Arc 5: Chapter 26: They Who Hunt Demons
The Corpse Moon crested high over the Riven, its cold light catching in the mist coiling through Garihelm’s streets to set it aglow. It was a thin mist this night, doing little to obscure the light of my party’s lanterns as they surveyed the baroque structures around us. Towering edifices of stone rose into the night in a gray maze, blocking out the surrounding township.
The cemetery lay outside the city proper, within the bounds of a dilapidated village on the coast where there was enough soil above hard rock to bury the dead. Even so, this place had not been used for that purpose in a very long time.
“Not sure I like this spot, captain.” Penric drew close to me, squinting as he held his lantern aloft. Despite his age, his vision still seemed sharp. “No sightlines. Anything comes on us, it’ll be on our asses before we can even draw steel.”
Spoken like an archer. I did not carry a lantern, scanning the darkness ahead with only my naked eyes. I could see through it further than the others.
Penric let out a cough at my silence. “So what’s the plan, ser?”
The shuffling feet behind us seemed to grow notably louder, almost as though reminding me of my following. I hadn’t been able to give the lance much of a rundown before heading out, having been wary of my time, and I’d barely paid attention to their conversation in my distraction.
I paused in the square between three mausoleums and turned to the group. Emma had the lead behind Penric. She wore a simple light tunic with short sleeves, red in color, over her shirt of chain mail, along with practical leggings tucked into high boots. Her sword was visible at her hip, concealed by nothing.
The others had also come armed. Penric wore a battered old breastplate over a gambeson, standard archer gear. His long neck had a slight dip in it, as though weighed down by the modest helm over his brow. He carried a crossbow instead of the standard implement of his profession, a more practical tool in the cramped environs of Garihelm. Beatriz had pilfered the Fulgurkeep’s armories for her gear, festooning herself in light armor, a shield, and short spear.
Mallet, true to his name, carried a block headed hammer. It looked more like something a laborer might use than a warrior, but it was heavy enough to crack stone. He wore no armor, only a jacket over simple city-dweller clothes.
Most impressive was Hendry. He had been allowed to keep his Storm Knight gear, minus the crested surcoat and cape, and walked resplendent in brass-colored plate from neck to foot. His antler-hilted longsword hung at his side. He held his bolt-crested helmet in the crook of his left arm, revealing his boyish face.
I’ll see about getting us a proper armory if we survive the next week, I promised myself. My eyes went to the last two members of our band. Emil looked none too pleased to be there, his brown hair worked into a club to reveal his sweating, nervous face. He clutched his auremark tightly.