Daughter of the Wind

9. The Deadlands

"Can you track it?"

Davos nodded. "But whoever this is, we don't want to be seen as a threat. That would not end well."

"So what's the plan?"

Davos thought for a moment before replying. "I'll track them down. Choose four militia and follow a day behind. I'll leave marks for you to follow."

"And if they kill you?"

Davos laughed bitterly. "Then don't be kind when you avenge me." He shrugged when he saw the frustration on Ukari's face. "Think about who he's killed so far. One smuggler and a bunch of bandits. I don't seem to be on the menu."

"And when you find him?"

"I'll work out his plan," Davos said. "And find a way to bring him in without getting my chest blown open."

Ukari stepped outside and leaned against the wall. "We've never faced someone like this before."

"Look on the bright side," Davos said, following him out. "You're not the one doing the tracking."

For once, Ukari didn't feel a trace of envy.

* * *

That night passed quietly at the Deadlands. It had been two days since the bandit raid, and it was as if nothing had ever happened. The corpses were reduced to ash, and their initial state of alert had soon faded. Nothing dulled the senses like staring at the empty wasteland that marked the border. It was still a few hours before dawn when the captain shook Roulson awake.

"Rotation in ten minutes," the officer whispered, and Roulson grunted his reply. He forced himself to his feet and gathered his equipment, noting a haziness in the air. He passed it off as fatigue and stumbled over to where the company was starting to assemble. The captain strode down their line, checking their equipment as he quietly called out,

"There's heavy fog in the Deadlands, so stay alert. Visibility is limited. So watch your sectors, and watch your step."

That explained the haziness, but Roulson was confused. He'd never seen fog up this way, and no one had ever reported seeing it.

"How heavy is it, sir?" he found himself asking. The captain continued his inspection as he answered.

"Thick enough that we need to be diligent. Is that enough for you?"

"Yes, sir." Roulson felt someone kick him, and forced himself not to react.

"Alright, we're moving up. Standard procedure."

Stifling a yawn, Roulson followed the others as they made their way through the wire. Along the tree line were regularly spaced stakes topped with flaming torches to give some semblance of light. The fog was thick enough that it made little difference. Roulson felt an uneasiness as he began his route. There was something unnatural about the fog, something that he couldn't explain. He shrugged off the feeling as he marched, alternating between watching the path and trying to spot anything through the haze. It was useless; there was nothing to see. A company of bandits could be right there and they'd never know.

Roulson froze when he heard the whistle. It was subtle, almost a bird call but not quite the right tone. It was certainly out of place in the Deadlands. Instinctively, his free hand grasped his sword hilt as he turned towards the fog. A similar whistle responded from further down the valley. Someone was trying to sneak through the valley. More bandits?

He turned as someone ran up behind him. It was a junior recruit, gasping for breath as he said,

"Captain says there's torches in the Deadlands. He wants us behind the wire."