Death After Death

The trip back to Schwarzenbruck was not much more challenging than the trip to the barrows had been. It was a few days longer because Simon chose to stay off the main road as much as possible. Both the rugged terrain and the extra days on the trail meant that he encountered more zombies than he otherwise would have, of course, but he didn’t mind that. They were only a nuisance when found in ones and twos, and every time he killed one, he freed some tormented soul.

At this point, almost all the zombies he killed had the look of tradesmen or mercenaries, which explained where all the disrupted traffic had come from. Once, he even found an overturned wagon that contained a variety of now-spoiled spices and bolts of beautifully dyed fabric. Simon probably could have sold it for a few coins, but he didn’t feel like the hassle. Between his pilfered grave goods and the coin purses of dead men, he had more money than he’d need for a long time.

Despite his circuitous route, he made it back to the city in less than a week to find that the only undead that were assaulting it were the ones that were whispered about in rumors. While there was no evidence that a single one had been seen inside the city, the guards were out in force looking for anyone who seemed unwell, and everyone traded stories fearfully about what was to come.

Of course, Simon was unconcerned. Instead, he went to a different inn on the far side of town and treated himself to a real meal to reward himself for enduring his mediocre attempts at campfire cooking and day after day of cold hardtack. He had a roast chicken to himself, and then after he was finished gnawing the bones clean, he had a few drinks while he caught up on the rumors.

It was just as he’d heard whispered in the streets. People were afraid, but the story of the Butcher’s Bill was the one he heard the most. That made sense. The prospect of a large mercenary company traveling north but coming back with only a few survivors could be a shocking thing. Simon wasn’t about to explain to him why the majority of those people had died, of course.

He just listened and gave the same nonanswers as everyone else between questions. Especially when they mentioned what a hero Kell was. There, he bit his tongue, trying to decide if it was worse that Kell would be remembered as a hero, or that last time it was Simon who had been remembered as the villain. In the end, he decided to leave it alone.

There were no rumors of conditions further to the south, though whether that was because people were so captivated by what was happening to the north or because there was simply nothing brewing, he couldn’t say. It honestly could have been either. Whole wars could be happening, and no one would notice, but Simon couldn’t exactly blame them for that.

Instead, he just enjoyed a good night’s sleep in a soft bed, and the next day, after he refreshed his supplies and bought some paper to continue his mapping project, he started south. Given the distances he was going to have to travel, a horse was probably the right answer, but neither his weight nor his endurance was where he wanted it to be, so he decided that he was going to walk instead, at least for the first part of the journey.

Given how rough the roads were in places, it was clear that was the right move. The gap in trade caused by this disruption was clearly taking its toll on the lonely dirt road that snaked through the claustrophobic forest that was a dense mixture of pine and fir trees as well as oak and ash. It was clear that trying to keep the road open through such lonely terrain was a full-time job when he noticed a few saplings growing in the road at various intervals.