Dawn, the day after their marriage.
Jun'ai and Hakkon walked the switchback trail down toward the village. The sun crested the opposite ridge casting the whole valley in a golden glow.
They had been travelling all through the night to get back. Jun'ai was still sore from making love to Hakkon.
Up ahead, a break in the canopy, they saw a plume of smoke rising from Spring Wind.
"What do you make of that, husband?" Jun'ai said, a small smile touched her lips.
However, Hakkon wasn't smiling. "I'm not sure."
They picked their way down the narrow mountain trail. For most of the trek the village was obscured, but in the occasional break in the foliage, Jun'ai would pause to assess the situation. When she did, her worry grew.
It seemed several of the buildings were on fire. This was not simply smoke from chimneys. And she could make out the faint echo of yelling.
At last they reached the floor of the valley. The trees broke and they were in the clear. They approached the first of the outlying farms, their fear mounted, the homes had been abandoned. No sign why.
Then as they got closer to the village proper, they heard the unmistakable sound of battle. The ring of steel on steel, the screams of dying, and the roar of unfinished lumber set to torch.
Neither of them had thought to bring weapons to their own wedding. Jun'ai swore under her breath. "Follow me." And went to the nearest farmhouse. It belonged to Kaiteru and Kiku.
Nothing seemed amiss. Pottery stacked against one wall, tools on the other. Some food lay strewn about the table. A meal half prepared. Behind the hut, they found a massive bow and quiver of arrows. The draw was too much for her but perfect for the huge minotaur. She took a knife from the kitchen. It wasn't much, but better than nothing.
Then at a stack of chopped firewood she found a spear. Intended for hunting vermin, it was short with a small head. It wasn't much of a weapon, but she preferred that to the vegetable knife. She ended up taking both.
They ran side by side. "Who's attacking?" Jun'ai asked.
"How would I know?"
"Fine. Then who else lives in these mountains?"
"No one." They ran some time. Then he added. "There are scavengers living below the Kharolis Mountains. In the foothills. But they never come this far north."
"Who are they?"
"Savages."
The two slowed when they neared the first of the burning buildings. The roof had already caved in. The beams cracked and smoldered on the dirt floor. Hakkon knocked an arrow. Jun'ai levelled her spear. They advanced cautiously, crouched low, creating a small profile.
Movement. A blur past the hut. It was too fast for Jun'ai to get a good look at, but it seemed to be lanky.
More crashes of steel on steel. This time coming from the other side of the village square. The battle was moving away and seemed to be winding down. She hoped that would make the attackers careless.
The air was thick with smoke and the scent of burnt wood. She turned her head and coughed. And looked up. There again. Another blur. This time the beast loped along a bit slower. She saw a furry body. A tail.
Then an arrow shot past her head. Jun'ai gasped. Ducked behind a barrique cask. Another slammed into the wood. She breathed hard. Heart pounded in her chest. Adrenaline rushed.
Around her the attackers cast freewheeling shadows. She looked up, saw them silhouetted by the flames of the burning buildings.
She looked around and saw one standing behind her.
It walked upright, human height. Stooped torso. It stood on canine legs. Heel high on the back of the leg. Long metatarsus bones. It had tall ears twitching in the smoke choked air. Tufts of red brown fur.
The head was that of a wolf, or maybe a fox. Something canine with a snout and rows of sharp teeth. Its hands were nimble, long fingers. It held a bow, arrow knocked.
And the thing was twitchy. It moved in rapid bursts as animals often do. Head darting from side to side. Eyes searching. Then its gaze fell on her. Its eyes glowed golden in the flames.
Not a wolf. A jackal.
Hakkon turned when he heard her gasp. Without missing a beat, he drew, aimed, and fired. The shot was well timed. Jun'ai couldn't have done better. But the creature was quick. It skittered out of the way, tail tucked between its legs. The arrow sailed wide. The creature disappeared behind the flaming wreckage.
Jun'ai cursed. She wouldn't stand a chance with her spear if their reflexes were that good. She met Hakkon's gaze. He was thinking the same thing.
They stepped out onto the main thoroughfare. Spear and bow ready. Three jackals came out of one of the buildings. Weapons drawn. Heads darting from side to side, scenting the wind. They stopped. Froze in their tracks.
Hakkon drew and fired. The shot went wide. Jun'ai charged the one standing apart. He had a nasty curved machete. Jun'ai thrust with her spear. The creature darted back. Jun'ai stepped forward. Again it darted back. This time parrying her thrust.
The other two jackals fled. Hakkon gave chase. She lost sight of him around the building.
She stabbed, aiming to the creature's right, he predictably darted back, and she hacked left and caught him with the shaft of the spear. A glancing blow. No damage. But it stunned the skittish animal.
