The footsteps grew nearer, and they came without pause or hesitation.
Two bows were fitted with arrows, and Troíde carried her spear in a ready stance as Górin quickly led the group through the square and to the hall. Though they dared risk only brief glances behind them, none could see anything to aim a bow or spear at. With each sound of a scuffling footstep they heard behind them, they fought the urge to jolt back and search for their pursuer, but the only sight of any importance they could see then was the great building ahead.
It stood impressively at the end of the square. Tall, but not enough for an upstairs. Much wider than ordinary houses or halls. Something like an expensive drink hall or hospital, by the looks of it. All that could really be guessed was based on its size, rather than its adornments, of which there were none.
The faded door was slightly ajar, and Górin did not even think twice about pulling it open the moment they had finished crossing the square. Stepping inside, he gave only the most cursory of looks inside, for truly, there was little that could actually be beheld. Such a reckless jump into an unknown place was unlike him, but he had no time to mind the possibilities of what might lurk within. He would deal with it as it came, but to remain out in the open could mean peril for them all.
Even though it was not yet dark, Górin’s eyes still needed to adjust for a moment before he could rightly see further into the hall, for the interior was dark and heavily shadowed. Only a few portions were illuminated from the holes in the roof, and even that was dim and grey. To his great thanks, no noise or indication of movement came from the inside, and in a swift prepared reaction, he began to signal the others to follow. He was pushed aside mid-wave as Troíde forced her way into the building, pulling Jynge with one hand and minding her retreat with her spear in the other. She looked back and forth from the darkness of the room she now stood in to into the mists beyond the doorway. Not long after, Dákk and Handor also stepped inside the doorway and made their way some distance back, not taking their eyes from the entrance. The shadows fell heavily even just a short way into the building, and here they crouched in preparation, though they did not truly believe it would do them any good.
Both Dákk and Handor slunk backwards, pointing their bows at the empty space in the doorway. Meanwhile, Górin and Troíde remained by the door, but crept to its sides, melding into the shadows. Still beside Troíde’s side was Jynge, who was tightly gripping the sword that Troíde had quickly drawn and placed into her hands.
The footsteps did not stop, nor did they diminish, yet no sign or sight of any being could be seen from where the five now lay in wait. Dread pulsed through them like the unbearable heat from a forge-fire. Anticipation took hold over some, and they dared move their heads out to take a quick look through the doorway, only to be met with nothing.
Closer and closer the heavy footfalls came, until there could be no denying its presence. For the sounds never disappeared or were swallowed in silence any longer. The two who stood in the shadows of the doorway strained their ears and gripped their weapons. Looking back to the faint outlines of the other bowmen in the darkness, they sought for a signal of some sort. No such thing happened, though. The shuffling came closer and in short time, the low rasps of deep breaths could be heard beneath. There was only silence, and against silence, the footsteps were like a terrible din of thunder, the low breathing like catastrophic storms of wind.
The swarm of sound seemed deafening, but when the terrified shriek of Dákk suddenly struck through the storm like a thin and twisting bolt of lightning, the other four were broken from their attention in both surprise and shock. For in the blink of an eye, the grey haze seemed not so thick for him, and he saw through to what approached them, not a handspan out from the entrance. None else saw it, not even Handor, who looked in the same direction as he.
There were two of them that he saw. No twisted beasts were they, but their visages were no less terrible to behold. Not too dissimilar from a man in size and shape, they hobbled along on bloated and fleshy limbs. Bulbous and scarlet welts covered them all over, and where none reached, the other skin was grey and rotten, stretched tightly over emaciated frames. Their clothing too was so rotten and tattered that he did not even notice it at first, for it seemed in nearly the same state was the wearer. Although the thing bore a blank expression upon its molding face, with swollen eyes that seemed just about to disintegrate and drip out of the socket, the two pursuers seemed very much aware of their surroundings and those five intruders upon their grounds.
In the same moment that Dákk cried out in surprise, he lifted his bow and loosed a hasty shot at the closer of the two abominations. The arrow flew straight, but it was a poor draw, and it collided with one of the monsters with as much force as if he had simply thrown it. The arrow didn’t even pierce the thing’s bloated belly. Such a spoiled ambush only drew its attention to where Dákk stood, and with a frightening speed, it abandoned its shamble and rushed towards him, reaching out with rotten malformed fingers.
Dákk’s companions had not been idle. A heartbeat after he had broken them from their illusions, they too came to see through the mists and shared a similar wave of shock as they saw through to the two creatures. Yet they had not the luxury of the first step. Some trembled and were stricken motionless briefly. Others blinked and tried to dispel whatever hallucination might have suddenly overcome them. The creatures had not let the confusion be wasted, for the target of Dákk quickly closed the distance to its attacker. Unlike before, its strike was straight and true, but Dákk had readied himself. He raised his arm and shouldered the blow as the beast swung cruelly at him. Perhaps if he had not raised his bow to block the attack, he might have been killed, for the clawed hands were caught upon the wood and missed him by a wide margin. He still received the forceful strike with the bloated hand, and he was knocked back, tripping over his feet and stumbling further into the shadows.
