Chapter 6: No Time for Goodbye
Morning came and went like most mornings in an armed camp; tents were broken down, the string of protective wards were re-bundled and weapons were sharpened while those who'd completed their assigned tasks took care of basic hygiene. For the wounded, it was having their bandages checked and redressed as needed, insisting they could help even though half an arm was missing.
It wasn't the buzz of early morning activity one saw in a city, but to Amaranth, it was energizing- they'd be out of the forest in a couple of days, back where she was ironically more comfortable. Perhaps it was the feeling that her station in life actually held some weight, where as in the woods, it was only the strong who held reign.
She frowned at that thought as she finished cleaning herself, combing her unruly hair back with her fingers in preparation for the day. The entire forest had gone eerily quiet before sunrise, save the steady click-clatter of branches overhead rustling in the wind. The distant, pervasive drone of insects carried on the wind like an echo from beyond the Pale, a faint memory from another time and yet...
Ammy looked around.
There was nothing around them but woods and the suffocating press of plants trying to reclaim the land the puny mortals trod. The young paladin braced her hand against a tree, closing her amber eyes and opening her senses. The power flowed through her from the base of her spine up her entire back, coating her skin in the tingle of divine power.
It was a truism of any magically active creature that they could taste or smell the magic of other creatures, even unconsciously and that magic itself had a very specific- and often consuming- presence in the world. Like the background noise of a busy city which could be filtered out given enough time and practice. Paladins were probably the least magically active, yet even they could feel the pulse of the world's natural energies.
But there was nothing... It was wasn't the void that the woman in brown armor had left, it was a different kind of absence- as though the power from the world had been drained away. It was quiet, peaceful in fact, yet at the same time it was like looking at a painting devoid of colors; something was just
off
about it. Why hadn't she noticed last night?
Amaranth slowly opened her eyes to survey the woods around her for any movement. When nothing immediately noticeable struck her, she turned back to the camp. They were almost done, she promised herself. They'd get out of here and then they could take care of the things they needed to. Richard smiled when he caught sight of her.
They had a future to look forward to, after all.
After getting the wounded loaded on to the horses, Ammy stole a final glance back to the clearing. Still as empty as the magical aura. What wasn't empty- and what she wouldn't have expected in a hundred years, however- was the road they'd stopped beside.
Heads. Six of them. Neatly mounted on wood stakes in a phalanx watching the small party with empty eye sockets. Two of them were obviously lycan- long snouts and ears protruding between blood matted tufts of hair and fur- but the others looked mostly human. That was, until Markus approached and cautiously lifted the lip of one of them. The dagger like canines were a give away.
Amaranth and the soldiers paused, unsure of what to make of it, but instinctively scanning the woods around them- suddenly aware of how exposed they were.
Richard stepped toward the display, shoulders slumped. "This was the man I spoke to..." He looked to Markus, "This was his pack. It must mean there's a group of hunters out here."
Markus knelt down looking up at the heads. After a few seconds he shook his head and stood. "No, it was one person."
"What?" Ammy startled. One of the soldiers echoed her question and Markus pointed at the neck stump of one of the heads. "What about it?"
"They used a crisscross pattern-" he hefted one of the stakes out of the ground with some effort, turning it so they could see the back of the head. Half of the neck was still visible, the spine sheared on either side to form a neat V at the end of it. "Look... You need a heavy blade to do this kind of damage and a hell of a lot of control. All of them are the same way, too."
"Couldn't they have been killed first?" One of the soldiers asked.
"No," Richard looked back. "You have to remove the head, otherwise they regenerate."
"Good gods spare us..."
They all shared a look which needed no translating; before anything could be said, Richard made a hand gesture for running and they turned to the trail, picking up a steady jog. Markus started them on a steady pace the other soldiers could easily match and they could all carry for a few leagues at least. Amaranth took the rear, a soldier and Richard on the left flank and two soldiers on the opposite flank with the wounded in between them.
Jogging was easy once it was put out of the mind. Just one foot fall after another. None the less, Amaranth's mind wandered frequently to what kind of person could have killed six werewolves and, more importantly, whether or not they were a threat to Richard and Markus. The city could survive without either of its knights, but if Richard was to be hurt or killed, that would be the end of everything they'd spent a generation building up.
"Ngh, shut up." She whispered. The compulsion to serve was powerful and her mind found no end of disastrous scenarios should she fail to uphold her obligations as both a knight and a paladin; more important than any of those, however, she couldn't let them go. No, they were her family. They were the other parts that made her whole.
She wouldn't lose them. No matter what happened, she couldn't lose them.
The entire troop plodded along at a jog through the muddy underbrush, managing a good clip. They shared a water skin without even breaking stride and for a while it actually looked as though they'd make it all the way out at this rate. If not for the frailties of mortality, maybe they would have; eventually they came to a stop, panting under overheated armor with sweat pouring from their hot skin.
They plodded on for a few hundred feet of walking, then another brief jog. They fell into this pattern until even Markus had exhausted himself and the entire group slowed to a shuffling gait.
It was the perfect time for someone to attack, they all knew it.
Not one to waste an opportunity, it seemed, they were obliged by fate- Amaranth felt the void-like presence a second before a familiar dark blur burst from the woods in front of them. Amaranth had just started to turn forward from looking over her shoulder when she saw the motion sweep her periphery.
A glint of steel- a horse neighed, a man screamed, crimson arced through the air in a vicious spray. By the time she'd turned her head completely, already surging forward to protect the soldier who was still alive, the sword had cut through horse and man alike. The horse was falling, taking with it the wounded men atop it's back. An arm was in free fall from its former owner. Brown and gold trimmed platemail glinted- dark, diseased armor clad around a short woman.
