Farris swallowed deeply. Plackart was a well-respected leader in the Triad’s military, to hear him speak so highly about his skills was… surprising.

More so because the Silverback was never one for praise.

“Thank you,” said Farris. “But I fear what happens if we fail.”

Plackart smiled. “Then we’ll make sure we won’t.”

***

The voyage took most of the day, which Farris passed with idle chat among to the other scouts. They retold stories of the Battle of Penance, as most had been stationed at the Goldgate when the dead came. One claimed to have seen Fionn, the Firemaster, leap down from the city walls down into the horde itself.

“Covered himself in a ball of fire,” he said, gesturing madly as he did. “Jumped right down into the undead and burned them all to a crisp.”

“I’ll never forget that smell,” said another. She spoke in a strained, hoarse voice. “Like burnt meat, mixed in with the stench of sweat and piss and shit.”

“Sounds like the time I had to share a cabin with Davin,” roared another. He laughed, throwing his arm around the first scout, whose sour face suggested his name.

Some hours after noon, the ships turned westwards, coming into Moray Head. And some time after this, the smouldering ruins of Point Grey’s harbour appeared on the horizon. Farris shuddered to think that this was the same view those fleeing the city had witnessed when Morrígan attacked; numerous families crammed into fishing boats sailing away from the slaughter, towards an uncertain life of refuge in Penance.

And how many of them died when the horde came back northwards, larger and stronger than before?

No, he could not dwell on that, or on other losses the living had taken over the course of this war… if war was even the right word to use for it. All that mattered now was securing the supply-line for the Triad’s army. And stopping Morrígan after that.

The ships docked at Point Grey’s harbour, which was empty now given the exodus of its people some few moons ago.

“You’ll stay here,” said Plackart to the crystallographer, who seemed quite glad to be docked. “You’re as important a part of this mission than anyone else. Do you have all you need to communicate with Penance?”

“Yes,” said the crystallographer. “I’ve two waves ready: One confirming our success, the other our failure. This way I can send one as soon as we know our outcome.”

“Excellent,” said Plackart. He gestured towards the ship’s crewmen, who were preparing the gang plank for embarkment. “No need to wait for the other ships. Scouts, mount up and see what we can find.”

***

Farris paced slowly through the streets of Point Grey on his elk mount. He always felt invincible upon this steed—the same one that had seen him through the Battle of Penance—but he had never thought to have given it a name. He kept his gaze locked forward on the empty streets ahead of him. From memory, the market quarter of the city was ahead, which surely would have some remaining stock of cured meats and dried food that would still be fit for use.

He rode beside one of the scouts—a light-furred Simian who seemed to have a much better grasp at controlling her elk than Farris did.

Maybe I could get some formal training when this is all over, thought Farris. And then I’ll finally give this beast a name.

As they took a left turn into the marketplace of the city, Farris’s fears were finally realised.

The terror that had come to Point Grey had left the marketplace in a ruin. Mounds of red bricks that had once been buildings encircled a cobblestone square. Pieces of walls still stood, like grey, scorched spectres of what had once been there.

Farris paced through the square, trying to recreate the market from memory. Just ahead of him, a long, low roof hung over a sheltered section of the square. A discarded wheel of a wagon lay before it, with charred wood and broken spokes. This, Farris reckoned, would have been where the various green-grocers would have sold their wares.

And just behind this wall would be where they’d store them.

Farris braced himself for the inevitable sight of broken crates and barrels, their contents scattered haphazardly across the ground by the invading army… but what he saw disappointed him even more.

The backs of the walls were empty. Where stacks of crates and barrels would have been kept, ready to be sold to the people of Point Grey, there was nothing but a bare, dusty stone floor.

Farris dismounted, then crouched down to examine the ground.

Strange. The horde would have had no need for provisions like this. Farris searched for signs of any crates or barrels being broken or smashed, but he found not even a splinter on the stone.

A slow, familiar panic set in.

I was wrong, he thought, his lower jaw quivering uncontrollably. There’s nothing left here. Nothing for the Triad’s men. Nothing for the people of Penance. What can we do now?

Farris’s heartbeat quickened, pounding first in his chest, then its sound resounded through his skull.

I wasted so much time… Morrígan might have killed the Lady by now. Might have taken… taken…

Farris closed his eyes tightly.

No. We can’t give up. Not now. Not yet!

“Sir?”

We could hunt for game in the Hazelwood. Feed the soldiers that way. But… no…

“Farris?”

In an instant, the panic stopped, and Farris opened his eyes. The scout stood before him.

“Farris… sir?” she said. “We found something.”

“Food? Provisions?”

The Simian shook her head. She pointed southwards.

“Outside the village. There’s smoke coming from a barn.”

Farris’s heartbeat surged. Survivors! In a place as hopeless as this?

His face broke out into a smile. To think that some people had manged to survive both the horde and the purged land left in its wake.

Farris’s smile vanished, for he realised what this truly meant.

***

The scouts regrouped at the edge of the town. They too had found very little; far less that what one would expect from a town evacuated at short notice. As General-Commander Plackart explained the situation, pointing towards the thin trail of smoke that emanated from a building about half a mile to the south, the mood changed abruptly. In silence they mounted up, and made their way across the old dirt road as dusk began to set in. This took them uphill, where several buildings loomed ahead. Two granaries flanked a large wooden barn, and just as the scout had reported, smoke poured from a stone chimney atop its wide, grey-slated roof.

“What if there’s someone there?” whispered a scout behind Farris. He got no response, though Farris looked to Plackart for a reaction. The old Simian pretended not to hear, despite being well within earshot. Instead, he stared ahead; eyes focused on the first signs of life they’d come across since leaving Penance.

As they got closer, Farris could make out the smaller details of the barn. It seemed that the horde had come through here too, evidenced by flattened grass and fences surrounding the buildings. The granaries appeared to be untouched: two narrow wooden buildings raised a foot off the ground on short, stone columns. Both of their doors were shut tight. The door to the barn, on the other hand, was slightly ajar. Farris’s breath caught in his throat when he heard the faint sounds of whispering from within.

Plackart gestured them to dismount, which they did in silence. The seven Simians took their weapons off their mounts—polearms and spears and longswords among them—then walked towards the barn. Farris held his halberd in his hands, his fingers wrapped tight about the shaft. Ahead of him, Plackart wore his large greatsword on his back, its hilt rocking to and fro as he walked ahead of the party.