"How do you know all this?" Siggard demanded.

"I am a Vizjerei," Sarnakyle stated. "One of the ‘Spirit Clan. I have summoned demons, and I have also fought them. I've seen these tactics used before by Bartuc, the Warlord of Blood."

"Could Bartuc be behind this?" Siggard asked.

"I sincerely hope not," Sarnakyle said. "I helped to kill him. Do you know a direct route from here?"

Siggard nodded. "I think I've been here before. If I'm right, this was Gellan's Pass, and that means that there is a path toward my village to the northeast."

"Damned demons," Sarnakyle cursed. "If only they hadn't killed all of the horses."

They found the path, and had managed three leagues by sundown, stopping for the evening at the side of the road.

That night, although Siggard managed to finish off the ration Sarnakyle had given him days ago, he could not sleep. The fear gnawed at his gut, and with every minute that passed he wished that the dawn would come.

As the sun rose out of the east, they set off again, Siggard walking more anxiously than he had even when Emilye had begun her labor pains. If only she was safe, he could be happy. Then he could take her away from all the madness into a walled town like Brennor, where they would be safe for eternity.

"We have the advantage, you know," Sarnakyle said as they walked. "We only have to move ourselves; whatever demon leads this army has to march thousands across the land.

We can cover double the distance they can."

"It still won't matter if we get there too late," Siggard gritted, marching forward even more quickly. He finally slowed down when Sarnakyle jogged up beside him, puffing in exertion.

That night, Siggard reckoned that they had covered seven or eight leagues, and should be at the village sometime tomorrow. Sarnakyle had actually managed to catch a hare during the walk, and cooked it with a bit of magic. While the wizard ate with relish, Siggard found that he had no appetite at all, and left his share of the animal alone.

"If you won't eat, and you should," Sarnakyle said, licking his fingers, "tell me of your home."

Siggard thought for a moment, and then began to speak. "We own a farm, just outside of the village square. My father brought us to Bear's Hill when I was very young, and we did quite well."

"Bear's Hill?"

"My village," Siggard clarified. "I met Emilye when we were both children, at one of the village dances. She was absolutely radiant, and I, well, I was a rustic farmer. Still, she saw me, and I saw her, and it was love at first sight."

Sarnakyle grinned. "It must have been wonderful." He took another bite out of the rabbit.

Siggard nodded, and for a moment, there was a hint of a smile. "It was. When we got married, I promised her I'd always protect her. Whenever we could, we would go out exploring or picking mushrooms in the countryside, even when she was bearing our child. I tried to make her go gently, but she told me that she was pregnant, not fragile."

"Quite a woman."

"Yes," Siggard said. "The call to arms came only a couple of weeks after my daughter was born. We hadn't even decided on a name. I told her I'd be right back, and we'd choose one then. It's bad luck, you see, to leave a Naming for more than two months."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Sarnakyle stated.

"I hope so," Siggard said. "By all the gods, I hope so."

They left their camp before the dawn, so eager was Siggard to get back to his home. They walked silently, Siggard trying at every step to convince himself they would arrive in time, and would be able to convince the village's Ealdorman to evacuate everybody before the demons came.

As they walked, Siggard touched his sword hilt, praying that the battered blade would serve if there was any trouble. The memories of the battle had become something secondary; all that mattered was getting to Emilye and his daughter in time.

Finally, they passed the engraved marker stone for the village, and Siggard breathed a sigh of relief. There didn't seem to be any damage to the outlying farmsteads, which meant that they had probably made it in time.

Still, there were no people about, which was odd for this time of year. It was the harvest, and at the least the Ealdorman would have had them preparing for the harvest festival. An uneasy feeling began to gnaw at Siggard's gut.

When they entered the town square, Siggard's heart almost stopped. Many of the buildings were burned, and in the center of the square lay a pyramid of severed heads.

Sarnakyle looked around in shock. "Perhaps she made it out in time," he suggested. "She might not have perished here."

Siggard almost grunted an agreement until he saw a glint of golden hair in the pyramid. He told himself that it had to be somebody else, it couldn't possibly be her. But when Siggard stepped forward, he saw Emilye's dead eyes staring at him from the pile, her face a mask of horror, the flies consuming her flesh.

He backed up, unable to speak. Then he fell to the earth, weeping. Everything he had lived for was now gone. Had the demons come at that moment to take his life, he would have had neither the strength nor the inclination to defend himself.

How long he wept, Siggard could not be sure. He sat by the horrific pyramid and sobbed until his eyes were bloodshot and dry, lamenting the loss of his wife. To make matters worse, he didn't know if his daughter was alive or dead.

Entirely spent, he looked around weakly. The world was cast in the reddish light of the setting sun. Sarnakyle sat on a fallen tree, regarding him with casual interest. How the wizard could remain unmoved, Siggard did not know.

"We aren't alone," Sarnakyle said quietly. "There are at least three people watching us from the shadows."

Siggard swallowed and stood unsteadily. "Demons?"

"I cannot tell," Sarnakyle said. "I have a spell ready, though."

"With luck, we won't need it," Siggard stated. He turned and called out to the deepening shadows. "I am Siggard of Bear's Hill! Are you friend or foe?"

"Siggard, is it you?" a familiar voice called. A gaunt, ragged man stepped out of the shadows, scratching his weathered face. Siggard's eyes widened in surprise.

"Tylwulf," Siggard breathed. He turned to Sarnakyle. "There are survivors!"

The wizard shook his head. "This does not feel right."

Tylwulf staggered forward, and Siggard saw dried blood caked on his face. "We heard the army was destroyed, and we feared the worst," he stammered. "Then the demons came, and some of us ran, and…" Tylwulf broke down into tears.

"My daughter, Tylwulf," Siggard demanded, taking hold of the man's torn tunic. "What happened to my daughter?"

Tylwulf shook his head, almost as if he was fighting with himself against horrible memories. "Dead, all dead. They ate the children, and killed all the women they could. Some of the men they took with them." He glanced at the pile of heads and immediately shied away. "We try not to think about it. If we're good, they might not come back."

"I don't like the feeling of this," Sarnakyle cut in.

Tylwulf looked at the wizard for a moment, his eyes widening in shock. "A Vizjerei! You travel with interesting friends, Siggard. This is one of the Spirit Clan."

"Is there a place we can stay for the night, Tylwulf?" Siggard asked. "It is getting late, and I would prefer to be indoors this evening."