When they came upon the farmstead, nothing stirred but the cutting wind, blown like a razor down from the mountains, across the white-capped lake, and through their hearts. They entered the steading silently, with weapons drawn and spells ready upon their lips, but a quick search around the decimated husk of what was once a human hearth yielded ample bodies, but no foe.
“Ulfr…Finna…Egill…that little one, that looks like Gudmund’s son…” said Wigliff quietly, taking stock of the carnage.
Einar seethed. “Too slow. Odd’s blood, too slow!”
“We should bury the dead,” said Louis. He averted his eyes from what appeared to be a woman’s dismembered corpse.
Ilse dismounted and knelt beside the body of an old man. “What is this?” she asked, reaching out. When she withdrew her gauntlet, black ice flaked away. The man’s dead eyes looked like frozen cataracts, and his body was covered in a rime of frost.
Stefano examined a small boy beside her that had been cleaved in twain. “It wasn’t enough to hack these people to pieces—Frostmourne had to steal their lives’ warmth. The blade, Rurik. Can it do this?”
The half-ogre nodded from within his helm. He did not remove his visor. His posture spoke of coiled tension.
“Boss…” Avido began, flapping his wings awkwardly. He clawed onto Stefano’s shoulder tightly.
“I know, Avido. We will mourn the dead later.” The priest raised his voice, “Einar, can you track it? We must find this monster.”
Recovering as if from a fugue, the barbarian nodded darkly and began to cast about for evidence of the hag’s passage.
“We should bury the dead,” repeated Louis, “We should bury them.”
“No,” said Stefano, “We have no time. Avido.” He gently lifted the bird in both hands and held him to his chest. “Return to the Oksi. Tell them what has happened.”
“But, boss, I…”
“We will speak of it later, Avido. The Oski must know of this. Tell them to send warriors—there is still danger here.”
The bird nodded miserably. Stefano tossed it into the air, where it caught wing and began to ascend.
Ilse watched Avido depart. “Your familiar seems…distraught. How strange.”
“Aren’t you?” replied Stefano wearily. He took in the bloody scene. “I have never before seen such brutality.”
“I have. It is common for raiding parties of Arbonnese knights to burn our fields and hamlets along the Franconian border.”
“The Arbonnese accuse Mord soldiers of much the same.”
“I don’t doubt it. War makes men into animals, and the wars of kings are godless, much as they invoke their divine rights. Konrad coveted Franconia’s wealth, nothing more, as did Roland*.”
Germanicus snorted misty vapor and nudged Ilse's shoulder, so she patted his nose. “It is the Franconians, caught between two kingdoms’ greed, who have suffered the most.”
“The subjects of Arbonne and Mordengard have suffered as well,” Stefano said, “They have lost their innocence.”
“No,” replied Ilse, “They have forfeited their righteousness. They did so the moment they followed their kings into a sovereign country on the pretense of pursuing hereditary claim.”
“You are an idealist, Reverend Reifsnyder.”
“That is why I serve the Church and not the king, Reverend Barozzi.”
They stood in silence. After a time, Ilse spoke, “We should pray for these people.”
Stefano nodded, “When Einar returns. This loss affects him more than any of us, except perhaps for Rurik.” He glanced at the giant, who had begun to gather bodies with Louis and Wigliff.
“Does he blame himself?” asked Ilse.
“I cannot conceive of how he would not feel some modicum of guilt, despite being granted the gods’ absolution,” said Stefano. “He has a gentle soul.”
“He was a mercenary, Reverend Barozzi, and fought in Franconia. He killed for gold.” She noted the look of surprise on Stefano’s face. “Or did he not tell you?”
Stefano watched the giant carefully lift the decimated body of a young man. He sighed, “No.”
“Ah.”
Einar reappeared, longspear in hand, with a wild expression upon his blond bearded face. “The hag follows the coast, which runs north for several miles before turning west. If we travel due northwest through the forest, we can catch it. If we are swift.” This last remark he hurled across the farmyard, where it struck Rurik like an arrow. The big warrior flinched and bowed his head.
“Come on! That’s enough of that,” barked Louis, “Just lead us to the damned thing.” He patted Rurik on one hulking vambrace.
Einar set his jaw and glowered at the bard, “Don’t tell me what to do, elf.”
“We should go,” interjected Wigliff, “There’s not much light left.” The sun had begun a slow plummet to the horizon.
“He’s right,” affirmed Ilse, “We don’t want to fight this monster in the dark.” She remounted Germanicus, who pranced impatiently.
“Wait!” Stefano raised his hand, palm outward, “A prayer.”
Einar instantly knelt and lowered his head. Rurik lumbered to one knee, and Louis followed suit more slowly, searching for a relatively dry patch of earth. Wigliff remained standing, his eyes on the far-off waters of the lake.
After a brief benediction, they stood. Einar glowered at Rurik and Louis again before jogging toward the tree line. “Try to keep up,” he snarled as he brushed past them. Angreiðr thumped against his cloak as he vaulted across the rough earth.
Louis looked at the half-ogre in sympathy. “Don’t worry about him, man. This isn’t your fault."
“No,” growled Rurik, “It’s yours.”
The gigantic warrior thundered ahead, pumping his arms and legs in an effort to keep up with Einar, who had already vanished in the murk between the evergreens.
Louis stumbled along behind the others, stung.
* The Peacock War—The kingdoms of Mordengard and Arbonne have warred over territorial rights to the north-coastal regions of Lustria and Franconia since the year 971. Franconia is rich in minerals and arable land, and it was once a colony of the Genovan city-state Lagella, whose crest sports a peacock. Nearly one hundred years ago, in 969, King Konrad IV of Mordengard invaded Franconia, and in 970 King Roland II of Arbonne claimed hereditary title to the land and made war against Konrad. Lagella supported Roland initially, but it soon became apparent that the Arbonnese king desired all the land for himself. In 1002 Konrad’s grandson Mikal won the port city of Tulan after a long siege, and renamed it Durmstrang. Shortly after that he conquered all of Lustria, making it a duchy for his brother-in-law. 58 years later, the war for Franconia continues.