Stench from the South Pt. 01

"I know, trooper, I'm not fucking blind! You think I can't see what's right in front of us?!" Balthus' eyes flashed angrily as he peered back and up at his subordinate. "But we need to have enough information for a full report-someone's got to let Braelon know what happened here! This was no ordinary brigand raid, and we've got to learn all we can!"

"I-sir-"

"Trooper Gravin, I know perfectly well that this is an utterly vile and disturbing scene we've come upon," the Captain said, his voice taking on a calming, collected tone, "but we need you! I need you, lad! Remember your vows, and remember your duty! If we're to find and tear these bastards to ribbons, we'll need everyone-that includes you!-to keep their heads!"

Gravin swallowed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Maelee placed her hand onto Gravin's shoulder.

"Sir?" She looked to her Captain. "What would you like us to do, Captain Crick?"

"Well, you can start by taking a closer look around upstairs," he said gruffly, standing upright again. "I took a few moments to clear it earlier; there's no one left alive, of course, but I didn't get a chance to really investigate. I'd only been at it a few minutes down here before I called you up. So, both of you get up there and see what you can see. Be warned, though," he added solemnly, "there are two more bodies in one of the bedrooms upstairs, and they in not much better shape than these folk. The first one on the right as you arrive on the landing-sons of bitches who did this busted the door clean off its' hinges to get to the poor bastards."

"Yes sir," Maelee said with a nod, "we're on it, sir."

Up the stairs the two troopers went, Balthus sighing quietly to himself as he turned back to the abominable scene in the living area. The body of the young girl lay next to a crooked bookshelf, both her legs and most of her flesh missing. The body propped up against the far wall was missing a foot, a forearm, and the entirety of its' head. Only a ragged stump remained above the clavicles, a knob of vertebral bone peeking out from the ragged flesh which surrounded it. He slowly and carefully made his way to the body lying in the doorway off to his left, sidestepping pieces of broken furniture as he went. Only the legs were visible over the threshold, but as he stepped over and past them into what he'd correctly assumed to be the kitchen, he was greeted not by the remainder of a body, but a long, wide streak of blood and viscera that stretched over ten feet away, in between parallel counters and cabinets whose doors and tops were covered in bloody smears and handprints. On the floor, at the end of this obscene, gory trail lie the crudely mutilated remains of a human torso-one that had likely once belonged to a strong, hardy young man, from what Balthus could tell.

Balthus took in the sight of the young man's remains for another moment before taking a more thorough look around the rest of the downstairs area. In truth, he found little of use, but he did begin to piece together, in his mind, a more cohesive mosaic of how the attack had occurred. He was coming out of a bedroom near the house's main entryway when Maelee and Gravin came downstairs, their faces pale and their expressions haunted.

"Report, troopers."

"It's as you said, Captain," Maelee said quietly, "this was no ordinary brigand raid."

"Explain."

"Well, sir, we found plenty of valuables and a fair amount of coin in the bedrooms-a few hundred Ren in a coin purse up in what appears to be the master bedroom, for example-and none of it had even been touched. Same with the jewelry-plenty of that in their drawers. Whoever tore this place apart, whoever killed the Fessely family and their hands, Captain...? They weren't after money, sir."

Balthus nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I noticed a case full of silverware in the kitchen, myself-looked to be solid, and it appears to be entirely intact. Plenty of valuable and useful tools lying strewn about out in the yard, too-why leave any of those behind, either?"

"So what was this, then? What does that leave us with?" Gravin's voice was dark. "A revenge killing?"

"I doubt it," Balthus said, glancing around. "This doesn't feel like a revenge killing. No brigand in their right mind would just kill these people and leave everything of value behind-there's thousands upon thousands of Ren's worth of coin and valuables around this farmstead, and only a complete dullard would leave it all. Tell me, troopers, did you stop to examine the bodies upstairs in detail? Or even the ones down here?"

"Not-not terribly closely, sir," Maelee said quietly.

"Then you're not being thorough enough, trooper Maelee. I have made note of one common thread between each of the bodies, and it is this: the wounds were almost entirely inflicted by human teeth. There are even gnaw marks covering the bones, clear as day."

