"He said it was bad, m'lord. He called it a massacre."
On the road outside the village, they found a group of townsmen waiting for them. Their expressions extinguished the last hope Jonmarc had that the runner's story had been an exaggeration. In the distance, he could hear the wailing of mourners and the keening of the village women. "Where did it happen?" he asked the town's elder, a bearded man in the forefront of the group.
"Out of the far hills, sometime in the night, m'lord," the elder replied. "We've just been out, but I'll ride with you. Though I wish I never had to see such a thing again in my life." They rode half a candlemark. The wind whipped around them, making the snow rise from the ground in whirlwinds and driving it in gusts from where it lay heavily in the trees. When they reached the far hills, the elder reined in his horse, and Jonmarc looked out over the hillside.
Scattered across the hillside were the remains of sheep, torn limb from limb. The snow was dark with blood. Among the carcasses were the bodies of half a, dozen herders. "By the Whore!" Rann exclaimed as they neared the bodies. Other soldiers cursed in fear.
The men's throats showed two clear punctures; their bodies were pale as the snow. The corpses had been gutted, and then stuffed with hay and pebbles. Their entrails lay in a frozen mass beside them. Jonmarc fought the urg'e to retch. The tracks in the snow showed the herders' panic, running in vain as their attackers chased them. No tracks led to or from the site into the nearby woods. There were no tracks at all leading away, except by the trail they had followed.
"The herders that came out to relieve them found the bodies," the elder said. "They said that there were no tracks except their own. Only one boy survived, and he won't speak of what he saw. Whatever did this wasn't mortal, m'lord. They flew here and flew away. It didn't snow last night, and the wind hasn't been strong enough to cover the tracks completely. Crone take my soul! There are tales of the Wild Host doing such things, but that was long ago. What does it mean?"
"Someone's trying to start a war." Jonmarc paused. "Can you take me to the survivor?"
"He's with the hedge witch. Half-frozen and terrified near out of his wits."
The group rode in silence back to the village. As they neared the small grouping of houses and shops, the sound of bells and mourners grew louder.
The elder led them to a small house at the edge of town. The smell of herbs and poultices permeated the thatched-roof cottage. The hedge witch was a plump, stooped woman with short-cropped gray hair. Jonmarc could feel the accusation in her glare as he passed, and the unspoken charge that the Lord of the manor had failed in his vows.
Near the fireplace sat a boy about fifteen seasons old, huddled in a threadbare blanket. He did not look up when they entered.
"I've warmed him up, but he won't eat," the hedge witch said. "Not a mark on him. Don't know whether the Host did him a kindness or not, leaving him alive to tell the tale." She looked at Jonmarc. "His name is Kendry. His father and older brother were also with the herds."
Jonmarc remembered when he shared a similar fate. How long was it before I would tell Shanna's mother what happened to my family, my village, when the raiders came? Weeks? It was years before I stopped dreaming about it.
"Kendry," the elder said gently. "Lord Vahanian has come to talk with you. He wants to know what you saw."
Jonmarc took a step toward Kendry, and when the boy did not start in fear, he hunkered down to be on eye level. "I'm sorry about your family."
Kendry nodded, never taking his eyes off the fire.
Jonmarc drew a deep breath. "When I was fifteen summers old, raiders came to my village. They killed my family. Everyone but me. No one ever went after them, ever caught the men who burned my village. I want to find the people who killed your family, Kendry. Find them and make them pay. But I need to know what you saw."
Kendry was silent for so long Jonmarc did not think the boy would speak.
"It was the middle of the night," Kendry said. "The moon was high and full. We were sleeping. Gastell saw them first. A score of dark figures, flying through the sky. They circled us, wailing and moaning. And then—" The boy's voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly as tears started down his cheeks.
"They were dressed all in black, with masks over their faces. They dived at us. They started to chase us and scatter the sheep. There was nowhere to run. They picked up Gastell and I saw them, saw them—" Kendry buried his face in his hands. Jonmarc laid a hand on the boy's shoulder as the hedge witch pushed forward to talk softly with Kendry and lead him into a back room.
Jonmarc stood and looked to the village elder. "I'm sorry about your men, and your herd. When he's ready to travel, bring the boy to the manor. Perhaps Carina can help him." He looked back to where the hedge witch tended the boy in the back room, and wondered how he could expect the villagers to heed his next request. "I need your word that you'll let us handle this," Jonmarc said to the elder. "I'll go to the Blood Council. There are a small number of rogue vayash moru trying to end the truce. You know that if that happens, we all suffer."
"Aye. We'll do our best to keep the peace. But those were our lads out there. The families are going to want justice. And if it happens again—"
"I'll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn't. I need you to buy me some time to handle this. Let me bring it to the Blood Council. I promise you, your dead will be avenged."
"I'll do as you ask, Lord Vahanian, to the best of my power. But they will be avenged— one way or another."
"I'm sorry, m'lady, but they keep coming." Neirin, Jonmarc's day manager, apologized. After news spread far and wide about Carina's healing, Neirin had appointed himself gatekeeper to assure that the crowds that sought her attention remained orderly.
"It's not your fault. Any more word about what happened in Haven?"
"Lord Jonmarc went from there out to the south holdings. The story from the guards is all I know."
"Send after the boy tomorrow, please. I don't dare leave tonight with so many waiting. If he'll come to the manor, I'll see what I can do for him." Carina listened as the bells tolled the fourth hour. "I just wish Jonmarc would get back before dark."
"Understandable, m'lady," Neirin said. "And I'll do as you ask." He looked out over the long line of people waiting to be healed. How far news had traveled of the attack was uncertain, but waiting patients were edgier than usual. "I've brought a couple of the serving girls, and a midwife from the village. If you give them direction, they can help with simple things like binding up wounds. Lisette will come at nightfall. Eiria volunteered as well."
"I'll be glad for their help," Carina confessed. "Goddess! At least when I treated battle wounded I wasn't the only healer!"
Carina put the two mortal servants to work separating out the sickest patients from those with minor injuries. She set to work, not noticing that the sun had set until Lisette came to take over as her assistant.
"Your fame is spreading," Lisette observed, helping Carina calm a small girl with a bad burn on her arm.
"Jonmarc warned me that it had been a long time since Dark Haven had a full healer, but I didn't realize just what that meant," Carina tried to distract the girl long enough to heal the burn. "When Arontala stole the orb from under the manor, Dark Haven seemed to go to sleep," Lisette observed. "Now, with the new lord, things are awakening, both good and bad."
"What do you mean?" Carina slipped into a light trance as she sped the healing of the girl's arm, willing the pain to decrease as the new skin covered the angry burn. The girl's mother bowed low, repeating her thanks and trying to offer Carina the sparse contents of her satchel in gratitude.