as it spread a mantle of gold over the primordial forests that eventually engulfed the main road from the city. It would take a full day’s ride without incident to reach the edge of that forest, and their objective lay deep within it. He turned in the saddle to study Keldrin’s Landing to the west, lustrous in the morning light and unspoiled, from this distance. The four of them had ridden out in the pre-dawn darkness and past the abandoned cottages outside the city, all silent as the grave. They had crossed a broad bridge spanning a river inlet from the sea, and were on the road past this, the closest farm to the city, when they spotted a thin tendril of smoke from one of its buildings. Amric had decided to check on the residents, since public opinion in the city held that the countryside was entirely deserted. Upon arrival, the riders had been greeted by the bloodshed inside the barn.
“Having second thoughts, warrior?” Bellimar asked.
Amric swung back to his companions and shook his head. “Valkarr and I are resolute on the path ahead, but no one else need be. We have fought varkhuls before, and while they are deadly in numbers, they are far from the most dangerous things we may encounter. We will seek to remain beneath notice and to avoid what we can, but it will not always be possible. The varkhuls and other creatures out there can smell the very blood in our veins, and may well pursue us with such speed and determination that we have to stand and fight. Let us not mince words here; there may well be no more perilous path in all the lands than into the forest ahead.”
He paused and met each of their stares in turn, then raised his arm to point at Keldrin’s Landing in the distance. “The city still lies within sight, and the ride back is still safe. Past this point, that will not be the case. You see now the least of what we face ahead, but Valkarr and I will not turn back until we are successful, even to escort. Now is the time to reconsider your involvement, and we will take no offense if you wish to return to the city and await us there.”
Halthak’s gnarled hands knotted about the pommel of his saddle, but he jerked his head to the side in terse negation and murmured, “You will have need of my skills, out there.”
“Let us hope not,” Amric said, smiling. “But your company is welcome.”
Bellimar cleared his throat. “Have you considered that your friends may be dead?”
Valkarr bristled, an angry hiss escaping him.
“Incessantly,” Amric said. “But I presume you are courting a point?”
“The party you are following consisted of how many?” the old man pressed.
“Five.”
“Tales of Sil’ath battle prowess are legend, and those tales enjoy a strong basis in truth,” Bellimar continued. “As skilled as your warriors undoubtedly are, however, they have journeyed into the teeth of what amounts to an advancing dark army. And now you choose to follow them down its gullet.”
“I sense that point nearby,” the swordsman said in a wry tone, “but I grow weary of the chase.”