Seeds of Virtue, Dark Descent, Book I

CHAPTER 9

  It took a total of five days to reach the other side of the forest. Because of the wound his horse had suffered, Druzeel had to ride with someone else. They had managed to bind the wound the shadow stalker had made and staunch the flow of blood, but his horse was still weak and required a few days without a rider. The young mage was paired with Dex at first, but any mount could only bear two riders for so long. Druzeel then accompanied Thorstar for the other half of the trip through Fairgrove. It felt odd to be on such a large beast and Druzeel knew that one fall could kill him, but it was a bit more comfortable than being in his own saddle, even if he had hundreds of pounds of fighter blocking his entire view. Surprisingly, the large man made no complaints, at least none that the group could hear, and Druzeel felt Thorstar held no ill will toward him. If the man was annoyed, he kept it to himself.

  Luckily, their time through the thick woods was quiet and uneventful, allowing for an easy journey. There were no more shadow monsters or dangerous beasts. There were only curious forest animals that usually scampered away at the group’s approach. Druzeel was thankful for the calm respite. It gave Brask and the others some time to calm down from the ambush and he hoped it would cool their irritation with him. Either the slow journey was helping or they had decided to ignore him for during the night when they camped, no one said a word to him, except for Dex. Even Jannda asked him a question or two, but the others just talked amongst themselves. Druzeel felt a little left out, but he was content to just be silent and listen, letting their tempers cool and using the time to learn more of his traveling companions.

  Brask he knew, or at least, knew one side of the man. That side was uncaring, unkind, ruthless, and only cared about getting things done, damn the consequences. Every time Druzeel ran into him, he offered nothing but insults and taunts. He was a man hardened by pain, held up by brutality, and thrived on the displeasure of others. Those were harsh feelings, Druzeel knew, but Brask had never done anything or shown any other emotion besides hostility to prove to Druzeel that he was anything but a cruel human being. Until now.

  As Druzeel sat and watched the large man gathered with the other Knights, he saw smiles, laughter, and a genuine love for his companions and the road on Brask’s face. Brask would share stories with the others, stories of triumph, tragedy, and even hopelessness. Yes, he spoke of his cruelty, of men, women, and other beings he had beaten and brutalized, but those stories always involved the subject of his wrath being a creature of evil or similar cruelty. The tone in his voice and the body language of the others told Druzeel that they truly believed those that had been on the receiving end of the Knights’ version of justice truly received the punishment and treatment they deserved. Perhaps they did. Druzeel couldn’t know. He could only listen and hope that their actions, in those instances at least, had been true.

  Brask continued to confuse Druzeel, speaking of women he had loved, friends he had lost, and lives he had saved from certain death. He even spoke of his brother, his voice full of irritation at the stupid things siblings usually do, but he also spoke with compassion and love, common feelings and emotions that any man would have when he had a brother. Did Brask still have a heart? Druzeel found himself wondering over their time in the woods. Could his animosity toward me be an isolated incident, brought on by his brother’s unfortunate–or fortunate depending on one’s point of view–expulsion from Graeak’s tower? Druzeel didn’t think so. Listening to their stories told the young wizard that Brask was mean to anyone at anytime and that his violence was not random, but carefully thought out. He disliked people who he saw as useless and weak and anyone that crossed him the wrong way. Unfortunately, he perceived Druzeel as being all these things from day one. Yet seeing the man relaxed and out from behind his shield of violence and hate, Druzeel held hope that Brask was not all bad. He had faith that the man had, somewhere deep down, a shred of humanity and decency. He had to hold on to that belief for to think otherwise was to think that there was nothing inside of Brask but a soul of darkness. Druzeel quickly turned from that disturbing thought and his eyes feel upon the largest member of the group, the warrior Thorstar.

  The man, always silent, would sit next to Brask every night with a calm look on his face. He never spoke but somehow managed to add his thoughts and comments to the stories they told. Be it a look or hand gesture, the silent warrior always contributed to the tales of valor and battle.

  Even now, Druzeel had yet to know why the large man never spoke. He had tried to catch a glimpse inside Thorstar’s mouth to see if he still had a tongue but could never quite catch the right angle. Perhaps he was simply born without speech. Druzeel had heard of such conditions before. Maybe he only spoke when absolutely necessary. Whatever the reason for his silence, Druzeel found himself liking the man. He was strong and hardened by years of fighting, much like the others, and Druzeel could tell by the stories where he heard Thorstar mentioned that he was fiercely loyal to his friends. One such tale told of Thorstar fighting through a dozen ogres to get to Ristil when the half-elf was ambushed during a scouting mission. The man had almost died but had killed every last beast threatening his friend. That loyalty was something to be admired. It was also something, as Druzeel found out earlier, that Thorstar held for all members of their party, no matter when they became a part of the group. For that, Druzeel had been thankful.

