Heading straight toward the camp.
Rick quickly floated the tiny light speck back closer to their group out of fear it would be seen.
In shock at what this could mean, the four of them stared silently at the ground where the blood lay. As they did, it began to rain. It was only a slight mist at first, and then it became a soft drizzle. Soon water was dripping all around them in a steady cadence. The air was saturated with the fresh smell of rainwater mixing with leaves and bark.
Vincent could feel the big, fat drops of cool water falling off pine needles and branches to hit his head and run down his face. Unfortunately, they did nothing to dampen the heat of his anxiety. Before it could become a downpour, he stepped forward to the other side of Rick’s tiny flickering flame while turning around to face his friends.
Stacy’s blue eyes looked up at him, but her head didn’t. Rick gazed on at him with a troubled yet angry expression, clearly wishing to destroy those responsible. Karl stepped slightly forward, still eyeing the camp with a glare as he turned toward them, and Vincent was afforded only a profile view of his face. Vincent took only his left hand off his sword and made a waving-pulling, “come here,” gesture to them, taking a few steps to get closer to Stacy and Rick as he did. Karl noticed the gesture and moved in closer to the three of them, holding his wide flat rock in his right arm while still warily glancing toward the camp every now and then.
The rain was beginning to soak Vincent’s hair, but he still didn’t want to put on the hood from his cloak because he needed to be able to see everything. Stacy, Rick, and Karl were also getting wet. The rain was also having another unexpected effect. Its sound was providing them with a precious opportunity: the opportunity to talk, if they were clever enough to do so in whispers.
Vincent crouched down, and one by one, the other three slowly did as well, sensing this also. Rick’s tiny fire speck floated between them, and it’s dim glow was kept hidden from outside view by Vincent and Karl blocking the way. Each of their four wet faces were lit up only barely enough to be seen by the others.
They kept their heads close, and Vincent whispered his first immediate impressions. “They’re dead, it’s a trap, but if we don’t strike now, we may never get another chance. We need to plan an attack, and we need to do it now.”
“How can you be sure they’re dead?” Stacy asked as quietly as possible. It was barely heard even though her face was only a few inches away. “If they’re alive, then rescuing them should be our top priority.”
Water dripped off his nose. He could feel the body heat and warm breath from the other three. Vincent felt tremendous guilt and responsibility weighing down on him. He didn’t see the use in arguing it one way or the other, but she was right about one thing: Stan and Craig deserved better. The rain continued its pitter patter, dripping off pine needles and hitting bush leaves around the forest floor. A moment of silence passed with each of them thinking about what should be done or rather how to do it.
Vincent finally made up his mind. “I’ll go in first.”
“What!” Karl asked in a heated whisper. “Just like that, you’ll walk into their midst! That’s crazy! You’ll be killed!”
“There’s a chance that will happen anyway. Let me explain my plan.”
“I don’t know, Vincent,” Rick said, keeping his voice at a near deaf silence, “it seems pretty risky.”
“I got us all into this, and I’m the best choice for trying to pull Stan and Craig out. Now listen carefully.” He glanced at each of their eyes. It seemed that they were doing just that partly because of the need for quiet. Vincent explained slowly and kept his voice at a low whisper. “During my training in the army, we were taught how to handle this very situation. Since the enemy discovered our scouts, they have two choices: they can either abandon their camp and flee our forces, or they can set up an ambush. If they’ve already fled, then it won’t make one bit of difference if I walk into their campsite looking for Stan and Craig. If they are planning an ambush, then it’s much better if only one of us is put in harm’s way…I want you three to wait behind cover at the edge. That way if they attack me, you’ll have a much better chance of hitting them unexpectedly and killing as many as possible.”
Stacy slowly shook her head and let out a small groan of disapproval, the drops of rain almost masked it completely. “I still don’t like it,” she whispered, “it puts you in an awful lot of danger. What happens if they’re too strong for us to save you?”
Vincent swallowed and felt a cold fright come over him even though he had tried to suppress it. That was the contingency he dreaded, but his plan also had a justification for it as well. “If that happens, then it’s probably best if the three of you hold off on your attack and then retreat without drawing attention to yourselves. Either way, they won’t know about you at first and I’ll be the only one at risk.”
None of them said anything in reply as they thought about his plan, but it was clear to him that they were all concerned about the outcome. “Fighting the cult is dangerous no matter what,” he reminded them, “one or more of us could be killed. Maybe Stan and Craig already have been. But if we’re not going to stand up to them now, then we may as well run away and leave those two boys to their fate. And we better hope that the masters someday get around to sending people to finish what we started…if they can ever track them down.”
“I suppose you have a point,” Stacy conceded in a barely audible whisper. Drops of water ran down the sides of her face. Her blue eyes met his. “Let’s not get ourselves killed though.”
Karl seemed strangely optimistic, though his voice and his thoughtful visage were still cautious. And quiet. “If we fight hard and remember to look out for each other, very closely, maybe we can still pull this off.” Vincent looked to Rick next, wondering what his thoughts were.
