Sons of the Lost

by Glynn James

  Declan stood in the middle of the ruined building, crutch in one hand and axe in the other, frowning. “What was that all about?” he asked, lowering the axe. “They just... They ran?”

  Seren looked at him, and then down at Sorcha, who sat panting once more. “For some strange reason, they find my furry friend here quite terrifying.” She smiled, perplexed.

  “That nuts,” said Declan. “They’re not afraid to face a warband, fully armored, but a single wolf and they run pissing their pants.”

  Seren gave a short laugh, unable to contain it. “Well, either way, we seem to have gained an advantage. I suggest we get out of here and not waste the gain.”

  “Damn right,” said Declan.

  The remains of the main camp were just along a path out of the ruins and through some trees. It was easy to find. The tracks of carts and footprints through the woods had left a bare, muddy trail ten feet wide.

  “They went out the south entrance,” said Declan. “That’s why we didn’t cross their path on the way here. “They must have avoided the main road west and cut through the fields to get to the Ninety-Five. We should follow the trail and see which way they went.”

  “How many did you say there are now?” Seren asked as they headed through the trees, following the mud trail.

  “A thousand, at least,” Declan said, breathing heavily. “Jonah took in all sorts of clans from Eliz after the disaster, and from what I guess, a load of others are just tagging along.”

  “Maybe they have nowhere else to go,” said Seren.

  “I don’t think many people have a place to go anymore,” said Declan.

  Chapter 33

  “They left already, my lord,” said the scout. “Two days back.”

  Gaston stood in the middle of the empty camp. He had expected to see hundreds of men milling around, waiting for him to catch up with the army as Morlan had requested.

  “Left already,” Gaston muttered. He turned to the priest nearby and stared at the man. The man was old, as most of the coven had been, but this one seemed older than all of them. He had been the coven’s castellan, and Gaston had decided to let the man keep the job for now, though he was sure he should have left him behind. He was slow on the road, and a number of times had needed to ride the single cart that the coven had taken with them, slowing them down further still. Morlan had given him command of ten warriors to guard an equal number of his coven priests, who were to join the army at the front. Just ten, and it had required four of them to pull the cart in shifts. They were already exhausted and would be no good in a fight if they were needed.

  “Morlan sent word ahead with scouts that Carlossa should wait for us to arrive. It would bring great courage to the clans to know that the coven was with them on the battlefield.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the old man. “Yes, he sent word, ten days back, before we left.”

  Gaston paced the ground in front of the cart.

  “And yet it was not quick enough. You,” he said pointing at the scout. “Did Morlan’s messengers get here before the army left?”

  The scout looked uncomfortable, was wringing his hands as he spoke. “Yes, my lord. They were here four days past, and they spoke to Carlossa.”

  Gaston stopped pacing and turned to face the scout, his nonchalant expression sharpening to annoyance. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ah,” said the scout, looking embarrassed. “I means that they got here before the army left, my lord. Carlossa led the expedition out maybe three days after, and he also took the messengers with him, recruited into the scout ranks.”

  “Yes, you idiot,” snapped Gaston. “I understand that part, but what I fail to comprehend is why, if the messenger got here, did Carlossa not wait as instructed? Morlan made it quite clear they were to expect us.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Then what am I missing here?” demanded Gaston.

  “Ah, you were expected days ago, my lord,” said the scout.

  Gaston glared at the man. It was a strange sense that now filled him. If he commanded it, one of his own warriors would kill the scout, for whatever reason Gaston decided. The warrior would simply execute the man right there, in front of the dozen warriors left to hold the camp, and no one would argue, not even the other scouts to whose group the man belonged. Even stranger, he thought. It was that sense of command, something that he had never possessed in his life before meeting Morlan, and taking over the Coven, that was saving the scout.

  “Tell me why the message was ignored,” said Gaston.

  “I don’t know, my lord,” said the scout. “But I can suggest that Carlossa found out some new information—from a captive, I think—about where the peoples of the Elk were going to be and when. One morning I comes out of my tent, ready to go out on my usual scout and hunt, but everyone is up already and packing to leave. They was in a mighty hurry. Carlossa was snapping orders left and center and all. They left before the sun was even high and marched off south.”

  Gaston frowned. “South? Not East?”

  “No,” said the scout. “They went south, well south east as it is, along the Four Twenty-One and I heard mention of some place called Seaforth.”

  Gaston stared at the ground. Southeast, the Four Twenty-One. That didn’t, as far as he could remember, lead directly to Raleigh. The road south east may eventually join another that did, but then the lake was in the way. Unless there was a way across the lake? “Where is this Seaforth?”

  “Side of the lake, my lord,” said the scout. “Least that’s what I heard. Near a causeway. I didn’t pick up much more than that.”

