Chapter 307: 303: Aftermaths

“Could you be any more vague, man?” Hart raked his fingers through his long brown hair. “Come on, this isn’t some bard’s tale where everything’s gotta be all mysterious and told by candle and campfire, Cedric.”

“Well—” the Chosen began.

“Can we talk while we ride?” Drestra interrupted, scanning the surrounding trees. “We lost time back at the encampment and gained most back thanks to Baelin. Let’s not lose it again.”

“Yeah, let’s ride. Don’t feel like standing here all day anyway,” Hart agreed.

Cedric remembered the harmony he’d seen between the expedition teams, both during the battle and after. The Heroes never worked like that, not even in the beginning. ‘How much better would things be if we did?’ He wondered, but kept his thoughts to himself.

“Right, then. We’ll talk an’ ride. An’ I’ll try not ta be too vague for ya Hart.” Cedric climbed up on his horse, his irritation plain. Within seconds, the trio was mounted and on their way down the road. A gust of wind rustled the changing leaves: each Hero scanned the trees lining the road.

Things seemed peaceful enough, but they’d been ambushed on ‘peaceful’ roads before. That comfortable feeling from being in the encampment began to fade, too quickly for Cedric’s liking.

Once the horses got up to a good trot, he continued talking.

“Right, so. Here’s what I’m talkin’ about. Remember when I said the dungeon core really went after Alex in the chitterer dungeon?”

“Yes, I remember, and I remember you asking him about it too,” Drestra said, her reptilian eyes tracking from one side of the road to the other. “You all said that it was similar to how the cores focus on Merzhin and me when we’re left undefended. What about it?”

“Well, somethin’ about that don’t seem quite right ta me. Hart’s right, that golem’s nasty, but I’m nasty too. The resta their team weren’t no slouch either: lots o’ wizards and that big’un Grimloch an’ all the rest of ‘em. Seems a might strange that it’d just needle-focus on one wizard. I could see it, if…”

“You feeling neglected?” Hart interrupted, laughing. “You’re acting like someone’s lover that ain’t getting enough attention.”

Cedric grunted. “Look, I’m bein’ serious here. You heard what the big goat wizard was sayin’: in battle you focus on the biggest threat and break it down.”

“Well, sometimes that’s true,” Drestra said. “But sometimes it’s better to cull the weak. They’re more easily hunted and they fall faster.”

“Not the point I’m tryna make: the Ravener focuses on us. We’re always the biggest threat to it. S’half the reason why we even matter in this whole fight. We break cores and smash dungeons, so they focus on us first instead o’ tryin’ ta kill everyone in Thameland an’ raze it.”

“True,” Hart said. “But the spawn went after everyone pretty equally out on the hills.”

“That’s true,” Drestra said. “It even seemed like they went after the Generasians more than they go for our knights and priests.

“That’s what I’m sayin’. They focused on individuals down in the dungeon, but not outside. So, what happened down in the blood-drak dungeon? Who’d the core focus on when you all were tryin’ ta break it?”

“Me,” Drestra said. “Then it split its attention between me and Hart when he got there.

“A lot of the monsters were concentrating on me too.” Hart said. “I got there a little after Drestra, so she was already good and stuck in.”

“And it didn’t go after any of them wizards with ya?” Cedric asked. “Didn’t focus on any o’ them?”

“No, it focused on me,” Drestra said, after a moment’s thought. “But Hart and I were the main targets. Ah, no wait, I’m lying. Now that I think about it, it targeted some of the Watchers more than the other Generasians.”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Hart said. “It took some of the heat off me.”

“Aye, so it spread its focus around, but with that wizard Alex…it was mostly bent on killin’ him.” Cedric’s forehead creased between red eyebrows. “Even ta where it was ignorin’ me.”

“Why are you going on about this?” Drestra asked, with a surprising amount of firmness in her voice. “Alex and all the Generasians have been nothing but good to us. You sound like an inquisitor on a bad day.”

“Yeah, why does it matter if it was hunting him?” Hart asked. “Maybe he stinks or something.”

Both Heroes stared at Hart. Only the sound of horse hooves drumming along the path, the rustling of leaves, and distant birdsong broke the judging silence.

“Well I don’t mean literally!” He tried to explain himself. “I dunno, like…maybe he’s got some kinda stink that only Ravener-spawn can smell?”

They continued staring at him.

“Fine! It’s just a theory, I’m not the one being crazy here, Cedric is!”

