Page 70 of Blood & Claw

Darach drew Rùn to a halt, taking in the village of Dunfyre.

It was mid-morning. Acrid smoke lingered in the cold air. A roundhouse at the center of the village was gutted, its roof collapsed, blackened beams jutting skyward like snapped bones. Ash drifted across the frosty ground.

Ailsa slid from the saddle, staring at the damage.

Doors creaked open then, one by one, and faces appeared—drawn, hollow-eyed. A woman of around forty winters stepped forward, gripping an iron poker so tightly her knuckles blanched.

Ailsa met her eye. “What happened here?”

“They came just after dusk,” she rasped, “and demanded we open up.”

“Who?”

“No idea … we never saw their faces. There was a group of them though … men.”

“You refused them?” Darach spoke up then.

The woman scowled. “No one opens the door after dark on Gateway.” Her gaze flicked toward the smoking ruin. “They set my home alight … and threatened to burn down every roundhouse in this village.”

Darach’s lips thinned. He didn’t need to guess who was behind this attack. Kayla’s pursuers had pressed on, braving the darkness just to reach the next village. However, they hadn’t received the hospitality they’d hoped for.

A man spoke up then, his voice trembling. “Everything changed when the Slew started screaming.”

The woman nodded. “Aye. They were about to torch all our homes … but then” —she hesitated— “they ran. All at once. The wraiths spooked them.”

The man shook his head. “Sounded to me like they were chasing after someone.”

Ailsa and Darach exchanged a long look, and his pulse kicked.

Kayla.

A clear trail led north from Dunfyne, and they followed it. A short while later, came across a small clearing.

A man lay sprawled in the center of the glade, throat cut.

But it wasn’t him that drew Ailsa’s attention, but the small boulders surrounding him.

And on closer inspection, they weren’t boulders at all, but carven rock effigies of imps. The creatures had long limbs and sagging faces, and some of them still clutched crude-looking weapons.

“Trows,” Dale muttered. “They were already dead … but the daylight has turned their corpses to stone, nonetheless.”

Dragging her attention from a trow’s twisted face, Ailsa glanced over at the dead man. He was young, tattooed, and leather-clad—clearly a warrior. “Do you think he was one of Kayla’s abductors?”

“Most likely.” Dale dropped to a crouch, gaze narrowing as he studied the warrior. Moments passed as he cast his gaze around the surrounding clearing. He shifted sideways and stretched out an arm, his fingers sliding over the crushed grass. “There are smaller boot prints in amongst the others. A woman’s. Kayla was here.”

Ailsa stiffened. “They caught her?”

“Looks like it.” Rising to his feet, he skirted the clearing. “The undergrowth is flattened on this edge.” He halted then, crouching to check something else. “Back soon.”

Straightening up once more, Dale disappeared into the undergrowth.

While he was scouting, Ailsa glanced around the clearing again. Dark patches of blood stained the ground, and her gut tightened. Gods. Had Kayla been hurt?

Dale returned then, striding toward where he’d tied Rùn to a nearby birch. “I found their tracks heading toward the road,” he announced, his voice tight with urgency. “We need to be after them.”

They rode hard after Dunfyne, yet they didn’t catch up with their quarry that day.

Dale stopped every so often to check for tracks, confirming that they were heading in the right direction, but those warriors had gotten a decent head start and had ridden hard all day.