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With Lomar and his axe taking the lead, they headed up the stairs, a winding circle with landings wide enough to lay out some bedrolls. Many held bodies slashed to pieces.
Kormac crouched to eye the savage cuts. He glanced at Lomar. “No bite marks and the slices are clean.”
“Yeah, it’s not looking like claws ripped them,” Lomar agreed. “I’d say a sword, but why so many cuts? An invader wouldn’t waste time dicing. They’d kill and move on to the next target.”
Kormac’s mouth pinched. “This feels angry. Retaliatory.”
“Someone pissed at the garrison?” Lomar asked in surprise. “For what? They haven’t seen a skirmish in our lifetime.” The lack of action was the main reason why they sent the worst of the worst to serve there.
“We don’t know how they behaved so far from the citadel. Could be someone in the nearby villages had a bone to pick. Theft or property damage. A daughter besmirched. A family member killed or maimed by a drunken soldier.” It happened, and when it did those who acted with dishonor met the ultimate punishment. Kormac didn’t brook abuse of his people.
“One thing that makes no sense is how did someone get in, kill them, and get out? The door was barred from inside.”
“You’re assuming there isn’t a hidden entrance.” Kormac had a ready reply even as he wondered the same. He’d never heard any mention of a secret doorway and the place had been built of stone atop more stone. “Let’s see what’s on the top level.” The wide window at the very top most likely held a rope that would explain how the perpetrator escaped.
They continued up the winding stairs, finding more bodies on the next landing—none of them speaking, to Kormac’s relief. He’d almost convinced himself he’d imagined Ioan’s corpse giving him that odd message.
The final floor showed the most carnage. The remaining troops, nine by his count, also dead, killed with the same kind of savagery with one exception. Two of the bodies held weapons. One, whom he didn’t recognize, gripped a bloodied sword, showing he’d fought until the cut across his throat that almost took off his head. The second armed combatant…
“Is that Khaal?” Lomar murmured.
“Yes.” Kormac recognized the man.
The Lieutenant sat, leaning against the wall, showing a few cuts to his arms and a slash across his halberd. Nothing deadly, most likely defensive in nature. He’d died from the gash across his neck caused by the dagger he still held.
“This makes it seem like he killed himself,” Lomar remarked, his forehead creased.
“He did, but only after he murdered his men.” Kormac indicated the sword by Khaal’s corpse, the blade covered in gore.
“The lieutenant was behind their murders?” Lomar didn’t hide his disbelief.
“So it appears. It would explain why no one fought. They wouldn’t have expected their commander to attack.”
“But why?”
“Probably taken by some kind of madness.” It happened. Swamp sickness, even age, could addle a man’s wits and morals.
“That one fought.” Lomar pointed to the only one who appeared to have tried to save himself. “Why him and no one else?”
A good question. Kormac returned to that corpse and crouched by it. He noticed the man’s weapon-free hand clutched a chain. It took a bit to pry the rigid fingers open to pull it free. He dangled the medallion, carved with some of the same symbols on his bracers. Interesting. He’d never seen it replicated before and he did wonder how a common solider came to possess one. He tucked it in his pocket before rising.
“Have the bodies cleared. I want them burned before nightfall,” Kormac ordered.
He left Lomar to organize while he hunted out Khaal’s private quarters. He entered, expecting to see signs of the lieutenant’s madness only to find everything in its place. A bed tidily made. Clothing hung on hooks. The surfaces of furniture covered with only a light layer of dust. He rummaged around but found nothing. No manifesto or reason for Khaal’s actions. The inkwell sat beside a clean sheet of paper.
As darkness fell, Kormac headed outside the garrison and joined Lomar, who was directing the stacking of the bodies for the bonfire. So many bodies and one man to blame.
Given the massacre indoors, they’d chosen to camp outside the garrison, far from the stench of death left behind. It would take a deep cleaning before anyone could inhabit the barracks, but no amount of scrubbing would remove the stigma of what happened.
He retired to his tent—which was larger than the others—to eat his evening meal. Lomar joined him. As they chewed on the hardtack and dried meat they’d brought, his second and closest friend talked about what they’d discovered.
“I can’t believe Khaal went mad and killed his men. I didn’t know him well, but he always seemed like the dependable sort.” Lomar shook his head.
“He was,” Kormac agreed. “I know he struggled after he lost his wife and child to the fever a few years ago. He was the one to request the garrison posting when the old commander retired.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Lomar murmured. “The way no one fought.”
“One solider did.”
