“Of course,” Lorn said, her tone devoid of feeling. “No witnesses?”
“None.”
A man was riding towards them on the road below, leaning close to his horse's ear as he talked the frightened animal through the carnage.
Birds rose in shrieking complaint in front of him, settling again once he had passed.
“Who is that?” the Adjunct asked.
The captain grunted. “Lieutenant Ganoes Paran. He's new to my command. From Unta.”
Lorn's eyes narrowed on the young man. He'd reached the edge of the depression, stopping to relay orders to the work crews. He leaned back in his saddle then and glanced in their direction. “Paran. From House Paran?”
“Aye, gold in his veins and all that.”
“Call him up here.”
The captain gestured and the lieutenant kicked his mount's flanks.
Moments later he reined in beside the captain and saluted.
The man and his horse were covered from head to toe in blood and bits of flesh. Flies and wasps buzzed hungrily around them. Lorn saw in Lieutenant Paran's face none of the youth that rightly belonged there.
For all that, it was an easy face to rest eyes upon.
“You checked the other side, Lieutenant?” the captain asked.
Paran nodded. “Yes, sir. There's a small fishing settlement down from the promontory. A dozen or so huts. Bodies in all but two. Most of the barques look to be in, though there's one empty mooring pole.”
Lorn cut in. “Lieutenant, describe the empty huts.”
He batted at a threatening wasp before answering. “One was at the top of the strand, just off the trail from the road. We think it belonged to an old woman we found dead on the road, about half a league south of here.”
“Why?”
“Adjunct, the hut's contents were that of an old woman. Also, she seemed in the habit of burning candles. Tallow candles, in fact. The old woman on the road had a sack full of turnips and a handful of tallow candles. Tallow's expensive here, Adjunct.”
Lorn asked, “How many times have you ridden through this battlefield, Lieutenant?”
“Enough to be getting used to it, Adjunct.” He grimaced.
“And the second empty hut?”
“A man and a girl, we think. The hut's close to the tidemark, opposite the empty mooring pole.”
“No sign of them?”
“None, Adjunct. Of course, we're still finding bodies, along the road, out in the fields.”
“But not on the beach.”
No.
The Adjunct frowned, aware that both men were watching her.
“Captain, what kind of weapons killed your soldiers?”
The captain hesitated, then turned a glare on the lieutenant. “You've been crawling around down there, Paran, let's hear your opinion.”
Paran's answering smile was tight. “Yes, sir. Natural weapons.”
The captain felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd hoped he'd been wrong.
“What do you mean,” Lorn asked, “natural weapons?”
“Teeth, mostly. Very big, very sharp ones.”
The captain cleared his throat, then said, “There haven't been wolves in Itko Kan for a hundred years. In any case, no carcasses around-”
“If it was wolves,” Paran said, turning to eye the basin, “they were as big as mules. No tracks, Adjunct. Not even a tuft of hair.”
“Not wolves, then,” Lorn said.
Paran shrugged.
The Adjunct drew a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a slow sigh.
“I want to see this fishing village.”
The captain made ready to don his helmet, but the Adjunct shook her head. “Lieutenant Paran will suffice, Captain. I suggest you take personal command of your guard in the meantime. The dead must be removed as quickly as possible. All evidence of the massacre is to be erased.”
“Understood, Adjunct,” the captain said, hoping he'd kept the relief out of his voice.
Lorn turned to the young noble. “Well, Lieutenant?”
He nodded and clucked his horse into motion.
It was when the birds scattered from their path that the Adjunct found herself envying the captain. Before her the roused carrion-eaters exposed a carpet of armour, broken bones and meat. The air was hot, turgid and cloying. She saw soldiers, still helmed, their heads crushed by what must have been huge, terribly powerful jaws. She saw torn mail, crumpled shields, and limbs that had been ripped from bodies. Lorn managed only a few moments of careful examination of the scene around them before she fixed her gaze on the promontory ahead, unable to encompass the magnitude of the slaughter. Her stallion, bred of the finest lines of Seven Cities stock, a warhorse trained in the blood for generations, had lost its proud, unyielding strut, and now picked its way carefully along the road.