  Still, for all the man’s qualities, Druzeel sensed that he followed blindly. It was evident that Thorstar saw himself as something of a bodyguard for the group, a protector over everyone, especially Brask though none of the others really needed protecting. It was not a bad thing, Druzeel thought, but he sensed that Thorstar would be easily manipulated by the others if the situation called for it. His actions in Gret’s shop spoke to that possibility. Regardless of that possible flaw, Thorstar had been the first to arrive when the shadow stalkers attacked. Druzeel would not soon forget that and he made a mental note that the man could be looked to when trouble arose.

  His thoughts next drifted to the half-elf sitting on the other side of Brask. Where Brask appeared to show a sliver of virtue and dignity during those times he sat around the fire, talking with his companions, Ristil showed only despite and animosity. There wasn’t a glimmer of humanity or honor in the way the half-elf spoke or acted. He laughed only when hearing or speaking of violence. His eyes sparkled when someone talked about killing or shedding blood. True, he shared a few stories of rescuing a kidnapped child or saving a damsel in distress, but his voice only peaked when he spoke of the reward he received or the debauchery afterwards. For him, the reward was the only important thing when taking a job. He thought only of himself and of how the situation could benefit him in the end. Druzeel believed he cared about the others and would fight to protect them, but only because they offered him something in return. Selfish was the only word that came to Druzeel’s mind when thinking of the tracker.

  Something else also bothered Druzeel about Ristil and the way the half-elf acted. Early on, it was clear that the ranger would be just as antagonizing to Druzeel as Brask was, but Brask’s hostility toward Druzeel came out of the situation with his brother. Ristil’s hatred came only because of the way Brask acted.

  It seemed that Ristil only hated Druzeel because the man he thought of as his leader and employer did. He only seemed to want to impress or emulate Brask and the way to do that was harassing Druzeel. There was no logical reason for his actions or his hatred. The two could have been friends, but Ristil’s personality would just not allow it. He was immoral and rotten to the core and Druzeel knew he would have to watch the half-elf carefully if another confrontation were to arise. If another argument broke out, Druzeel knew that Ristil would only make sure that a bad situation got worse.

  The next person that Druzeel mulled over was perhaps the one that confused him the most. Vistalas had both ridiculed and humiliated him, but had also defended his actions in the forest, though the defense was sort of backhanded. Just when Druzeel thought he had a read on th
e rogue, Vistalas did something that completely threw him off. He knew the man liked it that way, being someone who could never be understood or figured out. He was a thief after all and he seemed to enjoy the confusion on Druzeel’s face. During those nights in camp, Vistalas had caught Druzeel watching him. His only response was a sly smile and a wink, letting Druzeel know he knew exactly what the young wizard was doing.

  He was both frustrating and irritating and seemed to like it that way. The way he spoke–and speak he did, being the one doing most of the talking during those times around the fire–Druzeel got the feeling that the thief just loved life and all of its offerings. He was constantly laughing and telling jokes, and playing them as well, lifting coins and other items from his friend’s pockets. They took it in stride and even accepted the man’s jests with some of their own, though the way Thorstar got Vistalas back was a very painful punch to the shoulder. The thief would just rub the pain away with a laugh.

  Though he mocked and taunted everyone, Druzeel could tell that when the time came, Vistalas could be deadly serious. That look he had given Druzeel screamed predator. He knew then that even though Vistalas had a jubilant exterior, when needed, the killer would come out. His entire persona was a mystery and the wizard in Druzeel was intrigued, for just like a new spell, he was a problem to be figured out, but Druzeel would not pry. It was not a good idea to annoy such a man with questions. Druzeel just thanked the gods that Vistalas was on his side, at least for the time being.

  Jannda caught Druzeel’s eye next. Though the halfling was the smallest member of the group, her personality made her over ten feet tall. Everyone knew she was there, even when no words came from her lips. Just by looking in her direction one was forced to meet those large, emerald eyes. When she did speak, they all listened for she told tales like a master storyteller, adding flare and excitement like Druzeel had never seen. When listening to those stories, spoken with a beautifully musical voice, Druzeel could almost see himself inside them, practically feel the environment around him. During one fable, about a lost sailor rescued at sea by a mermaid, he found himself breathing deeply, almost drowning as if he was the man, being sucked down beneath the waves. She had appeared to take notice of his attention for her words only became more intense and she directed her actions in his direction. When the story ended, Druzeel could hardly breathe, could hardly sit up. Seeing his look, the others shared a laugh at his expense. They had apparently experienced similar situations with Jannda and decided not to be too hard on him. Even Brask managed a laugh. Druzeel gladly took the ridicule for it was the one time he had actually felt like a part of the group.

