45. Fenric
Without the magical fog barring their path and confusing them with every step, the trek through the sparse trees and shrubs only took a few minutes.
The entire way, they expected an attack from the finfolk, or at least a sign of sentries and guards to block their path.
He soon understood why they’d been left alone.
The second they crossed through the last of the fog barrier, they were faced with moonlit water. A lot of water.
All the water that had disappeared from the river now formed a vast lake around Lord Mire’s manor and the adjacent village of Dunley, all previously farmland.
The finfolk were aquatic creatures and wouldn’t attack on land unless they had no other choice.
Why not let the stupid humans come to them so they could more comfortably attack from water?
A rock of dread sank into the pit of Fenric’s stomach.
This was not going to be an easy fight, but they had no choice.
They had to continue forward. Fenric paused for a heartbeat, trying to gauge how deep the water might be.
They weren’t too far from the newly formed shore—it couldn’t be more than a few feet—but he’d wager it got much deeper in some sections, creating places where the finfolk could easily swim and hide.
The tops of the bushes were still visible where the group was.
He tightened his fist around his sword and plunged forward.
Icy water closed around him as it instantly rose to his knees. His boots sank into the soggy earth, sucking at his feet with each step he took, turning their valiant charge into a slog.
“Quickly! Quickly! Quickly!” Malfas chanted, holding the club over his head.
A wave of water surged up to Fenric’s waist as Belstrom charged past him with Maxie tucked under his arm like a spear. The water barely reached his calves thanks to his prodigious height.
“Bel! Put me down! I can cross on my own!” Maxie cried, kicking his feet in the air.
The barbarian just clicked his tongue. “Your physique is too diminutive and delicate to manage this treacherous terrain. The finfolk will devour you in an instant.”
As soon as Bel reached dry land, he set Maxie down and started pulling the rest of the party onto dry land.
A fresh chill ran through Fenric as Bel’s hand closed on Lirion’s arm and pulled him out of the murky water and onto mostly dry land.
A small ripple in the water moved in close to Lirion’s foot.
He couldn’t see below the surface of the black waters, but he didn’t doubt a finfolk was gliding by, like a shark or an alligator prowling the water, looking for an easy target.
Fenric took a step closer, his sword raised, while his other hand edged to a throwing knife on his hip, ready to kill anything that stuck a single scale out of the water.
“Let’s go, Fen,” Lirion murmured in his ear. A hand squeezed his shoulder, and some of the tension humming through his frame eased away.
He grunted but kept his eye on the water for an extra second.
The muddy road to Lord Mire’s manor was empty in the darkness. Only a handful of torches flickered and guttered in the wind along the manor walls surrounding the great house, while a few puny lights shone from the village beyond the manor, casting a lonely, beleaguered pall over everything.
Not a single guard was spotted until they reached the walls, and then there were two men in armor leaning on their spears.
Both started when they noticed the ragtag group approaching with weapons drawn and the steady drumbeat played by the bard.
The song thrummed deep in Fenric’s chest and stirred his blood, leaving him eager for a fight.
“Halt! What-what business do you have with Lord Mire?” the poor man with heavily pockmarked cheeks stammered. The point of his spear quivered.
“I’m here to reclaim stolen property,” Fenric gritted out between clenched teeth. He raised his sword to attack the guard, but Belstrom stepped forward, one hand held toward Fenric to stop him.
“I put before you both an interesting conundrum only you can solve. Your first option is to abandon your post, stand aside, and allow us to mete out bloody justice upon the head of Lord Mire and his family for absconding with goods from a holy saintess. Your second option is to fight us, die, and then my necromancer companion”—Belstrom paused and turned to motion toward Hapi, who offered a grim smirk—“will turn your corpse into a zombie and we will use you to eliminate your comrades. Which option do you choose? Dishonor and life or death and zombification?”
They had to wait only a heartbeat.
“Dishonor,” the other guard announced, tossing down his spear. He chucked his helmet down as well with a heavy thud before running toward the village.
“Y-yeah. Dishonor is fine with me. Lord Mire’s an asshole, anyway. Pay’s shit, and the last two guards were eaten by finfolk.” Pockmark threw down his spear and attempted to run, but Belstrom grabbed him by the back of his tunic and lifted him up.
