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“Seems deserted,” a disappointed Lomar stated as he reappeared.
“Could be they’re hiding.” A glance at the parapet didn’t show any arrow tips or movement but that didn’t mean no one watched. His nape prickled in warning.
“I’ll grab some men and do a sweep,” Lomar stated.
“Take half. I want the rest to do a perimeter sweep,” Kormac commanded as he strode through the gate.
The stench of death hit him immediately and he glanced at Lomar. “When you said deserted…”
“I meant I found no signs of anyone living.” Lomar pointed. “The smell appears to be coming from the stable which would match Ioan’s claim the horses were slaughtered.”
“And left to rot?” Kormac’s brow rose.
“So it seems.”
“Disrespectful,” Kormac grumbled. His people had long valued the stallions and mares that they caught running in the wild and tamed. They were their greatest pride—and their most expensive export. To have them not only slaughtered but then left to rot? Khaal had much to answer for.
Kormac strode into the barn and the smell turned his stomach. Not that he gagged. A warlord couldn’t show weakness.
He glanced inside the stalls to see the remains of the once fine steeds lying where they’d died, their flesh ribboned. Why hadn’t Khaal had them removed?
The courtyard held no bodies. Neither did the main chamber once he entered the fort. The long tables, flanked by benches, held dishes, the food on them moldy. Further investigation resulted in them finding some bodies in the barracks, the soldiers murdered in their beds, the blood long dried, the bodies rigid.
Kormac’s lips tightened at the sight.
Lomar leaned close to murmur, “Think Ioan did this?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Ioan hadn’t seemed strong enough to be able to cause such carnage, but he only had to remember the dungeon to wonder if they’d underestimated the man.
Kormac pointed to some of his soldiers. “Clear the dead.” By clear he meant remove and burn. In his culture, they didn’t bury those who passed. Burying trapped the soul. Only fire could release it from its fleshy prison. The morning they’d left, Ioan’s body had been put on a pyre—a small one made up of trash and not the fine wood used for the soldiers—because even a traitor didn’t deserve to slowly decay.
“Only one place left to check,” Lomar murmured.
The watchtower where Ioan claimed Khaal had barricaded those who’d survived. He didn’t hold much hope for those men, not with the deep silence they’d encountered thus far.
The watchtower sat at the rear of the garrison, facing the pass it guarded. It went a full two stories higher than the fort and had a large window-like opening at the top where not only could someone watch, but a fire could be burned to provide a signal. At least, that was the original intent. The watchtower three daysride away that would have seen it had collapsed during a tremor more than thirty years ago and never been rebuilt. Why bother when they had the birds to communicate? In retrospect, not too smart since whatever enemy they dealt with had eradicated them early on. If not for Ioan, it might have been months before they noticed a problem with the garrison.
The door at the base of the tower, the only entrance, appeared barricaded from the inside. The exterior of the portal was untouched, no scratches on its surface, also no reply to their pounding.
Kormac glanced at Lomar with his massive axe. “Take it down.”
“If I must.” Lomar grimaced. “My poor blade.” He complained but he swung.
Thunk, thunk. His strong strokes splintered the seasoned wood. The thick panel took some time to penetrate and the moment Lomar created a small hole, they could smell it.
Death.
CHAPTER THREE
Kormac’s second kept chopping at the door until he’d made an opening large enough he could reach in and shove at the bar that pinned the door shut. Despite the unsavory air that wafted, Kormac entered. Right away he saw bodies. Two men collapsed over a table, the cards they’d been playing smeared with dried blood. The slashes that killed them striped across their backs, exposing their spines. Their weapons still leaned against their chairs. They’d never even grabbed them, just died where they sat. Troubling, as it confirmed some of what Ioan claimed: that they never saw the threat coming.
“Why didn’t they fight?” Lomar waved his hand between the pair of bodies.
“Probably asleep on watch.”
“While playing cards? And then didn’t wake when their partner got murdered?” Lomar didn’t sound convinced.
“Possible if there weren’t any screams or noise.” Kormac sought to find reason but even he had a hard time believing what he stated.