  Though she was a bard and carried over half a dozen instruments, Jannda did not sing or play while in the forest. She did not want to attract unwanted attention. The shadow stalkers may have been dealt with but there were other unseemly things in the darkness.

  Still, even just talking, Druzeel enjoyed the tales that Jannda told and could see that she enjoyed telling them. Much like Vistalas, she seemed to enjoy life and entertaining others. She took pride in every word she spoke and took great care with every word uttered. But unlike the thief, Jannda held no great violence or danger inside her. She was kind, caring, and protective of her friends in an unselfish way. She wore her personality on her shoulder and was more than happy to display it to everyone. Druzeel liked her immediately and was thankful that she, along with Dex, had decided to stick up for him when trouble reared its ugly head. Though he still looked forward to hearing her sing, for now, her words more than fulfilled that longing he carried.

  Druzeel already knew some of the final member of the group. Besides Jannda, Dex had been the only one to actually stand up for him and speak in his defense when he made a mistake. Unlike the others, the man remembered what it was like to be young and make mistakes. He also knew what it was like to be both physically and mentally beaten down and did his best to prevent that from happening to Druzeel. He knew the young wizard had to make mistakes to learn, but inexperience required teaching, not yelling, in order to prevent making those mistakes again. He did his best to offer advice and guide Druzeel in the right direction, without making all the decisions for him. For that, Druzeel was thankful, but Dex still had his flaws.

  It was abundantly clear that even though Dex stood out as one of the only compassionate members of the Knights of the Chipped Blade, he was still part of the group. He participated in their conversations, both decent and crude, and offered stories of his own that were less than virtuous. Druzeel liked the man and he would look to him if he and Brask butted heads again, but he had to remember that in the end, Dex’s loyalty was to the group. If push came to shove, Druzeel liked to think that Dex would be on his side, but he wouldn’t count on it. The man was kindhearted, generous, and thoughtful, but he was loyal to his friends. He had known Jannda, Brask, and the others for many years. Druzeel he knew for only a few days. If Druzeel was in his situation, he knew which way he would lean in a conflict.

  At a distance, the Knights of the Chipped Blade looked like a heroic band indeed, consisting of members with great skills and amazing talent. They had achieved many great things, deeds that would make many people stand up and cheer, but as one learned more, as one delved deeper into those accomplishments and got closer to the party, those cheers could turn into gasps of disbelief. Only when one opened the book could they truly learn what lay inside and in some of those men, only hatred and anger resided.

  Regardless of his feelings and of those shady things the party has done, Druzeel trusted in Graeak’s judgment and would do his best to see the Knights accomplish their task. He knew that danger lie ahead, the shadow stalkers were ample proof of that, but the band was strong. They would face any obstacle without fear and finish what they were hired to do. That fact, and that fact alone, is what made Druzeel proud to be part of this quest.

  Solaris greeted them as they exited the Fairgrove Forest, shining bright and hanging solo in the sky. It was good to see the sun after many days under a blanket of leaves. The heat warmed Druzeel’s soul and seemed to do the same to the others. Though it as good to be out in the open, the time they had spent navigating the woods allowed Druzeel’s horse to heal to the point where he could ride her when they emerged, but he would still have to take it slow. Even though there was nothing but open land before them, they could not travel as fast as Brask wished. That knowledge had brought a stream of complaints and curses from the large warrior as they started moving across the plains. He made sure his voice was loud enough for all to hear, especially Druzeel. Druzeel suggested using one of the handful of healing potions they had for the horse, but Brask said no. They were only used in emergencies.

  “We’ll lose a few days,” Brask growled, talking to no one in particular. His comment was not specifically meant for any one person, but Ristil happened to be riding close by and just had to share his opinion.

  “Lucky it’s not more,” the half-elf said. “Surprised he’s not wining about something hurting yet.”

  Druzeel just let out a sigh and did his best to ignore the barbs. He should be used to it by now but they kept coming up with new ways to denigrate him. Not only were they seasoned warriors, but veteran humorists as well. Dex noticed his frustration but said nothing. A small smile actually spread across his face.

  “Are you starting to agree with Ristil’s quips?” Jannda asked, seeing the expression on her friend’s face. The two rode at the back of the group but at an angle to Druzeel so they could see every look of disgust or vexation.

  “No,” Dex said. “Just remembering the days when I first joined the Knights. Our young wizard’s plight reminds me of it so.”

  Jannda let out a giggle, which brought a raised eyebrow from Dex. “Those were some fun times,” she said.

  “To you!” Dex responded curtly but his voice soon turned into a chuckle. “And you didn’t make my first few months any easier. I seem to remember you being the one that played most of the pranks, including hiding m
y boots from me for almost an entire day. My feet still hurt from that trek through that field of thorn bushes.”

