Theodore knew of the men in purple robes. They were an organisation from neighbouring Misthalin, a group of individuals who preached human superiority and were intent on driving out non-human populations, stirring up anger and violence in the villages. Their most common target was the goblins that wandered Asgarnia.
He had encountered goblins on several occasions, and felt a certain sympathy for the creatures. As a tribe they posed no threat to the human cities. They were incapable of organising any standing army and as individuals they were to be found wandering the roads where they were akin to beggars. He had fought only one goblin, the year before, when he was sixteen. It had been stealing from a farmer, and he had killed it with a deft thrust through its neck. But he had taken no pride in the act. He had even lost sleep over it, for goblins were not worthy enemies.
After allowing his mare an hour’s rest, Theodore continued north. The men’s hostility had ceased after they vented their anger at the slayings, and they seemed satisfied with his promise to investigate.
Night fell, and yielded a full moon. He planned to sleep by the roadside, and when the winter darkness deepened so that there wasn’t enough moonlight for him to continue, he led the mare off to the west. He found a hollow, sheltered from the wind by a briar. It was well back from the road, invisible to other travellers. There was no way in which any man-sized foe could approach him other than entering the hollow the same way he had.
He tethered his mare, ensuring that she was comfortable. She was a horse of the knights, a companion to Theodore from when she was very young, and since her days as a foal she had become accustomed to the long days of riding and the hard nights of unsheltered sleep. Without complaint she dipped her head, her eyes carefully fixed on her master.
Then he stretched out beneath the shelter of the briar, drew his sword and laid it by his side, ready for immediate use. Wrapped in his cloak, he was soon asleep.
The night was still. The northern winds that had rent the land had finally exhausted themselves, and the darkness was ideal for the hunt.
He had gone many miles out of his way, fearful of the large city of men with its white walls and armed guards, and it had cost him a week before he had picked up the scent of his quarry. He had feared that it had been lost, that he would have to continue onward until chance favoured him. But he had come upon the scent close to the road, and it was strong enough for him to follow.
And he had decided to celebrate.
He watched some gypsies at the roadside, the lights of their caravan luminescent in the blackness. The land of his youth had had gypsies, as well, hardier folk than these travellers, accustomed to the land they were living in and its unforgiving way of life. Those people knew their place, but here the people were soft, well-nourished, peace-loving, and unsuspecting.
He knew he shouldn’t attempt it. But the risk that such an adventure suggested, here in these fatted lands, served to spur on his appetite.
A plump child wandered to the edge of the darkness, and he drooled. He heard the sharp cry of a young woman’s voice, calling to her son, and recalled the week before when he had dragged another woman from the roadside, excited by her fear.
It was still dark when the sound awoke Theodore, a noise that instantly set him on edge, his hand grasping his sword instinctively.
Something was moving nearby, something big was forcing its way through the briar circle that sheltered him. He breathed out slowly, silently, waiting for the intruder to come closer. Yet with each second his fear grew.
He moved swiftly, his cumbersome armour giving him away as he stood, his sword drawn back in readiness. As he summoned his breath to give a yell of challenge, the briar parted and an animal’s wizened head appeared through the thicket. The moment it saw him, the creature’s dark eyes widened in fear.
“A badger!” he breathed as the intruder scurried off, loping swiftly into the darkness. He glanced at his mare, noting that she hadn’t moved-indeed, she seemed barely awake-and he was reminded of an old maxim of the knights.
He had ridden for two hours before he came across the caravan, just beyond the tenth mile marker that indicated the distance to Taverley. He had left before daybreak, catching only an hour’s added sleep after his rude awakening, unable to relax enough to get any more.
He noted the soldiers first, standing away from the brightly coloured wagon, its red tint gleaming in the morning sunlight. As he rode closer he noted the blanched faces of the men and their suspicious glances as they looked toward him.
“What has happened here?” Theodore asked. These were Imperial Guards, men who viewed the knights as a rival military force in Asgarnia. He ignored their hostile gazes as his eyes swept over them hastily, and then moved onto the caravan. That was when he realised that the red tint hadn’t been the gay colours of a gypsy’s pride, but rather a spray of blood.
The guards noted his sudden comprehension, and one of the older men spoke.
“A savage attack on a gypsy peddler and his family. There is a body inside, mauled by a beast, and the body of a woman lies in the woods. Their child’s clothing has been found…” The guard removed his helm as he spoke, as if he needed a diversion to gather himself before continuing. “… bloodied. There is no sign of its body.”
Theodore entered the wagon, and felt his gorge rise. He had seen death before-from accidents in the lists to the violence he had encountered while accompanying a knight in his role of squire-but he had never seen such carnage. The beast had forced itself in through the slim wooden door at the back of the wagon, and even the killings had not satisfied its rage, for the wooden walls and cupboards had been ripped and household objects overturned as if the very idea of a home had been offensive to it.
“We think the woman ran into the woods with the child.” A younger man began to speak, but his commander interrupted him.
“What are your intentions here, squire?” he demanded. “Will you join us in the hunt and slow us down, or will you go on your way?”
“My interest here is the same as your own-to see that justice is done. However, I am needed urgently in Taverley, and will gladly take any message to the authorities there.
“I will not put politics above justice,” he added firmly.
“Nor will I,” the man responded. “You can take a message to Taverley. That would be a useful service to us, for we need men who know the local lands if we are to start a hunt.”
The guard moved to one side and wrote briefly on a parchment, which he then rolled and handed to Theodore, telling him who to give it to.
As the squire pulled on his reins, ready to depart, a sudden thought occurred to him.
“Is this related to the events in the south?” he called, making the guard turn.
“What events?”
“Another murder, a week or so ago. I met some travellers on the road yesterday who told me of a woman who had been slain. From his description it seems as if it might be the same creature.”
The guard bowed his head, his face darkened by the news.
“Thank you, squire-that is useful news, indeed. I am glad you chose to share it, despite the differences of our politics.”
Theodore returned the bow, knowing that he had done the right thing.
FIVE
The blue banners with the symbol of Saradomin embroidered upon their centre fluttered in the cleansing
