Larson continued his surveying of the recruits. Indeed, the nobler parts of the outriders were definitely on top of the list of those likely to cause trouble, but they certainly weren't alone. Larson's eyes wandered to a certain man, half a head taller than anybody else around him with long, wild hair and beard that had survived repeated orders to shave. The big man's brown eyes were wandering all about before they met Larson's. Unlike the noble af Brightsteele, there was no challenge in the big man's gaze, just a quiet, powerful understanding. Gunnar Four-Fingers knew exactly who he was and what he was about, but he also knew exactly what those around him were about. Larson gave him a nod, and the giant nodded back. Larson fought down a smile as he reminisced at how different Gunnar had been when they first met, and figured that maybe some of his calm had disappeared with his finger.

****

Chopping wood was a strangely relaxing task, Gunnar thought. He was probably somewhat alone in thinking that, but that was ok. He enjoyed the repeated, powerful, somewhat mindless motions and the smell of sap in the evening air. There was also a certain feeling of beating nature at it's own game. It took you years to grow this tree, and I will fell it in an hour. Then again, Gunnar reminded himself that his outhouse had burned down due to a lightning strike last year, so maybe tempting mother nature was unwise, even if you did it quietly.

The pine tree groaned and creaked as it succumbed to the repeated axe blows, and Gunnar wiped his brow with a free hand. Normally, a cart would be summoned and several men would help each other in loading the felled tree onto the cart, but Gunnar didn't want that. The tree wasn't that big, and he didn't want to bother anybody else, so he simply grabbed hold of the fallen tree and began hauling it towards the camp. It was grueling work, even for someone of his impressive stature, but it felt right.

The foreman sat on a fresh tree stump with his pipe in his mouth when Gunnar showed up. The older man raised a bushy eyebrow. "Heaven's sake, Gunnar, your back will be in bits in a few years if you keep doing that you know." Gunnar let go of the tree and straightened his back with an audible pop. "Then I have a few years to haul as many logs as I can's how I see it" he said and gave an uneven smile that mostly disappeared into his big beard. The foreman shook his head with a smile and offered Gunnar the pipe. The big man accepted and took a deep, slow puff that he didn't really like, but the gesture was kind, so he smiled through the taste. He gave the pipe back to the foreman and looked around. Some other boys were carting back lumber to the camp, and a dozen people were busy hacking and chopping at the ground to make furrows for seeding. A kilometer or so away, Gunnar saw the high walls of Carlea with a bunch of peasant houses lining the outside like brown mushrooms. This camp was the furthest away from the safety of the city's walls, and Gunnar felt proud about it. Nothing bad had happened, much to the chagrin of various doomsayers. This area was often maligned for its high quantity of ravenous wolves, pestering crows and other unpleasantness in the forests, but Gunnar had seen none of these things so far. Sure, he had heard a wolf or two howl in the night, but nothing had come of it. The foreman spoke up.

"Hell, it doesn't feel right to make you work harder than you've been. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" Gunnar was genuinely surprised, but he smiled at the foreman.

"Can hardly turn that down" he grinned. He stuck his axe in the tree he had hauled to the campsite, and went for the newly built cabin with the bunks in it for a well-deserved nap.

****

An explosion shook Gunnar from his sleep, and he almost fell out of the small bunk. People were screaming outside, and flashes of firelight stung Gunnar's eyes. He looked around and found himself alone in the cabin. Human voices outside were drowned out by the howls of beasts. Or, no. Not beasts. People? Gunnar cursed his ears that he couldn't pick it out, but what he heard was such a strange, inbetween sound that he genuinely couldn't place it. The door to the cabin slammed open, and a horror of a man stood there. A farmer, judging by his clothes, was covered in a thick, oily sludge. This sludge burned with hellish fire, and the man screamed as he died a meter from Gunnar's uselessly outstretched hands. The cabin quickly became terribly hot, and the stench of cooked flesh and oil forced Gunnar outside.

Outside was worse.

Gunnar could see shapes darting around in the blackness, dog-like and incredibly fast. The same oily, black slime he had seen covering the farmer was dripping from their rail-thin canine bodies, and their eyes were a blazing red. He saw one launch itself at a metal lantern that was still smoldering, and when the sludge that covered its wolf-like body came in contact with the open flame, a fiery explosion burst forth, forcing Gunnar to avert his eyes as the creature perished with a scream that was just human enough for Gunnar to shudder despite the heat.

"What in God's name", he said quietly under his breath.

