Herald of death

As they near Balmwood, Sylas glances over his shoulder at the guards. They are tumbling forward rather than walking, dragged down by exhaustion. Dry blood and dirt mar their gambesons. Many wince as they walk, hindered by superficial but unpleasant wounds. Like Sylas, they were already tired from their training; the attack and the sleepless night left them drained.

Next to Sylas, the cart he made carries the thirteen corpses of the men who attacked them. Jule, the other poisoned man-at-arm, and the civilians recovered enough to walk, but not without someone helping them. On their own, they would stumble and fall, still heavily drugged by the poisons and Hawryn's treatment.

Liliana rides at the front, beside the horse that drags the cart. She appears worried but not tired like everyone else. Sylas cannot ignore the many doubts he has about her, but the urgency and gravity of the situation convince him to put his worries aside. He will get his answers later.

Hawryn is nowhere to be seen. Earlier, he said that he would move ahead of their group to scout for ambushes. Sylas doubts that the enemy would try. They chose to attack them at night, using frenzied locals to spare their own forces. The one Sylas fought was good, but not enough to threaten their alert group.

The palisades of the village appear after a last turn of the forest path. The same militiaman as before spots them and descends to open the gates. A sizable crowd forms behind the village's entrance, visibly worried by their arrival. Even people who haven't noticed them seem worried, as if they knew something terrible happened.

As the cart crosses the village's threshold, the worried gazes turn to fear and disgust. Some leave the crowd to spread the news, and soon it feels as if the entire village surrounds them.

Liliana dismounts from her horse and gives the reins to one of the men-at-arms. He takes them but seems to forget what he should do with the horse, frozen by the stares. She steps towards the gathering crowd, and the gazes turn to her. "Last night, someone poisoned members of your community and set them upon us. They were rabid, far gone because of the frenzying venom in their veins."

The faces turn even darker, and some people collapse, taken by grief even before they see who is dead. A woman breaks out of the crowd to look at the bodies. Her arms shake, and her face contorts into horror. A muffled cry exits her, and her legs fail her.

Sylas catches the woman in her fall, stopping her from collapsing in the mud. He receives an elbow to the chin as she writhes, unable to contain her grief and pain.

"We need you to identify the victims and tell us everything you know about their activities. Where they worked, the exact roads they took, who they talked to," Liliana continues. She ignores the rare furious stares that fall on her. "We believe the ones responsible, these monsters, also burned down a merchant caravan yesterday. They are armed and dangerous."

Sylas wonders for a moment if her speech doesn't risk alarming their enemies if they are in town. At the very least they should watch the gates to see who leaves in a hurry.

A kid in his late teens takes the woman from Sylas' arms to guide her away. He's staring at one of the corpses with heavy eyes but leads her past the crowd without breaking down.

A rock flies into Liliana's chest and bounces off her leather armor. She looks in the direction it came from. "I cannot pretend I understand the grief some of you are going through. But I can promise you we'll find the people responsible and make them suffer for what they did."

The hair on Sylas' neck rises, prompting him to look to the side as a feeling of being observed creeps into his mind. Amongst the houses, he sees a shadowed figure looking back at him – a tall, muscular man. He doesn't look like the ones who attacked him.

The man fiddles with a piece of metal, passing it in-between his fingers to display his dexterity. He stops as he sees Sylas looking back and opens his hand to wave. He's missing two fingers.

Sylas pushes past the crowd, and the man steps back to vanish behind a house. Breaking into a run, Sylas reaches the spot in seconds but finds a darkened, empty alley. A piece of paper lies on a barrel, weighed down by a small pebble. He sees Liliana approaching and shoves the note into his pocket. It was instinctive, and now that she stands before him, he cannot pull the paper out; what would he say?

"Did you see something?" Liliana asks.

"I thought I saw one of the men who attacked us," Sylas lies. "Must have been the lack of sleep."

"Yeah, you don't look so good," Liliana comments. She points at the approaching Storis and his squad. "You should come with us. We are going to the mayor's; Loren's group is there."

"Sure," Sylas confirms. He waits for her to take the head of the formation and places himself at the back, feigning to watch the streets. Convinced that none of the guards are watching him, he takes out the note. He waits for Liliana to talk with Storis before reading. "Bad night? It's only about to get worse. I've been trying to talk to you, but the witch doesn't leave you alone for a moment. By the way, if the kid is stupid enough to share this with you, I'll get us even for the fingers. If you can put two and two together, you'll be headed northeast today. I only need a few minutes of your time. Lie that you need to take a piss or something and get far enough for her not to hear. It means far. I'll be there."

Sylas crumples the note into his pocket and looks forward, thinking. He cannot ignore Liliana's lies, and now he has absolute certitude that she hid her fight with this mysterious man. But why would she fight him if he only wanted to talk? Surely, nothing he might say would be so dangerous to her. It means he's lying, but it might be Sylas' opportunity to shed some light on the situation.

