“THIS isn’t the way to Gravlorn.”
Bran’s voice was expressionless, almost distant, as he said the words, and his eyes strayed away from the bloodied bodies that lay in front of him. The kingdom was caught in the bleak light of a late winter afternoon, with stark, leafless trees bearing silent witness to their discovery, though even they stood at a distance. The horses nickered behind him, the scent of blood, caked and dried though it was, was still fresh enough to make them nervous. Carrick said nothing, but his gaze turned to the surrounding landscape as well.
They—he and Carrick—had left Delfore more than two days ago, turning east at the first crossroads out of the capital city to make their way toward the port city of Dennor. The road they had chosen had lost its cobblestones shortly after the city was left behind, becoming well-packed and rutted dirt trailing over brown and lifeless hills. Their departure had in turn taken place only two days after the king had sent other Defenders north to the Defender city of Gravlorn—these Defenders, the ones at their feet—with the purpose of retrieving Prince Kherin, the youngest prince of the kingdom, with orders to return him to the capitol regardless of the arguments they would no doubt face. Four days in total; not enough time to reach the border city and return, and far too early to raise alarms about a delay.
The weather had held, so far at least, though the sun had not broken through the clouds that gathered overhead. They—Carrick and Bran—had been following separate orders from their king, namely traveling to Dennor to verify the rumors first spoken of weeks ago by the king’s favored trader. Carrick knew Derek Resh as well as Bran did despite his own intermittent presence in the castle, and he knew the trader wouldn’t have spoken of treason unless the threat had been real. But the passing of weeks—not days—with no further messages from the trader had done more than the mere words when it came to goading the king into action. Prince Kherin being in Gravlorn notwithstanding, silence from the trader lasting this long was rare, and it was unlikely to bode well.
The corpses of the men lying before them only confirmed the point.
Four men still wearing the ruins of their Defender armor lay dead, their throats cut, their bodies discarded at the edge of the road. The hard ground left little indication of what had become of their horses or their weapons, the bodies seemingly dumped and left for whatever scavengers found them. It was a wonder that so far none had.
But Carrick had known these men. Though his primary duties were at the grain mill far from the royal castle, he had been in Delfore long enough to know most of the men who carried swords. Bran would perhaps know these men better. He tended to weapons and arms in the royal armory. And Bran had been right; this was the wrong direction to take to reach Gravlorn, meaning these men had died in a place they never should have been to begin with.
He shifted his gaze to Bran, who still crouched at the edge of the road, noting the set of his jaw as he carefully avoided looking at the bodies. He wondered if the young Defender had ever seen men killed before, let alone men he knew. Duty at the border had been mild for years, with few if any deaths from battle. Enough years that it was unlikely that Bran had ever been in a true battle with the northerners. No one ever became accustomed to seeing friends and comrades lying dead, but everyone—Defender or otherwise—would undoubtedly witness it sooner or later. From old age, if nothing else.
“Northerners did this,” Bran said suddenly, his voice still flat, and sounding loud in the gray silence around them. He didn’t turn his gaze as he spoke.
“You’re making an assumption,” Carrick answered slowly, watching him. Still, it was unlikely that something as simple as bandits would have had the training or the arms to defeat Defenders this soundly, and they would likely lack the strength even if by some chance they had the first two. Because those living outside the borders of the cities often lacked the proper meals that could ensure good health.
Animals hadn’t done this either, and with all the contingent dead, there was little chance they had turned on each other. Northerners seemed a more likely answer than anything else Carrick could think of, but this far into Llarien…?
“But why bring them here?” Bran continued, turning his head to Carrick. “These men would have been going to Gravlorn, so they wouldn’t have come on this road at all. If the northerners killed them and brought them here, why?”
Carrick turned back to the bleak landscape, saying nothing.
But Bran wasn’t finished, and he stood slowly as he continued to speak. “If they didn’t want them to be found, they wouldn’t have left them by the road. Any road. And if they did, they would have picked a road more traveled, not a cut road that few would cross in winter.” He looked back down and studied the bodies thoughtfully. “It’s like they were taking them somewhere, then changed their mind.”
Carrick shrugged then stood as well. Whatever shock had taken the young Defender earlier was fading now, and in its place rose anger. As a Defender, he would have to master that as well.
“The trader said that northerners were seen in and around Dennor, and he said it was likely that they would move east and south, if for no other reason than the thinner population.” Carrick nodded in the direction of the port city as he spoke. “They may have already passed through Dennor and were making their way inland.”
“But how did the Defenders end up here?” Bran demanded. The note of challenge in his voice drew Carrick’s gaze. “None of them would have defied the king’s orders and chose Dennor over Gravlorn. They had no reason to turn east.”
Carrick drew himself up straight, but the weariness was present in the shake of his head. “We won’t know that until we learn to speak to the dead,” he said evenly.
Bran flushed and looked away, seemingly reminded of his place by the mere tone of the elder Defender. “I’m sorry. It’s just that….” He waved a hand over the bodies. Then the hand fell to his side as he sighed.
Carrick nodded, but didn’t let go of the formalness entirely. “I know. But we had better be moving down the road. Neither one of us is going to like camping out of doors if the snow breaks.”
“What about them?” Bran asked, indicating the bodies again.
Carrick looked at the remains for one last time and then turned back to where their horses stood. “Leave them. Their souls have already been taken, so there is nothing left there that shouldn’t stay in this world.” He continued when Bran’s eyes widened, “We don’t have the time or the means to bury them or take them with us, or to notify Gravlorn or Delfore before we reach Dennor. We will inform the council in Dennor, and let them handle returning the remains.”
Bran stared at the bodies and still made no move toward his own horse. Carrick’s tone changed then to that of one who was fully in charge.
“If there were scavengers nearby, they would have already found them. Get on your horse, Bran. We still have a long ways to go.”