Many of the log cabins were on fire now, people were screaming and coughing from the smoke, and prayers could barely be heard over the baying-screaming of the wolf devils. Gunnar felt a jolt of energy in his limbs as yet another wolf-thing touched a man's torch and exploded in a hail of sludgy chunks, and he ran for where he left his axe. It was still there, stuck in the tree he had pulled to camp by himself. Did he lead the devils here? Was this all his fault?

No, that's impossible. Right?

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

He heard the patter of feet behind him and he swung around. One of the wolf creature stood there, looking at him in the murk. What was visible of it's head was almost skeletal, and black sludge seemed to seep from its nostrils and open mouth and, God, even it's eye sockets like it was crying oil. The creature growled and lashed its wiry tail, and it sounded just human enough for Gunnar to take an involuntary step back. The wolf leapt at the chance, and Gunnar swung his woodcutter's axe blindly. The creature yelped like a struck child as the axe bit it in the ribs, but it wouldn't stop. Gunnar felt a burning pain as he felt something on his left hand tear away, and as he and the creature separated, he saw it toss one of his fingers in the air and catch it with a content slurp. He looked down at his right hand, blood gushing from where his little finger had been previously. The creature gurgled and made a sound like it was almost laughing, and it dug into the ground with its claws, ready to leap again. Gunnar threw the axe at it as it jumped, distracting those slavering jaws for just a moment. The creature's maw snapped around the handle of the axe, and Gunnar's enormous hands clamped down around the creature's neck. They both fell to the ground, and Gunnar squeezed as tightly as he could, harder than he had ever done anything before. The creature whined and lashed, and when it began bubbling and crying like a child, Gunnar screamed as loud as he could to drown out that horrible sound. Before he passed out, he heard what sounded like gunshots in the distance, and a massive voice thundering over the din of slaughter.

****

Gunnar woke in a medic's tent, and sat up so fast he became lightheaded. The only other person in the tent, a woman in her 30s with short blonde hair, hastened to his side.

"Oh no you don't, you will stay in this bed until I tell you otherwise". Her voice was effortlessly commanding, like she's said that same thing a thousand times. Gunnar raised his right hand and found that he was not only bandaged, but clean. He remembered the texture of that horrible sludge in his hands, and the sound the creature had made. Surely, none of that had really happened. Surely, he had just worked too hard and passed out? He laid his head back down on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.

Two days later, Gunnar sat comfortably within the high walls of Carlea, eating soup in the mess kitchen of the military barracks. Opposite him sat a big older man, with granite eyes and a powerful, bearded chin. Gunnar had seen him throw a piece of pork on the floor, and an enormous owl had swept down from the rafters to take it, silent as anything. The older man had introduced himself as Captain Larson when they first met, and now he sat with his arms over the table, fingers steepled.

"I would like to congratulate you, Gunnar. You were the only one who killed one of those damned things." Gunnar shuddered.

"Doesn't feel like something to be congratulated for's how I feel." He could still feel the oily sludge between his fingers and the devilish creature slowly going still. Larson went quiet for a bit, then spoke again.

"Did you know", he began, "that the only reason we knew what happened is because we came to your camp in the night?" Gunnar looked at him and shrugged.

"It's true. By dawn, all traces of those infernal things disappeared. Melted away like fresh snow, bones and all." Gunnar could feel his eyes widening.

"So if you had come later-", he began.

"We would have known nothing", Larson finished. "Yes, it's true." Gunnar went quiet for a bit, taking small spoonfuls of soup.

"Is the forest evil?" he said finally, and Larson shrugged.

"Maybe, we don't know. I think we're all aware that after the star fell, things have changed, but nobody could foresee something like this. People are already clamoring to be let inside the walls for the night, and everybody you worked with, the survivors that is, have resigned."

"Did the foreman live?"

"No, I don't think so." Gunnar stood up, drank the rest of the soup and turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Larson casually.

"The foreman was nice to me. Let me off work early. Now he's dead, and I'm sitting here eating fucking soup." He slowed down.

"Sir," he added. Larson smiled warmly under his beard.

"Am I right in assuming that you feel like some kind of revenge is in order?" Gunnar nodded.

"Yes sir."

"You wish to figure out what the forest holds, and why something like this would come from it?"

"I've lived near the woods all my life, sir, and nothing like this has ever happened. It's not right." Larson stood up, and the owl swept down once again to sit comfortably on his left shoulder.

"Excellent, he said. Welcome to the Outriders. I just hope with have a uniform in your size."