“Tell me how many guards there are or I’m going to chop you up and let you join your friends as finfolk food,” Rain demanded, shoving the point of his saber into the man’s face.
“Th-th-thirty-six. Just twenty on d-duty now, in case of finfolk attack,” he stuttered, trying to inch away from the wicked blade.
Belstrom tossed the man aside. The man yelped and half crawled, half ran away, stumbling every step.
Rain groaned. “Thirty-six. That’s barely a scuffle.”
“Fine. Call it a light workout,” Fenric barked.
With no further distractions, Belstrom tapped into his barbarian side. His bellowing war cry reverberated through the air as he charged forward, his massive bulk slamming into the thick gates and throwing them open.
An alarm bell started tolling, announcing their invasion, while Lirion’s drumbeat steadily rolled on in the background.
Soldiers clattering in metal armor poured out of various buildings and doorways, converging on the courtyard, though they seemed confused when they were met with not fish creatures, but other humans.
Fenric never took his eye off the target.
With a blade in both hands, he sliced and dodged his way through the soldiers as they stepped into his path.
Blood sprayed across pale stone and soaked into parched earth as he cut through half a dozen men before reaching the top of the stairs.
Cries of pain and death echoed through the air, but he didn’t dare look back.
As long as he could hear the steady beat of Lirion’s drum, he knew the bard was safe.
The others wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him.
Deadly energy rushed through him as he kicked open the front doors and strode across the marble floor, leaving bloody footprints in his wake, illuminated by guttering candles caught in the rogue wind sweeping through the manor.
Two more guards appeared out of nowhere, but Fenric’s sword slashed through both in the blink of an eye, leaving them lying on the floor, their blood spreading across the marble.
A pair of double doors flew open, and a roundish man in a luxurious dressing gown stomped out. His pale cheeks were turning bright red with his ire. “What in the gods’ great vengeance is going on out here?”
His target.
A slow smile spread across Fenric’s lips as he changed direction.
Lord Mire’s eyes snapped to the dead guards and then to Fenric. All the blood left his face in an instant, and he whimpered before backpedaling into the room, calling for more guards and slamming the doors shut again. But it was far too late for that.
Fenric kicked the double doors open to find the man racing to his desk.
He jerked open a drawer, the contents inside noisily clattering together.
He lifted a jeweled dagger and sucked in a deep breath like he meant to call for the guards again.
Fenric deftly threw his own knife, embedding it in the man’s arm. He dropped the dagger and cried out.
As he stepped behind the desk with Lord Mire, he backhanded the man, snapping his head around and stopping him from pulling the dagger out of his arm.
“Where’s the treasure box you bought from Calder Rigs?”
“Wh-what? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“The treasure box belonging to the saintess!” Fenric roared right in his face. “You knew it belonged to a saintess, and you bought it anyway! I want it back. It was stolen straight from my mother’s dead hands.”
Any remaining color slipped from Lord Mire’s face, but he tipped his chin up, determined to look down his nose at Fenric despite being nearly a foot shorter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And-and even if I did, I’ll die before I tell you a single thing!”
“Well,” Hapi drawled, his dull voice tinged with amusement, “he told you his terms.”
The timing of the necromancer was perfect.
With a smirk, Fenric pulled the nobleman out from behind the desk and shoved him into the center of the room.
As Lord Mire stumbled to catch his balance, Fenric boldly slashed his sword through the air, slicing the man’s head clear off his body.
Blood splashed, and the headless body collapsed on the beautifully woven rug, while the head bounced across the room to land against a bookcase.
Hapi sighed heavily. “I thought you’d just stab him through the heart.”
“Yes, and then you’d need to raise the entire body. We need only what’s in the head,” Fenric pointed out. He walked over to where the lord’s head had settled and lifted his sword, intending to stab it and pick it up like a rotting piece of fruit.
“Stop!” Hapi barked before he could slam the blade down. “If you puncture the brain, you could damage the memories. Not what you want, right?”
“Ah. Good point.” Fenric bent down and picked up the head by Mire’s greasy hair. “How’s it going with the others?” he inquired as he walked over to where Hapi waited for him in the center of the room. “Lirion? Puppy?”