The old knight by the fire lifted his head. “You ever notice,” he said slowly, “they come in numbers when borders bleed? I saw them in the south during the famine. Before that, in the northern siege. Always near men. Always near death.”
A silence fell. Even the fire seemed to crackle quieter.
Clyde turned the thought over. Always near men. Always near death.
He didn’t like what that implied.
“Superstition,” Marreck muttered, forcing a laugh. “Demons following wars? They’d have never left the world since it began.”
“Maybe they haven’t,” Clyde said.
That quieted him again.
The older knight spat into the fire. “Ain’t meant to understand them. Ain’t meant to stop them neither. We just kill what we can, bury the rest, and pray they don’t breed.”
Clyde said nothing for a long moment. His eyes had gone distant, fixed not on the fire but on its reflection in the steel of his gauntlets. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but softer than usual.
“I’ve fought them,” he said. “Cut them down. Burned them. They don’t bleed right. They don’t die right.
Clyde looked toward the narrow window slit, where mist pressed like a ghost against the stone. Somewhere beyond that wall, a faint howl rolled across the hills, just audible over the crackle of the fire.
He rose, pulling on his cloak and strapping his sword back into place.
When Marreck called after him, “Where are you going, sir?” Clyde paused at the door, one hand on the latch.
“To walk the walls,” he said simply. “If there’s reason in the dark, I’ll find it.”
He stepped out into the cold, his silhouette swallowed by torchlight and fog.
Behind him, the fire popped.
No one spoke again.
Chapter six
Firelight and Wine
The storm rolled in from the east like a siege with no warning and no subtlety. One moment the sky was wide and pale, the horses’ hooves drumming over the wet meadow grass, Aerion’s laughter carrying on the wind as he urged his mount faster. The next, the horizon was a wall of iron, clouds boiling over the hills, rain sweeping toward them in a dark sheet.
“Damn,” Aerion hissed, yanking at the reins as the first fat drops splattered his cheeks.
The storm struck all at once, thunder cracking open the sky like the world itself was splitting apart, rain slashing down inhard, stinging waves. Wind howled through the trees, bending them like reeds, scattering leaves across the sodden ground.
Aerion cursed, squinting through the torrent. “There—cabin!” He pointed, rain slicking his hair to his face.
Clyde said nothing, only spurred his horse after Aerion’s, steady despite the mud sucking at their hooves.
They reached it just as the storm broke fully overhead; a squat, forgotten hunting cabin at the edge of the woods, its roof sagging but still intact. Aerion leapt from his horse before it had fully stopped, boots splashing into muck, and half-ran for the door. Clyde followed, slower, dismounting with deliberate care, his injured side pulling at him with every motion.
Inside was shadow and dust. The air smelled of damp wood and old ash. A stone hearth crouched in the corner, empty but for a scatter of soot. Broken chairs leaned against the wall, and a narrow cot sagged with age.
Aerion shoved the door shut against the wind, water dripping from his hair, his tunic plastered scandalously against his body. He shivered and laughed at once, a sharp, reckless sound. “Gods, we’ll drown in our boots before we drown in wine.”
Clyde closed the bolt, then crossed the room without hesitation, checking the walls, the corners, the roofline where rain seeped through in thin rivulets. Always scanning. Always guarding.
Aerion dropped into one of the chairs with a dramatic sigh, kicking off his soaked boots. “Perfect,” he muttered. “A palace of splinters and mildew. Just what I deserved.” He tugged at his wet sleeves, annoyed when the fabric clung stubbornly.
Clyde knelt at the hearth, stacking kindling from a forgotten pile of logs that had gone soft at the edges. He worked in silence, striking flint until sparks caught. Slowly, reluctantly, flame bloomed, casting the cabin in a soft orange glow.