  “Causeway,” said Gaston. “A way across the lake. They mean to come from a direction that the Elk won’t be expecting. How very clever this Carlossa is. You know of this place that they are heading?”

  “Ah. Sort of, my lord. Not well. I knows where to go to get to it, but I’ve not ranged down that way. I knows what I know from reports of the land down there though, from other scouts who have gone that way.”

  “Good,” said Gaston. “You and two more of your scouts will take us the way Carlossa travelled. We will catch them up.”

  “I’m supposed to stay here and help watch this camp, my lord,” said the scout.

  Gaston frowned at him. “Do you know to whom you speak?”

  “Yes, my lord. Sorry, my lord,” said the scout. “Of course we will accompany you, as you say. I just wanted to make sure you knew I was given orders, that’s all. We’ll just be a few minutes to gather our gear.”

  “Better answer.” Gaston shook his head and stood waiting as the scout hurried off to collect his things. He turned to the old man, a wicked thought in his head. “And you, old man, have a new task. You must represent our coven here at the camp, and after one week, you will travel back to Wytheville with an update of what has happened—when a new cart goes back that way from the supply line.”

  The old man’s jaw dropped.

  “Trust me,” said Gaston. “You would prefer that to the alternative.”

  Chapter 34

  “What are we doing?”

  Briar looked into the faces of his men. He’d stood next to many of them as a young boy, learning how to track deer through the woods. He had fought with them, fought against them, bled with them. He had become brotherly with these men in a way he had not with his real brothers. But the world was changing. Briar had known what was happening for years; he could feel the shift in the cosmic energy—not something he would share around the campfire after a day’s hunt, but he knew some of his men felt it as well. Things seemed to be slowing down—devolving. It wasn’t just the breach caused by the grumble, or the recent resurgence of the Valk crawling up through the cracks in the earth. It wasn’t even the appearance of Cygoa warriors, the fierce men from the north who had dipped farther south than they ever had before, taking back what they considered to be their old lands and their right. No, Briar had felt the change in his gut, deep within his own being.

  “Bri
ar? What are we doing?”

  He had sent Rav off but did not tell his men. They would find out soon enough, and the clan leader should never be compelled to share the rationale behind the hard decisions that needed to be made. Briar’s men had trusted him for years, even though they had not always been aware of what it would take to keep the clan alive.

  It was Rav’s idea, and Briar could not imagine a scenario in which it would work. But there wasn’t anything else they could possibly do. The Valk warband was moving relentlessly and in legion. Their bows and arrows would be no match for their swelled numbers. So, Briar had agreed to the plan. Rav had assumed his own level of risk—if it didn’t work, the possible demise of the clans would be on his head.

  Briar’s men had not lit fires, and even though the days had been warming, the nights continued to send a chill into the men’s bones. They had spent the better part of the day running through thick brush. Most of the men had dried blood in their beards from the thorns and sharp branches that scratched at their faces. They didn’t have time to cut it down or go around it. The Valk had continued on the Ninety-Five trail, so Briar’s men had to move faster to get out in front of them. And now they would wait.

  “We’re waiting here. Arm yourselves. No fires to be lit.”

  He felt the hunters rustle in the darkness, their feet kicking the leaves in a nervous dance.

  “Of course, Chief. Where’s Rav?”

  He turned his head toward the voice—one of the hunters who had just joined the clan recently. So recently that Briar couldn’t even remember his name.

  “We need to draw the Valk to us,” he said. “We need them to give chase.”

  None of the hunters responded. Briar’s words hung in the dark, chilly night. Before any of them could respond, the bitter stench of death filled the air.

  “Come on. They are sending guards to scout the perimeter of their camp. We should be able to shoot several.”

  “We’re going to attack them? The Valk? There must be a hundred of them, two hundred maybe.”

  Briar brought his bow out and released an arrow in one motion. It cut through the air and lodged into the right eye of the first Valk warrior coming through the trees. The beast fell and Briar’s second arrow was already flying towards the next Valk warrior. That arrow also found its mark. The Valk fell on top of his dead brother. A third warrior paused, looking at Briar before turning around and running back into the forest. The Valk warrior made hissing and clacking noises that reverberated through the trees.

  “They’re coming,” said Briar. “Fall back to the tree line and climb on top of the rocks we marked earlier today.”

  Before his men could object, Briar watched Rav stumble between the hunters at the edge of the circle. A bead of blood ran down the side of his face. He hunched over, his hands on his knees, his body racked by coughs. It wasn’t until he stood up that Briar realized Rav was laughing. The hunters took a step closer, wanting to hear what the crazy old man would say next. But it was Briar who spoke.

  “Does this mean you have some friends on the way?”

  “Yeah, I sure do. It’s time to party,” said Rav.

  Briar ran and his men followed. They pushed through some low brush and climbed the rocks they had scouted earlier. He wanted to explain what was happening to all of them, but there wasn’t time. The Valk would be coming from one direction, and if what Rav said was true, Cygoa would be coming from the other.