  “Ha!” Jannda replied. “I had almost for gotten about that.”

  “Well I didn’t.”

  “Yes, but you took your licks and eventually became a respected member of the group.”

  “As must he,” Dex said, turning to look at Druzeel’s back. That was the real reason why he was not intervening in every altercation or hurtful word thrown at the budding magic user. All the barbs, all the taunts were something of an initiation among the Knights, to see if Druzeel could handle it, to see if he had the strength to take what they had to offer. Dex had gone through the same thing and eventually proven himself worthy enough to be a member of the band. Druzeel may not be looking to stay with the Knights forever, but he was with them, for an unknown period of time, and had to show them he had the mental and physical fortitude to endure anything hurled his way.

  “And he will,” Jannda said with a shaky voice. Dex heard her words but also heard doubt in her voice.

  “You don’t seem to have much confidence.”

  “Well, none of the others knew who you were,” Jannda explained. “The only things they knew were what I had told them, which was flattering I assure you. Brask had already sullied Druzeel’s name before we had even met him. He is fighting an uphill battle, staring twenty feet below the ground.”

  “Which is why I speak for him more often than I usually would,” Dex replied, explaining himself. If Druzeel had been any other person, someone brought into the group they had never heard of before, Dex would have never said a word and let Brask and the others have at him, but by the time Dex had finally met the young wizard, he only knew what Brask had told them. And none of it had been good. Dex also knew of Brask’s over exaggerations so he gave Druzeel the benefit of the doubt. The wizard made mistakes, true, but each of them, even Brask, had done stupid things in their youth as well. They learned, grew, and became less prone to acts of ignorance.

  “Fair enough,” Jannda said, pulling Dex’s eyes back to hers. “Just try not to baby him too much or we’ll have two Knights under the verbal guillotine. Brask will only take so much.”

  Dex nodded in agreement and turned his eyes back to the newest member of the group. Druzeel just rode in silence, looking to the horizon, toward their destination, which was still many days away. Dex actually felt a little sorry for Druzeel for the young man’s quest was going to be hard. He was tracking a dangerous killer, trying to live up to his father figure’s expectations, and attempting not to disappoint the people he traveled with. The added pressure of his own companions ridiculing and insulting him was just going to add unneeded stress. A man could only take so much before he lashed out. Dex hoped the others would calm down the rhetoric and that the young wizard could keep his anger in check. Otherwise, they could find battle, just not the type of battle they were expecting.

  The next part of the journey was, thankfully, uneventful. The group traveled during the day and slept at night though Brask had pushed them a little further than normal, waiting to make camp until complete darkness had covered the land. The mercenary leader was trying to make up for lost time. Most of them didn’t mind but those that did shot Druzeel, not Brask, an ugly look.

  If they had traveled normally, they would have only lost a few hours. Druzeel’s horse was able to gallop for only short periods but that helped in making up what they had lost. Still, Brask pushed on, not wanting to lose a second. Druzeel knew the extra few hours of travel was only to make some of the others resent him more, but he kept silent and accepted whatever hate they decided to send his way.

  The nights were cool and comfortable, making it easier to sleep, and the days were warm and breezy. If it had been summer, none of them would have wanted to travel so long during the day. Druzeel knew that the nice weather helped keep the others calm and levelheaded. He could not imagine how they would be acting towards him if sweat and exhaustion were prevalent.

  All around them, as far as they could see, were flat lands of green grass, bundles of tress, colorful flowers, and clouds shaped like bundles of cotton. There were a few rolling hills and steep trails, but the majority of their journey was level and calm. It was the perfect traveling conditions for horse and rider. Since they could see for miles in any direction, they were all at ease, with no one fearing an attack from orcs or goblins that sometimes roamed the countryside. The only threat they had to fear was a random rainstorm and the blue sky above them showed no signs of drenching them with water.

  “So how are we going to find the thief?” Druzeel asked Dex about a day and a half away from Pelartis. The plains started to become a little more curvy and the bundles of trees began to grow more abundant. To his right, Druzeel could make out a large forest. To the left were large mountains, their peaks coated with snow. Both were a good distance away so he held no worry of the beasts that called both those regions home.

  “We have a few contacts in the city,” Dex answered, looking in front of him, anticipating the sight of the large city. “We will go to them first.”

  “And if they come up empty?” Druzeel asked, always planning one step ahead. Dex looked at him in amusement.

  “One thing at a time,” the fighter replied. “We’ll wait and–”

  “Hold,” came Brask’s strong voice, cutting off Dex’s words.

  Both men looked up, finding Brask, who had stopped in front of the group. Then their eyes were drawn skyward, to the thick column of smoke that was flowing towards the heavens. The others eased their horses forward, forming a line next to Brask. Dex and Druzeel did likewise. When they came to a stop, they searched the horizon, looking for the source of the dark pillar.