Rick was once again eager to fight. “You don’t need to ask my opinion. I’m with you all the way.”
Vincent shared a last look with all of them. “Is everyone ready then?” He asked in a whisper. He looked to Karl, who nodded while staring off. Rick winked when he turned his way.
“I’m ready,” Stacy whispered when his gaze met hers.
Vincent nodded. “Let’s do this,” he whispered as he stood up. The others rose with him.
After Vincent turned around and slowly began creeping forward, Rick waited until he was several feet ahead before putting out the spark so that it wouldn’t give away their advance. Rain continued to fall all around them. The glow from the fire at the campsite grew ever so slightly brighter the further Vincent went, tinting the dark pine and spruce barks a faint orange.
He kept his hands on his sword and scabbard, squeezing tight the wire on the hilt. Nervously, he checked all around him at his sides, fearing that the ambush was not set up at the camp. It was unlikely that they would do this since they needed to see also, but one could never be sure.
He stopped a ways out and checked around him one last time; this was the furthest extent a reasonably planned ambush could be placed. He put his attention forward, his thoughts becoming more morbid with each passing instant. Killing was an abhorrent practice, yet he knew that in this situation there was no other way; murderous thieves and fanatical worshipers could not be reasoned with.
Grim resolution coursed through him as he crept forward.
Vincent slowly drew his sword.
Chapter X
As stealthily as possible, Vincent moved straight toward the edge of the clearing, gripping his sword tightly in both hands. He stayed hidden behind one last bush only for a brief moment before peering past to get a look at the campsite. He was troubled by what he saw.
The campsite was almost completely empty. Over the fire, there was a large black iron cauldron that was held up by three curved iron pegs protruding from its base. The cauldron shielded the hissing and popping fire beneath it from much of the rain, and there was something brewing inside of it. Vincent smelled smoke mixed with the wet, fresh fore
st air. He saw no bubbles, but there was a lot of thick whitish steam coming out of its opening. Whatever was in it, he didn’t think they were merely trying to prepare a harmless soup. His eyes shifted to the left. On the far end of the clearing, the bodies of Stan and Craig were laying down face up. The fire, which burned brightly despite the rain, revealed only the color of their clothing: Stan’s red robes and Craig’s blue. He could not tell at this distance if they were alive or dead.
The cult of Kargoth had either left in a hurry and abandoned these things to them, or this was a part of a trap. Vincent couldn’t be certain yet of which it was. The cauldron could be troublesome, but of the two, Vincent thought it better that he first approach the two boys to see what their condition really was.
His hair, his face, and his clothes wet, Vincent stood to his full height and began walking in their direction, trying to appear calm and holding his sword in his right hand with the point low but not touching the ground. A weak breeze made his dark blue cloak billow out behind him the slightest bit. The rain created a soft low rattle in his ears. He glanced around occasionally, expecting an attack to come. His eyes frequently returned to Stan and Craig, who appeared larger and larger in his vision as he came closer. There was still no attack. Not yet at least.
When he finally closed the distance, Vincent looked around him warily and crouched down to check on the boys. His worst fears were realized. Neither body rose or fell with a single breath, and their skin was completely pale. Lifeless. They were dead. Craig’s glasses were cracked and covered in drops of rainwater, and his reddish brown hair was wet and covered with debris from the forest floor. Each still young face bore an innocent and neutral expression that belied the pain they had suffered in death, making them appear almost as if they were merely asleep. A deep sorrow came over Vincent but was instantly replaced by alarm.
Nervously, he looked about, wondering if the cultists would spring the trap now that he had gone for the bait, but nothing happened, no one came. Vincent looked back at the boys and noticed that neither appeared to have a wound, at least not on the front. With his left hand, he gently rolled Stan over. Stan’s red robes could not hide the opening cut in them from a knife stab to his back, nor the blood. He guessed that Craig had something similar and so didn’t bother checking. He felt tremendous regret, wishing that he had not let them go ahead, alone. It was a terrible and heartrending mistake. He felt that he had failed them. It was suddenly made worse because there was one other mistake he now realized that he had made, but it was far too late to be avoided.
He scrunched his eyes closed.
There was a rustling in the thicket behind him. Vincent tensed at first and then realized it was the other thing he feared: his friends coming out from hiding too soon. If their foes were still here, they would be waiting in the shadows for any of his confederates to show themselves. He had forgotten to tell them about this. Telling them now was useless because that would also only serve to alert the cult of their existence. Vincent mentally cursed at his own stupidity-he should have told them to wait longer. Soon he could feel Karl, Rick, and Stacy standing around him from behind as he continued to remain crouched down near the bodies.
“They are dead then,” Karl remarked.
Even from behind, Stacy’s voice sounded sad to him. “The poor things…they were just boys…” He could hear her start crying.
If not for the palpable fright pressing in around him, he might have felt at ease enough to release tears. At the moment, a heightened awareness prevented it. He felt like he was the helpless prey who was about to be pounced on and devoured. It was more than the probability deduced from his own combat reasoning and instincts that filled him with anxiety-a sense of grave premonition was threatening to drown him. As yet, he could not place its source.