  “Take cover and ready your bows,” Briar said to his men. “If they don’t engage, we will need to encourage them with a few arrows. If need be, we shoot anything that enters the field below us. But we need to keep our location hidden, so don’t go volleying. Give each shot a count of five before the next.”

  Cygoa appeared first. The warriors stopped in the narrow clearing and spun around. A second later, the Valk warriors approached from the other side. Without so much as a hesitation, they engaged. The Valk hissed and ran forward while Cygoa screamed, wielding heavy battle axes and hammers.

  Briar couldn’t see the fight from their vantage point in the darkness. But he didn’t need to see much. He drew back and began firing arrows into the melee. The other hunters followed his lead while Rav leaned back against a rock, chuckling.

  “It’s working,” said Rav. “We ran them right into each other. Hold on the arrows. We may not need them ‘til the end.”

  Briar nodded at this. More and more bodies flooded onto the tight battlefield and Briar could smell their blood. His hunters had become more strategic, saving their arrows for clean shots. It seemed as though the warriors in each warband had come through the trees ready to fight. And when the wounded tried to retreat, Briar and his men took them down. He had been so intent on being accurate with his bow that Briar hadn’t noticed that Rav had climbed down from the rocks and was now on the edge of the clearing.

  “Hold your fire,” Briar said to his men.

  He slid down the rock and joined Rav, who was now five steps ahead and making a straight line for a Valk warrior crawling through the dirt. The rest of the slain bodies remained motionless. Briar glanced over his shoulder and saw that the hunters had their bows out, keeping him covered as he entered the battlefield.

  “This one here ain’t dead yet,” said Rav. “I think I’d like to talk to this piece of shit.”

  Briar stumbled, the stench of blood mingling with the bitter rot of the Valk overwhelming his senses. He looked through the trees and did not see any more warriors approaching. He glanced in the direction of the Cygoa and saw nothing there, either.

  “What could he possibly tell us?” Briar asked. “They’re coming out of the ground, and they’re coming for us. It’s not a mystery.”

  Rav shook his head and brought his boot down on the left hand of the Valk warrior. He used his other foot to kick the beast in the ribs. Rav took a blade from beneath his ragged cloak and buried it to the hilt in the Valk’s back.

  “How many in your warband?” he asked the dying Valk.

  Briar stepped back, and for a second, he believed the Valk warrior might speak. Instead, the creature turned its face up at Rav, grunted and then spat blood at him before dying. Rav yanked his blade free and wiped it clean.

  “How many is a ‘grunt’ in Valk?” Rav asked.

  Briar looked around and noticed that his men had climbed off the rocks and were now going through the bodies on the battlefield, taking whatever they could use.

  “We bought ourselves some time. I can’t believe your bat-shit-crazy plan worked. But you know more Valk and Cygoa are on the way. Let’s get to Jonah.”

  Chapter 35

  Seren watched from the tree line. There was no movement in the ruins ahead, so she carefully trod over a prickle bush and stepped out onto the dirt. There was a stretch of open ground stretching between the edge of the forest and where the ruined building started that was flat, where very little vegetation had grown. Even though the forest had reclaimed much of the world there were still spots that it could not reach, for no obvious reason.

  Sorcha followed her out of the trees, and she could hear the thump of Declan’s crutch as he caught up to them. Bow in hand, she jogged across the open ground, her eyes darting from one hollow window frame to the next. There were many buildings, maybe a dozen or so, and she was finished with forgetting to be cautious after their encounter with the Cygoa near the lake and then again, with the Valk, at Rocky Mount. Both encounters had been too close; it made her shiver just to think about it. She wasn’t letting her guard down again anytime soon.

  She slowed as she reached the first ruin, crouching and peering over the wall. Signs of recent occupation were everywhere. Small bones from birds or forest animals were cast into piles in the corners and left for other animals to scavenge, the kicked-out remains of a fire lay in the center of the building, and even a torn cloth that was covered with a dark stain, which Seren was relieved wasn’t red, lay a few feet away. This place had been used very recently, maybe only days before, but by w
hom?

  She hoped it was the Elk, and that they were closing on them. The trail had led them out briefly onto the Ninety-Five, and down the Eighty-Seven. With as many people travelling as Declan said there was, it was easy to keep to the trail and the travelers hadn’t left the road, or so it seemed. They found the remnants of several encampments roughly a day of slow marching within each other, and Seren was still surprised at how large the perimeter was where the dirt had been churned up by cartwheels, footfall, and tents.

  “They must be getting close to Raleigh or Greensboro,” Declan said as he crossed the ground between the trees and the first ruin. Seren had noticed that he was walking faster now and with more confidence. The wound was healing well. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before he could move without aid.