Daughter of the Wind

9. The Deadlands

Eighth of Harvest

As Echtalon looked across the border into Svaleta, he felt nothing but contempt for his Empire's ancient foes. The 'Deadlands', they called the scorched earth that stretched before him. To Aliri like Echtalon, it was simply the first few worthless hectares of Svaletan soil. It deserved no special name, as they deserved no special mercy. Truth be told, like most Aliri, Echtalon had no memory of the roots of the two nations' rivalry. Certainly they had no general hatred towards humans, though they considered elvenkind to be vastly superior. Perhaps there was an irrationality to it, but that was no surprise. All war is fundamentally irrational.

The reasons for war were far from Echtalon's mind as he studied the Svaletan border. The recent bandit raids had shown him his enemy's positions and tactics. He wasn't impressed. Whatever the skill of the individual soldier, their strategy was essentially suicidal in the face of a determined attack. He would prove that soon. He shook his head as he turned to his deputy.

"Summon the witches," he ordered. "We attack at dawn. They will cover our approach."

He would smash their defences as if they had never existed. The rest of their Kingdom would soon follow.

* * *

Davos arrived at the burned ranch an hour before dusk. He and his deputy had ridden as fast as they dared after receiving news of the dead raiders. The initial reports had been muddled, uncertain. A family had been slaughtered, their barn and stable burned down. A second messenger had reported raider bodies. The family had fought back, it seemed. But Davos knew the peasants who had been killed. They were simple folk, not at all equipped to kill anything more dangerous than a wolf. So he hadn't hesitated to set off to see for himself.

He dismounted well outside the ranch, quickly finding the tracks left behind by the raiders. At least eight, he quickly judged. Their steel boots had ruined the wheat fields that they'd charged through. Strange that they hadn't burned the fields, Davos thought, but perhaps they had wanted to deal with the family first.

"Davos!" Ukari yelled. "You'll want to see this."

He made his way over to his deputy, standing over the first bodies. The dirt was dark with blood that had been pooling for hours.

"Dead this morning at least," Ukari reported. He waved at the blackened buildings. "Don't know how the fire didn't spread, but it helps us."

There were six bodies. Davos knelt in front of one, reaching out and pushing where the throat had been sliced.

"He didn't expect it," Davos said quietly.

"Another bandit?"

Davos shook his head. "They're not so precise. A bandit will just hack at you until you drop."

Ukari grunted and bent over another body. "You're not wrong. This one's hand was cut almost off. Then he was stabbed through the chin. How many attackers were there?"

"Just one," Davos murmured as he turned to another corpse. His dead eyes were open wide, his chest a bulging red mass. "Just one savage creature."

"There's more inside!" a militia man yelled from the house. "The family and two scum."

Davos and Ukari exchanged glances, then slowly walked to the house. It took only a glance for Davos to confirm what he'd already suspected.

"It's the same as Milton," Ukari said. Davos simply nodded. The two bandits' chests had exploded from the inside out. Without any interference from birds, Davos could clearly see the shattered mess made by whatever had attacked them.

"What could do this?" Ukari breathed. An old memory tugged at Davos' mind but he forced it aside. He sniffed the air and grunted.

"Whoever did this killed Milton," he announced. "It's the same scent."