by AC Cobble
He told Amelie about the conversation the men were having the day before.
She shrugged helplessly.
“Most of these people have never been further than Northport. Skarston is all they know, it’s their home,” she said.
“They’ve got families, they’ve got children. How can they stay and risk the kids?” wondered Ben.
Amelie replied, “I don’t know how many fled the Coalition in Issen before it was surrounded, but I’m guessing it’s not a lot. How many people left Farview when you had the demon there? If we hadn’t arrived, what would have happened?”
Ben frowned.
The demon threat was real. Their leaders knew it, and even if they didn’t want to admit it, the people knew it, but no one was taking real action. Building up the walls and carrying around a dagger to buy bread were worthless if what Lord Rhymer believed was true. If hundreds of demons fell on Skarston, the place would be a wasteland of blood-drained bodies. Why weren’t they doing more to stop it, or more of them running? In Farview, they had done something. They had called for a hunter.
“I just don’t get it,” mumbled Ben in response.
“People know something is wrong and they are scared,” replied Amelie, “but that doesn’t mean they know what to do. Or maybe they do know, but they don’t have the courage to do it.”
Towaal, overhearing the discussion, added, “It’s the madness of crowds. Everyone is sitting around waiting on someone else to act. Everyone can see the problem, and sometimes they even talk amongst themselves about the problem. They always call for someone else to solve it. It takes a special individual to stand up in that crowd and do something.” Towaal adjusted her pack then looked Ben in the eye. “Are you a person who will stand up and do something?”
Ben was quiet as they settled down to camp in an open field near the road. They started a campfire several strides out from under an ancient oak tree. The flickering light barely lit the bottom branches which rattled eerily in the cold wind.
Grunt volunteered to take the first dinner shift and was busy boiling water for his specialty, rice and beans. Corinne was lingering around Rhys, pestering him with questions. Lady Towaal gazed north into the night sky.
Amelie settled next to Ben and mentioned, “You have been quiet all day. Scared?”
He shook his head. “Not scared for me, no. More scared for what this world is coming to.”
“Thinking about what Towaal said earlier?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he answered. “We’re going into the Wilds to close some demon rift. We’re trying to gather support to help Issen and your father. We’re running from the Sanctuary, who it turns out isn’t exactly interested in helping their fellow man. It…it’s just so much. Lady Towaal acts like I am someone who can do something about all of this. I’m just a brewer from Farview. Who am I to fix all of these problems?”
Amelie answered, “If we, including you, don’t do something about all of it, then who will? You have to start somewhere, and you have to start with someone. It might as well be us.”
“You know what I think you should do,” declared Rhys, who stomped up noisily. “You should lighten up a little bit.”
Ben smiled wanly at his friend.
“Seriously, the world’s a messed up place and it always has been,” said Rhys. “You can’t be down on yourself about it all of the time.”
Rhys was holding his pipe and stuffing a wad of dried leaves into the bowl. Corinne came up behind him.
“I told you I didn’t like pipe smoke,” she said.
“I know,” Rhys responded with a roll of his eyes. “That’s why I’m going to smoke it.”
Instead of being offended, Corinne’s expression grew determined. Ben smiled to himself. Rhys would have to watch his back with her.
Amelie looked on smugly as Rhys retreated toward his pack. The bow-wielding hunter followed close behind.
Ben reached out and squeezed Amelie’s hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll do our best,” he told her.
That night, they set a watch schedule. Demons were active after dark. They would all be slaughtered if one came across them and no one was awake to alert the others. Ben pulled the last shift.
He spent his two bells walking around the perimeter of the camp and occasionally moving to lay another log on their fire, trying to avoid looking into it.
He pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and wished he could sit by the fire. He needed to be on his feet to stay awake and worried that if he was close, he couldn’t stop himself from staring into the dancing flames. There was no point in having the light of a fire if he stared at it and ruined his night vision.
