Stench From the South

"In the pines, in the pines,

where the sun never shines

Shiver where the cold winds blow

In the pines, in the pines,

In the cold, lonesome pines

Shiver where the cold winds blow..."

-Traditional Appalachian folk song

"If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break

If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break

And all these people have no place to stay

Now look here mama, what am I to do?

Now look here mama, what am I to do?

I ain't got nobody to tell my troubles to

I works on the levee, mama both night and day

I works on the levee, mama both night and day

I ain't got nobody, keep the water away..."

-Lizzie Douglas, aka 'Memphis Minnie' and Wilbur 'Kansas Joe' McCoy

*****

Chapter I: Cold As Death

Copper Hills Outpost, southern Ralleah

Four miles from the Nocturne border

By the fucking Three, it was too damned cold out here, Gravin thought bitterly. Even the heavy fur that he wore over his armor didn't entirely stave off the biting gusts of wind that frequently slithered through the windows of the guard tower in which he sat. They tore at his uncovered face, chilling him to the bone and making his teeth chatter in an almost percussive manner. He pulled the not-quite-thick-enough covering tighter around his lean frame as he sat huddled within the small structure, staring across the vast expanse of grassy, rolling hills which made up much of the region.

This remote stretch of Rallean countryside was known primarily for two things: valuable ores (as was implied in its' namesake), as well as the cold-weather produce which grew from its' surprisingly fertile soils. While it was true that no one in either the Capital or the Army had reason to suspect a major attack here (every Kingdom in the West was, after all, wealthy and prosperous in its' own right, and there was no reason to threaten relations or trade), there was always the possibility of some far-flung, opportunistic brigand gang threatening the farms or the mining communities. Seeing as there was a great deal of money and resources present in both, some fifty-odd men and women of the Rallean Army would always be stationed at the Copper Hills outpost...just in case.

Gravin was currently in this exact position-and if he were to be asked for his feelings on the matter, he'd have replied truthfully that he was glad to be helping. After all, someone had to keep the area safe, and he was a trained soldier who wasn't afraid to go axe-to-axe with any outlaw scum who tried to pick on decent folk (it also didn't hurt that his pay was almost double what it would have been at most other stations)-so, of course, the pairing only made sense. He would do his duty proudly, and he would do it without complaint.

But the rain and the wind! The near-constant rain and wind!

Late fall, winter, and early spring in southernmost Ralleah might not have been quite as unforgiving as it tended to be down in Nocturne, but in Gravin's mind it felt damned close-at least, it did from where he was sitting. As another gust of wind assaulted the small hut atop the fifteen-foot log wall which encircled the compound, he shivered visibly. Maelee-his watch partner-must have noticed his discomfort, for she reached out and rested a gloved hand on his left shoulder.

"Take comfort, Gravin. Our shift ends in thirty minutes; what say we bundle up by the barracks' fireplace afterwards with some mead and thaw ourselves out?"

Sparing a glance at his companion, he smiled broadly. "I can think of no better way to spend my time after three hours in this mess."

"At least we're not stationed at some Gods-forsaken shack up in the Gravestones," she grumbled, removing her hand and pulling her own fur closer to her body. "I swear, I don't know how anyone does that job. You'd have to throw in a truly spectacular pay bonus in order to get me to spend more than a day in those frozen mountains. You want to talk about abject misery...?"

"No, thank you, this is more than enough misery for me," Gravin said, chuckling in spite of his discomfort as he slipped a small metal flask from a satchel on his belt, clumsily unscrewing its' cap with one frigid, gloved hand. He took a brief swig from its' contents as Maelee, looking on, cocked an eyebrow.

"You know that Crick would have you cleaning the baths and toilets by yourself for a week if he knew that you were indulging on watch, don't you?"

"Sure," he replied with a shrug, swallowing the liquor he'd nipped from the metal container, "but I never overdo it, and it helps keep me warm. Long as it doesn't affect my senses, right...?" He offered it to her and, after a brief pause, she rolled her eyes and plucked it from his hand with a smirk.

"Some model soldier I turned out to be," she muttered, taking a sip before returning it to its' owner.

"You're a regular poster girl."

She let out an amused snort. "Very funny. But, you know, there are other ways to warm up."

