“Death,” the elf replied. “Much of it. And ogres.”
“Where? From inside the camp?”
The elf sniffed the air again. “Something is nearer.”
Eric cocked an eyebrow. “Which is nearer? Ogres?” After a pause, he added, “Or Death?”
Morven glanced back. It was an important distinction. “Death.”
There wasn’t much to say about that and the elf gestured for him to start climbing. Somewhere above them was a hidden platform. The tree’s hand and foot holds were carved from the trunk, a piece of bark-colored cloth concealing them from a distance. Eric went up smoothly, for he practiced parkour and could’ve climbed without the aids. He stayed alert for anything odd but saw no signs of a hasty exit from a wounded elf, and no blood, even at the three-foot square platform, where one branch functioned like a chair. To one side, the trail below peeked out through the foliage, winding over the hills for some distance, and in one clearing a glint of light caught the eye.
Ryan’s armor, he realized, getting his bearings.
A closer view of the trail just outside the camp showed Morven wasn’t kidding about death. Out on the road lay an elf, face down as if leaving the outpost for Arundell, three carrion birds picking away at the remains. While gruesome, it paled in comparison to the outpost itself. Through the leaves, Eric saw carnage amidst the wooden tower and walls, enough to realize no one lived. He counted seven dead elves and nine dead ogres, more birds pecking away at them, their distant squawks the only sound. More bodies undoubtedly lay out of sight within.
Eric looked and saw Morven patiently waiting. The elf moved his fingers at him.
What do you see? the fingers asked.
Surprised by that, the rogue answered and came down while Morven gave another bird call. This was one was answered from behind them, and soon they gathered near the body of the fallen elf on the trail. He had been bludgeoned from behind. Eric expected the grisly scene to appall Ryan in particular, but if so, the knight surprised him, gritting his teeth, looking away, and saying nothing. No one else did either.
They quietly advanced, the smell of death growing as they entered the camp with swords drawn and arrows nocked. Nothing inside moved save the birds, which took to the sky with loud protests, all pretenses of stealth going with them. Anything nearby now knew they were here.
Lorian ordered scouts into the woods while others searched the camp. Barracks large enough for a dozen people stood badly damaged and an open stone fire pit with charred embers lay in the center. A simple wooden tower provided a high archery point. A raised walkway encircled the wall’s interior. Only one doorway allowed entrance, forcing any threat from the mountains to circle the camp before finding it. After the scouts returned, Lorian ordered the broken doors barricaded against roaming ogres, though none were found and all footprints were days old. Thirteen dead elves and nearly as many ogres lay both within and outside the walls. A large band had defeated these elves, and Lorian sent an elf back to Arundell to warn them and send replacements.
“We’re still spending the night here?” Ryan asked, wrinkling his nose. Matt stood leaning against a wall, covering his nose with a sleeve, eyes closed.
“Yes,” Lorian admitted, almost apologetically. “It is the only wise choice.”
“What about the bodies?” Anna asked. “We can’t stay here with them. There’s a risk of infection.”
“We will burn them tonight when the smoke will not attract attention.”
The priestess nodded. That was safe and much faster than burial, but the smell would be awful. She already felt like it was never going to be out of her mind. Fortunately, when the time came, Lorian cast a simple spell to mute their sense of smell. It was especially welcome considering all of them were needed to move the corpses, though they spared Anna in a show of chivalry that came not only from her friends, but the elves and dwarf. She wasn’t complaining.
The same couldn’t be said for Matt, who clearly felt no need to hide his distaste, especially when they handled the large ogres. They were nine feet tall with an almost reddish skin, bulbous, crooked features, and soiled clothing. They exuded filth even before death. The number of wounds required to bring them down daunted him, and all but a few had arrows in them. Touching their clothing wasn’t much better than their dirty bodies and everyone felt disgusted.
It seemed like forever before the funeral pyre burned in the darkness, black smoke curling into the night sky as everyone settled in for a long night. The horses were stabled inside with elves stationed at each watch post, in and outside the camp. Their owl-like calls came through the darkness every few minutes. Soon Anna found it comforting because it never changed and she hoped that would continue till dawn.
She sat staring into the funeral pyre’s flames without seeing them. The scene of carnage had cast doubt on her ability to help anyone here like she did at the hospital, where she could diagnose and administer the proper aid. She was out in the field, not a cozy building waiting for the wounded to arrive, surrounded by all the latest equipment. Even if she were an EMT riding around in an ambulance, she’d be stocked up and ready to go with basic supplies.
As it was, she had nothing, just an amulet around her neck and a scroll full of gods she didn’t believe existed. It hadn’t mattered today, but what about tomorrow? Maybe wanting to believe it would all be better in an instant was why people had believed in witchcraft and all the other superstitions she’d scoffed at. Maybe people were still just being suckered into false hope even today. She shouldn’t be so hard on them.
She needed to lighten the attitude she’d developed, but it was hard when someone like Ryan spouted religious
