‘We’d better take a look. But we’ll go on foot. We’ll make less noise that way.’
They hitched their horses to a twisted willow tree that sprouted like a scarecrow from the swamp. Jack plucked a cartridge from a pouch on his belt and loaded his musket. Although Kanvar carried a rotary pistol in a holster, he didn’t draw it. No doubt he preferred to fight with his formidable powers.
They crept towards the village, doing their best to avoid slipping into the deep pools and sinkholes. Jack’s whole leg shot down into the mud at one point and Kanvar rushed across to help him out.
The huts drew closer. Now Jack could see that about a third had either been partially or wholly destroyed. He gripped the musket more tightly. He didn’t like the look of this.
They clambered over a low embankment, reached dry land again and scurried across to the rear of the closest hut. They both stood with their backs to the wall, breathing heavily. Jack flexed his fingers about the musket and listened for any sign that anyone had heard them. But the only sound was the endless creaking of the frogs and the sizzle of the night insects in the forest along the side of the village.
The cottage behind them appeared to be undamaged. At least, the back wall and the roof were still intact. The thatching on the neighbouring hut, however, had fallen in, and one of the walls had been ripped apart, leaving only parts of the timber frame and a mound of wattle and daub.
Jack glanced at Kanvar. The Sikh’s eyes were wide and shone in the moonlight.
Jack gestured towards the smashed hut and whispered, ‘Let’s take a look.’
They stole to the edge of the wall and Jack poked his head round the side. He saw nothing, save for the silent cottages and the stone church on the far side of the village. Still no light. Still no sign of people.
He waited for a moment, weighing the musket in his hand, then scurried across to the neighbouring hut. He skidded to a halt beside the shattered wall and Kanvar ran up beside him. They both peered into the shadowy interior and Kanvar caught his breath.
Lying just inside the hut were two dead bodies. One, a woman, lay face down on the ground, both her arms and legs torn off. The other, an elderly man, was draped across the remains of the wall and had been sliced in half just above his waist. Congealed blood and entrails disgorged from his abdomen and drooled over the daub.
Jack hissed and made the sign of the cross.
Kanvar looked up and around at the edge of the hole in the side of the cottage. ‘Whoever did this came through the wall. But why not the door?’
Jack mulled this over. Kanvar was right. It was hardly an impossible task to rip your way through a wattle-and-daub wall. But why bother, when even a locked door was easier to kick in?
He shot a look over his shoulder. The village remained silent, still and washed with moonlight. The hair crawled up the back of his neck.
Something was very wrong here.
They crept across to another of the broken huts. Here they found two walls had been smashed and a whole family lay slaughtered inside. Jack squeezed the musket hard when he saw three children, all hacked into bloody pieces.
Who would do something like this?
They slipped across to another hut, which had been reduced to little more than a mound of timber, daub and thatching. A man lay nearby in the grass. He’d been chopped in two, his top half dragged a couple of yards away from his bottom half. Sticky blood and gore formed a puddle about him.
Further off, towards the centre of the village, Jack saw more smashed buildings and more corpses.
His throat went dry. ‘They’re all dead. The whole village.’
‘It appears so,’ Kanvar said softly.
‘I can’t think who would do this. It makes no sense. It can’t be the army. They’re nowhere near here yet.’
Kanvar gazed into the darkness. ‘Perhaps this explains why that lord was fleeing.’
‘The Devil? You think the Devil did
They hitched their horses to a twisted willow tree that sprouted like a scarecrow from the swamp. Jack plucked a cartridge from a pouch on his belt and loaded his musket. Although Kanvar carried a rotary pistol in a holster, he didn’t draw it. No doubt he preferred to fight with his formidable powers.
They crept towards the village, doing their best to avoid slipping into the deep pools and sinkholes. Jack’s whole leg shot down into the mud at one point and Kanvar rushed across to help him out.
The huts drew closer. Now Jack could see that about a third had either been partially or wholly destroyed. He gripped the musket more tightly. He didn’t like the look of this.
They clambered over a low embankment, reached dry land again and scurried across to the rear of the closest hut. They both stood with their backs to the wall, breathing heavily. Jack flexed his fingers about the musket and listened for any sign that anyone had heard them. But the only sound was the endless creaking of the frogs and the sizzle of the night insects in the forest along the side of the village.
The cottage behind them appeared to be undamaged. At least, the back wall and the roof were still intact. The thatching on the neighbouring hut, however, had fallen in, and one of the walls had been ripped apart, leaving only parts of the timber frame and a mound of wattle and daub.
Jack glanced at Kanvar. The Sikh’s eyes were wide and shone in the moonlight.
Jack gestured towards the smashed hut and whispered, ‘Let’s take a look.’
They stole to the edge of the wall and Jack poked his head round the side. He saw nothing, save for the silent cottages and the stone church on the far side of the village. Still no light. Still no sign of people.
He waited for a moment, weighing the musket in his hand, then scurried across to the neighbouring hut. He skidded to a halt beside the shattered wall and Kanvar ran up beside him. They both peered into the shadowy interior and Kanvar caught his breath.
Lying just inside the hut were two dead bodies. One, a woman, lay face down on the ground, both her arms and legs torn off. The other, an elderly man, was draped across the remains of the wall and had been sliced in half just above his waist. Congealed blood and entrails disgorged from his abdomen and drooled over the daub.
Jack hissed and made the sign of the cross.
Kanvar looked up and around at the edge of the hole in the side of the cottage. ‘Whoever did this came through the wall. But why not the door?’
Jack mulled this over. Kanvar was right. It was hardly an impossible task to rip your way through a wattle-and-daub wall. But why bother, when even a locked door was easier to kick in?
He shot a look over his shoulder. The village remained silent, still and washed with moonlight. The hair crawled up the back of his neck.
Something was very wrong here.
They crept across to another of the broken huts. Here they found two walls had been smashed and a whole family lay slaughtered inside. Jack squeezed the musket hard when he saw three children, all hacked into bloody pieces.
Who would do something like this?
They slipped across to another hut, which had been reduced to little more than a mound of timber, daub and thatching. A man lay nearby in the grass. He’d been chopped in two, his top half dragged a couple of yards away from his bottom half. Sticky blood and gore formed a puddle about him.
Further off, towards the centre of the village, Jack saw more smashed buildings and more corpses.
His throat went dry. ‘They’re all dead. The whole village.’
‘It appears so,’ Kanvar said softly.
‘I can’t think who would do this. It makes no sense. It can’t be the army. They’re nowhere near here yet.’
Kanvar gazed into the darkness. ‘Perhaps this explains why that lord was fleeing.’
‘The Devil? You think the Devil did
Similar Books