"Yes, dear Maelee," Gravin said with a sly grin as he stowed the flask back in his satchel, "and while I am sure it would bring up the temperature, I think I'd rather have you in front of a roaring fire than within the cramped confines of this frigid wooden box."

She looked at him, a blush which he was certain to not entirely be the fault of the weather creeping onto her cheeks. "I was going to suggest we simply huddle together for warmth, you rascal."

Gravin grinned at her. "Of course, darling."

"You know," she said, a more serious tone creeping into her voice, "I look forward to the day that we can return to Braelon and truly start our lives together, Gravin. I dream of it almost nightly."

"As do I," he said, his smile fading as it was replaced by a look of earnest sincerity, a gust of wind nearly drowning out his voice. "I have only known you three months, but I am already sure that I want you as my wife."

He could swear that he saw the onset of tears in her eyes as she reached out and took his hand in her own.

"My love," she said, "I am eternally thankful to the Three for bringing us together. It thrills me to know that this is only the beginning of our journey."

"I love you, Maelee. Never forget that."

Her eyes closed, and she squeezed his hand. He returned the favor, leaning in to kiss her. She accepted the motion happily, their cold lips meeting for a moment before she flicked her tongue playfully into his mouth. He broke the connection and leaned back, narrowing his eyes at her and smirking knowingly. She gave him a slight shrug, winked at him, and then blew a kiss. He turned away so as to hide the blush that had crept up into his own cheeks.

"Maelee, I-"

"Gravin," she said in a hushed tone.

He glanced back at his lover, and saw that her smile had died. She was staring out to the east, captivated by something on the horizon. Furrowing his brow, Gravin looked out in the same general direction.

"What is-?"

He stopped short, the words dying in his throat. Almost immediately he had noticed what it was that it had transfixed her, even though it was still some distance away. From the confines of the tower, they could just make it out: the form of a lone horse and rider, trotting along the simple dirt road which led toward the entrance of the outpost.

"Why would anyone be out riding in this weather?" Gravin grumbled.

"Don't be ridiculous! Almost no one comes here unless it's with ill news, you know that," Maelee replied bluntly. "Be ready to report to Crick."

"Should I just let him know now-?"

"No! We can't leave each other alone! Wait until he's within shouting distance, so that we might find out who he is...and what tidings he brings," she finished grimly.

Gravin found himself glancing off to his right at the longbow and large quiver of arrows leaning against the wall of the small structure, feeling somewhat reassured. He and Maelee were both competent shots with the weapon, and if need be, either of them could probably put the rider down. He immediately chastised himself for thinking of such a thing, however; it would not do to be paranoid, as this person would almost certainly need their help.

The mounted figure grew closer, briefly disappearing and then reappearing from behind a large rocky outcropping that flanked one side of the road. By now, the lovebird sentries could clearly see that their mystery man was slumped over in his saddle, his body swaying sickeningly from side to side as his steed half-trotted, half-ran up the road toward the outpost. Looking on apprehensively from the tower, Gravin finally broke the silence.

"Maelee?"

"Yes?"

"Stay here, and be ready to come down at a moment's notice. I don't like the look of this one bit, but I'm going to head down and meet him at the gate."

She looked over in alarm. "Gravin, no! You don't know-"

He met her eyes and raised his gloved hand to cradle her face. Her eyes closed, and she reached up to grasp his wrist. "He's almost certainly wounded or ill, by the looks of him, and duty dictates I try to help him. But I know that I'll have you covering me, Maelee, if things go south," he said quietly, just barely audible over the howling of the wind. "And that's enough to negate any worries I might have. Just...be ready to move, would you?"

She sighed. "Three protect you, my love."

He leaned in and kissed her softly. "With you at my back, I'm not sure that I'd even need them."

With that, Gravin stood and swept out the door of the guard tower. As he did, the first drops of a long-brewing afternoon rain began to fall upon its' dense, shingled rooftop.

