by AC Cobble
“I’d rather not think about that,” muttered Rew.
“And Raif,” continued Anne, “he was a little older when they were sent away, but it’s obvious he still holds a childish fantasy of what his father was. It’s because he barely spent a moment with the man. Rew, Baron Fedgley sired the children, but he did little else that earned him the title as their father.”
Rew grunted and sipped his bottle of spirits.
“Before, the children were locked away, protected, and isolated,” continued Anne. “They’d hardly seen anything outside of the walls of the keeps in Falvar and Yarrow, and even then only on chaperoned trips. They’d never sat down and spoken to real people or had a conversation that wasn’t influenced by their titles. They never had a chance to do any flirting, because their pairings would have been arranged. And it wasn’t any better for Zaine, who was under constant pressure to lay on her back for coin, rather than for love. Remember when you first met the Fedgleys? They seemed arrogant, didn’t they? It’s because they’d never met someone who outranked them! It’s no kind of life that they’ve left behind. They have a reason to be happy, Rew, so let them enjoy it.”
“Some people might disagree with that,” complained Rew. “I think Zaine might argue that a bad father is better than no father at all, and a keep isn’t the same as a prison, Anne. The ale is better, for one.”
She snorted. “I’ll have to take your word that the ale is no good in prisons.”
“You’re not worried then, about how they’re reacting? I’ll grant you Fedgley was not a good father, but they were safe. What we’re facing now, Anne… It’s like they’ve forgotten about it. Even Cinda. She’s hardly sleeping, you know? She spends half the night questing, searching for the power of departed souls. Necromancy is grim work, Anne, but look at her right now. It’s as if the shadows of her sleepless nights aren’t even a memory during the day when she’s with the others. She’s jesting with Zaine and her brother like their tutors let them out early for the day, rather than like they’re walking toward—toward what we’re facing.”
“They are young, and they’re resilient, especially Cinda,” said Anne. She waved a hand to encompass their campsite. “They may have lost family, but they’ve gained family as well. They march toward death and terror, but they do it with friends. I feel the bonds between the group more acutely than the rest of you, but we all know they are there. Even you, Rew. That strength we’ve found together means something important, and it is fulfilling them like they’ve never experienced. It’s the grace of the Blessed Mother, and these days do not have to be all darkness and gloom. Let them enjoy what they can. It is our job to worry about what is ahead.”
Rew didn’t respond.
“Rew,” said Anne after another minute, “I think a fish ate the worm off your hook.”
He cursed, and she laughed.
4
Three days later, Rew realized that he should, in fact, have been paying more attention and worrying about the threats ahead. Not just in Carff, but on the way there. A dozen bodies lay scattered on the road like the broken shards of a dropped glass. Rew circled the site and saw that some of them had attempted to run, others to fight, but they’d all died. Messily.
They’d been dressed in sensible travel attire, and while some of them had weapons near their bodies, others did not. Their gear was largely intact, though he saw sheaths where weapons were gone. Packs had been ripped open and the contents scattered, but little of it looked to be missing. The bodies, though, were torn apart and picked over like the carcass of a roast chicken after New Year. Flesh had been stripped away, bones broken, and worse. These people had been eaten. In the middle of the carnage, Rew spied the remains of a young family with children. He swallowed uncomfortably and glanced behind him, checking if the others had seen it.
They had. Cinda and Zaine stood next to each other, shoulders brushing, though they didn’t seem to notice. Both girls were pale faced and breathing quickly. Raif had lifted a hand to clutch the hilt of the greastsword, but he didn’t draw it. The threat was over.
“Narjags,” said Rew, though certainly his companions had already guessed the same. Still, it had to be said. It had to be acknowledged. He cleared his throat. “Seems there was something to all of those rumors we’ve been hearing.”
“Travelers much like us. Could have been us, if we weren’t trying to keep to ourselves,” remarked Anne. When the children looked at her, she added, “In the larger towns, groups form of those looking to embark on long journeys. Even in times of peace, it’s safer to travel together. You can tell they’re not merchants because they have no goods, and they’re not wealthy because there are no professional guards among these remains. See? No one is wearing armor. At least they were killed quickly.”
Anne met Rew’s eyes, and he did not comment. It was better to think that these people had died fast, that some of them had not laid there, watching as their companions were disemboweled and consumed, watching while waiting their own turn. Narjags were not picky eaters. They would eat carrion as readily as a fresh kill, but in Rew’s experience, they didn’t wait to make that kill before feasting, either.
Raif looked as if he wanted to fight someone, but there was no one there except the dead. Zaine was carefully looking away, pretending she was scanning the land around them for some sign of the Dark Kind. Cinda wore an inscrutable look, her eyes heavily-lidded, and Rew had the uncomfortable feeling the budding necromancer was questing, feeling for the well of power that must have been released from the deaths of the travelers. She gave no outward sign she was mustering that power, but her cold stare was evidence enough. Anne glanced at Rew, a question in her eyes.
