“Are they—"
“I think they’re breaking in,” Celia said. “We need to stay on our guard.”
Christoph watched from another window, his face pale but determined. Behind them, Greta gathered the other children around her.
There were no signs of any hunters approaching their house. Twice whistles heralded the appearance of one, but both times they walked by without a glance in their direction.
Then, Celia felt Friedrich stiffen.
“No.” His voice was a flat whisper.
A small figure in bright pink appeared, golden hair spiraled up in a twist above her head. She whistled softly as she approached and stopped across the street, the tune changing suddenly, pausing, beginning again.
For a moment, she stood and watched the house from that featureless white mask. Then she moved forward.
Celia had tried to hold on to this one before. She knew how strong she was. Strong, yes, but not enough to break down the door.
The small hunter didn’t try.
Instead, she walked forward, raised her fist, and knocked. Then she stepped back.
“Mommy?” The voice came from behind the mask, hollow and with almost a slight echo to it. “Mommy? Can I come in?”
Chapter 66
A quiet anger seethed under the surface as Solomon began his journey back to Dunfield. He had never met a more peaceful, quiet race than the Mar-trollid. Why had whatever foulness was in this world dared to target them. For what? No reason that he could tell, not even by the twisted standards of what he’d already seen.
The hunters didn’t try to take any of the Mar-trollid away. They simply attacked, using hands and feet to beat at their victims, several ganging up on one of the larger beings at once, like ants attacking a spider. When that one was dead, they moved on to another.
Why? Why simply kill a few of them, then run away? Back to Dunfield, Solomon presumed. What was the purpose?
There was none, other than terror… and possibly to drive them away. Yag-Morah told him that they were not only leaving the area, they were leaving this world, through a gate of some sort far from here.
Solomon didn’t know what else was in this world. What other cities or towns, what other races. But he knew the Mar-trollid were a force of good, unable to be corrupted. When they left, it would be that much easier for the evil that had already taken root here to continue to grow.
He moved throughout the night, not even slowing when dawn arrived. It was time for the hunters to appear again. On the way out, he hid from them. Now, let them come. He loosened his sword in its sheath, eager for something to lash out at.
Nothing appeared. Soon, he saw the walls of Dunfield on the horizon, and not long after that he could make out the gates, still hanging drunkenly open. The bodies that dotted the landscape were still there as well, with signs of the rats moving among them.
He drew his sword and approached the first one. A large black rodent was busy tearing at it. Without hesitation, Solomon swung, cutting the vile thing in two before it even knew he was there. There were too many rats to hunt them all down, at least for now. Any that he came across, though…
By the time he reached the gate he had killed more than a dozen of them. He watched as the rest moved in and treated their dead kin the same as they did the one-time citizens of Dunfield.
When this was done, when whatever evil infested this place was removed, he’d spend as much time as needed exterminating the rats as well.
Turning away, he cleaned his sword on the rough, dry grass near the gate, then walked through and back into the city.
The change since he left was evident. The road ran from the gate straight through town until it reached a large fountain, continuing to the manor that the hunters came from. Streets ran off from the main one in angles, crossing each other as they twined through the city.
The buildings along the main thoroughfare were mostly businesses, or at least they were at one time. A grocer here, a blacksmith there; further over, a tavern. All boarded up or allowed to fall into disrepair. Yet, people still lived in these buildings, too. Staying in modest or grand apartments above, the better to keep an eye on their investments and be close to their livelihoods.
Three of the doors he passed were shattered, the lighter colored splintered ends of the boards showing that it was recent. Besides that, there were no people on the streets, neither looking for ways to survive nor to prey on one another.
Scowling, Solomon walked to one of the ruined doors, which was very much like the broken one on Yag-Morah’s wagon and knocked on the wall beside it.
“Hello?”
There was no answer.
Solomon stepped back and looked up and down the street. Still no one was about.
“Hello?” he tried again.
When only silence answered him, Solomon crossed the threshold. Inside was a set of stairs, leading to a door on the right of the landing at the top. That door was also broken, splintered and hanging from one hinge.
His sword would do no good in the stairwell, but Solomon didn’t think he’d need it anyway. Whatever happened here, it was over.
He took the stairs quickly and moved into the room at the top. It was a parlor, with nice chairs set before a fireplace and a braided rug set under them. The windows were hung with thick curtains, which were pulled together and fastened, the better to keep any