Having gathered their composure, the others sprung into action. The second of the two creatures was making its way through the door, but it was caught in the belly by the spear of Troíde. Górin pulled his bow and loosed an arrow squarely into its chest. From the points at which their blades bit, a thick dark brown liquid dripped forth. The thing snarled out in hatred, and grabbed wildly at the spear shaft, but Troíde pushed it deep within. Meanwhile, Handor began to rain arrows at the monster that now pursued Dákk.
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Despite the distraction, the first creature only continued its onslaught upon Dákk as he was thrust backward. Despite the diseased look of it, its ferocity was horribly intense and unrelenting. Dákk had gone to pull a knife from his belt, but a wide swing collided with his shoulder and he was brought to the ground, gasping out in pain. Almost immediately, the abomination fell upon him like a rabid dog, howling in a blind fury. With vicious repeated attacks, it threw heavy hands at the prone Dákk. The others rushed over, but though it was hardly five steps from them to where their companion lay at the monster’s mercy, that was enough time for an especially powerful strike to fall true upon Dákk’s leg, and a sharp crunch was heard, immediately followed by a sickening cry from the ranger.
It was not long after that arrowhead, spearhead, and sword blade fell upon the monster, but in the moments before then, it brought fist and foot upon Dákk, who trembled helplessly in agony beneath it. As a dog might wildly react to another dog attacking it, the thing whipped back in surprise and pain, and began to strike at the others. Such an attempt only lasted for a moment, however. Troíde’s spear fell deep into its side, Górin’s arrows pierced its back near the heart, and Jynge drew a long gash into its arm as it reached out. In moments, the thing fell to the ground, and in another moment, Górin crushed its neck with his heavy boot.
The hall returned to silence for only the span of a few breaths. That was how long Dákk had neglected to breathe while he grimaced in pain and gathered the wind that had been knocked out of him. When he resumed breathing normally, it was only for a single breath, for he had been jostled much. The poultice and ashes within his mask had been tossed about violently, causing him to cough and sputter. Rushing, his companions came to his side and bent to examine his injuries. With Handor’s aid, Górin dragged the broken corpses of the monsters out of the hall, and dropped them not far from the entrance. To their thanks, these disgusting things were not nearly as heavy or bulky as the thing that had attacked them at High Ridge, though they were much more foul to touch and behold.
“Are there more?” Jynge hissed as she rolled up Dákk’s sleeves and trousers to examine his hurts. “Stand a guard. He shouldn’t remain laying here if it can be at all helped.” She went to work at examining his limbs, tracing the growing welts with a gentle finger. At even the slightest pressure, he gasped and cried out, though he could not move his leg to recoil from her touch.
“Leg’s broken,” she muttered. “This is not well at all.” She looked nervously to the others. Górin had dropped his pack to the ground and was at work in lighting his lamp while Handor and Troíde remained at the door, scanning the courtyard for any possible reinforcements or curious onlookers. Once Górin had lit the small candle, he went to where Dákk lay, and lit the lamp of the injured ranger in turn before offering it to Jynge. He nodded to the two at the door, who quickly shut it once more, doing away with the pale light from outside and replacing it with dim and flickering lamplight. Jynge took hold of Dákk’s lamp and continued to examine him while Górin stood to investigate deeper into the darkness, now casting light all about him.
The hall was expansive and it went on to a far chamber so wide that no walls could be seen in the weak lamplight. Great pillars cast great shadows, and only faintly could Górin see the beamed ceiling above his head. Broken and withered furnishings lay scattered throughout, and in many places, he kicked up thick layers of dust, even though he stepped lightly. As Górin crept about after a short distance to gather an idea of the dimensions of the chamber, he suddenly caught a glimpse of many odd piles off to one side of the back hall. It was only a sliver between the pillars illuminated by the lamp at first, but it was enough to catch his attention. Approaching the mass and casting the lamplight upon its scattered contents, Górin beheld a makeshift camp of sorts. With a grim nod of confirmation, he looked down upon its contents.
Everything was badly worn and damaged, though in the presence of everything else in the forsaken hall, it all looked almost new by comparison. Thin cots made of rotting pilfered thatch were covered with faded but intact blankets, a few bottles sealed with uncracked wax, leather pouches dropped into small piles as though set aside for a respite, and all other sorts of belongings that seemed placed there not out of discard, but of a temporary placement and either forgotten or abandoned. Of course, the most attention-grabbing out of all the camp’s contents was the spilled assortment of pages. Large and cracking, each was covered in letters and emblems. Even from a cursory glance where he stood above, he saw many different characters in use, and though the Þérgic writing was the most common, there were nearly as many in other scripts and by other hands. By a quick look, the pages seemed not even a year since their writing.
Though he knew better than to trust his first impressions, Górin nonetheless could not stop the waves of faint relief to come over him, if only falsely for a little while. It was a more-than-earned reward to find the trespassers’ encampment, and even though duty tugged at him to return to his companions and tend to the wounded, he briefly stood in the encampment in silence.
Closing his eyes, he let the burdening stress of dread and anger ease its hold over him, and for the span of ten long breaths, he stood in the dim light while his mind escaped far away.