“What the…?” He slowed down and turned in place, searching for any sign of it.
It was useless, the trail was completely gone.
But it had run in a straight line ever since leaving the camp of the Mar-trollid. There was no reason to assume that it would suddenly veer off in another direction, unless the creature he was following intended that very thing. Which was a possibility, but it didn’t seem to have that much guile. Even when Solomon burst into the wagon, it had stuck to its seemingly single-minded purpose of taking the Mar-trollid female.
No, chances are it continued toward the city in a straight line, so that’s what Solomon would do. If he was wrong, he could always return to the Mar-trollid camp and get better directions from Gan-Rowe. A thought he didn’t relish, but at least it was a backup.
He could move faster now that he no longer needed to search for markings. His stride lengthened until it became a run that would eat up the miles, yet one he could easily maintain.
All morning, he kept in the same direction, stopping only when the sun was almost directly overhead to drink some of the water that Yag-Morah had given him. Then, he pushed on, into the afternoon, passing rabbits, birds and the occasional larger animal.
Off in the distance, he saw a dark, straight line, low on the horizon. Straight lines in nature usually meant something man-made, and Solomon thought he guessed right. It was still an hour or two off, but that must be the walls of Dunfield.
He continued, neither seeing nor hearing the signs of any other living thing. No scurrying through the tall grass to get out of his path, no birds singing in the branches of the low and twisted evergreens. It was silent everywhere except where his feet softly hit the earth.
The city grew larger as he neared, but not much clearer. There was a sort of haze around it, obscuring the view.
Solomon didn’t have a magical bone in his body. Not like Thaddeus and some others. Still, he was getting a bad feeling from the place in front of him, like it was warning him away.
Well, let it. Other things tried to do that over the course of his life, and he hadn’t listened those times either. If Celia was there, that was where he was going and woe to anyone who stood in his way.
He was preoccupied with the sight and feeling the city generated when his foot caught on something and sent him stumbling. His arms windmilled as he fought for, then lost, his balance and crashed to the ground.
“Ouch,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his skinned elbow. He turned to see what it was he tripped on.
A body lay in the meadow. It must have been there for quite some time. The skin was dried out and brown, pulled tight across its features. The eyes were gone, the sockets gazing emptily at him, while the mouth seemed to grin, enjoying the joke of tripping him up.
The clothes that hadn’t rotted away were simple, drab and of poor quality, and the feet, also brown and dried, were shoeless.
Most importantly to Solomon’s eye was the direction that the person was probably heading in when they died. Leaving the city. Now, the head faced backward, staring silently at him, but that was because he had kicked it, turning it over. The rest of the body was still lying with its back to the city in the near distance.
Frowning, Solomon climbed to his feet, considering giving whoever it was a decent burial, then deciding against it. He had no implement to dig into the soil with. He resolved that when he reached the town, he would let them know that this poor soul was out here, so they could be laid to rest properly. He bowed his head for a moment in respect, then turned and continued.
Only to come across another body a short distance later, and one after that. Soon, they dotted the landscape and Solomon saw that he might have been mistaken with the first one. Several of the bodies had their heads twisted the wrong way, as if they were fleeing when something caught them from behind, wringing their necks as they ran.
His mind flashed back to the large figure in white from this morning. That thing had the strength to do something like this. But why would it? Why kill and leave the bodies lying scattered about?
As he neared the city walls he noticed a change in the bodies. Several of them showed signs of further damage. Something had been at them, even though there was still no sign of wildlife anywhere that he could see.
Then, one of the bodies moved. Solomon jumped, the thought that it was going to stand up and resume walking, dead or not, flashing into his mind. His hand went to his sword, then he relaxed when he saw the long, pink, hairless tail in the grass.
A moment later a huge rat appeared, blinking in the sunlight over the dead body on the ground. It hissed at Solomon, showing bloody fangs.
“Get!” he yelled and strode forward, aiming a kick at the vile creature.
Rats would run from that. This one was the size of a young raccoon, but it was still a rat.
But it stood its ground, guarding its meal protectively. It dodged Solomon’s half-hearted kick with ease and sprang forward, climbing up his leg and burying its sharp front teeth into the hollow space behind his knee.
He yelped, reached down and grabbed the rodent, tearing it loose and sending it flying, but not before it scored another bite to the back of his hand.
“Damn thing,” he said, watching it scurry off.
He twisted to look at his leg. His pants were