It was a cold, late autumn night. Not any worse than winter in Farview, though.
They didn’t know how long this journey would take. No one thought it would be quick. By the end, it would be full winter in the north and the chill Ben was facing now would seem comfortable.
He kept circling the camp and peering out into the field around them. They had great visibility at this campsite. Aside from the huge oak tree, they were in a wide-open clearing. It was contrary to all of the other campsites they had chosen since leaving the Sanctuary. Then, they did not want to risk being seen by other people. Now, they wanted plenty of opportunity to spot approaching demons.
Before long, a weak light suffused the air from the pre-dawn sun. Ben could see across the field to a ragged line of trees north of them. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he saw a tendril of smoke rising from within the woods. They would be heading that way later in the morning. He wondered if the smoke was some hard-headed farmer who refused to leave the area or if it was something else.
A stirring behind him drew his attention. He saw Grunt was sitting up, covering an impressive yawn with his hand. The man, despite his size, rolled silently to his feet and rummaged through his pack. He produced a battered metal tea kettle and filled it with his water skin. Ben continued his patrol, watching the hunter out of the corner of his eye.
Soon, Rhys was up as well. He wandered off behind the tree they were camped next to and Ben heard him relieving himself.
Grunt’s tea kettle was at a soft boil. He produced another cylindrically shaped kettle which he filled with what looked like a coarse black powder. He then poured the boiling water into the new kettle and fastened the lid.
Rhys moved over to squat beside Grunt, holding a cup eagerly in two hands.
Grunt pushed down on a plunger at the top of the kettle and then filled his and Rhys’ cups.
Ben finally noticed the smell and realized the hunter was brewing kaf.
Steam rose from the cups and both men gave it a minute before taking a tentative sip of the hot liquid. Rhys sighed appreciatively and sipped again.
He stood and walked over to Ben, whispering, “It’s nice to travel with a man who knows his priorities.”
“I thought your priority was alcohol?” joked Ben.
Rhys grinned. “At daybreak, outside, during winter in the north, I am willing to make an exception and enjoy a mug of kaf before I start on the serious beverages.”
Ben smiled and thought about getting his own cup. When he looked back at Rhys, his gaze was drawn over the man’s shoulder, and he frowned.
Two hundred paces away, bouncing in and out of the knee-high morning mist, was a black shape.
“Look,” he hissed in a low voice, pointing at the figure.
Rhys and Grunt both turned and observed.
Grunt took another sip of his kaf then remarked, “Piece of advice, Ben, and I mean this in the most friendly way possible.”
The man sat down his cup then picked up his crossbow. “When you see a demon out here, don’t whisper about it,” he said. Then he shouted, “You yell!”
The rest of the party bolted upright in their bedrolls and saw Grunt stride forward to the edge of the camp. Calmly, he set his feet and raised the compact, steel-armed crossbow. He sighted down a thick, broad-headed bolt.
Rhys
moved to stand beside him but was paying more attention to the tree line behind the quickly approaching demon.
It shrieked at them loudly, sending a shiver down Ben’s spine.
One hundred paces, fifty paces, thirty paces, and the creature kept coming closer. Ben started to get nervous and drew his longsword at twenty paces. Then the thrum of Grunt’s crossbow filled the air.
The quarrel flew out and impacted the demon’s chest, disappearing into the thick muscle.
The monster uttered a strangled wail and collapsed fifteen paces from Grunt’s feet.
By now, the entire group was on their feet with hands on their weapons. The demon remained motionless.
Grunt, eyes staying on the creature, went back to retrieve his cup of kaf. “Always give it a few minutes before you approach the thing,” he advised. “If they stop moving, they are almost always dead. But relying on ‘almost always’ is a good way of getting yourself dead out here. It’s best to just wait a little bit if you can.”
As they looked around the open field, nothing else stirred. “Looks like this one was alone,” muttered Rhys.