“They came from there,” Rew said, pointing toward a thick stand of trees fifty paces off the road. “About two dozen of them, but I’d have to look closer to get a better count. The tracks are all muddled here where the fighting and—fighting happened. I could follow a bit and find where they rested. The signs should be obvious enough to know their number. Narjags don’t go far on a full belly. Unfortunately, it appears they headed south, possibly moving parallel to the road.”
Anne blanched.
“It’s concerning they’re headed in the same direction we are, but there’s a good chance they’ll avoid the highway,” said Rew, looking around. “While they’re not exactly bright creatures, they have sharp instincts, and even narjags should know that if they stay near the road or the site of the kill, they’ll eventually be found. It’s likely why we haven’t seen any other signs yet. It appears they’re on the move, and their hunger must have overwhelmed them. We’re somewhat safe now that they’ve been sated, but obviously, we’ll need to be cautious until we get out of the region. While I think they’ll avoid the road, I can't be certain.”
“We have to tell someone!” exclaimed Cinda.
“Who?”
“I, ah, w-who?” stammered Cinda.
Grimly, Rew shook his head. “We’re far from the seat of power, but we’re still within Duke Eeron’s duchy. It’s his men who ought to patrol this highway and keep the peace. I, for one, don’t want to travel back to Spinesend, but if we did, recall what that soldier told us. I think whoever is trying to run the duchy has bigger concerns than a pack of narjags.”
“But then the king must do something!” insisted Cinda. “Everywhere in Vaeldon is his land. If he doesn’t act, then more people may die.”
“The king is thousands of miles away in Mordenhold,” mentioned Rew.
“Does he not send regular patrols?” demanded Raif. “In times of disruption, his men should be keeping the peace. Well, I suppose he’s the one to blame for the disruption, but even more so that means his men should be on patrol when he knows the lords will have their hands full.”
“Just a few months ago, what would you have felt about the king’s black legion patrolling your family’s lands? Lad, have you ever even seen the king’s soldiers? The nobles don’t want the king’s men in their territory, and the
king doesn’t want to put them there. Vaisius Morden keeps his armies close and only releases them when he means to use them. I doubt there’s more than a handful of his agents in the entire province. The nobility are responsible for their own domains, and when they fail in that task, the king does not support them—he replaces them. Believe me, the sort of peace the king’s legions bring is not the kind of peace people want. I’ve seen the results of their work, and I’d rather the narjags.”
“All of the people of Vaeldon are the king’s people! Without the people, he has no kingdom. What about Prince Valchon? It is his province. Won’t he do something?”
“He’s in Carff,” responded Rew. “That’s a long way from here, lass.”
“The king and the princes owe the people just as much as the people owe them. Someone should do something.”
“The ranger is right, Cinda,” said Raif. “Don’t confuse what we want the world to be with what it is. If the king gave a fig for these people, he wouldn’t have cast the Investiture to begin with.”
“We have to do something,” argued Cinda.
“We are,” said Rew. “That’s why we’re on this journey. It’s not our words the king needs to hear. It’s our actions he needs to feel. You understand? What we want is not always what is, but that doesn’t mean we have to accept what is. Changing the world is not an easy thing, but the first step is recognizing what needs to change. Come on. Let’s get to the next town. Perhaps the villagers have formed a militia already. If not, at the very least, we can warn them of what is out here. We can’t change the world in a day, but perhaps we can give the next village a chance.”
The noblewoman looked at him, and he held her gaze. No one spoke. They began hiking again, walking wide of the awful death the narjags had wrought.
The highway grew empty, which sent a chill crawling up Rew’s spine. If the attack on the other travelers had been an isolated incident, word should not yet have spread. The killings had been recent. He worried what the empty roads portended for their way ahead. Without doubt, the rumors of narjags had proven true, but those rumors had been widespread. Could there be more than one pack of the foul creatures roaming the empty lands between Spinesend and the villages to the south? It must have been fifty years since the area had seen a pack the size of the one that had attacked the travelers. What did it mean if there were more of them?
He walked on with grim thoughts clouding his mind, but overhead, the sun was shining and warm, so that was good.
“What is it?” asked Cinda, more nervous than ever since they’d stumbled across the remains of the other travelers. “Do you sense something?”
Rew shook his head and tried to soothe her nerves. “No. I think we’re safe, for now. Attacks rarely happen on bright, sunny days. They always occur when it’s dark and windy, probably cold. Could be raining. When it’s a nice day, you know nothing terrible will happen.”
“You’ve been reading too many spooky stories,” called Zaine from behind them. “They just tell you that so when it starts to rain in the story, you know to get scared.”
“Maybe,” said Rew, scratching his beard. “Maybe.”
But that day, the sun stayed bright, there were no attacks, and they saw no other signs of the Dark Kind. As they passed others on the road, they called out and told them what they’d seen. Other travelers only nodded, as if it was what they’d expected. The rumors of Dark Kind were thick on the road like midges in a wet summer, but they knew now it was not just rumor. Narjags were out there, and as they progressed south, Rew accepted there were too many rumors from too far away for it to be just one pack of the Dark Kind.