Pressing the attack, she stabbed left forcing it back. Then cut right. This time the tip sliced the jackals arm.
It jumped. Then crouched low. Unblinking eyes fixed on her spear. Ears pricked forward as if listening to the racing of her heart.
She charged straight forward. The creature scrambled backward. She swung her spear in a low wide arc. Tangled its legs. The jackal stumbled. Hit the ground hard. She reversed the grip. And slammed her spear down. Impaling the thing through its chest.
A red haze came over her. She charged around the side of the burning building and got her first look at the village square. There were a dozen minotaurs dead and dying. Some were clutching arrow shafts lodged in broken bodies. Some were crawling across the blood soaked ground. And some were burned. Flesh and fur smoking. The air filled with the sickening scent of burnt meat.
Tears blurred her vision. This powerful race of minotaurs, strong as they were, lay broken and bleeding and dying. This couldn't be real. It was unfathomable.
There were plenty of dead jackals too. A testament to the fighting prowess of the minotaurs. Even when taken by surprise, even unarmed, they were formidable warriors and took many of the enemy down with them.
Here in the center of the village, the buildings were more or less intact. That was the good news. The bad news was that the jackals were looting the place. They ran in and out of buildings. Carried pottery and tools. They carried food and blankets and any worked material small enough that they would be unencumbered.
Then there were the feeders. Groups of them clustered around the dead minotaurs, cutting hunks of meat from the bones, wrapping it in cloth, stashing it in bags and baskets.
Bile forced its way up. She choked. Vomited.
Hakkon came up beside her. He drew his hunting bow and fired. Again and again. As fast as he could draw. The first salvo punched into the scavengers, dropping several of their number. When they became aware of the attack, they ducked and dodged and scurried away.
Jun'ai charged one as it made its escape. Caught the creature flat footed. She impaled it from behind. The thing dropped, ripping the spear from her grip. It lay twitching on the ground. Kicking madly at the air. It clutched the shaft protruding from its chest.
Before long, its twitching stopped. Dead. The whole area was deserted.
She wondered how many of the villagers still lived. She wondered if her home had been spared the fires.
Then it hit her. She turned and ran as fast as she could, leaving Hakkon in her wake. She ran to the lodge. The hut was intact. No sign of fire damage, nor damage of any kind.
She didn't slow, she burst through the door.
Rasya was crouched against the far wall. The room was a mess. Smashed furniture. Broken pottery. Food splattered across the dirt floor and rough lumber walls. In the center of the room was a single dead jackal. Skewered by an arrow. A scythe lay beside his face. His lower jaw ripped free.
And in Rasya's arms, her baby, Hyun. Jun'ai's legs gave out. She stumbled across the room and collapsed next to the fierce nursemaid. She scooped Hyun into her arms and she cried. She cried long and hard. Salty tears ran into her mouth. Ran across the baby's innocent bovine face.
*
Later, she left Hyun in Rasya's care and returned to the carnage. She was astounded at the level of destruction.
She went to the first minotaur she saw. It was Kaiteru. He had been shot multiple times. Twice in the arm. The heads punched through and out the other side. Once in the chest. Bleeding heavily. But still alive. She snapped the arrow shafts in his arm and pushed them through. She bandaged the wounds. The cloth immediately soaked through with blood.
The chest proved more difficult. She snapped the arrow like the others but was forced to dig around in his muscle and extract the tip. It was bloody and tiring work. When she was done, she was exhausted, her forearms covered in blood. Nearby Hakkon was tending another. She couldn't tell who, so mangled by blade and flames. Two down, dozens to go.
There were several more nearby, all dead. She had seen her share of death before, but she had never been in battle, never been to war. The scale of it was terrifying. All these people she'd never talk to again. She'd never spar with Valen. She'd never chop firewood for Basivpe. She'd never ask Tessia to sing to Hyun.
Past the main square, the dead were scattered father apart. As if fleeing the battle or perhaps charging toward it. And there were more dead jackals. It seemed the main ambush had occurred at dawn when the villagers were gathered for the first meal of the new day. None knowing it was going to be their last.
Then Jun'ai came the gathering hall, a building that also served as Guarinn's home. She saw the fat minotaur sprawled across the door jam.
She ran to him. The body was already cold. He clutched a hatchet. At least their leader had died honorably with weapon in hand.
Then an oddity. Omi the red goshawk had flown to her master and sat perched on his shoulder. As if he were asleep and she felt the need to watch over him. As if the bird understood he needed her help. Omi still wore blinders to narrow her field of vision and the grommet on her leg to tether her to the glove. But no lead. She was free. But she chose to stay with the man who had been her whole life.
Behind her a voice. "There's a poem here." It was Hakkon. "The image of a hawk remaining by her master's side. Unwavering devotion. He would be pleased to know the bird survived."
"Guarinn valued loyalty above all else."