“They usually are alone,” agreed Grunt. “The swarms form when there is a shortage of food or when there is an arch-demon.”
“An arch-demon?” asked Ben curiously.
“A big one.” The hunter nodded. “It gives the little ones courage, I guess. They follow it, and all of a sudden, you have a swarm. As far as I know, no one is sure if they communicate or just follow the big ones out of fear. However it works, be ready to fight. It’s not just the size and strength. As they mature and consume more life-blood, they get smarter. Maybe smarter isn’t the right word.” He scratched at his stomach. “Cunning is what I would call it.”
“Stay away from the big ones,” called Corinne. “Let Grunt and I handle those. They’re not for the inexperienced or the faint of heart.”
She was circling the fallen demon and examining it.
“See anything?” asked Towaal, ignoring the barb about experience.
Corinne shook her head. “Trying to tell if there is anything different about this one, but it looks like all of the others I’ve killed.”
“How many have you killed?” asked Amelie innocently.
“Plenty,” remarked Corinne.
Rhys cleared his throat then suggested to Ben and Amelie, “That does make some sense, about the arch-demon. If we face a swarm, stay away from the big one. Let the hunters or I deal with that.”
Ben nodded and Amelie shrugged.
Corinne snorted at Rhys. “Have you faced an arch-demon? They are serious business, extremely dangerous.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow at her and said, “Honey, don’t worry about me.”
Corinne coughed and her eyes opened wide. “Honey?”
Smiling sweetly back at her, Rhys responded, “I’ve been in a dangerous situation or two. I think I can take care of myself.”
Corinne glared at the rogue, obviously unsure what to make of him.
Ben turned and walked to the fire to make breakfast. He was exasperated with the lack of trust in the group. They needed something to bond them together. Back in Farview, that would be a night of serious drinking at the Buckhorn. Out here, he wasn’t sure what they could do to gain each other’s confidence.
After eating breakfast, Grunt cut his quarrel out of the demon’s body in a sickening demonstration of butchery and demon anatomy. Amelie looked on in disgust while he sawed his dagger through the heavy muscle in the demon’s back and cut down to the head of the quarrel. Setting a foot on the body, he yanked the rest of the bolt through the corpse and pulled it out. It came loose with an unpleasant squelch.
“That is disgusting,” stated Amelie, trying to not gag.
Ben chuckled.
Grunt turned to face her with a hurt expression.
“I only have so many of these things,” he explained, shaking the gore-covered crossbow bolt. Tiny streamers of purple blood sailed through the air.
Corinne jumped backward and shouted, “Hey!”
Ben couldn’t hold in his laughter. Soon Amelie, Corinne, and Rhys joined him. Towaal looked on, bemused. Grunt sighed and rinsed off the quarrel with his water skin. “Save the entire party from an attacking demon and this is the thanks I get,” he muttered under his breath.
“We appreciate you killing the demon,” Corinne said to mollify him, “but then you followed it up by spraying demon blood on me. And, well, I think Amelie said it best, that is disgusting.”
“Sorry about that,” muttered Grunt before kneeling again and digging his dagger into the demon’s scalp to remove the small, stubby horns.
From camp, they followed a faint path through the field and toward the tree line. The fog burned off quickly and it was a clear, bright day. The air was chill, but with the thick, winter clothing, Ben found it quite pleasant.
The forest was filled with soaring birch trees. Their white trunks extended as far as Ben could see ahead of them. A narrow path wound its way through the thick trunks. Leaves crunched underfoot as they left the field. Ben pulled a strip of peeling bark from a nearby trunk when they passed and toyed with it as they walked.
Amelie, walking beside him, looked down at the thin sheet of tree bark and asked, “Is there something wrong with it to peel off like that?”
Ben shook his head. “No, that’s just what some trees do. I’m not familiar with this variety, but,” he shrugged. “I don’t think anything is wrong with it.”
Amelie continued walking and looked like she was going to ask another question but then stopped.