  The smoke was thickest just over the horizon, a few miles in front of them, seemingly along the trail. The width of the column told them that it was a small blaze but one that had been burning for a few hours, if not the entire day. The trail was not heavily traveled which helped to explain why whatever was burning had not yet been extinguished, but that did not mean that whatever had caused the fire was not still there.

  “Ristil,” Brask said without taking his eyes from the smoke. The half-elf made no indication that he had heard his name. He just spurred his horse onward, galloping towards the disturbance. At first, it looked like he was going straight to the blaze, but he cut left after a few hundred yards, which would bring him to the side of whatever was happening. If there was danger up ahead, Ristil was going to make sure he saw it without being noticed. Then he would come back and tell the others what he had seen.

  “Slow forward,” Brask said as soon as they lost sight of Ristil among one of the copse of trees.

  He urged his mount forward at a slow trot, making sure that their tracker would reach the smoke and be back long before they came close. The others followed, hands resting on hilts for the first time since the battle with the shadow stalkers. Druzeel mentally scanned his spells, trying to think of what would be best if they had to fight. He had memorized a handful of spells that would bolster his companion’s fighting skills and help shield them from steel, but he also had a dozen or so combat spells. The hard part was figuring out what would benefit them the most. It all depended on what they were facing and until Ristil returned, if he returned, none of them knew.

  Luckily, his concerns were for naught. Less than a mile from where they had first stopped, Vistalas spotted Ristil riding towards them. He looked calm and uninjured.

  “A caravan,” the half-elf said as he neared. “The flames come from two of the wagons, set ablaze less than six hours ago. I count about a dozen women and children, perhaps double that in men.”

  “Any survivors?” Brask asked. Ristil just shook his head. “Attackers?” he then asked, but again, the half-elf responded with a shake of his head.

  A feeling of remorse and horror suddenly coursed through Druzeel. A dozen women and children? All dead? Who would do such a thing? And if there were two dozen men,
surely some of them were guards. How could every one of them be dead? Had an army of monsters descended upon them?

  Brask said no more. He just commanded his horse forward. Ristil fell in and the group was quickly moving towards the destruction. Druzeel found it odd that Brask had not asked any more questions. Did he not want to know what could have attacked them? Wouldn’t he want to know what the caravan carried? Perhaps Ristil did not know. Perhaps since they now knew no threat lingered, they would gather more details once they all reached what was left behind. Whatever the reason, Druzeel followed. When they crested the hill that blocked their view of the smoke, they all saw what the mound of earth and grass had been hiding.

  There were three large wagons, two of which were burned to a crisp and still smoldering, sending thick plumes of smoke into the air. The wood was charred and blackened, the embers slowly dying in the bright sunlight. The third sat untouched by both flame and sword blade. Though the Knights knew differently, it looked as though it had rolled into the area after the battle had ended.

  Two large wagons finished out the caravan, both sporting a handful of deep gouges that appeared to be from sword blades. Each wagon held food and supplies, none of which had been touched. The sacks of grain, bags of clothing, and crates of other materials hadn’t a scratch on them. Thieves, bandits, and monsters would usually loot whatever was left after a battle. Whatever had done this had left in a hurry. To Druzeel, it was an odd sight to say the least, seeing a sacked caravan still piled high with supplies, but when his eyes settled on the dozens of butchered bodies, disgust and loathing surged through him.

  Pools of blood lay scattered over the area and painted the sides of the two wagons. Men lay in dark red puddles, their chests and necks split open by something sharp and deadly. Many of their eyes still sat open, staring at the sky, seeing not the bright blue of its beauty, but only the black of absolute darkness. Women were slumped over their husbands. Others lay on the outskirts of the battle, sporting deep puncture wounds, no doubt receiving those as they ran in terror. Some women, mothers trying to protect their children, lay on their sides, still clutching their sons or daughters. In one case, Druzeel saw a deep stab wound on one young woman that had gone completely through her and into the chest of her child, killing them both. The scene was something out of a nightmare and one in which Druzeel would see for many nights.

  “By the gods,” he whispered as the group made their way down to the massacre. He followed, unable to tear his eyes from the gruesome scene. He just could not fathom something, some creature, so horrible as to do this to innocent women and children.

  “I need details,” Brask said, standing in the center of the area. Directly in front of him sat a burned out campfire. It appeared that the attackers had fallen on the caravan at night, when most of the victims had been sleeping, but they had to investigate to know for sure. “I want to know what did this and if it is still in the area,” Brask continued, looking at the surrounding bodies. His men only nodded and went to work.