"This country is going to shit; their soldiers can't even face a bunch of peasants," a mercenary comments to his group. They are lounging at their usual spot – on crates near the tavern. It's evident that he raised his voice just enough for the guards to hear. "Look at them. What will it look like when they fight real monsters? A squad of coffins that's it."

Sylas glances at the group, scanning their weapons. They all have swords, and two carry bows tucked over their chests. But the arrow's fletchings he finds aren't the same as those used by their assailants. It reinforces his doubts. Whoever attacked them made a poor attempt at seeding conflicts between them.

Conflict, however, comes. One of the men-at-arms snaps and turns his head to the mercenaries. "You weren't there!"

"Is your daddy going to intervene again?" the mercenary asks, looking at Sylas as he approaches.

"Return to your position," Sylas orders with a stare, ignoring the man's provocation.

Liliana places herself close to Sylas, close enough for him to sense her perfume. She stares at the belligerent man with a cold stare hinting at disgust. "You –"

"What?" he cuts. He moves uncomfortably close to Sylas, a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Do you need a woman to speak for yourself? I said the standard had dropped, but who could have imagined officers unable to muster a little retort?"

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A movement of the man's hand jolts Sylas' entire body as his mind sees it as him reaching for a dagger. Before he can calm his nerves, Sylas sends his backhand into the man's plexus, throwing him into the mud.

The mercenaries spread to place themselves on the squad's sides but refrain from drawing any weapon.

"You shit!" the one on the ground spits. He rolls to his feet and throws himself at Sylas, his arms spread to tackle Sylas' legs.

Sylas' knee connects with the man's chin, throwing him back down. Before the man's back crashes into the mud, Sylas sees himself grabbing him by the collar and crashing his fist into the man's face. It comes with a rush of blood-red anger – an instantaneous, explosive release of all that his mind tried to suppress for weeks.

Liliana's hand grasps Sylas' forearm, and anger leaves him, smothered by a fog taking over his mind. She whispers, "That's enough. Anymore and you'll kill him."

Sylas lets go of the battered man. He stares at his mangled face for a moment, realizing how far he went in his wrath. Where was it when he fought for his life, unable to take that of his assailant? Acid climbs in his throat, but he restrains it before looking back at the mercenaries. "Take him away; I don't want to see him again."

In between venomous stares and scared glances, the mercenaries grab their wounded and leave the place. A few dozen bystanders halted to watch and seem unable to stop staring at Sylas. The same goes for the men-at-arms, stupefied by what they just saw.

Storis isn't stunned like the kids, but concern shows on his face. He must be loathing his situation – forced to deal with an emotion bomb when enemies lurk around.

The only one who's unaffected is Liliana, smiling lightly as she smudges off a stain of blood from Sylas' face. The fog that smothered Sylas' wrath lifts as she leaves him to go towards the tavern. His heart leaps into a frenetic rhythm, jolting him awake and aware despite the exhaustion he suffers from. He only ever felt such adrenaline when his life was in mortal danger.

"Intimidation leveled up," the system announces, the words barely registering.

"How long can I go without sleep?" Sylas whispers to himself. His Endurance ability keeps his body in good condition, but he can feel his mind slipping away.

"Did you say something, sir?" Storis asks, still looking concerned. He moved beside Sylas as the troops wait on him to join Liliana in the building.

"That was nothing," Sylas dismisses. He rubs his tired eyes and looks up at the tavern's entrance. Loren waits there, leaning his back on the doorframe with his arms crossed.

Storis whispers, "I'd advise not to antagonize him. If they aren't the ones after us, his mercenaries may be useful, sir."

"I wouldn't put much hope into that. Stay outside with the kids," Sylas whispers back. He climbs the short flight of stairs leading to the huge building and passes Loren to go inside. "We need to talk."

Lauren tuts but follows Sylas. He spares a glance to the squad outside before turning to his men, silently ordering them to behave with a cold stare. He seems unbothered by what happened outside, more serious and calmer than a few days ago.

The tavern is as lively as the last time. Loren's men make up half of the patrons, occupying one half of the floor. The city folk stay on the other side, as if an invisible frontier divided the building and bar. Karn is absent, but the usual barmaid works behind the counter.

Liliana, Loren, and Sylas place themselves around an empty table. Before anything is said, Sylas grabs the sword of his attacker and places it on the table before Loren. It triggers a faint twitch in Loren's expression as he sees the blade. Sylas says, "Yesterday a caravan was attacked on his way here, and last night our camp was too. One of them was carrying this sword, which I find very similar to yours."

"I would flay the bastard who lets his sword rust like that. It's not one of ours," Loren spits. His angered expression softens as he notices something. His fingers find a mark stamped into the base of the blade. "But it might have been."

"How did you lose it?" Liliana asks.