Ben smiled and added, “That seems like something a mage should know.”
She chortled then shot a look at Grunt and Corinne ahead of them to see if they overheard. “Don’t say that out loud,” she whispered. “And, yes, I am sure many of the tree-focused mages know a lot about the fascinating subject of bark. I haven’t gotten into that specialty yet.”
Ben flipped the papery bark at her face and she swatted it away with a playful growl.
Their banter and the steady crunch of walking feet were the only sounds in the forest. Before long, it started to feel a bit creepy.
Ben spoke out to the group. “There are no animal sounds. Is that normal?”
Grunt shook his head. “It’s normal deeper into the Wilds. A bit unusual this far south. Generally, that is a sign that a demon has been nearby. They feast on animals, just like they do people.”
Ben reached for his sword.
Grunt waved his hand down.
“It doesn’t mean there is a demon right here,” he continued. “It just means one has been in the area. It could have been the one I killed this morning.”
“How do we know when one is close? Should we be worried about a swarm of demons?” asked Ben.
“You’ll hear it attack,” responded Rhys.
Grunt agreed. “Aye, when you’re hunting, how do you know a deer or rabbit is nearby? You don’t really know until you see them. Demons are easy, they will let you know when they charge.”
Ben frowned. “When I’m hunting a deer or rabbit, I am the one who’s trying to catch dinner.”
Throughout the day, they continued down the faint path in the direction Ben saw smoke earlier in the morning.
“Who would live out here?” asked Amelie.
Corinne shrugged. “No one did last I passed through.”
“It could be a campsite for hunters,” added Grunt. “Not too many other people out here these days. Not too many hunters either, now that I think about it.”
Faintly, Ben started to hear a new noise—chopping wood.
“Whoever it is,” he remarked. “They sound like they are busy.”
Half a bell later, they saw an opening through the trees and found the source of both the smoke and the chopping.
A log enclosure rose twice Ben’s height in a field that was dotted with tree stumps. Fresh wood chips were scattered everywhere and they could see teams of men working at the f
ar side bringing in more logs.
“This is awfully strange,” muttered Grunt.
Rhys, pausing at the edge of the clearing, looked to Towaal. He asked, “Do we avoid it or go in?”
She adjusted her pack, scanning the enclosure then started forward. “One more night indoors and behind walls shouldn’t hurt. We’ll have plenty of time to rough it later. Keep your eyes open though. Something doesn’t feel right about this.”
As they approached the log structure, a small boy poked his head above the wall and watched them draw close. Ben guessed he’d seen no more than twelve summers.
“Ho the camp,” called Grunt.
“Who are you?” asked the boy abruptly.
“Hunters passing through,” answered Grunt. “I don’t recall seeing this here last time I passed by. We figured we’d investigate and see if we can find a place to stay this evening.”
“Stay there,” instructed the boy before disappearing behind the wall.
“Helpful fellow,” grumbled Grunt.
They stood outside for several minutes that grew tense as the time passed. Finally, there was a bang on the other side of the wall and the gate cracked opened.
A rough-looking man stepped out and addressed them. “We haven’t had a lot of visitors here, hardly any, really. How can we help you folks?”
Grunt and Corinne looked at each other. Then Grunt spoke up. “I passed through maybe four months ago. I don’t recall there being anything to visit.”
The man smirked and then jovially answered, “Right you are. And what were you doing here four months ago?”
Grunt frowned but went along. “I’m a hunter. I was returning from a trip north with a bag of demon horns to cash in at Northport.”
The man set his hands on his hips and challenged, “We heard there would be hunters in this area, but I haven’t seen any. Can you prove you’re a hunter?”
Grunt dug the pair of demon horns he’d taken earlier out of his belt pouch and showed the man wordlessly.
“Very well,” the man said, nodding. “We can shelter you for the night in exchange for those horns.”
A pained look crossed Grunt’s face but he handed them over.