My gaze wanders through the campsite and I notice Ralith looking possibly more lost than Pil. Is it his first time outside of the city walls? I make a note not to get injured.
Twitch is hunkered down awkwardly next to Vong looking, for all intents and purposes, keen on shanking and robbing the young aristocrat for nothing but his tunic. I watch her eyes dart to the fire, to Vong, to Rakatha’s sword, to the frypan, to Ralith’s pack, to Vong, to my spellbook.
She notices me notice her and grins sheepishly. At least I’m sure that’s what she intended, even if what came out was something more akin to a person choking on a fish bone.
“Dinner is served!” proclaims Vong proudly and begins ladling out a concoction of rice porridge, leeks, and a golden sauce that is lumpy like an old mattress. Unable to stomach any more camaraderie for the day, I grab my pack and walk to the campsite’s edge, settling down among the roots of a knobby tree. I enjoy my preserved rations with all the joy of a prisoner tossed the warden’s leavings. A treat, all things considered.
Between the utter excitement of Apul and Ralith and Twitch, Vong is not able to find a spare moment to disturb me and I am able to enjoy my evening as much as is possible in the circumstances. Neatly tucked into the nodulous root system, I touch my mind to my owl’s. It is having its own dinner of field mouse and pays me little mind as I probe with its senses.
Through my familiar’s senses, I can tell that the campsite is secure and the prey in this strand of the forest are plump, no doubt with grain from nearby fields. Few people realize how far a rodent will travel in a day for a meal. It could be argued that they are better off not knowing.
Night passes uneventfully, somehow.
Morning comes quickly and I perform my usual calisthenics and meditations as the rest of the party rises and prepares for the day. Pil watches my routine longingly as Rakatha, once again, enters himself into competition with me for morning workouts. He wishes to impress the lad, but I am not certain why. It is, of course, nice to be adored. Yet the air of desperation around Rakatha’s actions lends more to a jealous lover than a proud champion.
As is becoming usual, I am packed and ready to leave before Vong has even started cooking. It’s fried eggs over rice today and it smells good so I decide I will partake. The party isn’t going to make themselves ready until all are fed and done anyway.
While breakfast is cooking, I busy myself with some light scouting toward the road and pause at the edge of the tree line. There is nothing very much to see. Just a couple years ago, one would have seen leagues and leagues of rolling, pastoral fields dotted with ancient oaks and charming pine groves. The landscape now, however, still shows the wear of its occupation by the Orc Hordes and continuing fight against their lingering bushfighters.
It isn’t until late afternoon, after marching along side roads at a moderate pace, that Twitch alerts the group to the distinctive odor of charred wood and burned bodies wafting in from the northwest. It doesn’t take me long to identify a thin, low cloud beyond the distant trees as being the cast-off of a smoldering structure. I am not the only one to see it, and Vong rushes ahead with Twitch to scout the trees on either side while the rest of the group approaches carefully.
I see Vong give the all clear. Then Twitch. I lead the others through the dense copse to a farm razed to the ground.
“What happened?” Vong asks no one in particular. The earnest concern in his voice grates on me like salt in a wound.
It’s plain to see what happened. Two modestly-sized homes and a granary burned to ashes. The stable, untouched. Blackened bodies among the cinders. About a dozen. All bodies appear to be inside the burnt out buildings; none in the yard. Tracks everywhere. Some leading to the field, some to the trees. Short, wide feet without shoes. One doesn’t need to be a tracker to realize goblins came through. Whether they were responsible for the fire is about the only question left.
The party takes in the scene for several long moments and I wonder if they’ve realized that they aren’t up to the task, at last.
Finally Ralith speaks, “I should give them last rites.”
“Yeah, good idea,” says Vong and takes a step toward the bodies.
It would be a kindness if Corporal Level could see this incompetence directly! Clear signs of the enemy in our midsts—a fresh trail from sabotage to saboteur—and he wishes to comfort the dead.
Again, I am forced to speak up to counter the party’s errant ways. “Following this trail here is our highest priority. These peasants are beyond our help and the goblin unit may still be close by.”
“Goblins did this?!” Vong looks at me, shocked.
Luckily Twitch has been scanning around and speaks up, “Reckon he’s right. Y’can see them little feetprints ‘round here.”
Vong, Rakatha, and Ralith all huddle around where Twitch is pointing, covering up the enemy’s tracks with their own. There are plenty more to follow but the sheer idiocy is staggering. These are the ones that made it past the interview? I make a note to talk to Level about raising the bar on the recruitment process.
The afternoon light is beginning to fade so our ability to track the goblin unit is waning. The trail is followed into the field where it splits off in every direction. Backtracking into the trees, the party finds a small fire pit that was dug out less than a mile from the farmhouses. The distinctive way in which it was extinguished—with excrement—is another telltale sign that goblins had, indeed, been in the area.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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