Chapter 8: First Blood

Alarik found little rest in spite of his fatigue. The rainforest teemed with life at night, and every hiss and growl was enough to set his mind on edge and keep his heart thumping. Would it be a snake’s venom that took him or was he to fall prey to a larger predator? He leaned up, resting on his elbows, feeling the need to check again to see if indeed there was something seeking to make a meal of him. The moonlight allowed just enough illumination to make monsters out of shadows. He wondered if it would feel safer if it was just pitch black instead, where he could just give in and accept that if something were to try to kill him, at least he would be spared the terror of seeing it coming.

Perhaps the rainforest flora will do away with him before the fauna can. Perhaps fate would choose an even less dignified way to pass from this life to the next for this old soldier. How many great warriors had fallen to withering diseases before a blade could take them? Better ones than him, surely. Death by dysentery. Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

He laid his head back down and forced his eyes shut. Sleep should have been simple. His knees were going and his strength had waned in the years since the crusade in Khorsul, and a day of walking had taken its toll. His determination to continue marching late into the night to inspire confidence in his leadership served more to cause a drop in confidence in himself.

Rest easy, he thought. He tried to force himself, really. Sleep was close now, ready to take him until the next mysterious howl.

“Wake up!”

Not the howl he expected. Alarik was at his feet in an instant. Were they under attack? Had one of those growls truly been a predator coming for some soft, sleeping meals, lying in their beds as if they were on a serving platter?

“Wake up, immediately!”, the call rang out again. It was Inaya. He could see her only vaguely in the moonlight, pacing around the camp and resting her palm upon the ground every now and then, coming up to look only more confused and unnerved than before. From his short experience with the woman, she seemed easy to anger but difficult to scare. Her expression showed this was dire indeed. Shalmanesser was at her side, also putting his hand on the ground and looking both baffled and fearful. That was just as disconcerting; there didn’t seem to be a thing in the world that could shake the man from his casual demeanour.

“What? What is all of this about?” Alarik demanded, reaching for his spear, his chosen weapon on every one of his crusades, doubling now as a walking stick. The rest of the camp groggily rose with him.

“The animals here. They’re in a panic. Something is very strange.”

“We’re waking due to animals acting irrationally,” Alarik said in a way that came out more snide than he intended. Sleep deprivation will do that to a man.

“While I understand the Vanderik would rather plunder every part of nature they see fit, the animals here are key to our survival. If they are sent into a frenzy, just how do you think we’ll fare? I’ve already saved your fool from one snake, now just imagine the entire rainforest up in arms against us!”

Alarik held up his hands in defeat. “Well, what do you suggest we do, then?”

A scream, but a strange, laboured one, came from somewhere in the rainforest. Edda put a hand over her mouth, the moonlight catching off the whites of her eyes. “Hilda!” she gasped, reminding everyone that their shaman had gone out searching for stones to make their weapons. “Farmund!” she called, seeing the bodyguard already standing, sword at the ready. “Help her! I cannot stand the thought of any of the crusade getting hurt.”

“Nobody moves yet,” Inaya demanded. “Shal and I will look into it. There’s something strange going on here, and we’re not going to walk headlong into it and get massacred.”

Alarik couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Somehow along the way he had lost his captaincy to a woman whom he would have been killing - or getting killed by, more accurately - not a short time ago. “I believe what you mean to say is you recommend only our two Khorsuli move out.” His tone was firm. It may not have been the hill to die on in terms of command and control, but it was the hill he was choosing.

“Is this the time to do this?” Inaya fired back. “One of yours may be torn up, and-”

“Precisely why you need a captain at the helm making the decisions for the group. You do not issue commands, you follow them. Now, you and Shalmanesser running reconnaissance is the right move. Go out immediately and see what you can get from the direction of the howls. The rest of us, close ranks, and wait for further instructions.”

“So we’re to do what we were to do anyway,” Inaya said, frustrated at the needless chain of command. In Khorsul, the good decisions were taken as they were and followed. If you disagreed, you wouldn’t join. It was simple, occasionally leading to infighting, but effective in small groups such as this.

“Yes,” Alarik returned. “We Vanderik have order, even if you do not.”

Inaya lowered her gaze and fumed, but set out without another word. Shal followed at her back, his smirk hidden in the darkness. To him, all the Vanderik oddities were more comical than frustrating, something he knew Inaya to view in exactly the opposite way.