Both troopers very nearly physically recoiled at his grim revelation. "Captain," Maelee breathed, "are you saying that they were-"

"Cannibalized, yes," Balthus said quietly. "These people were pulled down and eaten-most likely while they were still alive. A group of attackers-or, more accurately, I think it would be to say, a horde-broke through the front door and window, pulled down and then proceeded to devour the Fessely family and their farmhands. It is that simple."

"Captain," Gravin nearly whispered, "that's-that's utter insanity-! What kind of brigand gang would-"

"I'm not even sure that this was the work of brigands, trooper," the Captain cut in. "In fact, I'm sure of very little at this point-other than that someone needs to report this attack to the Capital as soon as humanly possible."

"Understood, sir," Maelee said with a nod, her face now almost as pale as her not-so-secret lover's.

"We'll take a look outside before we return," Balthus said, turning to walk toward the front door, "see what, if anything, that might tell us. Let's take a closer look at the barn first-see if there are any survivors hiding out."

"Captain, do you really think-" Balthus cut Gravin off.

"I don't know, trooper, that's why we're going to check and see. Duty and honor dictates that we do so. Now, move, damn you!"

The troopers nodded, and followed their commanding officer as he strode past the shattered front door, out from under the awning that covered the porch, and back into the steady rain. Hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he led them around back again, past the dead animals and scattered debris, and out to the weather-beaten barn. One of the large double-doors which led into the structure stood wide open, though the trio could not clearly see into its' depths through the gloom. Balthus darted over to the wall by the entrance, and began to slide along the door which was still closed. His companions followed, their hands tightly gripping the hilts of their own blades, until the Captain found himself mere inches from the opening. He glanced back at his troopers and nodded, the two of them nodding once each in return. Balthus licked his lips once, gritted his teeth, and popped around the edge of the closed door with the speed and agility of a mountain cat.

He immediately found himself facing...again, nothing at all. The barn stood entirely empty, with nary a man nor beast in sight.

There were a number of stalls on either side meant to house a few horses and cows, but they all stood empty with their doors hanging wide open. The floor, comprised of simple packed dirt and covered with a layer of hay, crunched softly beneath the Captain's boots as he wandered inside and took a look around, Maelee and Gravin following suit almost immediately on his tail. There was no greeting, there were no sounds of any kind, save the soft drumming of raindrops against the shingles layered upon the aged roof.

"Nothing," Maelee said, her angry and full of confusion, "nothing at all. Not a soul anywhere. Animals torn apart, nothing of value taken, people eaten alive! This is...I don't even know how to describe it, Captain. What in the name of the Mother, the Father, and the Steed is going on?!"

"You and me both, trooper," the Captain said, wandering over to a large steel bucket and nudging it softly with the tip of his boot. "Nothing about this makes sense to me either. I'm not afraid to admit it: I am thoroughly at a loss."

"We should get back to the Outpost soon," Gravin said.

"Agreed," Balthus replied with a nod, "but I'd like to take a look out front before we go."

As they exited the barn, Maelee pointed up to the second story of the farmhouse. "There's how Mister Fessely got away," she said dryly.

Balthus looked up to see a crude rope made of what appeared to be bedsheets and clothing hanging out of an upstairs window.

"Yes," Balthus said with a nod, "I noticed it earlier. Managed to slip away as they took down the others, close the door, and make his escape-slipped out to the barn while they were busy, managed to hop on his horse, and get away. Slapdash, maybe-but it worked, I suppose."

"How could he just...leave them?" Gravin sounded both confused and appalled.

"Simple," the Captain replied with a shrug as they passed the side of the farmhouse and came around to the front. "He panicked. If there were a gaggle of bloodthirsty maniacs devouring your family just beneath your feet, wouldn't you want to get away?"

Gravin did not answer, but merely glanced back at the simple rope hanging from the upstairs window once more, before they made their way to the path leading away from the farmhouse.

"There had to have been dozens," Maelee remarked as the Captain came to a stop and squatted down to examine the confused mass of tracks which led away from the building and back toward the main thoroughfare.

"Most certainly," the Captain replied, "perhaps sixty, seventy or more in total-I can hardly make an accurate estimate, but there were far more people than what would normally be present on an average brigand raid. The rain isn't helping, either-it will likely wash a great many of them away before long. But if I were to guess...yes," he said, standing up straight again and glancing down the path, "at least sixty. And I'd say that that's a conservative estimate."