“I’m not being crazy!” the Chosen snapped. “I’m jus’ curious, is all.”

“And Alex gave you an explanation: one that makes sense,” Drestra reminded him. “Does it even matter why he was attacked? Everyone was. Come on Cedric, we actually have allies now. Powerful ones who’re more than willing to help.”

“Well, let’s be honest,” Hart cut in. “They’re helping because they’re getting something out of it. Not complaining here—I know better than most what it’s like to fight for pay—but I’m just saying that’s the way it is. They’re not exactly here out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“Oh, so now you’re on Cedric’s side?” Drestra glared at him.

“I don’t have a side, I’m just askin’ a bloody question!” Cedric’s voice rose.

“And I’m not on anyone’s side either,” Hart said. “Look, they’re wizards: they’ve probably got their own secrets. Never fought or heard of a wizard who didn’t have a list of secrets at least as long as my arm. As long as those secrets don’t end with me getting demons all over my ass, they can have all the secrets they want. Let it lie, man,” he said to Cedric. “We’re Heroes, not church inquisitors.”

“Aye…look, it’s jus’ that what the chancellor said got me ta thinkin’ is all, I didn’t mean no harm by it. S’just had me curious, but I’ll let it be. Last thing we need is for Heroes to be at each other’s…”

He paused.

At each other’s throats.

Heroes.

Who was supposed to help keep the Heroes together? The Fool. All that ungrateful talk about the Fool being useless aside, they were supposed to serve Uldar by helping to knit everyone together, both in life…and in death.

A thought seeped into the back of his mind. Who did dungeon cores mostly focus on trying to kill? Heroes.

Which Hero was missing?

And who’d been the friendly fellow who’d helped ease the Chosen, Champion and Sage’s spirit when they’d arrived at the wizard's camp? Who happened to be there—a friendly face that he already knew—and made getting along with all those strangers a hell of a lot easier?

Alex.

Alex from Thameland.

The same fellow he’d met a day after he’d woken up with the balanced scales of the Chosen burning bright on his chest. The image of an ugly jester’s statue—one he’d seen in town squares and fountains all over Thameland—came to mind.

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Would Alex Roth have a golden symbol of a jester glowing somewhere on his body? The Chosen rode along, his hands gripping the reins so tightly, he could feel the tension in them through the metallic glove that was his morphic weapon.

Then…he caught himself.

‘Hold on now Cedric, pa always said not ta get so heated ya stop makin’ proper use of yer head.’ He remembered how his father had pulled him aside after a few bloody-nosed fights with the other boys in Clan Duncan. ‘Don’t be rushin’ ta judgement. Think.’

The more he thought about his suspicions, the more holes he found in them.

‘What am I, mad?’ He shook his head. ‘The Fool’s the least dangerous o’ the lot of us, so why would the bloody core be after him instead o’ me. Fools can’t use spellcraft or fight, an’ I’ve seen ‘im do both more than once. Plus, he built that bloody war-machine ov a golem ov his. An’ it’s got them firing stones in its hands and head. An’ if they ain’t bloody weapons, then I don’t know what is, an’ Fools can't even use weapons. What’m I thinkin’?’

Cedric doubted he could’ve ever made that golem, even with Uldar’s magic and divinity. He didn’t have the kind of knowledge to know where to even begin.

‘Ach, forget it,’ he thought. ‘Probably just chasin’ my tail like a dog that’s got a damn burr in its backside. B’sides, he wasn’t the only one ya got along with at their camp, aye? There’s someone else ya got along wit’ pretty damn well. Is she a Fool too? Course not, what wit’ all her smarts an’ that whole fancy way about ‘er.’

He smiled, remembering the walk he and Isolde took the night of the celebration.

If he could have slowed their walk down to a crawl, he would’ve done just that to get the chance to learn more about the attractive young woman and her life at that fancy university. He couldn’t even picture some of things she’d talked about: they’d sounded like something old Mad Kelda had dreamed up after one of her ‘special mushroom soups.’ The stuff had sailed way over his head and he’d kept gaping at her in silence like an idiot, feeling more and more like a bumpkin with every word she’d spoken. At least when the conversation had turned to spellcasting, he could jump in a little: old gran’s wizardry lessons gave him a bit of knowledge, and he’d learned a bit more in the early days of the cycle. The court wizards had crammed as many battle spells into his, Drestra and Merzhin’s heads as they’d had time for back in the capital. So, he’d finally stopped gaping and actually contributed to the conversation…even though gaping at Isolde was something he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

It was too bad things were cut short: she’d been asking about his morphic weapon when they’d circled back to the bonfire and the walk ended.

