The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 14

It was an Al-Sevaran village, a bunch of families paid good money by the government to settle the wilds and try to bring some sense of civilization to the place. Of course it was, because the wildling villages would never call the knights for help. It was a quaint little hamlet, six white brick houses with straw thatched roofs centered around a well, protected on all sides by a low stone wall. A small field to the north was cleared for crops, though Dorrick couldn’t tell what had been planted.

In the distance, far in the distance, Dorrick could make out the peaks of the Lazendires, the natural barrier between the Spirit Wilds and the Mushroom Wilds. Both were savage, both filled with spirits and tree folk and terrifying monsters, but there was no way they’d ever tame the Mushroom Wilds.

That was a lost cause. Too far from the city to ever be practical. Too much danger, too many risks.

But even here, only a day and a half ride from the city, there were rampaging spirits. Dorrick often wondered if this was wise, sending regular people into the wilds without assigning a detail of knights.

Still, it seemed to be an idyllic village, if not for the destruction that had befallen it.

A large chunk of the wall on the far eastern side had a hole in it, and large tracks went to and from the surrounding wilds. Two of the houses had chunks missing, one with a roof caved in and another with one whole side blown away, bricks and bits of furniture strewn about. A bit of smoke billowed from the remains, charred wood standing out stark against the brightness of the village, though it appeared the fire had been put out.

Beyond that, there didn’t seem to be any more damage. Dorrick hoped that no one had died. They could defeat a monster, but the dead stayed gone, unfortunately.

Sir Nogrund led them down the shallow hill and into the village. The destruction became more widespread the closer they got. Broken glass and chunks of brick gouged away, large prints stamped into the mud, small wooden fences broken to bits. Whatever spirit had done this, it was a big one.

“What do you think did this?” Marcella asked in a low voice.

“Something very big,” Dorrick replied.

She scoffed. “You think, genius?”

He shrugged, trying to stay serious. “Sir Nogrund said in the briefing that they didn’t know what it was, only that it was a large, enraged spirit.”

“Well, that narrows it down.”

“Unfortunately, as a whole, we don’t know a lot about spirits.”

“Other than the fact that they’re dangerous?”

Dorrick smirked. “Yes, other than that.”

They came upon the villagers, who were all huddled together around the village well, arguing about something. Dorrick was curious as to what, but before he could make out what they were saying, they all went silent at the approach of the knights.

An old woman, with graying red hair, sighed dramatically. “Thank goodness you’ve shown up!” she said, hand over her heart.

“Took you long enough,” someone muttered.

The old woman’s head snapped to the voice. “Shut up, Eusten.” The venom with which she said that named made Dorrick’s skin crawl. Must be her husband, he thought with a grin.

Sir Nogrund came to a stop before the villagers. Dorrick and the squires filed in alongside him. “Sorry for the delay, good citizens. We came as quickly as we could.”

“On foot?” asked a man with a blacksmith’s cape on, his face and beard stained black from soot.

“We rode to the nearest waystation, but couldn’t risk the mounts on such narrow paths. Now, everyone appears upset. Has something else happened?”

There were some mumbles of dissent, but no one voiced them. The old woman, who seemed to be a vocal one, spoke up again. “The beast came again, just about an hour ago! Plowed right through my home over there.”

“Did anyone get injured? Any casualties?” Sir Nogrund asked.

A few gazes went to the ground, grief bubbling to the service. That was a yes then. “My son,” said the woman. “He tried to fight it yesterday but was killed.”

“And my wife!” yelled another man.

“And my husband,” said a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than Dorrick.

When no one else volunteered a casualty, it was assumed that was it. Three, which was three too many. Sir Nogrund placed a fist over his heart and bowed his head, muttering a prayer to Gremel, the ferryman to the afterlife, so the departed had a safe passage.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. What can you tell me about the spirit?”

The woman’s husband, Eusten, was calm by then, his attitude gone. He stepped forward, eyes heavy with grief. “Large and mossy, half as big as a house. Looked like…. Like a bear in shape, but with legs like a falcon. Dying flowers that reeked like carrion bloomed all over it. And it had this…this strange purple glow about it.”

Well that’s just about the most awful thing I’ve ever heard, Dorrick thought with dread. They had to fight that?

If Sir Nogrund was disturbed by the description, didn’t show it. “Sounds like a deranged nature spirit.” He nodded and crossed his arms as he thought over the situation. “Which direction did you see it go?”

They all pointed east, to the billowing house with the wall missing. “Came an hour ago, was gone as quick as it came,” said the young widowed man.

“Okay, we shall handle it.” Sir Nogrund unclipped the large bronze horn from the bandolier that crossed his chest. He handed it to the blacksmith. “If the spirit returns while we are gone, blow this and we will return swiftly.”

The blacksmith wiped his hands on his apron before taking the horn. “Will do.”

“I pray that you won’t have to use it.” Sir Nogrund turned to the squires and inclined his head to the east. “Let’s move out!”

And without any further ceremony, they were off again, with haste, tracking down a monster. Dorrick’s shield rattled against his back, his steel blade banging against