"Sir," Gravin said, glancing at a set of tracks near the edge of the strange collective, "some of these look...strange."

"How so?"

"Well, they're...I don't know how else to say it, sir, but this set of tracks in particular here is clearly dragging," he replied. "In fact, I've seen a great many which seem to indicate the same thing. The spacing suggests that they weren't running or even jogging, they were just...walking. Or shuffling-I suppose that would be more accurate. Why, though? They couldn't have hoped to catch a man on horseback that way."

"Indeed not," the Captain replied with a grim nod. "Yet again, the specifics seem to defy all logic."

"I don't know why it bothers me so, but...it's just another strange aspect of this whole thing to add to the already sizable pile of strange things."

"Now you're being observant, trooper," the Captain exclaimed with a sly grin, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "You're right, it is very odd. I also noticed back by the pig pen that some of them were made by barefoot assailants. Yet again-strange, no?"

"What the-why would anyone be out in this weather without boots?" Maelee sounded confused and indignant.

"What about this entire situation makes any sense, Maelee?"

"I-damn you, Gravin, knock it off!"

"Both of you, pipe down," the Captain snarled as he took a few steps along the wide dirt path, following the swath of strange tracks.

"So...I suppose the last question is this: where did our attackers go?" Maelee and Gravin could not tell exactly whether or not their Captain was asking them directly, or if he had simply been thinking out loud.

"I'm not sure," Gravin posited. "Maybe they...I don't know, saw Mister Fessely getting away? Gave chase, perhaps?"

The Captain turned and smiled at him. "I believe that to be precisely what happened, trooper Gravin."

"Truly?"

The Captain smiled at the trooper. "Yes, I believe that these attackers-whoever they were-saw that one of their victims was getting away, and that they gave chase. We know the rest of the story, obviously."

"Gravin was right earlier; we really ought to get back," Maelee said quietly, only just audible over the rain and the low moan of the wind. "We should not linger."

"Agreed, Trooper Maelee. There's nothing more to see here," the Captain replied grimly, instinctively scanning the vast fields around them for potential threats, but finding none. He returned his gaze to his troopers. "Back to the fence, now! We ride for the Outpost!"

*****

"Captain, you can't seriously be thinking of going alone-!"

"Last I checked, Sergeant, I outrank you-which, as you know, means that you have no authority over the matter."

Sergeant Lowell, the second-in-command at the Copper Hills Outpost, went quiet at his superior's reproachful proclamation. In the absence of any reply, there was only the sound of the rain falling upon the roof of the stable house. Still astride his steed, the Captain signed ruefully. Lowell was a good soldier, and a good man to boot. Balthus regretted his snapping at the Sergeant, who was clearly only concerned for Balthus' well-being.

"I apologize, Sergeant, truly I do. I am not trying to cause worry or place undue pressure upon you by taking this course of action, but I'm the fastest rider here, and I'll make better time if there's no one along to slow me down."

"But sir, Braelon is three days' ride from here! What if we're attacked ourselves by this group of lunatics you mentioned?!"

"I'm not worried," Balthus replied-and he wasn't. "You're at the head of sixty well-trained and fully-armed Rallean soldiers. You've got a wall, weapons, armor, and enough provisions for three years-four if you rationed. All that, capped off with your skill and experience? I'm not concerned, frankly-and neither should you be."

"I wish you'd at least wait until morning," Lowell sighed, "get some sleep before you go trekking off to the Capital in the pouring rain."

"You know as well as I do that we're trained to operate in any conditions, save the furthest extremes. And this isn't close to being the most extreme weather I've ridden in!"

Lowell could only chuckle bitterly at this. Balthus sensed that he was still worried, however, so he sighed and continued.

"I appreciate your concern, Lowell," the Captain said. "But someone has to get to Braelon, and fast. You weren't there; you didn't see what was done-this is something else entirely, my friend, something different than what we've seen before-something really dangerous. These people, whoever they are? They're truly deranged, and the alarm must be raised immediately."

"Captain-"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

Lowell's eyes were wide and full of worry. "Captain-Balthus-what...what is going on? Everything you told me-it's all true?"

