Faerlin didn’t know what had brought her to this godsforsaken backwater. Nor was she likely to find out; as a member of the
Anirian Guard under the banner of
House Weiroon, her job was to follow orders, march where she was instructed, and kill who or what she was told. No doubt some scion of the house saw some advantage out here, or owed someone a favor. It was not uncommon for members of the Guard to range far afield. All she really knew was that there had been reports of
monster sightings and attacks in the area.
Honestly, she didn’t much care. As long as she had a chance to fight something—and it was rare for her to be deployed where there wasn’t fighting—she was happy. Even though the cold seeped through her armor and into her bones; even though both her and her mare’s breath steamed in the cold (Tempest was holding up well, but Faerlin knew this had to be tough on the horse); even though she wasn’t sure she could place this village on a map, that’s how remote and unknown it was.
All in all it was a shit assignment.
And yet, Faerlin couldn’t be happier. Turns out, joining the military during peacetime wasn’t the same as when the Anirian Guard had been at its height. Instead of waging mighty campaigns against the neighboring kingdoms, she was forced to guard parties attended by simpering nobles. Or worse, to march in parades. Her hands clenched into fists at the thought; her talents were being wasted. So this assignment was a welcome change. It was also good that she was handling it solo: even her fellow soldiers grated on her nerves, and while she was fully capable as operating as part of a team, she hated traveling companions and preferred to work alone.
Her current destination soon resolved itself on the horizon. It was a village, the same as all the other types of
villages she’d passed through in this region. However, her keen eyes and ears, as well as her well-trained instincts, told her something was different about this one. It took her a moment to figure out what it was, but when she did, she felt her heart speed up in anticipation and she checked her weapons to make sure they were still secure. Tempest picked up on her anxiety and picked up the pace slightly, not a full trot, but a faster walk. Or maybe it was just the possibility of getting under a roof for the night.
What Faerlin had noticed (subconsciously at first) was that the village was too quiet. Even at night, there should have been some noise, the creaking of floorboards as people went to the outhouse at night, the straggler drunks stumbling home from the tavern, all the myriad sounds of life. But this place was silent. On top of that, there wasn’t as much smoke rising from the chimneys as there should be, and given the snow and the cold, that was unusual. People could and did freeze to death in these parts.
Soon enough, the road took her into the village proper, and the smell hit her. Death and decay had a particular scent, one she was well familiar with from her work in the Anirian Guard. Tempest didn’t react. Then again, the horse was used to it as well. Faerlin was on guard, but there was nothing to see but the occasional body or some damage indicative of a fight. But not enough widespread destruction for it to be a full pitched battle.
As she turned the corner, she spotted two armed and armored men ahead. She grimaced, and reached for her helmet; while they didn’t seem immediately hostile, she didn’t recognize their colors and didn’t want to take any chances. Besides, the Anirian Guard wasn’t popular in many places. They were both too pretty for her tastes, in their shining armor. One of them had a silly
clover painted on his helm. Her own armor was well-worn and serviceable, and the only marking on it was the insignias of both
Vel Anir and House Weiroon.
Ignoring the confrontation between the two men—honestly, what a cliche—she directed Tempest to the body in the snow and dismounted, tossing the reins over a nearby post. Tempest didn’t need to be tied up, thankfully, and Faerlin didn’t intend to stay here long. Kneeling, she examined the wounds more closely. It didn’t look like the villager had put up much of a fight, nor did it seem that the injuries were inflicted by conventional weapons. Which meant she was probably up against a monster of some sort. She bared her teeth in a feral grin. Good. She needed a challenge.
Standing up, she turned to regard the men, all trace of the grin gone. In its place, she settled her most condescending look, not that it was visible under the helmet.
“You two going to stop pissing long enough to help me hunt this thing or not?” She had no patience for fools, and unless they got their act together immediately she fully intended to move on without them. Tracking in the snow couldn’t be too difficult.