Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [50]
Brynd ignored the taunts.
“Go on, lad,” Apium continued. “Aim low. Go for his cock—he’s not got any use for it these days.”
Finally they sheathed their sabers and Brynd turned to the others. “Time for a close-range scout. Sen’ll stay here with the wing commander. The rest of you want to take a look around with me?”
Everyone groaned but they stood up.
Apium brushed himself down. “Which way we heading, commander?”
“I think we’ll follow a circle going east, nothing too far out, just a few hundred paces. I need to make sure there’ll be no surprises tonight.” Brynd wasn’t sure exactly how wary to be. This was Jokull, after all, and there hadn’t been any serious fighting on the island for years—before Dalúk Point. Before that incident, the idea of any threat on the home island was something not even considered.
The others followed him in a huddled group, taking a three-hundred-pace radius around their camp. The terrain was largely flat, and away from the forest, an open view for leagues. Underfoot was a mossy grass that concealed rocks and dips. Apium managed to fall over just twice.
The sky blackened further. The glow of the campfire stood out as an intense beacon, revealing the silhouette of the carriage. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. Only one of the moons was showing—the larger one, Bohr—but it was now cresting the horizon just before leaving the landscape in utter darkness.
After a while, Brynd heard something strange in the distance. He had spent enough time in the wild to know that it was nothing natural.
He regarded the carriage.
Apium asked, “What’s up?”
Brynd gestured for him to be silent while he scanned the scene with the enhanced vision which the Night Guard benefited from, but it wasn’t enough for a clear identification.
Shadows moved across the landscape.
Nelum and Lupus moved alongside, staring back to the campfire. Lupus said, “I see something.”
“Strap your weapons and armor tight,” Brynd said. “Let’s get back quietly.”
The four soldiers jogged in stealth across the tundra, back to the carriage. Brynd began to slow, waved for the others to follow suit, then signaled for them to unsheathe their weapons. Lupus swiftly nocked an arrow, Apium and Nelum drew short axes, Brynd pulled out his saber. As they approached the campfire they spread out.
Sen and the garuda were nowhere to be seen, the only noise coming from the crackle of the fire.
And something was wrong, an uncertainty hovering in the air, and once again the environment became to Brynd a matter of statistics, of distances, chances, arrows spent. He turned back to study the copse of trees. He concentrated, heightening his level of perception.
To the other side of the carriage: a strange lump on the ground. It was difficult to make out in the darkness despite his superior vision.
He went over and knelt down next to it.
Lurched back in disgust.
It was Sen’s head, severed cleanly, blood draining away from it in a small trickle between Brynd’s boots.
Brynd hailed the others in an urgent whisper, and they ran to his side. The sense of shock among them was palpable.
Brynd looked up. “Stay calm. Stick together.” He analyzed the scene as if the trees would produce instant answers. What the fuck is happening on this island of ours?
He noticed the trail of blood leading under the cover of the fagus trees. The rest of Sen’s body must be there somewhere. The treetops fizzed under the night sky.
“Wait, commander,” Apium whispered. “I don’t think we should follow. Whatever did this to Sen is obviously skilled at picking people off quietly. Best we don’t separate for the moment.”
“You might be right there, captain,” Brynd murmured, though uncertainly.
“What, we’re just going to let Sen’s death go without investigation?” Lupus said indignantly.
Brynd gestured for him to lower his voice. “One of the most promising young soldiers in the Empire is dead. One of our garudas has gone missing. So you think we should pursue this right now, at night, in the dark in the woods? There’re just four of