"Every word, Lowell."

"Three above," the Sergeant breathed. "I...I am sorry, Captain, I don't want to imply that I doubt your words, because I do not. I just...I simply don't want to believe that such a thing could possibly be true."

"You don't have a choice, I'm afraid," the Captain replied grimly, spurring Halberd toward the open stable house door as the Sergeant followed alongside him. "This cannot wait, Lowell. I'll have to travel as quickly as possible-I may even rough it the whole way, if the weather will allow me."

"It won't, and you know that," the Sergeant said with a wry smile.

"I wouldn't expect it," Balthus said with a grin, "but I've got my bedroll, just in case. I'm made of sterner stuff than most, Sergeant-I'll live either way; don't worry yourself so! Now, I must be off-I need to make some miles before nightfall. Keep the place standing, and I'll be back with new orders-hopefully in under a week!"

Lowell only nodded and stepped off to the side as the Captain and his impressive steed flew out of the stable house like a gust of late winter wind. Crasslen and Mosullah, still on watch, opened the front gate to the Outpost, whereupon the thundering of Halberd's hooves could be heard in the guard tower for several moments over the wind and the rain. The Captain tore down the path, his determination as strong as the steel with which his sword had been forged. He had to get to Raela and Cyrrel, and he had to do it yesterday-Mother Nature's wrath be damned.

Into the wet and gloomy grey they charged, Halberd and Captain Crick-and, for the duration of the trip, the lone rider swore that he could still detect the thick, coppery stench of blood in his nostrils.

*****

"I wish he'd have let us come with him, Maelee."

"You know he wouldn't have allowed it. Nothing we could have said would have mattered."

"Yes, I do. He's fast, he's strong, and he's more than capable, but..."

"But-"

"This is different, Maelee. He could be in real danger out there-we still don't know where the people who attacked that farmstead are! What if the Captain runs into them? Three above, we just-we let him go out there by himself!"

The fire danced, flickered, and popped within the confines of the common room fireplace. The wide, rustic space sat empty, save the pair of troopers who sat bundled up in front of the flames which illuminated their surroundings. Upon the walls were hung many weapons, shields, pieces of armor, and game trophies-a number of which had been reclaimed from the trophy rooms of many a raided brigand hideout. Besides these spoils, there were scattered a great many tables, chairs, benches, couches, and even a day bed or two. All in all, it was a perfect place for the men and women who found themselves stationed at the Copper Hills Army Outpost to sit back and unwind after a long day of labor, patrol, guard duty, or drills.

Maelee and Gravin planned to savor their alone time while possible (though, in truth, this was likely due to the fact that just about everyone knew that they were lovers, and simply wanted to leave them be). Draped in a pair of blankets and nursing mugs of warm, spiced honey wine, they cozied up to one another as they watched the flames.

"Different or not," Maelee sighed before taking a drink of honey wine, "Crick is only doing what he's bound by duty to do. I understand your worry-truly, I do, as I share it equally-but I also have faith in his skills and decision-making abilities. And...well, to be fair, he really is the fastest rider of us all."

Gravin chuckled softly. "That he is."

"He earned his position through blood, sweat, and unflinching service, my love. There is nothing to fear. We will see him again; I know in my heart of hearts that it will be so."

Gravin looked at his lover, his dark brown eyes meeting her light blues. Her dirty blonde hair framed her face perfectly, her entire form seeming to glow in the firelight. In that moment, he felt oddly nervous, even though they'd long since become intimately familiar with one other. But...something about her still made him stop dead in his tracks, knocked him off his axis. While that sort of effect might have dissuaded lesser men, it had a positively magnetic effect on Gravin. In fact, even three months on, every time she kissed him or made any sort of sweet, romantic gesture, he would feel butterflies wriggling in his gut.

And he never wanted it to end. He wanted nothing more than to marry her, to start a family with her after their terms of enlistment were up. The knowledge that she felt exactly the same way about him very nearly drove the young trooper over the edge. He felt that it showed in the way that he kissed her, held her, made love to her. She was his everything, and he was hers.

"Gravin."

"Yes, love?"

"You made a proposition to me back in the tower. I expect you to make good on it."