Even though he could not see Rick’s face, he could tell from his voice that he was unusually irate. “And the fiends didn’t even have the courage to stick around!”
Vincent looked around, trying to take everything in again. There was no one he could see in the surrounding woods. His eyes stopped when he glanced back toward the fire with the cauldron sitting atop it. Something about the flames seemed peculiar, out of place. At first, he could not tell what it was. Then he looked closer at the wood fueling it; it didn’t seem like there was enough. The flames continued their bright blaze in outright defiance of the rain, much less the shortage of wood. His mind worked quickly to deduce what was wrong with it, and he felt a wave of fear like no other he had felt before travel throughout his entire body.
They were not alone.
Vincent stood and slowly readied his sword in both hands. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said in a fright filled calm to the others, “prepare yourselves.”
A moment later after checking, Karl spoke. “Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? There’s no one out there. It’s time to face up to what has happened, Vincent. These boys are dead. The people who did it are gone. And now we have nothing. Again.” He let out a sigh of disappointment and frustration. “There isn’t anything left for us to do except carry them back.” His voice took on a sad, fretful tone. “How are we ever going to explain this?”
The rain continued to pour. Vincent kept his eyes to the surrounding woods, staying alert to even the slightest movement amongst the bushes, and didn’t respond to him. Instead he addressed the pyromancer, still unsure of his hunch. “Rick, take a look at that fire under the cauldron, tell me if you see anything unusual.”
“What has that got to do with…” Karl started.
“He’s right! They’re here!” Rick exclaimed. “Someone nearby is feeding those flames with magic!”
Karl cursed obscenely and set himself in motion.
Vincent could feel Rick pressing his back against his while Karl stood to his left, hovering his large flat rock to keep it at the ready. He was jostled the slightest bit when Stacy hurriedly put her back against Karl’s. She had stopped grieving and was now concentrating on the danger at hand.
The fire hissed while the four of them waited.
Still no one came.
He suddenly felt Karl jump with a start at his left. “Did you see that!” He demanded.
Vincent’s eyes desperately searched the forest in front of them. “See what?”
“Not out there!” Karl screamed in a near panic, his voice accelerating in fright. “It’s Craig! His eyes just opened! He’s alive!”
As he looked down, Vincent’s own eyes became wide and his hairs began to stand on end. Craig lay still as stone, his skin just as pale as before. A motionless and inert form, his corpse exuded only the hollow aura of a rock or a stick with none of the vibrant energy one could sense from something living, yet behind his cracked glasses, his eyes were still open, just as Karl had said. They stared upward blankly and had an eerie gray cast to them with small streaks of black. Vincent felt his skin grow cold.
“Keep your head, Karl,” Stacy admonished, not seeing it, “you know that’s impossible.”
“It’s true,” Vincent said quietly, hardly realizing that he had spoken the words.
“You two are nuts,” she concluded, “it’s just a trick of light. We need to stay focused or we’re dead.”
“I’m telling you his eyes are open!” Karl protested.
Stacy growled in aggravation and broke from her position to turn around and gaze past Karl to see for herself. She let out a gasp and was quiet a moment. “What does this mean?” Craig began to sit up and Stacy let out a scream. Stan, who was laying face down, started to get up as well.
Rick had stayed where he was, keeping his back to Vincent. “What? What’s happening?”
Stacy was just as horrified as Vincent and Karl. “They’re moving!”
“Maybe they weren’t dead, just unconscious,” Rick offered.
“No,” Karl insisted, “something’s definitely not right here.”
Although Vincent was worried and astounded, he had to consider other threats as
well. “Stacy, guard our backs.” She still stared in shock at the two rising forms. “Now, Stacy!” He shouted. In his peripheral vision he could see her returning to her position. The two finished rising to their feet.
If Rick was correct, the boys shouldn’t be a problem, and could maybe even provide some assistance. Somehow, he couldn’t make himself believe that but tried talking to them anyway. “Craig, we’re here to help,” he announced cautiously. “If you’re hurt, we can get you back to the keep, but right now there are dangerous people around and we need you to fight with us.” Craig ignored Vincent’s words, as did Stan, and they began lurching forward without expression on their pale, ghastly faces.
“I don’t think that’s going to work, Vincent,” Karl remarked.
The two crept forward with Craig getting closest.
“Perhaps they’re just deranged,” Stacy suggested from back in her position, “something the cultists did to their minds. Maybe they’re in shock.”
Before they could answer, Craig suddenly lunged at Karl. He swiftly ducked to the side and put him off balance while Vincent instinctively hammered Craig over the top of his head with the bottom of his sword hilt, knocking him straight to the ground. He had hit him much harder than he intended to and hoped that he had not caused any serious damage.
The next moment, Stan was grabbing Karl and trying to bite his throat. Karl struggled with him and was able to keep him away from it but only barely. Before Vincent could say or do anything, Craig suddenly bit his leg, his teeth painfully sinking in when he clearly should have been unconscious.
Storm of Prophecy, Book I: Dark Awakening Page 18