  Ristil and Vistalas spread out to the outer edge of the battle, looking for tracks while Jannda, Dex, and Thorstar starting studying the bodies and the wounds they held. Brask did the same, kneeling down next to a man dressed in simple clothing. Druzeel watched him look for a pulse then peer intently at the vicious gash in his chest.

  Druzeel looked away and began doing as the others, looking over the bodies for any clue as to what could have done this. Unfortunately, the first corpse he came to was a young woman that reminded him Vallia. She had the same color hair, slim nose, and blue eyes, eyes that now saw nothing but black. Druzeel leaned in to feel her pulse. His saw the gash across her throat and the blood painting her chest and found himself suddenly very sick. Bile rushed into his throat but he quickly leaned back and took a couple of deep breaths. The last thing he wanted to do was vomit in front of the others.

  “No weakness,” he whispered to himself. Don’t give them anything else to use against you, he thought. Be strong.

  He successfully held down his lunch and leaned forward, looking at the gash. There was no point in feeling for a pulse for the woman was obviously dead, so he studied the wound, trying to figure out what made the mortal strike.

  It was obviously a blade of some kind, mostly likely a sword and it had been razor sharp for there was no tearing. The flesh was perfectly parted, with the ends curling up slightly. If the blade had been older or uncared for, the cut may have been jagged, like a ripped sheet of parchment. Whoever had done this was skilled and knew exactly what they had been doing.

  Unfortunately, telling what made the simple wound was as far as Druzeel’s investigative skills went with regard to weapons. He was a wizard, not a fighter, and knew little in the ways of physical combat. Now, if it had been a spell that had taken the unfortunate woman’s life, Druzeel knew of a dozen ways to discover the type of magic used in the deadly assault. Yet, the source wasn’t important to Druzeel. An innocent woman had died and the murderer was nowhere to be found. That and that alone is what pushed him to the other bodies scattered throughout the area, searching for an answer. He breathed deeply when coming to each body, each one seeming worse than the previous.

  He saw only simple people, with no weapons or armor of any kind. He did come across one man that looked to be a guard but he wore only leather and carried a single longsword. He looked over the area and saw another man dressed in a similar fashion. So, Druzeel thought, they had some type of protection, but clearly not enough. Perhaps they were relying on their large numbers to dissuade any attack. Whatever the reason, their strategy clearly had not worked.

  “Here!” came a shout from Jannda over near one of the untouched wagons. Druzeel stood and made his way over to her, as did the others. When they came close, they all saw her pointing to a dark spot on the ground, laying in the shade of the wagon.

  The spot on the ground was no larger than a dinner plate and it appeared to be getting smaller as they stared at it. The stuff was slowly being absorbed into the ground as time stretched on. As they looked closer, everyone immediately recognized the dark matter for they had seen the same stuff in the Fairgrove Forest, after the battle with the shadow stalkers.

  “Shadow stalkers,” Druzeel said, confirming everyone’s thoughts. So, the Knights had not been the only targets of the magical creations. But why these people? Why had the assassin targeted simple travelers?

  “Stalkers?” Dex said. “Out in the open?”

  “They were taken in the night,” Vistalas said, looking back at one of the bodies. “Poor bastards never had a chance.”

  “Night was some time ago,” Ristil said. “Those we killed in the forest quickly faded away. Even their stains soaked into the ground in a matter of minutes. Why is this still here?” he asked, pointing to the sludge. No one seemed to have an answer.

  “The shade,” Druzeel said a few moments later when it was clear none of them knew the answer. Eyes fell upon him quickly. He only motioned to the shadows of the wagon. “The stalkers are creature of darkness and look to the dark for protection. The stain will fade away, but the shadow of the wagon preserves it, at least for a little while longer.”

  His companions turned their gaze back to the stain, which continued to shrink. Many nodded in agreement while some just remained silent. At least it was something positive toward me, Druzeel thought.

  “Well one thing’s certain,” Ristil said with almost a cheerful voice, “the assassin passed this way. We’re on the right trail.”

  “But why?”

  All eyes turned to Brask, who had walked over near the body of a man whose chest and been hacked open. He was an older man, wearing only a plain nightshirt and thin pants. A dagger was clutched in his frozen hand and his face held a silent scream.

  “Why these people?” the leader of the Knights asked. “The assassin could have easily evaded the caravan. Why take the time to slaughter ordinary travelers? Could they really have posed a threat? Why would a thief want to draw such a
ttention?”

  “To send us a message?” Jannda asked, unsure of the answer.

  “No,” Dex replied. “The message had already been sent, when we were attacked in the forest. We already knew we were being watched by the time the stalkers fell upon these people. There is something else to this tragedy, some ulterior motive that remains unclear.” Dex was the best among the group at figuring these things out but the assassin’s actions had seemed too random, too wild for him to come to a reason for his actions, at least for the time being.

