Page 36 of Winds of Destiny

Turo would agree with me on this.

And it seems that Camrael knows that, too. He nods stiffly and, belatedly, pulls out his sword.

I take the lead as we head into the smoldering wreckage.

There’s what looks like the gatehouse, also burned, to the right. Not five feet away from it is a body lying facedown on the ground, a spear in the back and the head nearly separated from the neck. It wasn’t a blade that did it, either—the neck was clearly crushed by something heavy and quick-moving. A little more investigation of the ground reveals my impression to be correct—there are two parallel tracks here, one of them running right over this person’s neck.

Chariots.

“The Kamorans,” Camrael murmurs. Of course his keen eyes have made sense of it already. “They headed north, then.”

“Turo tracked them to the edge of the swamp. How did they turn north from there?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he missed something.” Neither of us believes that. “Or perhaps it was a different group.” That seems more likely, and more terrifying as well. The first war band was bad enough—two of them on the loose will wreak havoc on our caravans and traders.

Now isn’t the time to get lost in thought. There’s nothing we can do for this poor soul—not even a prayer to say for them, since only the great cities have gods. “Let’s find Turo,” I say, and Camrael nods and forces his eyes away from the macabre scene.

It isn’t the last body we find, though. The people here fought hard—there are over two dozen bodies with lightweight spears left in them on the main road through the settlement. The houses are harder to bear. The first one we come to is gutted from the fire, but I can see three small skeletons curled against the far wall. They’re so close they’re practically lying on top of each other.Three children, hoping against hope…

I whisper a prayer to Carnuatu even though the babes weren’t among the faithful. If anyone ever deserved to be granted a god’s favor in the afterlife, it’s these innocent souls.

Camrael turns away the moment he sees them. His chest is heaving, his eyes wide enough that I can see white all the way around the irises. I don’t know if he’s about to cry, scream, or vomit. In the end, he doesn’t do any of those things, but he doesn’t look in any more of the houses, either. He’s more concerned with looking for Turo.

In the end, Turo is the one who finds us. We’re at the far end of the settlement beside the back gate and Camrael is close to having a breakdown when, all of a sudden, Turo comes around the corner of the broken wall.

“You!” Camrael smacks him on the arm, hard. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking and looking, I was afraid you were—you—”

Turo reaches for Camrael’s hand and, wonder of wonders, Camrael gives it to him without pause, searching for comfort from his oldest love. If I were a jealous man, I would be burning with envy right now. As it is, I don’t feel excluded because Turo is looking right at me. “There are survivors.” His voice is desperate. “I can hear them, but I can’t get to them. We need your people.”

Finally, something concrete we can do. “Show me.”

Turo nods and turns, heading away from the settlement at a jog. He’s still holding Camrael’s hand. I expect Camrael to take it back, if only to make his way more easily, but he doesn’t. He keeps pace with Turo and doesn’t pull away, just holds on as firmly as he himself is being held. Their grips are so tight their knuckles have blanched. Something is clearly wrong; there’s some aspect of this that I’m missing.

Understanding will have to wait, though. We’re getting close to the ocean, the roar of the waves against the cliffs growing with each step. The people of the settlement are—were—avid fisherfolk, their elders monitoring long lines that stretched from the top of the cliff down to the waves below. The lines are still there, but no people that I can see. Where is Turo taking us?

He follows a barely visible path on the ground until the grass turns to rough, porous black rocks. There are holes here and there, some small, some large enough for a person to crawl into—ah. When he stops in front of one and looks inside, I understand. By the time I reach them, Camrael has already gotten down onto his knees, compassion and pity warring in his face.

“There are at least ten people down there,” Turo says to me. I glance in and can see a few faces looking back up from the darkness, at least ten feet down. “One of them has a broken leg. Two are infants. We need to rig a rope.”

“How did they get down there in the first place?” I ask, appalled at their circumstances but relieved that someone in this gracious place has survived.

“They jumped.”

That far?It’s a miracle more of them didn’t break their limbs or skulls. “I’ll go down and get them ready to be lifted out,” I say. “Lord Turo, can you go and get my—”

“No, he needs to stay. I’ll get them,” Camrael says, scrambling back to his feet. “I’ll go get the others. Give me a moment.” He reaches out and touches Turo’s shoulder without being prompted. He’s been cold to him for nearly this entire journey, and now he’s treating Turo like he did back in Zephyth.

What am I missing?

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and Turo nods. Then Camrael is running away, and I’m left with Turo, who looks strangely blank as he stares down into the hole. Like his eyes are seeing something entirely different from what’s in front of him.

It’s my turn to grab his shoulder this time. “Are you all right?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, blinking several times before he finally focuses on me. “Fine,” he says at last. “Are you sure you want to go down there?”

“Someone will have to. It might as well be me.” I’m sturdy enough that a ten-foot fall won’t faze me, and Turo doesn’t look like he has it in him to take that right now. I call down into the sinkhole, “Shift to the side so I may come down!”

“One wrong move from you and I’ll run you through!” a woman’s fierce voice calls back. “If you’re with those bastards, then—”

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