Prologue
First Wednesday of July
The column of black smoke continued to rise in the distance. Dark and wispy, it was already far thinner than when it had first been spotted; another few hours and it would be gone.
“And yer sure there weren’t any survivors?” Raegal asked, turning to his companion.
Haife shrugged, “That’s what they told me, anyway. I didn’t stick around long enough to see for myself.”
Raegal stared back up at the distant smoke, “I jus’ can’t believe it. Fimgarten… gone.”
“I know,” Haife agreed somberly. “We’ll have to arrange a crew to head over there soon. Much as I hate having to see all that, I’d hate it even more if we left the bodies to wild animals—or worse.”
“What about the army?” Raegal questioned.
“Said they’re movin’ on. We’re just lucky they got to that group of beastmen before they reached Athol. Then it would’ve been up to the likes of us to defeat them.”
Raegal huffed, “Or die tryin’, more like.”
“Right,” Haife agreed.
The two men, clad in the worn, antiquated armor of the Athol volunteer guard, turned and started back towards town. Raegal had met up with Haife as the latter was on his way back from investigating the smoke, putting them at least a couple hours’ trudge from the village center.
“So, do we report t’ Kalem?” Raegal asked, looking for something to fill the silence.
Haife shook his head, “Nah, we should go straight to Lord Esther. He’ll have better luck rallying people for the cleanup.”
“Most have finished plantin’ fer the season, at least, so tha’ should help matters.”
“Maybe. It’s grim work either way.”
A protracted silence fell between them as they continued south, the blue sky overhead seeming a stark contrast to the news of the day.
An entire town destroyed. Raegal hadn’t heard of that happening in a long time—not even during his five years in the military. But then, he was from Gh’mia’s inner ring, close to the capitol. It was possible that kind of thing was more common out here. Or maybe the situation with the beastmen was simply getting worse. If that were the case, it would be all the better to get those bodies buried soon, lest other beastmen be drawn in by the scent.
The two men continued on, letting the river be their guide as they wended their way towards home. After about an hour, they caught sight of a farm in the near distance as they reached Athol’s outer edge. An hour after that, the small collection of buildings that made up the village center came into view. Sitting there, nestled among the verdant, open lands of the middle ring, it looked all too vulnerable.
In the four years since Raegal had gone on siring leave, he’d almost managed to forget the constant threat the beastmen posed to the lives of everyone in Gh’mia. Athol had always seemed so quiet, so peaceful, so safe. This was where he was raising his children and where his wife would soon give birth to their fourth. Would he ever be able to feel that peace again?
“If you want, we could split up: I can report to his Lordship while you check in with Kalem,” Haife offered, breaking Raegal from his thoughts.
“Nah, probably best if we…” Raegal broke off as he caught a sound carrying faintly across the wind. “D’you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Tha’ sound. It sounded like…” He paused, listening. “There it is again!”
“There what is again? You still haven’t told me—”
“Cryin’,” Raegal explained. “It sounds like a baby cryin’.”
“You’re imagining it,” Haife assured him. “I don’t blame you, though. By the time Alana and I had our fourth, I heard crying everywhere I went—day and night. And I’m afraid it only gets worse for you from here, my friend. Once your next one’s weened and Kai’ala heads back, it’ll be four on one and you won’t have to question whether you hear crying—it’ll be about all you hear for the next five years.”
But Raegal had stopped listening to him. The younger man had diverted from their course and was headed toward the river. Haife took off after him—intending to turn him back—when he, too, heard it.
The two of them picked up their pace, the crying clearly audible now that they were closer to its source. Raegal stayed in the lead, going as fast as he dared whilst keeping his eyes trained on the tall, summer grasses they were striding through lest he trod on the crying’s source. But the baby wasn’t in the grass. In fact, it wasn’t until they came to the river's edge, stepping out onto its rocky banks, that they found it. There, nestled in a patch of reeds at the water’s edge, was a baby.
“God’s bleed,” Raegal swore, bending down to scoop the child up in his hands. “Where did you come from?”
“Upriver,” Haife guessed, pointing. “Must’ve, right?”
“All this way?” Raegal questioned. “That’s miles from here.”
“I know—or did you forget that’s where I just came from.”
Raegal looked down at the child in his hands. It was a girl, perhaps a year old by the look of her, with a short shock of flame-red hair and bright, blue eyes. As he looked into those eyes, the child looked into his. Her crying stopped, and she smiled. He smiled back. The loss of the town was devastating—nothing would change that. Yet, as he looked into the child’s smiling eyes, the clear blue sky didn’t feel quite so wrong anymore. Fimgarten was gone and countless lives had been lost, but it seemed that there was at least one survivor after all.