  Druzeel just stood in silence, staring at the black stain as it soaked into the ground. Now he felt bad for delaying the group’s journey for the assassin’s path of destruction only seemed to be growing. First Vallia and then these poor people and there was no way to know how many more he had killed in his lifetime. They needed to get moving, without delay, to put an end to this madness. Too many lives depended on it. Druzeel held little doubt that more innocent people would die the longer they took chasing down the thief.

  “How can such evil, such blatant disregard for life live within such a being?” Druzeel asked himself. “Why does it even exist?”

  To Druzeel’s shock, to his disbelief, Brask chuckled. He actually laughed!

  “This is funny?” Druzeel said in rising anger, unable to stop himself. He knew Brask was brutal, cruel, and without feeling, but to actually express amusement at the sight before him was unconscionable and Druzeel would not tolerate such disrespect.

  “This?” Brask then said, motioning to the dead around him. “No. This isn’t funny. This is just plain sad. But you? You’re hilarious. Your childlike view of the world is so utterly stupid that one can’t help but laugh.”

  Druzeel looked at Brask in confusion. A small amount of anger left him when he realized that Brask was laughing at him and not the dead, but he was still angry. Was this really an appropriate time to berate him and poke fun at his naiveté? Could he not have waited until they paid the proper respects? Apparently not.

  “You think what you see before you is bad?” Brask asked incredulously. “Boy, I have seen things that would make you wet your breeches, make you vomit so much that your stomach would burn away. I have seen massacres that would make the gods themselves turn away. You stand there and whine ‘why, why, why?’ Well, I’m here to tell you that the whys don’t matter. This is life. Evil exists and it ain’t going away any time soon so you might as well get used to it and stop sounding like such a crybaby. If you hadn’t been tucked under Graeak’s pillow perhaps you would know these things and not be such an idiot.”

  “I will never get used to such atrocity!” Druzeel said, almost yelling, anger fueling his words. He had enough from Brask and wasn’t about to stand here and be lectured by a man without morals. The others just stood by quietly, watching the exchange. Some of them wore a smirk or shook their heads, thinking Druzeel a fool. Dex wore only a flat expression as he carefully started to position himself near Druzeel because Brask was looking at Druzeel in anger and had slowly started walking in his direction. Druzeel refused to give ground under the threatening glare.

  “This is life,” Druzeel said, waving his hands at the dead by his feet. “But life doesn’t have to be filled with such death and destruction and those who believe in good and are honorable know that evil doesn’t have to exist. It exists only because people like the assassin, people like you,” he said with disdain, “will do anything to get what they want, regardless of the pain and sorrow your actions bring. Your type doesn’t care about the people you hurt or the families you tear apart. You only care about yourselves. Everyone should be working to rid the world of evil, of such pointless violence, of such selfishness!”

  Brask walked right up to Druzeel, stopping less than a foot in front of him. He looked large indeed, his armored frame standing right in front of Druzeel, who wore only robes and stood more than a foot shorter. Dex shifted nervously nearby, ready to jump in should Brask become violent, which he was apt to do. But Brask did not lash out. He just looked into Druzeel’s eyes with a look of indifference.

  “Graeak really screwed you up,” Brask said without emotion.

  Without thinking, without knowing what he was doing, his actions fueled only by rage, an anger he had never felt, Druzeel swung. Brask never moved. In fact, no one moved. It may have been because they didn’t think the small man could hurt Brask or because they had not expected such a reaction. Whatever their thoughts, everyone just stood as still as a statue as Druzeel’s fist connected with Brask’s chin.

  There was a loud crack as Brask’s head twisted up and to the side. Though his body never moved, a bit of blood flew from his lip. Druzeel actually had a more painful reaction for it had felt like he had punched a stone block. He grimaced but let his anger burn away the pain.

  “Graeak is ten times the man you are!” he screamed, keeping his bruised fist up defensively.

  There was a different reaction from each of the Knights. Thorstar remained impassive. The only reaction on his face was a raised eyebrow. Ristil looked shocked, his mouth hanging open in amazement while Vistalas just jumped a little, his hand going to the hilt of one of his daggers. Truthfully, that movement had been made with little thought. Years of practice taught him to go for his weapons in any situation. Jannda actually smiled after her surprise wore off, not believing what had just happened and Dex, having leaned back after being startled, stepped back in, getting ready to leap at Druzeel, to knock him away from the axe that he swore would soon be falling.

  But Brask made no movement for his axe. When he turned his head back, he looked down at Druzeel with little emotion. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making a sucking sound and then brought his fingers to his mouth. When he held them out, a small amount of blood could be seen on the tips. His eyes found Druzeel.

  “There’s a spark in you after all,” he said with a smirk. “There’s a little bit of violence in all of us.”

