“What? Is the great Moira afraid?” laughed Danco, the most roguish of the Movers and a man who thought himself suave. “Moira Elren, a craven? I have seen it all now!”
“I said, be quiet,” she shot at him, resting her hand atop one of the swords hanging from her hip. She continued on in an angry whisper: “It isn’t cowardice to be cautious. That is how you stay alive, you dolt.”
Danco inclined his head, smiling a proud smile. The sick bastard seemed to like being put in his place by her. To Moira, it was bewildering.
They rode onward, passing by more barren fields and a few more clusters of hovels on their way to the central district of Omnmount’s township. Hovering at the top of the rise, Moira could see the settlement’s single stone building, a tall and rounded structure that looked like a castle rampart and served as a marketplace and place of worship. The tents, burrows, and low holdfasts that surrounded the unnamed building were dwarfed by it, making them look like servants bowing to their godly master.
“Cornwall Lawrence lives in that monstrosity?” asked Rodin from beside her. “I thought you said he was a humble man.”
“That’s just a building, built for and used by the people,” she said. “The Lawrence estate is actually on the other side of the hub, and it is indeed a humble place of residence.” She turned to Rodin, frowning. “You’ve never been to Omnmount before?”
“No.” He shrugged. “None of us have.”
Not the most worldly bunch. “How in the world could you make it from-”
Something caught her eye, stilling her tongue. She squinted while staring at the sprawling township below, trying to force her eyes to adjust to the mixture of darkness and the moon’s bright azure light. Something was amiss down there, something swaying in the slight breeze, but she could not put her finger on what. She wished she had the eyes of an elf.
“What is it?” asked Willer sheepishly, garnering himself a whack upside the head by Tabar.
“Keep quiet,” she told them. “All of you, hold your breath for a moment.”
They did as instructed, and Moira did the same. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds of the land. She heard the soft breath of the wind, distant trees swooshing together, one of the horses snorting, insects chirping, bat wings flapping, and, underneath all of that, a faint yet continuous creak.
She turned to the Movers. “We’re going down there. Use caution, and only speak if necessary. Understood?”
On cue, each of them nodded.
“Good. Let’s go.”
Down the gentle slope they went, and the closer they drew to the township, the louder the creaking sound became. Moira kept attentive, with one hand on the reins and one on the sword on her left hip, ready for something to leap out at them from the numerous shadows. Her stomach rumbled, tightening up on her. It was then she noticed there were new additions to the multiple low constructions around the hub: numerous tall wooden poles, like those that would be erected and then strung with decorations and lanterns during the spring festival in Felwood. The creaking noise was continuous.
They soon passed between the closest pair of fifteen-foot-high poles, and all eyes looked up to see a body swaying from each one. Moira lifted her hand, signaling a halt. Her horse fidgeted nervously beneath her. She craned her neck, staring at the dangling forms. They both had feminine shapes, their bodies limp, their necks viciously snapped. One was large, the other much smaller.
“Are they real?” asked Danco. “Up north we hung effigies to ward off crows during the onset of winter, and it is almost winter now.”
“They’re real,” Moira whispered. She didn’t reprimand the man for speaking. A gust of wind blew, and the corpses swayed. Creak, creak, creak. Without another word she cracked the reins, and her horse trotted onward. Her sellswords followed closely behind.
The town was filled with poles, and each had a resident. Women, both young and old; children; old men-none had been spared. She counted twenty-seven poles by the time her troupe reached the great stone building at the center of it all. A sinking feeling filled her.
“This is horrible.”
Willer spun in a circle, his horse baying. “Why would so many people deserve execution? Was it Karak?”
“No,” said Tabar as he tugged on a dangling leg, that of an old man with a long gray beard. “These bodies are relatively fresh. Three days dead, at most.”
Gull sidled up to her. “Lawrence’s work? I haven’t met the man.”
She shook her head. “Cornwall is rich, but he is fair. He would never stoop to such levels.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
She scrunched her face, thinking. “Twenty years ago, at least. After the birth of his youngest.”
“Then it could be him. Twenty years can change a man.”
A loud shriek pierced the night. Moira spun her horse toward the sound but saw nothing except the long wooden structure to her right, one of the temporary barracks. There are ghosts haunting this place.
Someone let loose with a shrill whistle, and from within the barracks emerged a myriad of dark shapes. They ran to beat the devil, circling around her and her five companions before crouching into the grass. Moira’s jaw dropped as she realized who they were. Children, dozens of them, and in the moonlight she saw that nearly every one held a small, loaded crossbow. Moira drew her sword, as did the Movers.
“Who goes there?” shouted one of them.
“Should we attack?” asked Danco, his head swiveling.
“Keep calm,” she said. “They’re just children. Do not startle them.” Raising her voice, she addressed the one who had asked for their names. “We are travelers from Port Lancaster, down by the sea. We seek court with Cornwall Lawrence, the master of this land.”
A flurry of whispers, and then one of them, a boy no older than nine, stood tall.
“You’re not from Karak, are you?” he asked.
“No, we aren’t,” she said. “We are friends.”
“Friends?”
“Friends, and we mean you no harm.”
“How do we know that?”
Moira glanced at her companions, then sheathed her sword. The other men did likewise.
“There. See?” she said. “No harm intended. All we wish is to have audience with Cornwall, and we will be on our way.”
More whispering, and then came the whoosh of a tinderstick being struck. The children lit lantern after lantern, until at least six of them stood bathed in faint yellow light.
Moira smiled at the boy in charge.
“We’ve put away our weapons. Would your friends please do the same?”
“All right,” the child said, flapping his arms, and the small crossbows lowered. Moira breathed a sigh of relief. Haven had been filled with children, and she had spent a fair amount of time with them. They weren’t the most coordinated creatures in the land, especially when they were this young. Even though the crossbows were undersized and likely not very powerful, she counted her group lucky they hadn’t caught an unintentional arrow in the face.
“Now please,” she said. “May we go to find Cornwall Lawrence?”
The boy shook his head, an act mimicked by every other child.
“You can’t,” he said. “Lommy said bring everyone we don’t shoot to him.”
“Lommy?”
The boy nodded. “Lommy. The Hangman.”
Another forced smile.
“Then please, lead the way.”
The boy who’d spoken introduced himself as Slug, before waving for Moira and her men to follow him. They crossed through the rest of the township, where even more barracks were situated, tramped across a field that had been flattened and filled with divots, and then climbed the next rise. It was the Lawrence homestead they were headed for, and Moira felt a flutter of hope in her gut.
That flutter died when seven more poles greeted them outside the family’s modest home. A bonfire raged outside, and Moira looked up in horror at the face of Loretta Lawrence, Cornwall’s wife of nearly fifty years. She had been hanged along with three of her daughters and what must have been the house servants. The crossbow-carrying children stopped on the periphery of the courtyard while Slug led Moira and the Movers to the front entrance, passing right beneath the dangling bodies. The boy whistled the whole time, and Moira realized that he hadn’t so much as glanced up at them. What has this world come to that a child could become used to such a sight?