"Pissing himself, is he? Look at your pampered noble princelings, Lothar, sneaking off to water the trees! What, scared we'll catch a glimpse of their little peckers?" Duck-leg roared with laughter, his voice echoing through the surrounding tents.
Oh, I wouldn't be so sure, Lannord thought, a smirk playing on his lips. His cock might be bigger than yours and those two duck legs combined.
"That smirk of yours..." Lothar squinted suspiciously. "You two are always together. You're not... you know... with him... er—"
His unfinished insinuation sent the camp into hysteria. The riders howled with laughter while Duck-leg sprayed half-chewed meat everywhere. Lannord felt heat rise to his cheeks, though he blamed it on the firelight. "I'll go find him," he muttered, turning away.
"Look at these delicate noble flowers, Lothar!" Duck-leg wheezed, doubled over. "Next he'll be sneaking into the woods for a tumble with the other one! Ha! Nobles and their fancy ways. But me? I'd sooner rut with a goat than some prissy noble b—"
The legless roast duck struck his face mid-sentence, searing flesh meeting flesh as he howled in pain.
"That legless drake's more your style," Lannord's voice cut like winter frost as he strode toward the forest.
"So it truly was a monster?" Carl leaned forward, eyes wide. "The bards spoke true then - something dark lurks in the Blackwater."
"Not Drowned Ghouls, though," Tyler shook his head. "Those creatures avoid deep water, preferring the shallows. They hunt fish, not healthy horses. To devour a mount so quickly, it must have been..."
"Piranhas?"
"Hah..." Devalosfang's laugh held no warmth. "Though they shared some traits with piranhas, you'd gladly leap into a pool of those after seeing what I saw." His hands traced shapes in the air. "I only glimpsed their true form when dragged under. The chaos was beyond description - drowning knights screaming into the murk. In mere seconds, three men became floating bones. When something grabbed me, I thought death had come."
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"But it was Sir Lindsay pulling me down, not the beasts. His face - gods, even corpses looked more alive. He screamed something, but I saw only bubbles. Soon my face matched his bloodless mask."
"It glided behind him, a shadow in shadow. The water was filthy, but I saw it clearly when it struck - massive red-black eyes, armor-plate scales, fins twisted like a nightmare's wings. The size of a bloody warhorse, by the gods! Dwarfed even the largest piranha I'd ever heard of. And it... smiled at us. That grin haunts my dreams still. Then its jaws gaped wide - three rows of scythe-teeth top and bottom. Two bites reduced Sir Lindsay to bones."
"I spent my last breath and strength driving my sword into its maw. The blade pierced through, and after some thrashing, it died. But even dying, the beast snapped my sword in two!" The squad leader's breath hitched. "I don't remember reaching shore. I just swam toward the crowds, knowing those demon-fish preferred isolated prey... I survived by sacrificing my brothers. When I finally crawled ashore, I purged my soul along with my stomach."
"Gods above!" Carl exclaimed, his voice trembling. "Such horrors exist? But... the Kolova savages? How did they escape such a beast?"
"May Oris drag them screaming to her hell and fuck them all to death!" Devalosfang spat. "We learned too late - they wore pouches of morrowweed, broadleaf plantain, and obsidian powder. Those demon-fish have snake-eyes, useless things. They hunt by taste. Those pouches' scent made the beasts ignore the savages and feast on us instead." His tongue rasped against dry lips.
"It was their territory," Tyler said softly. Just as Monowe was once ours...
"And Oris doesn't drag men to hell for ravishing," Carl attempted a laugh. "She's the death goddess. Proper ladies don't force themselves on men, least of all savages—"
A deep moan cut him short. A soldier lay sprawled on a straw mat, a bear-like woman astride him, each thunderous joining drawing whimpers from his thin frame.
"Well," Carl amended hastily, "she's hardly a proper lady."
They approached the main camp now, where fires burned brighter. Soldiers and camp followers bathed together, some washing away battle's filth, others finding solace in each other's arms.
"I knew we'd lost without looking back. The Battle of Prayer Bridge ended in slaughter. Fewer than five hundred survived - green boys, wounded men, and camp followers. Surrounded in that dead village, we could barely resist. When supplies failed, so did we."
"Then they butchered you," Tyler said, his voice as cold as the Blackwater. Just as you did to us, no doubt.
"They questioned us first. Futile - neither side knew the other's tongue. That became their excuse. They killed everyone - soldiers, camp followers, all. And that girl, Lord Eoch's daughter... she died last. Died worst of all."
"Wait," Carl's face darkened. "Didn't you say a monster killed her?"
"Yes. And that's true." Devalosfang's smile held centuries of sorrow. "But there are many kinds of monsters in this world."
His voice turned hollow.
"And the worst of them all... are men."