*****

Captain Balthus Crick, without getting up from his old wooden chair, edged himself just a little bit closer to the flames which flickered softly within the confines of his quarters' fireplace. Not so close as to become unpleasant, but just enough so that he'd stay toasty all over. He wasn't even particularly cold-he just felt comfortable being near the fire. As he sighed and took a sip from his mug of fragrant black tea (his favorite M'zaeren blend), he listened to the soft pattering of the rain against his window. While he was most certainly an exceedingly tough man who could take anything that was thrown at him-as had been proven countless times throughout his career in the Rallean Army-he still found himself feeling profoundly grateful for the fact that he did not have to perform guard duty or patrols out in inclement weather anymore. One of the many perks of officer life, he thought to himself with a smirk.

As he brought the mug back up to his lips, a sudden, sharp knocking sounded at the door to his quarters. Frowning, he leaned over the armrest of his chair to get a look, setting the mug onto his desk.

"You may enter," he called out gruffly.

The doorknob turned, and a young recruit named Seilin half-ran, half-stumbled into the firelit room. Her frizzy, dark brown hair was unkempt and her breathing was sharp and shallow-she appeared as if she'd been running at top speed. She looked at the Captain, who waited patiently for her report.

"Captain, in the infirmary-! I-I'm sorry to interrupt-"

"You ought to be, I was in the middle of my afternoon tea," he snarled as her eyes widened. The Captain let her hang for another second, and then smiled. "Lighten up, trooper, I only kid. Now, what's this about the infirmary? Did someone get shit-housed on watch and fall off the wall again?"

"No, sir! A rider-didn't rightly catch his name-came to the gate. Troopers Maelee and Gravin said he sounded mad, raving about how his farm was attacked and that people were dead. He's wounded pretty badly, though-they're seeing to him now. Healer Bacceus sent me to fetch you, sir."

"Consider me fetched, soldier," Balthus said, rising from his chair and straightening his black tunic. "Let's get to the infirmary, then."

The Captain sighed internally as he strode alongside his recruit, descending the wooden steps leading to the officers' quarters and through the candlelit halls. There hadn't been a reported brigand attack in months, he thought angrily, why break that record now? It wasn't as if the Kingdom was neglecting even its' most far-flung citizens; even out here in this desolate stretch of countryside the farmers and miners were always well-paid, well-supplied, and tended to in all ways-so much so that it negated the need for banditry, frankly. These fucking scum, he thought, why can't they just find honest work and get along? But, then again, sometimes people just wanted to take from others and see them suffer-and that was where he came in. Looks like my troops and I will be teaching some wicked folk some very, very hard lessons, he thought grimly as they rounded to corner to the infirmary. Oh yes, friends and neighbors, it looked as if it were time again to get some clean blades bloody.

"This man-he said that people were dead, soldier?"

"Y-yes sir," Seilin said, looking up at the massively-built, bearded Captain, clearly overwhelmed by both his sheer physical presence, multiple battle scars, and steely gaze, "I didn't get the specifics, though; I was too busy charging through the outpost getting to you, sir."

"You've done well, lass," he said as they stopped in front of the heavy oak door to the infirmary. "Head back to the barracks and relax, I'll take it from here. I'll brief you and the rest of the troops when I know all that I need to-until then, you will please refrain from speculating with the rest of your comrades. Tell them only that someone was hurt, and that you don't know anything else if they question you further. Dismissed."

She nodded. "Yes, sir. Will do, sir!"

She turned and headed back down the hallway toward the barracks and her bed. She was a good one, Seilin was. Suffered from a slight lack of confidence at times, but he preferred that to the massively inflated egos some other recruits developed after receiving their armor and weapons (at least, until he or another seasoned fighter inevitably humbled those youngsters in the training yard). Really, the lass just needed encouragement and a good opportunity or two to prove her worth to both herself and others-and if she got those things, Balthus knew she had the potential to be one of the greats. He'd always had a knack for seeing the treasures hidden within his soldiers that way.

Smiling to himself, he turned back to the door and pushed it open, only to be greeted by the sight of Healer Bacceus and Healer Strad, as well as troopers Maelee and Gravin-the secret lovebirds who were, in truth, exceedingly bad at actually keeping that love a secret. Bacceus and Strad hovered over a figure that lay upon one of the two dozen beds, while Maelee and Gravin stood off to the side, looking on anxiously as the two Healers tended to their charge. As Balthus approached, Bacceus glanced over at him, relief crossing his features.

"Captain, you're here! Thank the Three!"

Balthus nodded. "I'm hearing some disquieting rumors, Bacceus."