But rumor was all that their fellows on the road shared. No one reported kill sites to the south nor that the road was impassably dangerous. It was an ominous haze of nervous expectation, and as they moved farther, Rew found that people took his warning as just more rumor, despite his claims of what they’d seen.
One man, sitting atop a wagon piled with apples, demanded, “And did you see the narjags yourself, then? I’ve made my business trading on what I can see, not what some panicked tradesman told me he overheard from his drunk friend in the tavern. Unless you saw them yourself—”
Rew glared up at the man and interrupted him. “I saw the signs. I’m telling you, you’re putting yourself at risk heading that way.”
“Pfah!” barked the man. “That’s what they’d say if I was going south, too, ‘cept no one I’ve spoken to has actually seen a narjag—ever. There haven’t been narjags in these parts for fifty years!”
“I’ve seen narjags!” bellowed Rew. “I’m trying to help you, man.”
“Unless you’re buying apples, you ain’t got no help that I want, and if anything, mayhap I’m best off headed to where the narjags have been, not where they will be, eh? Didn’t think of that, did you?”
The man snapped the reins he was holding, and the oxen pulling his wagon lumbered forward. Cursing to himself, Rew watched the wagon roll past.
Later that evening, as they were settling into a camp well off the road, Zaine asked, “Isn’t that a good thing that no one else has seen signs of narjags? Could it be there is only the one pack of them?”
Rew, digging deep into the soft turf to make a pit to hide their fire, grunted. “We saw the aftermath, so we know they’re out there, but where did they go? I’m certain they left southwest, toward Carff, but why not harass the travelers coming the other way? And if they’re not harassing people south of here, why are there so many rumors? It’s on every pair of lips that we pass, even those coming from the south. Remember that apple trader earlier today? People don’t want to believe, but despite themselves, they do. I think it has to be because there are more of them out there.”
Zaine frowned. “We’ve been hearing rumors since we left Yarrow.”
“Aye, and you’ve been seeing narjags since then, too,” retorted Rew. “Don’t you recall that pitched battle in Falvar?”
“The ranger has more experience with these creatures than any of us. If he says there are more, then there are more,” said Raif, scooting around the camp to sit beside Zaine, their knees almost touching. “If I had to guess, I’d say small groups of them are scattered all around. I suppose that’s the way it always is in the wilderness, right? Something has driven them out into the open, and I think it must be intentional. Something to do with the Investiture, maybe?”
“That makes the most sense to me,” said Rew, nodding at the fighter with a little bit of pride. “It worries me thinking what could be behind it, but the fact is, there are Dark Kind where there have been none in fifty years.”
“So it may have nothing to do with us at all?” asked Zaine, raising a finger as if she’d caught them on a point.
“Probably not,” agreed Rew. “I don’t believe this is directed at us, but that doesn’t mean we should not be concerned. If we come across a pack of narjags, it suddenly will have a lot to do with us. The Dark Kind should worry anyone who might stumble into their path.”
“What do we do, then?” asked Raif.
Rew grimaced and admitted, “All we can do is to keep moving, but we do it carefully.”
They took turns on watch that night, but at no point were more than half of them asleep. They tossed and turned and shifted restlessly. They could feel it, like a weight in the air, and toward morning, Rew realized what it was. Raif had been right. More right than he knew.
The Investiture was weighing heavily on this part of the world. It was tugging at them and the fabric of the land around them. The king’s attention had been drawn. By them, by Duke Eeron’s death, by something Vyar Grund reported? Certainly Vaisius Morden would not care about a handful of Dark Kind. Lying in his bedroll, staring up at the moon and stars above, Rew offered a hope to the Blessed Mother that the king also did not care about them.
Eventually, he gave up on sleep and rose quietly two hours before dawn. He gestured for Zaine to go back to her bedroll, and the thief did so appreciatively. Alon
e in the silence, Rew brooded. Most of the time, identifying a source of anxiety helped him move past it, but not tonight. He knew better than anyone the king’s personal attention was rarely a good thing. Whether it was them or something else occurring in the region, the king’s attention was ominous.
The next day, they approached a small, nameless community that straddled the highway. A thicket of low houses was mixed with several modest inns, some other shops that looked to sell general goods, some pens where livestock were kept on the outskirts, and little else. It was the sort of place where weary travelers could pause for a few days to recover from a hard journey or to avoid bad weather. It was the kind of place that thrived on robust traffic coming down the road, and it looked empty.
Rew and the others paused five hundred yards from the settlement. They’d been avoiding such places since leaving Bressan’s, either walking straight through or circling around them to avoid notice, but with the Dark Kind out there somewhere, they’d discussed stopping to learn what news they could and to make sure the villagers were alert. On the run, it was always a good idea to restock their provisions when the opportunity arose. Rew had figured that they were now far enough from Spinesend and any pursuers from there that the balance of risk and reward had tipped toward stopping, except something was wrong. The place was dead silent outside of the bleating of livestock off behind the buildings.
“This feels strange,” said Zaine. “In the guild, they taught us to listen to our gut, and Ranger, my gut is screaming that we shouldn’t go anywhere near that place.”