"Some time ago we set camp in a ruin northeast of here. We were attacked in the night, and I lost one of my men there," Loren answers.

"By whom?" Sylas pushes.

"They looked human," Loren answers with a shrug. "Nobody saw their faces. But I'll always remember the way they attacked us. They waited for clouds to obscure the moons and rained arrows on our side. We regrouped and moved behind cover, but the bastards had planned for it. It pushed us into traps laid long before we came to the place."

"How did you make it out?" Liliana asks.

"Once we regrouped and organized, they stopped attacking us. Their arrows couldn't pierce our shields, and at the time I thought they were unwilling to clash with us. But now I think they were expecting us to track them until their poison dropped those who had been hit. Thankfully, we were already far when that happened," Loren answers. "One of my men vanished before or during that fight. I think this was his sword."

"The tracks leading away from the caravan were going northeast too," Sylas comments to Liliana. He recalls the same direction being mentioned by the crumpled message in his pocket. Could the man missing fingers be one of their attackers?

"Same with the coal burners. One of my guys went to buy from them in the evening. Didn't find them, obviously, but he noticed sets of tracks going both south and northeast." Loren adds. He looks to the side, towards his men. "Listen, we didn't start on the best foot, but I want to help. I should have seen the signs way before, but now it's evident that someone is starving the town."

One of the mercenaries who was outside when the fight happened stands up with enough strength to overthrow his stool. "Fuck, Boss! He almost killed Frank; you can't help them! We should be dragging him outside to get even!"

"The only thing you'll do is sit tight while we get more information!" Loren barks back. A hint of worry crosses his expression before he forces it into an unyielding stare.

"Mutiny brewing?" Sylas asks in a whisper.

"What? No," Loren answers. "They are stupid but not that stupid. I'm worried about the situation."

"How?" Liliana asks. "Can't you grab your catch and skip town?"

"Lady, if the nearby towns suffer, I lose a good hunting ground," Loren denies. He seems unconvinced by his own answer. "Try to get twenty scumbags to hole up in the forest for weeks at a time. They'd be bitching about bugs, hard beds, soggy food, …"

Liliana and Sylas look at him and then at his men leisurely enjoying ale, mead, and varied meals. They glance at each other with a shrug and turn back to Loren.

"Anyway," Loren dismisses. "We should scout their positions while the sun is out. At least get to know who's attacking the town."

"The fort you were attacked at seems like a decent first stop," Sylas comments.

"It is," Loren confirms. "With the lady's mount, I've enough horses for four of us to go look at it before nightfall. Us three, and that soldier of yours who scouted our camp last night."

"No," Liliana refuses. A hint of panic crosses her expression before vanishing. "I'll go with you and Hawryn. Sylas, you stay with Storis, Walf, and the squads. This town needs to be patrolled until we know what we are dealing with."

Sylas feels like he cannot miss the opportunity to finally learn what she's been up to. He straightens himself slightly as he opposes, "I'll go. If anything, we should bring more people. They've shown that they can only rely on underhanded tactics. I say we take those whose constitution will help against poisons and invade this fort."

"We can't risk both of us at the same time," Liliana says. "If something happens, the other needs to be here to command the squads."

"We both know this is bullshit. If anything, you should stay with them," Sylas retorts. He feels himself letting go to the exhaustion again and takes a moment to calm himself. "And if I got that right, the town itself isn't in danger while Karn is here."

"I agree with him; it'd be best if the people we risk have good constitution," Loren points out. He pulls out a vial from one of his satchels. "I've stocked up on anti-poisons, but you still need to be able to stomach them, potentially several times."

"I'm immune to most poisons," Liliana counters. She bites her lip for a furtive moment as if she did not intend to divulge that information. Sylas' refusal of her order seems to have unsettled her. "And Hawryn will know how to heal most of what they can brew here."

"Huh," Loren comments, looking at her with a glint of realization. He gives the air a furtive sniff as if a cooking smell had wafted from the kitchen. "So, what do we do? Small group or large one? If you want to bring other soldiers, it will take longer."

Sylas tries to sense what Loren smelled. He wouldn't say no to a meal if one is being cooked. He finds nothing, but something bugs him; Liliana isn't wearing any perfume. He's convinced he sensed one before the fight outside but knows she wouldn't wear one. Storis had chewed out a recruit for using a faint cologne; it would put him at risk of being smelled by an enemy or a beast.

"So, what are we doing?" Loren asks again, looking at Sylas.

Sylas shakes off his thoughts and refocuses on the matter at hand. "Rethinking it, I doubt our recruits have good chances of resisting their poisons. We'll go there with the group you proposed: us three and our scout."

Liliana tries to say something, but Sylas ignores her as he steps towards the door. She brings her hand forward to catch his arm but stops as she sees Loren looking at her. Whatever he's realized about her is putting her on edge.