The Missing Soldiers

At another post, this one reinforced, buried deep in the ground, and tamped firm, Ron turned sideways and adjusted his breathing. Then he kicked off the ground and surged forward, the sound of the earth cracking beneath him swallowed by the wind of his body hurtling ahead.

The instant his shoulder armor struck the post, a dull boom rang out. The thick wooden post snapped in two, its upper half shattering and flying away before rolling several times across the mud and coming to a stop. Ron steadied himself. The plates on his shoulder meshed smoothly, without the slightest snag.

No one spoke.

Miko's Adam's apple bobbed. Pete stood at the edge of the swordsmanship area, lightly pressing his fingers against his own knee.

All the recruits stopped what they were doing and turned to look. Cole did not shout for them to reform their ranks. He looked at the gouges left by the sword on the ground, then shifted his gaze to Ron without saying a word.

Old Gott stood before the militia formation, staring at the half of the broken post that had rolled away for a while. Then he turned to the equally stunned militiamen and said, "Spear stance. Start from the beginning. One at a time."

Several civilians stood beside the courtyard wall. The little girl with braids raised her hand and waved hard in Ron's direction. Her mother pressed both hands to her chest and drew a quiet breath.

The woman who had clutched her child and trembled in the burning village was also among the crowd. Her lips moved as she murmured something under her breath, then she nodded. There seemed to be far more peace in her eyes.

Two lightly wounded Blue Iron Guards leaned at the edge of the training ground. One nudged his companion with an elbow. "Back in the village that day..."

The other cut him off, lowering his voice. "That wasn't his full strength." They had already learned how strong this group was when sparring with the personal guards, but what they were seeing now went beyond the limits of his imagination.

Ves had not made a sound from beginning to end. Leaning against the fence, she had a blade of grass she had snapped off from somewhere hanging from her mouth. She had bitten it flat. She took it out, lowered her head to inspect it, then flicked it onto the ground.

"What the fuck is there left to fight?"

She shook her head. It was not fear, but a helpless sort of mockery. Then she pushed herself away from the fence. As she passed Ron, she tilted her head.

"Big guy, give us a heads-up next time you're testing something, so I can have my people put on diapers in advance."

With that, she continued toward the swordsmanship area, the hem of her uniform swaying softly behind her.

Brom stood at the entrance to the smithy for a moment, lowering his arms from his chest. Then, with a clang, he pulled down the bellows and turned to head inside.

Todd squatted beside the quenching trough, craning his neck to watch the dust on the training ground slowly settle. His lips moved, but he did not dare say anything. He merely stirred the water in the trough twice more.

Ron took off his helmet and stood in the middle of the training ground. He planted his greatsword in the mud and looked down at his palm. Even through the iron gauntlet, there was no numbness or tingling in the web between his thumb and forefinger.

The counterweights Brom had adjusted had spread out the force. Plate armor and greatswords were for sieges and decisive battles. This lighter armor would be the preferred choice for what came next.

He bent down, picked up the lighter armor, folded it, and laid it over his arm.

From the direction of the smithy, the pounding of the forge hammer resumed. Brom's voice came from before the furnace.

"Until the water-powered hammer is running, there's only this one set of plate armor. We can produce brigandines and breastplates in batches when the time comes. Plate armor... there'll probably only be enough to equip the personal guard."

On the training ground, the recruits formed up again. Miko stood at the front of the formation, gripping the hilt of his sword. He glanced back at Ron, then turned around and began correcting the shield-holding stance of the first row.

Several days later, Crow's Nest.

The hall was thick with the smell of ale. When Ron entered after completing his routine patrol, the baron was sprawled in a high-backed oak chair, one leg draped over the armrest and a flask clutched in his hand.

Seeing Ron enter, he waved a hand. His lips moved twice, producing a few incoherent syllables, then he gave up. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

Ron said nothing as he watched the baron take another swig, set the empty flask on the table, and let it roll half a turn over the edge before it fell to the floor.

Hasty footsteps sounded outside. A Crow's Nest soldier ran in through the door, stopped before Ron, saluted, and spoke. "Sergeant Major."

"The group the baron sent out to search for the lady and young miss has been missing for a full day."

The baron turned over in his chair, mumbling something. One arm dangled down, his fingers twitching unconsciously before falling still again.

The soldier did not look at the baron. He looked at Ron, his Adam's apple bobbing. "We lost contact near the southern edge of the swamp. Hans was with them too."

Ron remembered the name. The young man who had crouched beside the training ground to secretly watch Fiona spar, then climbed up from the mud with a grin and said, "Could you teach me?"

Later, he had been responsible for carrying messages and supplies between Crow's Nest and Calrad Manor. Half the reason Crow's Nest soldiers had become familiar with the manor's people so quickly was because of him running back and forth.

"How long?"

"Since yesterday evening."

Ron turned toward the hall doors. "Gather the men. Ready the horses."

The forest south of the swamp remained gloomy and mottled even at noon, the air thick with the smell of wet rot. Hooves struck the muddy ground with dull thuds.

Ron rode at the very front, his greatsword hanging at his horse's side and javelins strapped across his back. His right hand rested on the sword hilt.

Miko led the search party through the woods in a scattered formation. Every so often, someone would crouch down to inspect the traces on the ground.

All sorts of beasts and monsters sometimes appeared in the forest, but this path was unnaturally quiet. It was not that there were no beasts here. They had avoided this area.

"Over here." Old Gott's voice came from nearby.

Ron urged his horse over. Old Gott was crouched beneath a tree, his finger pressed against a dark stain on the ground. Blood, mostly dried. The blood trail stretched deeper into the woods, appearing and disappearing as if someone had been dragged away.

After they went forward several dozen paces, Miko raised his left hand. Everyone stopped.

A baron's soldier lay dead beside a fallen tree trunk. His upper and lower body were connected only by a torn section of spine. His breastplate had split open, revealing the shredded leather lining beneath.

It had not been done by blades. He had been ripped apart by something stronger. In the nearby grass lay half an arm still clutching a sword hilt, its blade stained with black blood.

The second corpse was propped against a tree root, as though he had been trying to hide, but something sharp had pierced him from the side and nailed him to the trunk.

Miko held up a torch and studied it for a while before rising to his feet.

"It looks like a beast, but beasts don't attack this way." His voice was heavier than usual. "This isn't hunting. It's purely for enjoyment."

The search continued deeper in. At the edge of the woods, Old Gott found a cave. Its entrance was not large, but it was covered in deep claw marks, running from the rock wall all the way to the ground.

There were a mess of footprints on the ground. Some were boot prints, while another set was small, only half the size of an adult man's.

A faint sob came from behind the pile of stones at the cave entrance. Ron raised a hand, and all the soldiers stopped at once.

He quietly circled around the rocks and found the source of the sound: a tiny girl crouching behind the stones, both hands covering her mouth.

Tear tracks had washed two channels through the dirt on her face. She wore a patched linen dress, its hem torn in several places.