The Crimson Hunters by Robert J Power

Author:Robert J Power [Power, Robert J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781999999438
Publisher: DePaor Press
Published: 2019-11-13T18:30:00+00:00

11

The Army of the Dead

It was an unsettling thing to walk in silence through a forest at the best of times, but walking with this quiet outfit was so much worse. Even Natteo was unusually frugal with his words. There was tension in the air, and Derian considered slipping into a cluster of trees and fleeing his comrades. He doubted he’d make it more than a dozen steps before they caught him. They were surrounded, and it was unlikely their positioning was accidental. If he was a captive, it was very polite captivity, though. They never asked for his weapon, and he never produced it; there were no chains, no shoving or mocking, just a forced march through the undergrowth.

Along the way, Lorgan and Mowg loudly discussed the girl’s price, and each counter offer sickened Derian to the core. Still, he said nothing, convincing himself that it was Lorgan’s prerogative to deal with her any way he desired. If Kesta was angry, she showed nothing in her face and marched beside the girl. She watched the men, and Derian wondered about their intentions for the girl. Murder, a little thievery, and even slave trading were acceptable mercenary practices; however, rape was never tolerated in the guild. Whispers of rape could lead to a unit’s removal from the guild. To lose the mercenary guild’s perks was something no group could afford. Nor could they pay the thousand gold bounty immediately placed upon each of their heads. Disqualified mercenary outfits were usually snuffed out quicker than an assassin’s wick.

Derian should have felt reassured. However, who knew the depths of depravity of despicable men in forests? His stomach turned, his eyes filled, and his disappointment in Lorgan grew. Still, he said nothing and gripped that shame tightly for if he were in Lorgan’s large boots, he would do the same thing.

Eventually, they came upon a wall of shrub and branch—as tall as a man upon a mount and spreading thirty feet across. Mowg grinned and pulled at a concealed rope. As if enchanted, it fell away like canvas upon a drying line, revealing a large camp within. More expensive and entirely impressive camouflage.

It was also a rather impressive camp. Derian noticed the hobbled warhorses in the far corner first. Fayenar war mounts—expensive, rare, and fiercely aggressive in battle. Skins of freshly slain beasts were stretched out upon tanning racks, and expensive weapons were set upon stands for swift use at a moment’s notice. A large cart filled with deep supplies stood in the centre, and Derian’s face went flush with jealousy. It would take his own outfit a year of hard successes to earn such riches, and they left it unattended in an abandoned camp. What treasures did they keep in their stronghold?

As impressive as they were with ambushing and displaying their riches, it was their hosting which was most remarkable. Like a well-oiled cog in a machine of demons, they set a large slab of boar meat to cook across a long metal spit over their campfire.

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