“They must have stayed here for only a single night. There were two sleeping dints, but we found recent tracks of at least three people heading towards the nearby road. Two, possibly three men, or one of them a tall woman,” said Delar some time later. Delar was a tall, gangly man, with stringy strands of black hair clinging to the sunken contours of his cheeks, mostly fallen in on account of the fact that he had lost most of his teeth some years prior as punishment for impropriety in the presence of a nobleman. Galen still carried them with him in a pouch to remind Delar of his manners in times of heated discussion.

“Horses?” asked Galen, carefully looking over the abandoned campsite his men had found some small distance down the river. Most of his men were now clumped some small distance away, letting their horses graze in preparation for travel. He noticed in the distance that they had let Piglet wander amidst the horses, but saw too that Tarin was minding her dutifully.

“Set to wait on a nearby hill. At least two of them, judging by how much grass was grazed nearby,” replied Delar.

“Did you find any droppings?”

“Of the horses?” Delar shared a glance with Leonal. “No, reverend. None.”

“Do you wish for us to look for them?” asked Leonal cautiously.

“No. If you’ve not found them on the hill, it is likely that they have disposed of it in the river.” replied Galen as he knelt down by some of the tracks closest to the burnt out campfire. He traced a bare finger across the outer shape of a relatively small pair of footprints left in the dirt. Barely an indentation, thought Galen to himself. I’ve seen light footprints like these before.

“Tell the men to be particularly mindful of their rears from now on.”

“Reverend?” asked Delar, somewhat puzzled.

“These strangers have come down from the north.” said Galen as he rose back up to his feet, thinking of the zilverpiece in his coat pocket. He then pulled his riding gloves back on and made to mount for his horse.

“They’re Comedhi come from beyond the Crown. I have clashed with their heathen ilk before. They fight like ravenous animals and know well their way in the wilds, favoring knives in the back over swords in the hand.”

“They sound cowardly and spiritless,” said Leonal as he helped Galen up his mount.

“Spiritless?” Galen thought for a moment, then shook his head. “These barbarians are a far-flung, disparate people, made out of a thousand different clans each with their own bandit chief or petty king with little to lord over. They are cowards in the way they fight to be sure, but they are not spiritless, as I know them to be possessed with a bestial zeal when confronted. They revere old monsters, dark sorcerers, and have thrown their lot in with Marn, worshiping his Power.”

“Marn,” Delar replied in a tone of revulsion. He spat onto the ground, then stamped his foot onto the glob of spittle, driving his heel into the ground. “What does He Who Wins care for such a craven people?”

“The Power of War cares for none but his daughter Loulanne,” said Galen sharply. He turned his horse to move in the direction the tracks seemed to be going, speaking all the while as his men followed on foot behind him. “But the Comedhi have always been a barbaric breed, prone to infighting amongst themselves all across the breadths of their savage land. It is surely a continuous spectacle for a Power as bloodthirsty as Marn.”

“I heard tale that these Comedhi eat the flesh of their dead and share sheets with spirits of the forest,” said Delar.

“It is all true,” Galen said knowingly. “The Comedhi drown their daughters and give their sons as sacrifices to the witches that live in their wilds. They lust after the blood of Dahn’s children, bathing their warriors in it in Marn’s name because they think it protects them against the arrows of their enemies.”

Leonal and Delar shared another look, this one far darker.

“And you say these savages have come here, reverend?” asked Leonal.

“Yes.”

“And we now go to find them?”

“Hunt them,” Galen corrected. He stopped his horse just beneath an old tree, its boughs hanging heavy with dozens of apples. The smell of fruit rot was a cloying saccharine, so thick as to be sweet on the tongue. The reverend reached up to pluck the ripest of the apples and took a single bite out of it, letting its juices seep out past the corners of his lips. He relished the sweetness of its fruit-flesh, moving the mulch all around the inside of his mouth, before he suddenly spat it all out in pure disgust. He held the apple close to his face, watching half of a worm writhe within. He stared at it as he rode, observing how, even so brutally bisected by his teeth, it still continued to wriggle and attempt to burrow its way deeper.

Searching for safety. Or merely more food.

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With that thought, the reverend bit down into the apple for another bite, swallowing the rest of the worm and all, before throwing what remained of the apple to Leonal.

“Thank you, reverend,” he said in a grateful tone, immediately beginning to partake of it without a second thought.

When they came to the edge of the road, Galen stopped his horse and leaned forward across his saddle to inspect the last of the visible tracks they had been following until they had reached the paved stones. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the camp they’d just come from, then back to the prints he saw leading onto the road, considering what he saw.

“How many horses did you think had been grazing?” asked Galen.

“Two, reverend. Maybe one more at most.” replied Delar. "I'm sure of it."