"Aye, sir," chimed in Strad, "to say the least, that is."

Balthus cut in. "Who is he?"

"Name's Amos Fessely, sir," said Bacceus. "Owns and operates a farmstead about three miles to the southwest."

"He's suffering from a number of injuries, sir, and he has lost a not insignificant amount of blood," explained Strad. "Apologies if you'd planned to question him immediately; some of these wounds are quite serious, therefore I fed him a mild sleeping potion just a few moments ago so that we might finish treating him without much trouble."

Balthus waved a hand dismissively at the Healer. "Don't trouble yourselves, there'll be time enough for that later. Just keep at it, both of you. Now, you two," he said, turning to face the two sentries, "are going to tell me everything. One at a time-starting with you, Maelee."

She stepped forward, clearing her throat. "Sir, he arrived not ten minutes ago, riding a horse that we have stabled out in the barn. He carried nothing other than the clothes on his back. When his horse stopped at the gate, he just...fell off; we thought for a moment that he'd died right then and there. We hauled him inside, of course; some of the others brought him here to the infirmary while Gravin and I went back outside and put up the horse."

"A disturbing start," Balthus muttered, a trace of worry creeping into his voice as he glanced back at the unconscious Mister Fessely before returning his gaze to his troopers. "Seilin mentioned that he was going on about his farmstead being attacked," he said to Gravin. "What do you know of the specifics?"

"Admittedly...well, not much, sir. I went to the gate to meet him, Captain," said Gravin, stepping forward beside his comrade. "After he fell off of his horse, I rushed to him, see what was the matter-then he began mumbling and raving about...about...well, something about how 'they' had killed his family and his hands back at his farm. Didn't say who exactly who 'they' were, though. He seemed exhausted, and in too much pain to say any more."

"Sir, I know where the Fessely farmstead is," said Maelee, "and with your permission, I would like to take a horse and investigate."

"You are brave, Maelee, and that is why you belong here rather than sitting at the Braelon Gate," said Crick. "However, we are likely dealing with a group of exceedingly dangerous brigands who may still be lurking in the area, and I would be a piss-poor commander if I were to let you go alone. Gravin and myself will ride with you. We'll scout the place to start; I'd like to get an idea of approximately how many we're dealing with-maybe even determine where their base of operations is located, so we might start planning a raid. Now, both of you, collect whatever gear you think you'll need and wait for me by the front door! We leave in ten minutes! Dismissed!"

A brief chorus of 'yes sir's followed his proclamation, and the two fell out, rushing from the firelit infirmary. After they had gone, Bacceus spoke up. "Sir, I-what kind of brigand...bites his victims?"

That made Balthus whip around instantly. "Excuse me?"

"Sir, none of these wounds were the result of arrow, blade, or bludgeon."

"Bite-what the fuck are you saying? That this man was...chewed on by his assailants? This had best be some tasteless joke, Bacceus."

"They are certainly neither wolf nor mountain cat bites, sir," Strad cut in grimly. "They are, in fact, consistent with the size and teeth patterns of a human being. There is no question: this man was bitten by his attacker-or attackers-several times, in fact. Some were shallow enough only to leave marks, but a few others took whole pieces of flesh from his left arm. He had the foresight to tie the arm off off using a piece of his tunic, at least; had he not done so, he might have bled to death before he made it here. I am hoping that there will be no infection, but it is too soon to tell."

"I'm sure that it was a rough few miles' ride, at any rate," said Bacceus quietly. "Thank the Three we were able to get to him in time."

"This gets stranger by the minute," Balthus muttered, stroking his beard.

"I have never heard of such a thing," Bacceus said quietly. "Maybe the most lunatic of the tribespeople from the southern ice fields would commit such a feral and savage act...but I have my doubts that they were involved, to say the least."

"I share those doubts," said Strad, looking up from his patient. "No tribal band would have made it this far north; no one in Nocturne would have missed them-the Southern Rangers watch the mountain passes like hawks. No, I think we may be dealing with our own brand of local madmen-perhaps this is some sort of...sick scare tactic? I shudder to think what sort of psychopath would do such a thing."

"Speculation will get us nowhere, Healer Strad," Balthus said. "That is why I plan to investigate the Fessely Farmstead. We need facts, and we need them quickly."