“The rest of us,” Alarik directed to the remaining four. “Stand back to back, and arm yourself with whatever you can. We don’t know the nature of whatever caused that scream, and we’re not about to be taken by it the same way. We wait for the Khorsulis to return.”

He noted Edda standing beside massive Farmund, holding a knife better used for cutting her dinner than defending her territory. He’d noticed the woman had styled her hair in the same way as Inaya, but she was no great huntress. She shivered in the cold of the night, and looked more likely to slip and impale herself on her own weapon than to take out any would-be attackers. Of course, he knew this the moment he shook hands with her. Her hands were so soft, not a callus on them. Did she regret her choices now? Alarik wondered if he regretted his own. Only for a moment, of course. He knew he certainly did.

The night stretched on, and the captain grew restless. Thoughts drifted back to Khorsul, waiting in camps for reports from his scouts to return, only to be met with withering fire from the Khorsuli who had slaughtered them before they could report back. He would not make the same mistakes. This expedition will be a success, he will clear his name, and he will get everyone out alive.

“That’s it. We’re moving. Stay in a tight formation, shift towards the sound of the cry, and call out any possible attackers. Understood?” He was met with quiet agreement. The four stood shoulder to shoulder, each facing out in a different direction, weapons at the ready. Alarik had long grown used to the standard background noise a city provides, even at night; footsteps from guard patrols, drunken chatter from the beer halls, even the pops and cracks of fires lit to illuminate the streets. Out in the rainforest it was only the animals, and every foot stepped further in was a move into their territory. If the Hashai were here, they stayed out of sight. Every step, ever careful, still felt clattering and loud, harsher than a warning call to war. At least in Khorsul he had his armed soldiers, a plan, tactics, provisions. At least in Khorsul the work held dignity. He saw his gravestone in his mind’s eye: “Captain Alarik, Dead by Snake; Died Screaming, Soiling Self”. Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

Farmund’s sharp eyes spotted one of the Khorsuli first. A man wrapped in loose fitting clothing. He sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes up to the sky. Fortunately, he looked tranquil rather than frightened, let alone dead. “Shalmanesser, up ahead,” he said. “Looks like he’s practicing something of his shamanism.”

Shal awoke from his trance. Immediately, he held up his hands. “Stop! I wouldn’t go much further. The sight here is not pretty. There are not many times in this lifetime that I would have preferred a rainforest to have been darker at night. This is one.”

Any hope of catastrophes being avoided wilted. Alarik couldn’t spot what was so dreadful to see. Whatever it was, he had to know, and he had to know personally. “Close ranks further and wait here,” he said to the other three near him. He called up to Shal. “Is it safe? Have you learned anything?”

“Only that it’s something we’ve never seen. The animals here got whipped up into a frenzy alright, but only for a short moment. Right afterwards, it all seemed to return to normal. Look, I’m going to be the first to recommend we get out of this place. It’s not worth-”

“You don’t make that call,” Alarik interrupted. “What is it you don’t think I should see?”

Shal shook his head and closed his eyes in a long blink. “Your call, cap’. Over there.”

Alarik carefully stepped over the fallen logs and branches, wondering if he’d be able to do this at all if it wasn’t for the moonlight casting just enough light to see his footing. He was thankful for it, until he saw what Shal warned him of. Then, suddenly, just as Shalmanesser had, he wished it was much darker than it was. The bloodied, shredded corpse of Hilda lay in a small outcropping, bathed in the white light of the moon streaking through an empty patch in the canopy. Her body was beaten and torn open, nearly unrecognisable, attacked with a ferocity that bordered on insanity rather than animal hunger. There was nothing he had seen that had rivalled it, not in all of Khorsul, not in the years before or since, and he hoped never again.

Inaya sat in a crouch behind the body, placing a hand on the ground just beyond the blood. Alarik knelt by the body as well, unable to look away from the carnage. Hilda had loathed him, hated his leadership, disrespected his captaincy, but he was still her leader. His decision to send her out to prepare for the Khorsuli’s hunting expedition in the morning led to her death. Again, his decisions - his mistakes - led to the death of those he was charged with leading and protecting. What happened in Khorsul was happening now, and the dreaded results were at his feet, wretched, bloody and irredeemable.

