CHAPTER THREE

The Eastern Plains, Gershadi

J elial, Lord Warden of the Eastern Plains Province of Gershadi, could not credit what he saw. His mind simply would not process the information. He sat his horse, growing colder by the moment, staring ahead at what had been his home base, the castle and town of Hornridge.

It lay in smoking ruins. These tumbled ruins might have been a stark black scar against the snow-covered plains save for one thing—it was covered in something gray, and red, which undulated as if it were a sea of pale insects.

“Skraelings,” muttered his lieutenant, sitting his horse alongside Jelial.

He and his party of fifteen armed men had been away for six weeks, attending court at Hosea to discuss the escalating military conflict with the Outlands. Jelial had returned to Hornridge mainly to marshal his forces to join Fulmer in his push south against the cursed Outlanders, who were pushing north and threatening to lay siege to Hosea.

Now it looked very much as if Jelial might not have any forces left to marshal.

In fact, it looked as if there was not very much left at all.

“Skraelings?” Jelial whispered. He could see it was Skraelings. There was a small herd of them not fifty paces away, snuffling around in the remains of a pig herder’s hut and pens, but his mind still could not comprehend the enormous numbers of them that it must take to completely cover Hornridge and the surrounding countryside for miles about.

It reminded Jelial of something he’d seen as a boy when his father had taken him to hunt the snow deer that lived in the borderlands of the Frozen Wastes. Every year the snow deer migrated south to the rich pasturelands of the lower Sky Peaks in massive herds of million upon millions of animals.

That was what this sight reminded him of, save the migration consisted of million upon millions of Skraelings.

And they were heading south.

“My lord!” his lieutenant hissed, and Jelial looked to where he pointed.

Out of the mass of Skraelings investigating the pigpens came a man. Dressed entirely in black, and with a black cloak billowing out behind him, he appeared to be crossing the snow toward Jelial and his party with supernaturally long strides.

Jelial—as did all his men—drew his sword.

“I will not harm you,” said the man, halting a few paces away from Jelial.

He was of striking appearance, exuding power and confidence, and even though he appeared unarmed, Jelial knew that if it came to blows, even a thousand men at his back, bristling with weapons, would not protect him against this being.

“My name is Lister,” said the man. “I am Lord of the Skraelings.” His mouth twisted a little, and his light brown eyes glinted. “As you can see, I command considerable strength. Hornridge is gone, Jelial. Your family is gone—”

Something tore apart in Jelial’s chest, and he thought it was probably his heart, breaking.

“Eaten,” Lister said. “Consumed. The Skraelings are hungry, I am afraid.”

Jelial tried to speak, but couldn’t. Incomprehension and grief had utterly swamped any anger he may have felt.

“Everything is very bloodied at Hornridge,” Lister said, his voice quiet now, his eyes fixed on Jelial.

“Quite congealed, in fact. I wouldn’t even attempt an entry, if I were you. My boys remain hungry, and Hornridge could get bloodier still.”

“I…” Jelial said, and could get no further.

“We’re heading south,” Lister said, one arm sweeping out in that direction, making his cloak billow and heave in the wind. “As far as we can go. I have a massive army—”

Jelial wondered why he called it an army and not a herd. His mind, now utterly shocked, kept trying to return to the memory of the migrating herds of snow deer.

“—and it is so very, very hungry. It will eat everything in its path, Jelial. Everything. I suggest you return the way you came, and spread the news.”

Then he was gone, and Jelial and his men were left sitting their horses in the cold wasteland, looking at the great mass of Skraelings heaving and swelling over what was once their home.

And their families.

Lister, Eleanon, and Inardle stood to one side of the pigpens, cloaked from the vision of Jelial and his party, watching as, eventually, they turned their horses’ heads away from Hornridge.

“Thank the gods,” Eleanon said. “I thought they might have actually tried to enter Hornridge.”

“Grief is a strange beast,” said Lister, watching the group as they rode away, “and when coupled with shock it can make men do foolish things.”

“I wish we could have saved Hornridge,” Inardle said. “No one deserved to die as those people did.”

They fell silent, remembering the horror as the Skraelings overwhelmed the castle and town, tearing terrified men and women to shreds.

No one had escaped.

“The entire world is going to be destroyed in far more horrific circumstances,” Lister said eventually, “if we cannot manage the impossible.”

“Do you think the southerners will listen to Jelial?” said Eleanon. “Do you think they will heed your warning?”

“I hope so,” said Lister, “for there is little else I can do to save them. It is not as if I have ever controlled the Skraelings, is it?” He gave a bitter little laugh. “My title of Lord of the Skraelings is completely useless, although I suppose it has served me well to this point. But, oh, gods, how glad I shall be when I can slough it off my shoulders, and leave these disgusting creatures far behind me, and assume my true face.”