Galen nodded slowly to himself. “These are false tracks,” he stated simply. “The footfalls left behind are too obvious, far deeper than the ones we found where they slept. Leonal.”

Leonal stepped up eagerly. “Yes, reverend?”

“Your map.”

Leonal dropped to his knees, rifling in a hurry through his satchel, before pulling out an old and weathered map and handing it over. Galen splayed the map across the neck of his horse, inspecting its contents. His fingers gradually followed the names of the many locations, forests and waterways nearby, searching for something in particular.

“King Daurien gathers at Rochecort,” he said loudly in a matter-of-fact tone to himself as he found the name of the city some days to the west, “and prepares to strike at Ilne. He seeks to secure Redport within the month.”

After a moment, he tapped a finger thoughtfully on the dotted line that marked the southern border of the small nation of Cladhier to the north-east. The last news he received regarding any Comedhi had come from there some months ago when a large horde of them had come down to raid along the lands of its rich rivers in search of blood and plunder.

“I find it highly suspect that a pair of Comedhi has seen fit to travel so far south, taking great care to travel unnoticed. I cannot help but ask: why now?” continued Galen out loud.

His finger glided the over the names of the many other smaller villages denoted on the map. Galen thought of the lack of a watch when he and his men had entered the village of Traëlent last night.

“The many forces required to siege the city will leave our northern garrisons exposed." His nostrils suddenly flared and he exhaled deeply. Finally he understood.

Scouts.

“Leonal, take your horse when we return and follow the road north,” Galen said sharply. “The nearest village is only some five jumps away.”

“My task?”

“There is only one set of horse hooves directly leading towards the road. Likely they sent it north alone in an effort to further trick any potential pursuers. The last of its tracks indicate it has been set off on a trot, so ride swiftly and see if you can find it. If we are lucky, no friend of ours has already sought to claim it along the road. Accost any travelers on horseback and find out where they got their horses from.”

"You think these barbarians know we pursue them, reverend?"

Galen glanced back towards the remnants of the camp they'd found. "There were three sets of tracks that were found, only two of which were of strange design while one was left by boots of a make similar to my own. Someone else came upon them last night, someone of our lands."

"But we found no traces of struggle or blood, reverend."

"Indeed you have not." Galen replied dismissively.

Leonal swallowed. “And what shall I do when I have found the horse?” he asked obediently.

“Return here to Traëlent and await my word.”

“And yourself, reverend?” asked Delar.

At that Galan turned towards Delar, speaking to him urgently. “Tell the men to range southwards into the forest, well beyond its edge. A step at least. These are no leatherworkers we are in pursuit of, but hunters well-versed in keeping their passing concealed. They have at least one other remaining horse with them, but likely they will only have bothered to hide its tracks only a company or so deep into the forest. Go now and inform me immediately when you find something.”

Delar dipped his head, then turned to rush back to camp.

“What presses you, reverend? Are these simply not barbarian thieves, who have come to plague the raff?” Leonal asked as he watched Delar hurriedly depart.

“No,” Galen replied curtly. “They are likely far worse.

“Come to steal our children?”

“No.” Galen said as he turned his horse back the way they came. “The mongrel lords of Comedh have ever sought to buck the rightful Sureli lords from their seats ever since their claim to the Lomen throne during the Cladhier rebellion was denied to them. With queen Isofel's recent union with our great king Daurien, the crowns of Cladhier, Lomen and Sacrelia have at last been rightfully reunited. These mongrels are not here as mere brigands, but have come here as enemy soldiers with grave intent."

Leonal nodded up at the reverend as if he understood what he’d just been told, but the vacuous look in his eyes made it clear Leonal had appreciated none of what Galen had just said.

It didn’t matter. Galen himself understood. The Comedhi likely still saw themselves as much at war with the nations to their south as the other way around. He had to catch these invading scouts and keep them from reporting back to their barbarian masters. If his assumptions were correct, then the coming work of he and his men was all that stood in between a well-planned invasion from these savages.

On his way back to camp, Galen couldn’t help but think of Piglet and her many, many scars that were not even close to healing, and the way she so deliciously oinked when he taught her humility and penance in the face of his Power. All of her learning would go to waste if these savages ever got their hands on her, and others like her. A swelling sense of duty in his chest suddenly overwhelmed him.

For Loulanne.

He thought of the accolades he would surely receive, the rewards and praise given from those that had always seen him as merely a tool of teaching the raff their place. Finally he could distinguish himself in such a way as to be seen as more than an instrument.

For Sacrelia.

Galen steeled himself, vowing that he would not tire until he had his hands on these savages and made them tell him all they knew. His hand fell to his flensing knife, always worn at his waist. He thought about using it on these faceless invaders, thinking of all the ways in which he would twist it inside of them in an effort to make them tell all they had discovered.

For the king.