“Do you know who or what could have done this?” Alarik asked, the pain in his voice at having lost another was terrible and genuine. Inaya didn’t answer. She didn’t so much as flinch. “Inaya!” he asked again, more forcefully.

“She’s searching,” Shal said, standing behind Alarik. “She’s asking all the nearby rainforest how this came to be. And why. I’ve been doing the same. We’ve come up with little. All that we can get from this is that the animals couldn’t contain their hunger.” He shivered, either due to his thin frame in the cold night of the rainforest, or an intangible sense of dread as to how the animals had acted. “You’ve got to consider going back, cap’. Something’s really wrong here.”

Alarik stood up from the body, hands balled into fists. “I’ve already told you-”

His lecture was cut short by a sudden ear-splitting scream. Edda had followed Alarik in and saw the body. Coming from the gated life of a noble, she’d only seen a body once, when an assassin came for her grandfather in the palace. They made short work of him, and she was glad for it, even if it was particularly jarring. This was different, far bloodier, more visceral, and of one she knew. She shrieked and cried and fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Farmund was behind her, readily apologising to his captain for not holding her back by force, saying she was insistent in coming to see the commotion.

It was then Inaya woke from her trance. “Stop her crying, or we’ll get the whole rainforest coming after us! Big man, put a hand over her mouth if you’ve got to, or else we’ll all end up like this one at my feet! That fool will get us killed!”

“Show some damn respect!” Alarik howled after her as Farmund did his best to comfort the sobbing woman. “You best not forget that you’re a part of this expedition no more than her or me or anyone here, and you’ll follow the orders of your captain and not deliberately belittle those under my command!” Alarik couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How dare a Khorsuli come into this expedition and taunt a noble? He knew it was wrong to bring the two of them along, but as always, command does as command wishes. Now Hilda is dead for it and if things go south, more will follow.

“Are we all an equal part, my good captain?” Inaya asked, flicking a dagger into the air and catching it. “She’s a sobbing mess that provides nothing, and you know it.”

“Watch your tongue, witch,” Farmund warned, and one that Alarik took to heart as well. His tone was disturbingly icey. Familiar, too. He’d heard it from soldiers he’d had to pull back from slaughtering prisoners or beating the already dead. Farmund’s anger was barely contained. He’d only learned two things about the man so far; he was far more astute than he appeared, and he did not tolerate insults towards Edda. Inaya had just caused a grievance on the latter. Still, there was something else about it that felt oddly recognizable, but what it was he could not yet identify.

“I’ll watch my tongue as soon as she’s capable of watching our backs,” Inaya pushed.

Farmund stood up, facing towards her, his full bulk towering over her. No moonlight found its way to shine on Inaya’s form, so tall and towering he was. “Speak another word of her, and I’ll rip you in half. I will grab you by the waist. I will hold you up. I will pull. And I will rip you in half.” The words were said with a dreadful calm. Not a threat, but a promise.

“There’s two of us and one of you,” Shalmanesser added more meekly than he’d hoped, looking like a child in comparison to the massive guard.

Farmund didn’t so much as bother looking towards him, still staring daggers through Inaya. “Then I’ll bury you between her pieces.” Alarik felt his skin prickle. He knew now where he’d seen that before. The eyes Farmund showed looked just the same as Majad’s; cold, and dark, and empty. The only difference was that in Farmund’s his pupil’s still had colour. Normally Alarik would step in to stop such threats, but judging from the subtle shake from Shalmanesser he knew the situation was not about to escalate. Inaya, for her part, had perhaps realized that she had overstepped her bounds as well.

“Farmund, bring Edda back to the camp,” Alarik instructed. “We’ll do what we can to get some sleep and reconvene in the morning.” Farmund had returned in a moment to a calm, caring demeanour. Alarik shook his head, deeply impressed by the strange duality in the giant man. He noticed Edda had pulled loose her ponytail and was leaning back and forth, curling her hair with a finger.

“A final word, captain,” Inaya said, suddenly far more respectful after Farmund’s harsh reprimand. She had not survived as a Khorsuli in a Vanderik port as long as she had by having poor judgement in choosing her battles. “I’m pleased to report that our recently departed has left us a gift.” From a nearby bush she pulled forth the bows that were left behind. It was stone, smoothed down and made impossibly light and flexible. Arrows were stacked neatly beside it, like twigs painted the soft grey of rock. “Vanderik shamans. I’ll admit I’m impressed.”