‘Next time,’ he thought. ‘Just have somethin’ ready ta talk about next time.’

Squaring his shoulders, he let go of questions and troubled thoughts in favour of nice thoughts about a fetching blue-eyed wizard from Generasi.

Trouble had a way of coming for people when they weren’t expecting it.

And the three Heroes weren’t expecting the trouble waiting for them in Ryeford.

“Hold on,” Hart said, stringing his bow and peering down the road. His sharp eyes picked out the town through the trees ahead, while Cedric and Drestra were left squinting. “Something’s wrong.”

“What is it?” Cedric asked.

“The road’s blocked about…I’d say maybe a dozen or so paces in front of the town. There’s priests around and a bunch of soldiers are standing guard…outside, not at the gates. And…yep, those are Merzhin’s people. I don’t see anyone else, though…” He squinted. “There’s something else too. The gates are wide open, but there’s not much movement past them. Don’t see any regular folks, just Merzhin’s soldiers and priests.”

Cedric frowned, turning his weapon into a lance. “Let’s pick up the pace an’ get over there. Any sign of Merzhin?”

“If he’s in there, he’s deep inside,” Hart said.

“Prepare for battle then,” Drestra’s crackling voice said. “Just in case…just in case.”

The horses cantered down the road with their riders prepared for a fight, but as they got closer, no sounds of conflict reached them. If anything, it was the opposite. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Then the stink hit them.

“Blood,” Hart growled. “Old blood. Just starting to rot.”

As the town grew closer, Cedric saw soldiers raise their weapons then quickly lower them and scramble to remove the barricade, realising who was approaching.

“Hail!” Cedric called, waving at the soldiers and priests. “What’s goin’ on? Where’s Merzhin?”

The faces of those guarding the way were as pale as sheets.

A young woman replied with a tremor in her voice: “Welcome, Heroes…it might be better if you go in and see for yourselves. …I hope you haven’t had a meal lately.” A visible shudder went through her. “The Saint is in the town square.”

“Why aren’t you using the gate?” Hart asked.

“It’s been sabotaged from inside. …there’s been a massacre. You’ll see.”

The three Heroes glanced around, then rode through the damaged gates—which looked like they'd been sawed off at the hinges. Inside the town of Ryeford, the ugly evidence of a massacre greeted them. Rust coloured stains painted the streets and spattered the buildings. Maggots wriggled along the ground. Flies feasted on bits of rot, buzzing through the air like smoke clouds.

“Oh bloody hell,” Cedric swore.

The Heroes slowed, riding through a cloud of stench: rot, decaying blood and…something else. Something fouler.

“Poison?” Drestra sniffed the air. “Venom walkers, I think.”

“Silence-spiders too,” Hart said. “Look at those big claw marks in the wood on those houses. But where the hell are the bodies?”

“Merzhin probably had them collected.” the Sage said.

Yet, when they reached the centre of town, there were…very few bodies lying on the ground. A few of the town’s residents along with a small number of the fifty warriors who’d been stationed in Ryeford, were laid out in rows with bedsheets partly covering them like shrouds. The customary Heroes fountain loomed above the bodies, and the Saint and a group of priests knelt in prayer beside it.

Merzhin looked up—grim-faced—when the trotting horses entered the square. “I was too late,” he said, with sadness. “All were departed to Uldar’s side for at least a day or so before we arrived. There is nothing I could do except guide their souls to him. Most of the townspeople’s and soldiers’ bodies are missing.”

“Bloody hell,” Cedric said, making the sign of Uldar. “What did this? Is there a dungeon around here? A double-dungeon?”

“No,” Merzhin said. “None that we could find.”

“Where’s the horde, then?” Hart asked, looking around as though monsters would suddenly leap out from behind the empty buildings.

“That’s the thing,” Merzhin said. “Our rangers couldn’t pick up a trail. There’s silence-spider and venom walker tracks all through the woods…they’re everywhere. It was like they purposefully made a web of tracks to hide their actual trail. Which shows a level of intelligence that’s worrying. We have no idea where they came from…or where they’re going, or where they went.”

The hunter slipped from the trees, peering at the landscape ahead. Rough hills. Grasses. Swamps.

Moors.

And somewhere within this landscape, it could feel the strong pulse of mana.

There were wizards ahead.

And there were a lot of them.

It snorted with distaste…and discomfort.

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