  Druzeel lowered his hands, both surprised and freighted by his actions. He had never lashed out at anyone like that before, not even Browen. He didn’t think he even could act in such a manner. The thought that he was capable of such violence, regardless of the reason, disturbed him more than a little, but before he could think on it more, he found Brask rushing towards him.

  The man’s strong, heavy hands hit him in the chest, throwing him backward. Druzeel supposed he should be thankful those hands weren’t fists because they surely would have broken his ribs. Regardless, he hit the ground hard, sending pain racing up his spine. He slid back a few inches, the ground grinding into his back. When he looked up, he saw Brask practically diving for him.

  “You’ll find I’ve got more violence in me than most!” Brask shouted with murder in his eyes, but before the confrontation went any further, Dex intervened.

  “That’s enough,” Dex said, somehow without raising his voice. His hands fell on Brask’s chest, amazingly bringing the big man to a stop in mid-leap. Brask looked down at Dex’s hand and bared his teeth.

  “You still going to defend him?” Brask asked in disgust. “Even now?”

  “I’m not defending anyone,” Dex corrected. “I just don’t see any point to useless fighting. This does nothing for us. All this bickering is only delaying our journey, lightening our pockets, and putting everyone in a foul mood. I suggest we all just calm down and get on with our mission. The sooner we are finished the sooner we can move on to other campaigns.”

  Brask narrowed his eyes at Dex then pointed them at Druzeel. The tension in his body suddenly fled and he stood up straight. Druzeel carefully picked himself up and eyed the large man with contempt, but he couldn’t hold on to that anger because he knew Dex was right. All this inter-party fighting was getting them nowhere. The assassin was the enemy right now, not each other.

  “I’m sorry,” Druzeel said, both hating himself for saying it and relieved that he had the strength to issue an apology. He looked at Brask, but the man still looked angry.

  “You?
??re weak,” Brask said. “You lack the will to do what must be done and your ignorance endangers us all. If you had been in this caravan, you’d be among the dead at our feet.”

  Dex just let out a sigh and shook his head as Brask turned and walked to the others. He offered a sympathetic smile but Druzeel did not respond. He just stood speechless at the man’s hurtful words. Could he really be endangering their lives? Could his lack of skill and knowledge be putting them in danger? No, he decided quickly. The man was just trying to make him doubt himself, which he had always done. Well, I won’t let him, Druzeel told himself. I will not let Brask think I am something I’m not. I am better than that.

  “Loot the bodies,” Brask shouted at the others. “Take what we need.”

  “You’re striping the dead?” Druzeel said in anger, his thoughts torn away from any doubt Brask tried to instill in him. To reap the spoils from battle was one thing, but to loot the bodies around them, innocent people who had been murdered, was wrong. They should be gathering the dead and preparing them for burial, not pillaging their belongings. Though they no longer had any use for them, they may have family or friends that would surely want what they left behind

  “Loot the bodies!” Brask said again, this time louder.

  “But–” Druzeel began, but Brask whirled on him with a look so profound, so full of anger that Druzeel knew if he spoke another word, if he dared open his mouth, not even Dex would be able to save him, so he let the matter drop. To his surprise, he found out that he wasn’t the only one with an objection.

  “Brask,” Dex said, following the mercenary leader. “We’ve never taken from the dead like this.”

  “We need supplies,” Brask said. His voice was still full of anger and rage but a little left him as he addressed his fellow Knight.

  “We are in not so dire a need. We should give them a proper burial.”

  Brask looked ready to explode but he held his temper and motioned for Dex to follow him away from the others. Druzeel watched them walk away from the area, just out of hearing, and get into a heated argument. He thought about casting a spell to eavesdrop of the pair, but thought better of it as he caught Ristil and Vistalas watching him out of the corner of their eyes. He ended up standing by silently as the others looted the dead. He didn’t watch any of it. He just kept his eyes on Dex and Brask, who ended up yelling at each other, arms flying through the air. On more than one occasion, Druzeel caught Brask’s finger or eyes pointing in his direction. After a few moments, the conversation ended and Dex walked over to him.

  “Come on,” the man said, leading them to the horses. He was clearly upset but Druzeel kept his mouth shut. He had caused enough problems and didn’t want to cause any more anger.

  Why can’t they just accept me? Druzeel asked himself. Why can’t they just let me be a part of the group? He had done some stupid things, yes, but Brask seemed so intent on making him suffer for just being alive. The fight with the shadow stalkers had only lasted a few moments. What was going to happen when they faced something truly dangerous? Would they leave him on his own or lend their aid? A part of Druzeel wanted to think they wouldn’t let him face peril alone, but the other part wasn’t so sure. He found himself dreading the answer to those questions if real battle found them.

  * * * * *